Chapter 2
Running on too little sleep, Julia pushed through the door of Gold Coast Catering, already planning her day.
Invoices first, then vendor confirmations.
The seafood delivery for the Mason-Dixon wedding—yeah, those really were their names—needed to be checked against the revised guest count, and she still didn’t trust the new linen company not to send the wrong color again.
There were three events between now and Sunday night, and if she stayed ahead, if she kept moving, maybe nothing would slip through the cracks.
“Good morning,” she called on her way to the office.
The kitchen was in full swing. Pans hitting burners, knives chopping in rhythm, the scent of garlic and citrus cutting through the air. It was familiar, comforting, a place where she could handle almost anything that blindsided her.
“Morning,” Emily said from the prep station.
Leaving the door open so they could chat as they worked, she set her bag down, flipped her laptop open, and pulled up the event schedule. Her fingers moved over the keys. She hit the wrong one, swore under her breath, and backspaced to correct it.
“Did the produce order come in?” she asked.
“It’s here.”
“Good. And the rentals for Friday? Please tell me they didn’t send the wrong linens again.”
“Julia.”
It wasn’t sharp. Not even firm. Just enough to make her look up.
Emily was watching her. Not casually or in passing but taking her in the way she always did when something wasn’t right. “You’re here early,” she said, her gaze lingering on her face.
“I’m always here early.”
“Never before nine.”
Julia gave a small shrug, turning to her screen. “We’ve got a lot going on this week.”
“Mm.”
That was all Emily said. But she didn’t look away.
Julia clicked through the vendor list, forcing herself to focus on the numbers. They were easier than people; numbers behaved themselves. They didn’t tease you, didn’t make you fall in love with them, didn’t walk away like it meant nothing.
Her fingers stilled on the keys.
Love… Where the heck had that come from?
God. Was that what this was?
Her pulse quickened, and a dull ache settled behind her eyes as she stared at the screen like it might offer an explanation.
Could she really be in love with someone after three sessions? Three intense, impossible-to-forget sessions, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who fell for a man that fast. Even the kind who got under your skin without trying, who made surrender feel inevitable.
Leland fit that mold a little too well.
Julia snapped her laptop shut. This wasn’t a novel. This was her life.
“Something wrong?” Emily asked.
She looked up to find her friend watching her with narrowed, entirely too-perceptive eyes.
“What’s wrong,” Julia said, sliding off the stool and heading for the stainless-steel urn, “is that I haven’t had nearly enough coffee.”
As she poured a mug, she took a moment to breathe, allowing the steam and aroma to soothe her frayed nerves. The normalcy of the kitchen helped even her out. Emily moved among her team, issuing quiet instructions, adjusting, tasting, and the staff responded without hesitation.
It was structured and organized. Everyone had a role, and everything had its place. All the things her personal life was not.
Julia breathed a little deeper. Maybe she’d move in here.
She was halfway through this week’s invoices and her single-shot caramel macchiato—a lifesaving fringe benefit—when Emily came in and leaned in the doorway.
“So,” she said casually, “did you get what you needed last night?”
Startled, Julia jerked hard enough that hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug. She grabbed a handful of napkins, dabbing at the spill. Only then did she glance up, stammering. “I—uh—what?”
“The urgent shopping trip,” Emily said. “The one that outranked tequila and tacos. That’s serious business.”
Julia huffed a short laugh, still dabbing at the counter. “Yeah. Well. A girl’s gotta have a couch.”
She hated to lie, but she wasn’t about to admit she’d gone to a meat market trying to forget. From her expression, Em wasn’t buying it. Their girls’ nights were practically sacred.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“See what?”
“The couch you bought,” she said pointedly.
“Oh. I, uh, didn’t see anything I liked.” The lies kept snowballing. She should have known better. “I’ll have to keep looking.”
“Mm… You’re awfully jumpy this morning,” Emily observed.
“Am I?” Julia tossed the soggy napkins into the trash.
“Maybe you should ease off the caffeine.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Julia shot back. “You know me. Fifty percent of my blood is caffeine.”
Emily didn’t smile. Just watched her. Which was worse.
Julia turned to the invoices again, aware she was talking too much, moving too fast, doing everything she never did, and not well.
Nice going. Real subtle. Say you’re trying to hide something without saying you’re trying to hide something.
A stool scraped beside her as Emily sat. “Talk to me.”
“The Jamison wedding is going to be over budget.”
