Chapter 10 Rule #10 A casual dinner with friends is nothing to be scared of.
Julian
Why the hell am I doing this?
Because seeing her in my club last night felt nice, really fucking nice. And maybe Archer was onto something. Maybe we did bond.
And so what? It’s just a dinner with some new friends. Which is laughable really for a guy like me who has no friends and never has. My best friend is my little sister. Pathetic.
Onyx meows, watching me fix my hair in the mirror.
“I know,” I mutter to her as she rubs against my leg. “I’m trying. Maybe it’ll be fun. Unless, of course, they start making out and I’m stuck being the third wheel. How awkward would that be? Hell, for all I know, they’re already fucking. Maybe this is a bad idea.”
Meow.
“No. They wouldn’t have bothered inviting me if that was the case. I mean…why did they invite me? Why did Archer make it a group chat when he could have just texted Freya separately? He probably is. I’m sure they have a separate chat where they talk about me.”
Meow.
My hair won’t sit right, no matter how much product I spray into it. There’s one strand that keeps straying from the pack, falling onto my forehead, and it’s taking everything in me to keep from punching this fucking mirror.
Closing my eyes, I slam my comb down on the table and take a deep breath. It’s just one dinner. Relax, Julian.
Opening the drawer, I set the comb inside and pull out the lint brush. Another orange bottle, just like the one in my office, stares up at me with expectation.
I am really in my head tonight. Maybe I should take one.
But I’ve been so good lately. Haven’t I? Things at the club have been going well. I’m actually going on a date. I hate to go back when I’m doing just fine without it.
My mind is made up when I slam the drawer shut.
With my mind racing, I meticulously run the lint brush over my sleeves and pants. When done, I take another look in the mirror, appreciating how this midnight-blue shirt pairs with my pale skin and azure eyes.
The look is flawless. If only the inside matched the outside. The trick is making people think it does.
My spine straightens, and my expression flattens.
Perfect.
Grabbing my keys, I don my coat and say goodbye to Onyx. When I reach the main floor of the building—after taking the stairs—I meet Lucien in front. He’s standing near the car door, ready to open it for me when I step outside and spot the tall figure to my right.
Pausing, I make eye contact with Archer. His face lights up when he sees me. He really is like a fucking dog, isn’t he?
“Oh hey,” he says, nodding toward me as I notice a new cut on his lip.
“You’re still alive,” I reply flatly.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” he says, the left side of his mouth lifting in a smirk that is too handsome to look at.
Averting my gaze, I glance over at Lucien, who has the door open, waiting for me.
“Is that your car?” Archer asks.
“Yeah,” I stammer. “Would you like to share a ride?”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment, his smirk turning coy. “Were you just going to take your own car to the restaurant and let me ride there alone?”
His bluntness grates on my nerves. The way he picks out my insecurities and never leaves anything for silent dissection.
“I’m offering now,” I say through clenched teeth.
Archer chuckles to himself. “Perfect. I didn’t want to call a cab.” Brushing past me with arrogance, he says a quick greeting to Lucien before climbing into the car. “See, I knew you were a nice guy, fancy pants.”
He’s fucking with me, and it if wasn’t so fucking adorable, I’d be pissed. Because he’s right, isn’t he?
Why didn’t I offer him a ride? It makes perfect sense that we ride together, but I was too committed to being an asshole that I didn’t send him the invitation.
With a huff, I climb in after him.
As I sit down next to Archer, I get a whiff of his cologne, and it instantly triggers my memory from the night in the elevator.
It’s not a scent I recognize, which means it’s not a designer brand, reminding me that Archer really doesn’t care about luxury.
It’s earthy and refined, with hints of sandalwood and leather.
It’s the kind of scent that makes me want to lean in—a quiet, undeniable allure.
Refraining from running my nose along the length of his throat, I stiffen in my seat and stare out the window. We circle the Arc de Triomphe as I ask, “Don’t you have a hired car?”
“In Paris? No,” he responds with a haughty chuckle. “My father has one back in the States, but it’s not really my style. No offense.”
“None taken,” I murmur under my breath as I flatten my shirt to my chest.
Archer’s eyes linger on me, raking up and down my body, and I find myself turning away from him.
“You always look this put together?” he asks.
My head notches in his direction. “Put together? You mean…dressed?”
There’s that fucking smile of his again. “You’re more than dressed. You’re…dressed.”
“You don’t often make much sense, do you?”
