Chapter4 The Touch
Chloe
Julian's thigh pressed against mine from the moment we settled into the Rolls-Royce, the pressure deliberate and unmistakable.
Not enough to cause discomfort, but impossible to ignore—a constant reminder of his presence that made my heart race.
I poked his leg with my finger, trying to reclaim some space.
The muscle beneath his suit was rock-hard. They say men with thighs like that have incredible stamina.
My heart hammered at the thought.
Outside the tinted windows, Century City's glass towers gleamed in the morning sun.
My gaze fixed on the familiar building housing Goldman Sachs LA, and my expression shifted from flustered to grim.
Julian noticed immediately. "Work going well?" His tone was casual, but his amber eyes were sharp.
"It's... fine." The hesitation in my voice betrayed me.
His eyes darkened slightly. I could see him wanting to press further, but then something flickered across his face—restraint. "If you need help, you can tell me."
I shook my head firmly.
"I don't need help. I can handle it." My voice came out sharper than intended.
"We agreed, didn't we? No interference. I'll deal with my own problems."
Julian was silent for several seconds before nodding slowly. "Alright. I respect that."
But the shadows in his eyes suggested otherwise.
I can't depend on him, I thought fiercely. I've survived this past year on my own. I can keep doing it. Besides, our marriage is just a transaction. I don't want to owe him any more than I already do.
---
When we pulled up to Goldman's building, I fumbled with my seatbelt. The buckle stuck.
Julian leaned over to help, his arm brushing across my chest. I pressed back into the seat, breath catching, but there was nowhere to go.
"Don't move," he murmured, his face inches from mine. "Almost got it."
His movements were deliberately slow. Those amber eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin burn.
The seatbelt finally released with a soft click.
Julian didn't immediately pull back. Instead, his fingers traced my cheek. "You're blushing."
I shoved the door open, desperate to escape the confined space and his overwhelming presence.
His hand caught my wrist.
"Chloe." His voice dropped to something darker, more possessive.
"I know we agreed not to interfere. But if you really can't handle something... at least let me know."
"I can handle it."
I fled into the building without looking back.
---
I walked into Goldman's 43rd floor, greeted by the familiar hum of keyboards and muted phone calls.
A year ago, I'd started here as "Fat Chloe"—two hundred pounds crammed into oversized black suits, always keeping my head down, trying to be invisible.
It hadn't worked. Richard had made sure of that.
"Not suitable for client meetings," he'd announced at last year's holiday party, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Looking like that, you'd scare the clients away."
The laughter still echoed in my nightmares.
But the weight had come off slowly, pound by pound. At first, nobody noticed—I was still the invisible workhorse, buried in spreadsheets while prettier analysts attended client dinners.
Then came the whispers.
"Is Chloe getting thinner?"
"Look at her face. You can actually see her bone structure now."
Fifty pounds down, the whispers turned to stares. Seventy pounds, and people started treating me differently—holding doors, making small talk, actually meeting my eyes.
Now, at one hundred and ten pounds, my features had fully emerged. Gray-green eyes. High cheekbones. A jawline that had been buried under flesh for years.
And Richard had noticed too.
The public humiliation stopped. In its place came lingering looks that made my skin crawl. "Accidental" touches in the elevator. Lunch invitations that felt like threats.
I sat down at my desk, still buried under impossible assignments. Best financial modeler on the team, top performer in industry analysis—yet still shut out from every client meeting.
Some things never changed.
Others changed in ways I wished they hadn't.
Lily leaned over from the desk next to mine.
She'd been my only real friend here since day one—the one person who'd never treated me differently when I was heavy, who'd shared her lunch when I forgot mine, who'd warned me about office politics without any agenda.
"Chloe," she whispered, glancing toward Richard's office. "He's getting worse. Last week it was the shoulder touches. Yesterday he cornered Sarah from accounting in the copy room." She bit her lip.
"Just... be careful, okay? I don't like the way he's been circling you lately."
Warmth spread through my chest. In this shark tank of a workplace, Lily's concern was a rare kindness.
I squeezed her hand briefly. "I know. Thanks for looking out for me." I managed a small smile. "I'll figure something out. Don't worry."
The glass door to the partner offices opened. Richard emerged, his gaze immediately locking onto me.
He wore an expensive Armani suit—probably ten thousand dollars—attempting to disguise his forty-two-year-old body: receding hairline in a desperate comb-over, prominent beer gut. But he carried himself with the confidence of a man who believed he was irresistible.
He walked to my desk, his eyes traveling from my face to my chest to my waist in an obvious appraisal.
Around us, colleagues suddenly found their computer screens fascinating.
"Chloe, are you free for lunch today?" His smile was oily. "There's a new French place just down the street. I'd like to discuss your... career development. Just the two of us."
I looked up, keeping my expression cool. "Sorry, Richard. I have an industry report due at noon. I won't have time."
His eyes darkened briefly before the smile returned.
"Another time, then. You know, you've been here a year now. I recognize your capabilities. But before, because of... certain factors, I couldn't give you many opportunities." His gaze raked over me again.
"Now that you look like this, you're absolutely ready to handle important clients. I'm going to invest in developing your potential."
The innuendo in his tone made my skin crawl.
---
At noon, I went to the break room for my third coffee of the day.
The small space could barely fit three people. I was alone—or so I thought.
"Chloe. By yourself?"
Richard's voice behind me made me freeze.
I turned, forcing a professional smile. "Richard. Getting coffee too?"
He moved closer.
I could smell his heavy cologne attempting to mask the scent of middle-aged desperation.
His eyes traveled over my body without pretense—face, chest, waist.
"You know, Chloe, you're like a different person from a year ago. Before, I thought you weren't quite... suited for certain aspects of this industry." He stepped closer.
"But now, I've completely changed my assessment."
I backed up half a step, trying to maintain distance. "Thank you for the recognition. If you'll excuse me—"
He reached out, ostensibly to smooth a non-existent wrinkle on my shoulder. His fingers "accidentally" grazed my collarbone.
I jerked back, my spine hitting the wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
Richard's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong? I was just fixing your suit. Why so jumpy?"
I forced my voice to stay steady despite my racing heart.
"Richard, please maintain appropriate distance. This is the office. Professional boundaries matter."
My fingers tightened around my coffee cup.
His hand settled on my shoulder, fingers lingering several seconds too long before he sauntered out.
I stayed frozen against the wall until he left, my legs trembling.
I bit my lip hard, nails digging into my palms. The pain kept me focused.
I can't lose this job. Even with Evelyn providing the experimental treatment, Goldman's salary and insurance are my only safety net for Mom's basic care. I have to find a way to keep my job without letting Richard win.
I stood up, splashed water on my face, and met my own eyes in the mirror. Exhausted, but still determined.
Taking a deep breath, I walked back to my desk.