Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Monday rolls in heavy—we have five days until they choose the pitch for the rebrand. It’s a tight race, and I hadn’t felt nervous—until now. Suddenly, it’s all become too real.
And just like the pitch, I too need to make up my mind on whether I want to stay or not, given the chance. I can run if I want to.
My phone buzzes. I excuse myself, seizing the moment for a breath of fresh air.
Outside, I call Harrison back.
“You do know I’m at work, right?” I joke as soon as he picks up.
“I’m taking you to lunch. When’s your break?”
Somehow, hearing his voice steadies me. Like he’s now my knight in shining armor, here to protect me against everything. Except, who’s going to protect my feelings from him?
“Do I get a say in this?”
“You can choose where we go, if you want.”
I stay silent, debating how good of an idea it is to get my brain even more scrambled in the middle of the day.
“Please,” he adds.
Please. Such a simple word holds so much meaning. It’s not begging. It’s him asking me to give him a chance. To let him try to win this game we’re playing.
“Fine,” I say. I’ll have other chances to be stubborn. “I have lunch at noon. Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes tops. It’s a busy week.”
“That’s plenty of time. I’ll be outside.”
“See you soon, Harrison.”
Back upstairs, I pocket my phone and focus on my pitch.
Summer’s always been my season. Growing up in L.A., I basically had sunscreen in my bloodstream, so it hasn’t been hard to channel warm-weather energy.
The hard part was the romance.
For weeks, everything had felt surface level. Two scoops of cliché topped with a drizzle of “Who even wears matching swimsuits?” But then Harrison happened—with his optimistic charm and his breakfast deliveries—and suddenly, I could see it.
Not just the campaign. The feeling.
Him in a soft cotton tee with tiny embroidered hearts. Me in the matching set. Playful but real. The tagline hit me after our call yesterday: Matching Fits, Mutual Feelings.
Now the ideas won’t stop. My presentation is looking vibrant, cozy, and sexy. Pieces designed for people who are in love, or maybe on the way there.
Noon approaches dreadfully slowly. I wait until everyone’s gone to lunch, then sneak out unnoticed. He’s already texted, letting me know he’s outside. My nerves have flared up like tiny fireworks. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’ll never not be nervous.
I spot him the second I exit the elevator.
Across the street, leaning casually against the wall.
He’s dressed in a deep navy sweater that nearly passes for black, matching slacks, and charcoal-grey boots.
His sleeves are rolled up enough to show a flash of a silver watch and a criminally distracting forearm.
He sees me.
Pulls off his cap and brings his sunglasses down slowly.
Smirks.
I cross the street, trying to walk as confidently and seductively as humanly possible. It seems to work because he pushes himself off the wall and takes a few steps closer.
“Do you only own dark clothing?” I tease as I approach.
He laughs and—damn—wraps an arm around my waist and plants a kiss on my cheek.
The warmth of his lips against my skin makes my blood pressure drop somewhere below sea level. I’ve decided: I’m going to start a collection of these clandestine kisses.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, standing tall again. “You ready?”
I nod, letting him lead the way.
I’ve no idea where we’re going, but I’m sure he already has a place in mind, so I simply tag along next to him. We don’t walk long—maybe five minutes—before I’m standing in front of a very familiar fast-food chain.
“Tacos Locos?” I blink. “I didn’t even know you guys had these here.”
“Is that a good thing, though?” he asks, voice a little too casual to hide the nerves.
“It’s the best thing,” I say, with a reassuring smile. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I can perform in front of thousands of people, but you”—he points at me, and I swat his hand away—“you come along and mess me up.”
“Sounds like a you problem, sir,” I wink. “I hope you don’t have performance issues everywhere…”
His eyes narrow, but that crooked smile is already betraying him. “Coming in hot.”
“Just checking.”
“Weren’t we in a hurry?” he asks, recovering his confidence.
I nod and head inside. “Go sit at the back. I’ll order for us.”
His brows lift in suspicion.
“Let’s go! I don’t have all day.”
“Fine. I’ll have chicken, carnitas, and al pastor on a soft shell.” He reaches for his back pocket. “Here. My card.”
“No thanks,” I say, already halfway to the counter. I see my chance, and I take it. Doesn’t make us even. Just closer.
Tacos Locos feels exactly the same as back home. Minimalist interior, neutral tones, and simple wooden chairs. A few high-top tables break up the space. The walls are that trendy light grey, and the exposed ceiling gives it an unfinished, industrial vibe.
The menu’s up on three digital screens above the counter, and I have to blink twice when I see the prices—surprisingly cheaper than in LA. Shocking, considering London’s cost of living.
My order hasn’t changed in years. Three soft-shell tacos and a drink. Two carnitas, one chicken. Comfort food in tortilla form. I watch the assembly line do their thing while inching down toward the cashier.
“That’ll be thirty pounds fifty, please,” she says.
I swipe my card and carry the tray to our table.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says as I sit down.
I shrug. "I wanted to."
We start eating. Or at least he does. My brain is back to being preoccupied with every aspect of my life I can’t control. Including this one. Harrison’s talking—something about Tony, maybe related to The Anchor—but the information isn’t quite registering. I just nod.
He tilts his head. “You’re off today.”
“What?”