Lucien snickers quietly in the front seat, and Archer doesn’t bother looking the least bit offended. “I try not to. If I start making sense, then I start sounding like my father.”
“What’s wrong with your father?” I ask with curiosity.
“Nothing. He’s great. A good guy for sure. But he’s just so…much.”
Turning toward Archer, I scan his features, feeling a hint of familiarity in my chest.
“He’s just…he’s perfect, you know? He always has been.
He handles everything with grace, never loses his temper or panics or shows weakness.
He built an entire fucking empire from nothing and acts like it wasn’t the massive achievement that it was.
Like…if you can be so humble about that, then what on earth can I do to impress you, know what I mean? ”
He runs a hand through his hair, and I watch him through narrowed, attentive eyes.
When I don’t say anything in response to his small rant, he turns my way, and I see a lightning storm in his eyes.
Archer does this a lot, I’ve noticed. Lets out a rant of feelings with the smallest prompt, as if he’s bottled it all up for too long.
“I’m not making sense again,” he says with an uneasy laugh.
“Yes, you are,” I mumble under my breath.
Because I do get it. And maybe I should tell him that. That I understand what it’s like to have a father who everyone loves. With a great personality. Charm. Money. Everything.
And then trying to be the tree forced to grow in the shade of all that. I cannot outshine my father. I don’t even try anymore, and with every bit of help and guidance he gives me, he doesn’t realize he’s just…casting a bigger shadow. Being a better man.
Leaving me no choice but to be…a worse one.
The car pulls up to the restaurant, and Archer lets out a low whistle as we both take in the sight of Freya waiting for us outside.
She clears every thought in my head. In a sapphire-blue dress that wraps around her torso and hugs her gentle curves, she could turn every head in Paris. She certainly has me dumbstruck and freezing when I should be opening the door to climb out of the car.
Archer leans toward me, gaping out the window the same way I am. Freya is standing in the chill night air, covered in a thick, gray coat, opened to reveal the plunging neckline of her dress, bangles on her wrists peeking out of the sleeves and layered necklaces resting against her collarbones.
Her dark locks cascade over one shoulder, giving her such wild beauty that nearly takes my breath away.
When I feel Archer’s warm breath on my neck, I turn my gaze toward him and realize with confidence that he is thinking the same exact thing I am.
Which one of us will be the lucky bastard to win her attention? Can her love be bought, and if so, how much are we willing to pay?
“Just a fun night with friends,” he mutters lowly with a hint of sarcasm.
“Sure,” I reply without emotion.
“Look,” he says. “We can just have fun. No need to fight over her.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mumble in response. Then, turning toward him again, I add, “She already likes you.”
Opening the car door, I climb out. Freya’s eyes find me, and I watch as she sucks in a long breath, bracing herself. As if being around me is something she has to prepare herself for. When Archer gets out of the car, she releases the breath and smiles.
“Wow,” he says, gesturing to her dress. “You’re going to cause car accidents standing out here like that.”
“Oh, shut up,” she laughs as she greets him with a hug. Turning toward me, she gives a tense smile. “Hi, Julian.”
I should take her hand or hug her or…something. Instead, I nod. “Hello, Freya.”
She notices my hesitation and the way I’m holding myself back, so the air between us grows tense. Ten seconds in and I’m already blowing this.
“Let’s get inside. It’s fucking freezing out here,” Archer says, breaking the tension and placing a hand on the small of each of our backs.
He goes first to the hostess stand to ask for our reservation, although it’s under my name.
The restaurant is crowded and bustling as the hostess guides us to a table in the back, near a window facing the street.
Archer pulls out Freya’s chair as I take the one on the inside next to him. As I turn my chair to face the both of them, I pick up the scent of his cologne again, and it arouses something in my veins.
“You look stunning,” he says to her again, and it has my jaw clenching. If he’s going to serve her compliments all night, he’s leaving me no room to do so myself. Which I would if she and I were alone. Wouldn’t I? It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.
What am I thinking? Why does it even matter if I serve her compliments? This isn’t a date. We’re just three new friends, out to eat on a Tuesday night.
She points to his lip. “Why do you do that to yourself?”
“Oh, this?” he asks, touching his mouth. “I like to let them get one good hit in. Gives them false confidence.”
Freya is unimpressed, shaking her head at him. “Seems stupid and reckless to me.”
He shrugs. “Well, Chef, I am stupid and reckless.”