Chapter 12 Rule #12 Never mix business with pleasure.
Freya
There should be a name for the first thought that enters your head the morning after drinking a lot. That first sober reflection when you have to get your bearings, a slew of anxiety rolling in all at once. Where am I? What did I do last night? Was there sex involved? Oh God, what did I do?
As I peel my eyes open, staring at a foreign window from a foreign bed in a foreign house, I let the events of last night course through my mind, play by play.
We were at the restaurant. I was holding Julian’s hand. There was urgency to get back to his apartment. Then the car ride…and it all goes dark.
Lifting the covers, I stare down in relief at my still-clothed body. I’m seemingly alone, which is another good thing, I guess.
I’ll deliberate later on what exactly would have happened if I hadn’t passed out in the car. That’s just too much to process right now.
Instead, I peel the covers back and climb out of the bed.
There’s an attached bathroom, and when I walk into it, I find a brand-new toothbrush still in the package on the counter as well as some toothpaste and tiny luxury brand soap bottles like they have in five-star hotels.
The shower looks like it’s made of black marble and has three showerheads, so I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.
Stripping off my clothes, I turn on the water and step under or rather into the spray coming from both sides and the ceiling. It’s like standing in a warm waterfall. I could stay here for hours.
Being in this shower makes me think of what Julian and Archer said in the elevator that night, about the downsides of growing up wealthy, and honestly, I want to have no pity for them and their luxurious upbringing, but do fancy showers, designer suits, and luxury sports cars really make up for the way they both seem so… empty?
Without any true struggle in their lives, they’ve become so desperate for life that Archer is voluntarily beaten up in abandoned Métro stations and Julian has the personality of a skittish house cat. He has to screw strangers in a club because he’s so afraid of letting people get close to him.
I find myself wondering what it might be like to marry a man like either of them. You certainly wouldn’t catch me complaining about being rich. I’d enjoy every damn second.
But then again…I’ve seen the true joy on my mother’s face when she got to enjoy a hard-earned holiday in Hawaii after not having one for nearly ten years.
Is one truly better than the other?
I guess the real question here is…would my restaurant feel like as much of an accomplishment if I took the money they offered to buy it?
Does that even matter? I’d be a fool to pass it up, wouldn’t I? Who cares about pride? If I have the chance to bring my food to the world, I should take it.
I wash up with the jasmine-scented soap someone left on the counter. Then I turn the shower from heaven off and climb out, wrapping myself in the plushest, comfiest towel I’ve ever touched.
When I walk back into the guest room, expecting to have to put back on the dress I wore last night, I spot a pile of folded clothes on the bed.
Have those been there the whole time?
It’s a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a white crewneck sweatshirt. I assume they’re both Julian’s and hold them to my nose, inhaling the scent of him infused in the fibers.
God, what am I doing? Am I really crushing on Amelia’s brother? The jerk who nearly lost me the best job I’ve ever gotten?
I can’t help it. There’s a tugging sensation in my chest every time I think about him, that sad, lonely boy.
I think about the way his fingers felt in mine last night at the restaurant.
The connection between us is visceral and natural.
Like I can love him and hate him at the same time.
Like I know him. Like I would always have his back and he would have mine.
Which is nuts.
Laughing to myself at the idea, I pull on the sweatpants, going commando because he didn’t provide a pair of underwear. The waistband is loose around my hips, so I roll it a couple of times. Then I put on the sweatshirt, and it’s warm…like it’s just out of the dryer.
Hugging myself in his clothes, I take a few minutes to dry my hair before opening the door of the room and tiptoeing through Julian’s apartment.
I walk down a long hallway before I reach the main living room.
The first thing I see is what looks like a giant sprawled out on the brown leather sofa.
Archer is still in last night’s clothes, a pair of dark slacks and a white undershirt.
His feet are bare, and one leg is thrown over the back of the couch.
It takes everything in me not to tickle the bottom of his foot.
Spotting movement to my right, I turn to find Julian standing alone in his kitchen. Struck by the sight of casual Julian, I gape like a fish.
He’s in a black long-sleeved shirt that’s tight around his shoulders, showing off slender muscles I didn’t know he had.
Like me, he’s in a pair of dark gray sweatpants, and I catch my eyes drifting inappropriately low to see the outline of…
well, the outline of what one would expect to see in a pair of gray sweats.
