CHAPTER 22
Harper
Julian’s townhouse looks even more beautiful and stunning at night. Its Gilded Age roots come to life, and I half expect to see kerosene lamps lighting the large bay windows.
When he and I step out of the Range Rover, the air is icy cold against my cheeks, but it barely registers anymore. Not when he reaches for my hand.
That still does a number to me every single time. We climb the steps together and before Julian can reach for the handle, the front door swings open, and there’s Percy.
“Good evening, sir,” he says before his eyes come to me, warming immediately. “And Ms. Hawthorne.”
Oh boy. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.
I’ve talked to Percy on a handful of occasions over the course of my employment with Julian, and he’s only ever known me as Mr. Langley’s driver.
But now here I am, in a distinctly more personal role, and I don’t know what he thinks of me.
Some Flavor of the Week in Julian’s rotation?
Someone looking to move up the ladder by sleeping with the boss?
“Hi, Percy,” I say, stepping inside, then shedding my coat. I automatically turn to put it on a coat rack but there isn’t one and it’s weird to hand it to Percy to hang somewhere for me. “How are you?” I stammer.
“Thriving,” he replies, his accent that crisp British but with a clear layer of warmth to it. “The city has finally remembered how to really get into the winter spirit. It improves morale tremendously.”
His dry wit goes a long way in making me comfortable and I laugh softly. “I didn’t realize snow had such an emotional influence over you.”
“Oh, it does,” Percy says gravely as he hangs our coats. “Particularly when one no longer has to shovel it.”
Julian shakes his head behind me. “He becomes insufferable every winter.”
“And yet you continue inviting me back,” Percy replies.
I grin, already relaxing into the familiar rhythm between them. Julian had assured me that Percy is supportive of our relationship, and I can’t see anything to the contrary in his manners or words.
Percy makes this massive, intimidating townhouse seem homey. Despite the formality, everything he does is genuine.
And in such a short time, I’ve stopped feeling like a visitor here.
“I understand your brother has been away for the holidays,” Percy says as we move toward the dining room. “I’m sure you’re eager to have him home again.”
“I really am,” I admit, a little in awe that Julian shared that information.
It goes a long way to helping me accept that Julian has me by his side as someone he cares about.
“He’s itching to get back to Manhattan and cause havoc with his friends before the new semester starts.
The apartment is way too quiet without him. ”
“A healthy sign in teenage boys, I’m told,” he says. “And how is Abby?”
I glance back at him with mock suspicion. “You know, for someone so formal, you’re surprisingly invested in my social circle.”
Percy places a hand lightly against his chest. “I merely maintain a healthy curiosity regarding the people important to this household, and Mr. Langley is all too eager to appease such curiosity.”
Important to this household. I’m flattered to hear him say these words, but I don’t want to linger on the subject long, for fear I wake from this fantasy.
Julian catches my expression briefly and the corner of his mouth shifts upward a tad before he gestures me toward the dining room where dinner is already set. The table gleams beneath the light of the chandelier, silver and crystal reflecting warm gold against the dark walnut walls.
Percy moves around the room as he serves seared Ahi tuna over wild rice alongside roasted asparagus that honestly smells even better than it looks… and it looks delicious.
“This is… wow. Just wow,” I tell him.
“Wow suffices, indeed,” Percy replies. “I threatened the fishmonger personally.”
I laugh as Julian pours wine into my glass.
“You chuckle,” Julian says dryly, “but he absolutely did.”
“If you don’t require anything else of me, I’ll go work on serving the first course,” Percy says.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and Julian tips his head in acknowledgment.
“Now,” Julian says, turning toward me slightly, “I trust the interview went well?”
Oh my God, the interview. The entire day still feels like an out-of-body experience.
“It was…” I exhale, still half disbelieving. “Honestly? Kind of amazing.”
Julian leans back in his chair, watching me carefully.
“They had five people in the room,” I continue. “Founder, the chief marketing officer, operations lead, brand strategy, and somebody from finance. I thought I was going to throw up before I walked in.”
“You do have beautiful composure, though. I know this to be true,” Julian says with an approving smile.
“That’s because I’ve spent years professionally pretending not to panic.”
“A valuable executive skill.”
I can’t help but laugh. “But then they started asking questions about expansion strategy and customer retention and social engagement and…” I shake my head.
“I don’t know. Something clicked.” I take a sip of wine, relishing the moment.
“I’d spent the night before researching their recent growth initiatives,” I explain.
“And I started talking about how they’ve built incredible online brand loyalty but haven’t fully translated that emotional connection into physical retail experiences yet. ”
Julian’s eyes sharpen with interest. “And?” he prompts.
“I explained how younger consumers don’t just buy beauty products anymore.
They buy identity and community—they want meaning behind what they buy.
” My hands move theatrically as I talk, replaying it.
“I told them if they’re opening stores, they can’t make them simple transactional spaces.
They need to be immersive. Social and shareable. Like a community.