“You know that isn’t what I mean. You haven’t been to the club in a while. Maybe it’s time. And don’t tell me you’re fine,” Emily added quietly. “You look exhausted.”
Em was her best friend because she was sweet, kind, and caring. She could also be blunt, but in this she wasn’t wrong.
Julia sank into her chair with a resigned sigh. She spoke in a softer voice, too low for the others working on desserts at the prep table to hear. “I’m submissive. Not a masochist.”
“We have over 200 members,” Emily reminded her. “Leland Hale isn’t the only single dom.”
“I’ve been busy,” she replied too quickly.
Emily arched a brow. “Couch shopping?”
Julia released a breath, somewhere between a laugh and something else.
“It’s been what? Eight weeks? Those needs, and I don’t mean”—she dropped her voice and mostly mouthed—“sex. I’m new to this life, Jules, but not to the feelings. I know what it’s like to not have it for years. You can bury it in work and shopping, but it doesn’t go away.”
“They had psychology 101 in culinary school?” Julia half teased, wholly deflected.
“I’m serious. I wish you would be.”
With one hand, she covered her face, fingertips pressed to the dull, persistent ache behind her forehead. Then she met her friend’s concerned gaze.
“I can’t go back. Not yet.” Maybe never. “You warned me. So many of the subs did. I have only myself to blame for not listening.” She went for light and conversational when she added, “But you live and learn and move on, right?”
Emily didn’t answer or smile. If anything, her frown deepened.
“Thanks for being such a good friend, Em. But stop worrying. I’m fine.”
The two-word denial she’d said too often lately came out automatically. Not entirely a lie. Not entirely the truth either.
Emily studied her for another beat, weighing something, but let it go with a small nod.
Julia knew her friend, however. It was only a pause.
An hour passed in a blur. Julia efficiently ticked items off her to-do list, confirming timelines and answering emails. She had to reread one twice before it made sense. But the routine helped. Almost enough to quiet the rest, but not quite.
“Hey, Jules?”
Tyra, one of the line cooks, hovered near the doorway, her expression apologetic.
“What’s up?”
“Charles just called. He’s sick.”
Julia frowned slightly. “How sick?”
“Bad enough that he’s not coming in tonight.”
Of course he wasn’t. It was Wednesday; he was supposed to run the service for her at Devil’s Pointe.
Emily glanced up from the line.
Julia didn’t look at her. “I can cover it.”
Tyra exhaled in relief. “I’ll go find you a uniform. The linens arrived.”
Emily wiped her hands again, slower this time. “I’ll do it.”
Julia shook her head. Emily was the owner, the creative force behind their success, and had hired her as manager to take care of crap like this.
“It’s my responsibility. Besides, on Wednesday and Saturday you’re a member, not a caterer. Isn’t that the deal you made with Alec?”
“He’ll understand.”
“Doubtful,” Julia quipped.
The club was open only two nights a week and on rare special occasions. Club members cherished that time. She had once, too.
“I’ve got no plans. Think nothing of it.”
“You’re sure?” Emily pressed. “What about after?”
Julia hesitated a second too long before she answered, “I’m not staying. I’ll oversee setup and service. Then I’m leaving. The others can handle the breakdown.”
Emily nodded once, reading everything Julia didn’t say.
“I appreciate you looking out for me, truly. But I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”
There was that word again. She was starting to suspect her subconscious didn’t quite grasp its meaning.
Julia refocused on her laptop, opening the schedule and inserting her name for Charles’s. She told herself it was just another job. Just another night.
But, deep down, she knew it was another place she didn’t belong. Not anymore. Not as a member, not as anything.
***
Julia arrived with the catering team before dusk. The wide parking area had already filled with familiar cars. Dev’s Mediterranean-style house rose above the river, its warm light catching the last streaks of evening. She couldn’t see the water from here, but she could feel it in the air.
To the right, the detached garage and guest rooms glowed softly behind their windows.
To the left, beyond the hedged boundary, was the maze with its tall green walls dense enough to swallow sound.
Someone had trained mandevilla along the arbor at the entrance, palm-sized pink blossoms bright against the deepening shadows.
The subs had named it the labyrinth years ago, half in jest, half in reverence.
Julia stepped out of the van and breathed in a trace of lilac on the breeze. God, she missed this place. Not just the house and the grounds, though they were beautiful, but the people. The easy familiarity. The feeling that she belonged somewhere.
The Underground wasn’t in the same league. It was a soulless dump in comparison.
She shut that thought down before it could take hold. Comparisons wouldn’t help her get through tonight.