Chapter27 Lunch Break
Chloe
Shit. I forced a casual smile. "I already ordered takeout. You guys go ahead."
He looked disappointed but didn't push. "Alright. Don't work through lunch again though—you barely ate yesterday."
I watched him and a few others head toward the elevators, then grabbed my phone and bag. The ride up to the 38th floor felt longer than usual, my reflection in the polished steel doors showing a woman who looked way more composed than she felt.
Julian was on the phone when I knocked and entered, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows with his back to me.
He was speaking fluent French—that elegant, old-money kind that probably came from Swiss boarding schools and summers in the Riviera—discussing some European acquisition with effortless authority.
He glanced over his shoulder, saw me, and ended the call mid-sentence. "We'll continue this later."
Then he walked to the bookshelf and touched something I couldn't quite see. The entire section slid open like something out of a spy movie, revealing a hidden door.
My jaw actually dropped. "You... there's a whole apartment behind your office?"
Julian took my hand—that casual possessiveness he did now, like it was the most natural thing in the world—and led me through.
The space beyond was stunning: a living area with leather sofas and a full bar, a bedroom with silk sheets visible through a half-open door, a marble bathroom that probably cost more than most people's houses.
"You think a CEO works sixteen-hour days without needing somewhere to rest?" His tone was amused. He paused, and his eyes got that intense look that made my stomach flip. "And now it's yours too."
I didn't know what to say to that. The casual way he kept pulling me into his life, claiming spaces for me, making me belong—it was overwhelming and addictive in equal measure.
He guided me to the dining table where two meals were already set up. One was Japanese—salmon sushi, tempura shrimp, miso soup. My favorite. The other was a simple Caesar salad with grilled chicken, clearly his.
"How did you know I like Japanese food?"
He pulled out my chair with that small smile playing at his lips. "You talked in your sleep last night. Said you wanted sushi."
My face went nuclear. I literally had no memory of that, which somehow made it worse.
Julian sat across from me, and for a moment just watched me with this expression I couldn't quite read. Then he picked up chopsticks, expertly peeled a shrimp, and placed the white flesh in my plate. The gesture was so natural, like he'd done it a thousand times.
I stared at the shrimp, throat suddenly tight. In my entire life, no one had ever peeled shrimp for me. Not my foster mother, not anyone.
It was such a small thing, but it hit me like a freight train—the care, the attention, the fact that he'd noticed I liked this and went out of his way to make sure I got it.
"Not good?" His voice pulled me back.
I shook my head quickly, taking a bite. "It's perfect. Thank you."
The words came out quieter than I'd intended, a little rough around the edges. I kept my eyes on the bowl because if I looked at him right then, I might actually cry, and that would have been mortifying.
We ate in comfortable silence for a while. Julian kept putting food in my plate—another piece of sushi—and I let him because it felt good to be taken care of, even if it scared me how much I was starting to need it.
When I finished, I automatically stood and reached for the dishes. Old habit from those years in East LA when I had to do everything myself, when letting my guard down meant getting hurt.
Julian's hand closed around my wrist. "Sit down."
"I can—"
"I said sit."
There was no anger in his voice, just that quiet command that brooked no argument. I sank back into my chair, confused and a little defensive. "I'm just trying to help."
He released my wrist but didn't back down. Instead, he picked up the desk phone and spoke into it: "Emma, come clear the table."
Less than a minute later, Emma came and removed our dishes efficiently, then disappeared.
The whole thing took maybe ninety seconds.
I stared at the now-empty table, processing. He'd just... called someone to do what I was going to do. Because he didn't want me doing household tasks. Because he meant what he said about taking care of me.
"I have a lunch break habit," Julian said, standing and shrugging off his suit jacket. "Do you?"
I nodded. During my Goldman days, I'd learned to use lunch breaks for power naps just to survive the brutal hours.
He extended his hand toward the bedroom. "Then rest with me."
My pulse kicked up immediately. Rest. In a bedroom. With Julian. During work hours when anyone could theoretically need him for something.
"I'll just... take the couch," I managed.
He stopped, turned back, and those amber eyes pinned me in place. "What are you afraid of?"
"This is the office..."
Understanding flickered across his face. "I'm going to sleep, Chloe. That's all." He walked to the bedroom door, paused. "But if you don't trust me, stay out here."
Then he was gone, leaving the door half-open like an invitation.
If I didn't go in, I'd look paranoid. But if I did... could I actually control myself around him? Because let's be honest, my self-control around Julian had been steadily eroding since day one.
Finally, I took a breath and pushed the door open. The bedroom was dim, curtains drawn against the LA sunlight. Julian was already on the bed, jacket and tie discarded, lying on his back with his eyes closed. His breathing was even and deep.
I toed off my heels as quietly as possible and perched on the edge of the bed. Then, carefully, I lay down on the opposite side, maintaining a solid foot of space between us.
Ten seconds later, his arm hooked around my waist and pulled me against his chest. His chin settled on top of my head, and his voice rumbled through me: "Stop moving. Sleep."
I froze, every muscle tense. His body heat seeped through my blouse, his heartbeat steady against my shoulder blade. He smelled like something uniquely him, and I was hyperaware of every point of contact—his arm around my waist, his breath stirring my hair, the solid wall of his chest against my back.
He seemed to fall asleep almost instantly, his breathing deepening, his hold on me relaxing slightly but never letting go. Meanwhile, I was lying there like a wooden plank, eyes wide open, mentally cataloging every sensation.
I tried to relax. Deep breaths. Close your eyes. But my heart wouldn't stop racing, and I was so aware of him that sleep felt impossible.
My phone vibrated in my pocket—2:00 PM. I needed to get back downstairs.
I carefully extracted myself from Julian's arms, sliding out from under his hold inch by inch. He didn't wake, just made a small sound and rolled onto his side. I grabbed my shoes and tiptoed toward the door.
"Come straight up after work. I'll drive you home."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. His voice was rough with sleep, but his eyes were still closed.
"Okay," I whispered.
I slipped out, closing the door softly behind me. My face was burning as I took the elevator back down to the 8th floor.
The moment I sat at my desk, Ryan wheeled over with a grin. "Cutting it close, aren't we? Two minutes and you'd have been late."
"I was... at the coffee shop downstairs. Lost track of time."
"Funny, I walked through the lobby earlier and didn't see you."
Shit. I kept my eyes on my screen. "Must've missed me. It was crowded."
He nodded slowly, but I could feel his curiosity.
Great. Just great.
I pulled up my analysis and tried to focus, but my phone buzzed with a text from Julian: "I have meetings until six. If I finish early, I'll call you up. Remember to drink water—you didn't yesterday."
Despite everything, I smiled. This man was impossible.
I typed back: "I will. You too."
Then I stared at what I'd just sent. "You too"? When had I started being so... familiar with him? So comfortable?