“Good morning,” he says with a hint of humor as if he caught me looking and finds it amusing. His voice is like poison-laced honey, silky smooth with a bite of something terrifying.
I clear my throat and look away. “Good morning.”
Archer doesn’t move an inch at the sound of my voice. He might as well be dead to the world, and if he wasn’t snoring so loudly, I’d assume he was.
“Coffee?” Julian asks, holding up his mug.
“Yes, please,” I reply, walking into the kitchen.
As he turns his back on me to make me a cup, he adds, “There’s water and aspirin on the counter too. In case you need it.”
And sure enough, there is a bottle of pain meds and a glass of water. Who knew Julian Kade could be so hospitable?
“Thank you,” I say, “but I’m fine. I don’t really get hangovers.”
He laughs at that. “Must be nice.”
Sitting on one of the barstools around his kitchen island, I watch him work. To my surprise, his coffee maker isn’t a state-of-the-art espresso machine like I would have expected. Instead, it’s a single pod coffee maker that I’ve heard makes terrible coffee, but I don’t comment.
“So…what happened last night?” I ask instead.
Julian peers over his shoulder at Archer on the couch. “Well…we drank way too much at the restaurant. Then we came back here, and you fell asleep on the ride. That’s…about it.”
My eyes narrow, watching him retrieve the cream from the fridge and place it in front of me with a spoon.
“What else happened?”
He pauses, glancing up at me skeptically. “Nothing. We took turns carrying you upstairs, and Archer placed you in the bed.”
“And what did you two do after I was in bed?”
I could spot the twitch in his lips from a mile away. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” I reply with a smirk as I stir cream into my coffee.
As expected, it’s terrible. A crime against coffee. But I drink it anyway.
When he leans his back against the counter across from me, I sip from the mug and replay the events of last night.
What immediately comes to mind is a conversation that Archer started about us in the elevator.
That conversation changed things. And then…
I somehow worked up the courage—thanks, champagne—to run my foot along the inside of Archer’s leg.
“Julian…” I whisper. “What would have happened if I hadn’t passed out in the car?”
He clears his throat and furrows his brow. “I don’t know the technical term, but I’m pretty sure it’s called a threesome.”
A groan escapes my lips as I let my forehead drop to the stone countertop. I was this close to losing my virginity in a threesome. “I hate myself. Why did I have to drink so much?”
Julian snickers across the kitchen. “Relax. I’m sure there will be other opportunities.”
“Will there?” I ask, lifting my head.
“I…think so.”
“I hope so,” I say.
His thin lips stretch into a smile. “Me too.”
Resting my chin on my hand, I remember the way the conversation went down, specifically between the two of them. They are definitely into each other. It’s easy to see that.
“So was there a twosome last night while I was passed out in your guest room?”
His expression doesn’t give much away, so with a lifeless look in his eyes, he responds, “No, not really.”
“Not really?”
“Just some…kissing.”
Now I really hate myself. How could I miss this? While I was in the guest room, snoring alone, two very hot people were making out, and I could have been a part of it. Fuck my life.
Then he adds, “It didn’t feel right doing more without you.”
Something about that statement strikes me as odd. Sitting up straight, I gaze down at my coffee, letting the gravity of this sink in.
If last night was really just about sex, it wouldn’t have mattered if I was here. They’re clearly into each other. They could have gotten each other off without guilt and made the best of it.
But this isn’t just about sex, is it?
I feel Julian’s cold eyes on me as I lift my gaze to his face. “What is going on?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” he replies, and I know in that moment he’s thinking the same thing as I am. We are just three people who came together in a broken-down elevator, and now we’re all so drawn to each other that a…relationship is forming.
Just then, someone groans loudly from behind me. Turning around, I watch Archer stretch on the couch, diminishing it with his massive size. When he sits up, I let out a giggle.
His messy curls are matted against his head, and his eyes are squinted.
“Is that coffee?” he asks in a raspy tone.
“Yep,” Julian responds, turning around to get started on Archer’s cup.
Archer escapes into the bathroom, coming back a few minutes later looking refreshed with minty breath and a handsome smile. He stops and takes in my appearance, his eyes raking over the baggy sweatpants.
“Are you wearing Julian’s clothes?”
I nod.