“You’re off,” he repeats gently. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I lie. “Just work.”
“Are you having trouble with your pitch?”
“No. It’s coming along much better now.” I keep down the fact that it’s probably thanks to him. “It’s a bit stressful, that’s all.”
“The only thing I’m worried about with this meeting is whether you decide to go back home.” His tone is sincere, steady. “I don’t doubt they’ll be impressed with your work.”
“You don’t even know if I’m a good employee,” I laugh.
He grins. “Well… are you?”
“I like to think so.”
“Then there’s no reason to be nervous.”
I sigh, chewing slowly. “It’s… a lot. It’s been a month without seeing my friends or my family, and I’m not even halfway through. And now I also have…”
I hesitate, knowing I’m entering slippery territory. “People.”
“People?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. You. I have you here.”
He flashes the sweetest, most proud smile, like I’ve handed him the stars. I melt like butter on warm toast.
“Look, as much as I want you to stay, you shouldn’t make this decision based on me. Or anyone else,” he says. “Do it because this challenge in your career is worth seeing through.”
I nod slowly. “If I don’t do this, I’ll have to go back to a job where I know my chances of moving higher up are slim. This is my lifeline.”
“Ah. So not so much choosing to be here as seizing the opportunity.”
I nod again. “Exactly.”
“That alone shows character.”
“You always seem to know what to say.”
“It’s all about thinking ‘What would a Hollywood star say’ and then saying the complete opposite.”
“You’d get along with my dad,” I laugh. “He would agree with you.”
“Sounds like a smart man.”
“He is. Both he and my mom are. Very creative and spontaneous.”
“They go by ‘You only live once.’”
I nod. “So does my brother Dylan. I’m the only a little more reserved.”
“I take it you don’t like that?”
I shrug. “Sometimes I feel like I have to try extra hard to be seen in the family.”
“I wish I’d had siblings growing up,” he shares. “For the record, I find it very hard to believe you’re not your daddy’s little girl.”
He smirks, and I blush.
“I am. I’m also the only one who hasn’t gone chasing my dreams,” I admit. “I always feel like I’m trying to catch up to Dylan when in reality we’re not even in the same lane—because I’ve settled.”
“What’s your dream then?”
“My dream was to own a photography studio someday. Maybe even a gallery.”
“That’s why you were taking pictures at the restaurant the other night.”
“I’d hoped you didn’t notice. I haven’t even gone through those yet.”
“I’d love to see them once you do.”
And for the first time, looking at his sincere smile, I actually want to.
Before we know it, it’s time to go. By the door, he wraps me in his arms—just for a few seconds—but it’s long enough to intoxicate me with his foresty smell. He pulls back to kiss my cheek again and send me on my way.
Clandestine Kiss #3: Acquired.
I add it to my mental collection of ‘Joshua Harrison’s Kisses.’
And somehow, I make it back to my desk. My legs are still wobbly from all of this male contact. But I’m here.
The rest of the day, I focus. As focused as I can be. I crunch out the numbers, I compile all the events I’ve come up with, and I polish every slide. By the time I’m done, the office is nearly empty. The rest of the team is long gone.
Harrison was right. When it comes to the job, I show up. Just because life’s complicated doesn’t mean I slack off. I let that go on for too long. Whether I stay or go, this is going to be the best presentation that they’ve ever seen.
The week sprints forward. Monday blends into Tuesday and then slips into Wednesday. I don’t have any free time. Harrison’s been calling every night. He hasn’t asked about my decision—he’s giving me space—but he’s been supportive in his own way.
He asked me to lunch again last night, but with only three days left until the pitch meeting, I can’t afford any distractions.
I’m at my desk, furiously typing, debating if it would be bad to skip lunch altogether today. My stomach rumbles, answering the question for me. As if on cue, I get a call from the front desk.
“Hello, Miss Thomas,” the receptionist says. “Your food has arrived. You can pick it up at the front desk.”
“My food? For Julia Thomas?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just delivered.”
I ask out of courtesy, but let’s be honest, who else would do something like this?
Did you by any chance send food to my office?
Harrison
In the flesh.
I would’ve had you come down to meet me, but I didn’t want to get you all hot and bothered before your meeting.
How thoughtful of you. Delusional—but thoughtful, nonetheless.
Seriously though. Thank you. I’m starving.
Harrison
We’ll revisit that down the road.
I figured you might need some brain fuel.
I do.
Harrison
Talk later?
Of course.
The meeting is scheduled to take up my last hour at work, but it runs thirty minutes over. Apparently, Max asked permission to include my photos in the final portfolio.
“Would you be opposed to that?” Chris, the head of the department, asks.
I’m so blindsided I don’t even know what to say.
“Is this your doing?” I ask, looking at Claire. “I didn’t think they were any good.”
“Well, someone out there sure does. I hadn’t told anyone yet. Max emailed me personally. And if they’re chosen, you would be compensated, of course.”
“Wow. That’s…” I struggle to find words. “Yes. I mean, yes—thank you for considering me.”
By the time I get out, I have a missed call from Harrison.
I ring him back, and he picks up instantly.
"Sorry, the meeting ran longer than expected."
“So?” His voice is a little shaky. None of the usual deep confidence. "What’s the verdict then?"