“I talked about hosting live tutorials and creator events and community nights and integrating digital engagement into physical experiences.” I laugh softly, still slightly stunned by it all. “And they just kept taking notes. Like… furious notes.”
Julian’s smile grows across his face.
“They saw it,” he says.
“What?”
“What I’ve known all along,” he says. “You have an elite business mind.”
My smile fades. Julian notices.
“What?” he says.
I look down at my wineglass. “I just…” I exhale slowly. “I don’t want people thinking I’m there because of you.”
The only sound in the room is the soft clink of silverware and the faint wind outside the windows.
“I mean,” I continue quietly, “I know what this looks like.”
Julian sets his fork down. “Harper.”
I lift my eyes to his.
“If you were not qualified,” he says evenly, “you would not be under consideration.”
The certainty in his voice… I don’t know how he can be so sure. “But you got me the interview.”
“Yes,” he says. “I did.”
I appreciate that he doesn’t pretend otherwise.
“But I do not decide whether you get the job,” he continues. “I made an introduction. That’s all. Anyone can make introductions. From there, it’s up to the person to pave his or her own path.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Penny Aura is not a charity organization,” Julian says. “Nor is it a company interested in appointing incompetent executives.”
That pulls a laugh out of me.
Julian’s gaze never leaves my face, though. “You earned that room today,” he says quietly. “What happens next is entirely up to you.”
He leans in and kisses me.
“Now, enough business talk for tonight. Let’s finish this entrée so we can move on to the chocolate lava cake I smell.”
We finish dinner, then move to dessert, lingering over another glass of wine. Percy eventually disappears for the evening after clearing the plates, leaving the townhouse wrapped in an intimate stillness I’m beginning to associate with Julian himself.
It’s so calming and yet… dangerously seductive.
I’m halfway through telling him about this exhibit I read about at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I realize he’s listening but in that slightly different way he does.
His eyes stay fixed on my mouth while I talk.
“What?” I ask softly, self-conscious.
A smile touches his face. “You’re beautiful on an ordinary day but beyond exquisite when you’re passionate about a subject.”
I laugh quietly and glance down into my wineglass, but before I can think of a response, he’s already standing.
Then he reaches for my hand.
The gesture is simple, gentle, and yet my pulse races because I know exactly where this is going.
Julian says nothing as he leads me to the elevator, which whisks us upstairs.
By the time we reach his bedroom, I’m already caught in that hazy, intoxicating state he pulls me into so easily.
The room itself is magnificent, enormous in scale with soaring ceilings and warm light spilling across dark wood. The bed looks impossibly soft beneath the light of the lamps.
But honestly, I barely register any of it because all I really see is him.
Julian turns toward me slowly once the bedroom door closes behind us, and the look in his eyes steals what few coherent thoughts I have left.
Then he kisses me. Soft at first.
His hand slides along my jaw while his mouth moves against mine with slow, tantalizing patience, like he’s savoring me instead of rushing toward anything. The faint taste of red wine lingers between us, and when his fingers slip into my hair, a shiver moves all the way down my spine.
The kiss deepens gradually. The softness gives way to heat.
I know exactly when his restraint begins to crack because his hands are at my waist, pulling me closer, and the hard length of him presses against me through our clothes, making my breath hitch.
“Julian,” I whisper against his mouth.
The sound of his name seems to undo him further.
His kiss turns more ravenous, deeper, his rough beard scraping deliciously against my skin as his mouth trails from my wet lips to my throat. He exhales against my collarbone, warm and uneven, and every place he touches me feels heightened, overly sensitive beneath his large hands.
My fingers knot into the front of his shirt while he backs me slowly toward the large, four-poster bed, and the second my legs hit the mattress, I give way.
His shirt disappears first.
One second my hands are gripping fabric and the next my palms are against bare skin—warm, smooth, solid muscle shifting beneath my fingertips—and the sensation alone melts me. He’s all heat and strength and restrained power finally let loose.
Then his hands find the hem of my shirt.
He pauses long enough to look at me, his eyes dark with restraint hanging by a thread.
“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I breathe.
That’s all it takes.
My shirt joins his on the floor.
His hands slide along my bare skin like he can’t touch enough of me at once, and every place his mouth follows leaves behind a taste of his raw sexuality.
I feel the cool brush of air against my body one second and the overwhelming warmth of him the next.
The weight of him, controlling me. The roughness of his hands contrasted against the gentleness of the way he keeps looking at me.
It’s pure, unbridled sex, yet in a venue so comfortable and reassuring, I let myself go in ways I never imagined.
And when pleasure finally crashes through me, it hits so hard it’s surreal. I can’t tell which way is up now.
My back arches against the sheets, his hands exploring every inch of my body, his name breaking apart on my lips while the entire world narrows down to sensation—pressure and ecstasy so intense it leaves me breathless beneath him.
He finishes seconds later, burying his face against my neck with a low sound that sends another wave of heat through me as his arms tighten possessively, desperately.
And somewhere inside the haze of exhaustion and satisfaction and his body wrapped around mine, one impossible thought enters my mind: I could fall hopelessly in love with this man.