Chapter 54 The Impulsive Escape
Sierra’s Wednesday began with a surge of urgency, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she finalized the projects she was working on. The numbers on her screen blurred as she multitasked conference calls, her thoughts alternating between the presentation slides and Julian’s smoldering invitation. By noon, she’d reprioritized deadlines, delegating tasks to her team with a sharpness that surprised even her. When Chloe appeared at her door with a tray of matcha lattes instead of going down to the Daily Grind, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Everything okay, Sierra?” Chloe asked, setting the drinks down. Her voice was light, but her eyes scanned Sierra’s tense posture, the way her knuckles whitened around her pen. “You are pushing harder than usual. Is there something I should know?”
Sierra hesitated, then gestured for her to sit. “You know who Julian Rossi is, right?”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “The Julian Rossi? Nexora? The one who’s like… a tech god?” She paused, considering. “Okay. Are we clearing our calendar to do something for Rossi and Nexora?”
Sierra laughed, a nervous sound. “Not exactly. I’m clearing my calendar because he invited me to the Fashion Tech Summit in Milan. A weekend trip. His private jet leaves on Friday at noon.”
Chloe’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ before she squealed quietly, glancing toward the open door. “Milan?! As in his guest? Or—?”
“As in his… companion,” Sierra admitted, her cheeks warming. “No strings, of course. And I said yes.”
Chloe’s hands flew to her face, then dropped to her lap. “This is like a twist I did not see coming. Are you sure? I mean, this is huge. Does this mean you’re over your Arizona cowboy already?” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “I mean, I get it. Julian Rossi? That’s iconic.”
Sierra’s smile faltered. “Chloe, I..”
“Don’t overthink it,” Chloe interrupted, grinning. “This is not a ‘but’ moment. This is a ‘hell yes’ moment. You deserve a hell yes.”
“Speaking of deserving things,” Sierra began. “I meant to tell you this over coffee yesterday.”
Chloe frowned, trying to anticipate what Sierra was about to tell her.
“What do you think of the name Sterling, Quinn & Spencer?”
“It sounds good, sort of rolls…” Chloe stopped mid-sentence as she realized it was her name being added to the firm’s title. “Wait. You said Spencer, right?”
Sierra was beaming. “I sure did. I put your name in to William for junior partner.”
“Seriously?” Chloe’s face was drained of all color. “Me? A partner?”
“I am very serious,” Sierra laughed. “William loves the idea.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Chloe responded. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You earned it with your hard work and skill, especially while I was away in Arizona.” Sierra stood and took her assistant into her arms. “Congratulations.”
By Friday morning, Sierra’s office was a mausoleum of order. Files were filed, emails archived, and her voicemail set to divert. At 10 a.m. sharp, a black SUV arrived, its driver in a tailored suit.
“You’re glowing, Sierra,” she said as Sierra slung a sleek tote over her shoulder. “Is this what it feels like to be a character in a rom-com?”
“It feels like I’m running out of time to back out,” Sierra muttered, though her pulse thrummed with giddy anticipation.
The drive to the hangar was a blur of Chloe’s rapid-fire questions arriving on Sierra’s cell phone while Sierra attempted to maintain a veneer of professional detachment.
The jet was a cathedral of luxury. Marble floors gleamed under ambient lighting, and a plush leather sofa. Julian stood by the cockpit door, his tailored navy suit a study in understated opulence.
“You could’ve taken me to a gala in this thing,” Sierra said, trailing a hand along the armrest.
Julian’s smile was slow, deliberate. “A gala would’ve been a disappointment. Milan isn’t about the destination, it’s about the arrival.”
He handed her a flute of champagne as the engines roared to life. The vintage bubbles, Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame, 2008, tasted of audacity and impossible choices. Sierra leaned back into the leather.
Julian’s conversation was a masterclass in charm. He spoke of Sardinian sunsets, of coding his first app at 14, of his obsession with “textiles that don’t just adapt to wearers but converse with them.” His voice was low, intimate, and Sierra found herself answering in kind, sharing stories of her early days in marketing, taking care of her father, and the ranch in Arizona where she grew up.
“You miss it, don’t you?” Julian asked, his gaze steady.
She blinked. “The ranch? It is a different kind of life.”
“A quieter life,” he said. Not a question.
Sierra looked out the window, where the Atlantic glimmered like a sheet of mercury. “I miss balance,” she admitted. “I’ve spent my career chasing something I couldn’t name, and now I’m not sure if it’s success or just… not feeling lost anymore.”
Julian reached across the space between them, his fingers barely grazing her wrist. “You’re not lost, Sierra. You’re exploring.”
The word hung between them, and for a moment, the weight of Ryder’s calloused hands, the scent of sage on his flannel, the way he’d whispered her name like a prayer, threatened to overwhelm her. But Julian’s thumb brushed her pulse, and she focused on the here and now: the hum of the engines, the taste of champagne, the way Julian’s presence seemed to bend the air around her.
By the time they crossed into Italian airspace, Sierra had shed her blazer, her hair loose in a cascade of honeyed waves. Julian had switched to a crisp white shirt and no tie, his collar slightly undone, and she caught herself noticing the way his jawline sharpened in the dim light. They played a game of naming the most absurd fashion tech trends they’d ever seen, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses.
When Julian’s hand found hers under the table, she didn’t pull away.
As Milan’s Duomo and the Alps’ snow-capped peaks emerged below, Julian turned to her. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek.
“Welcome to Milan, Sierra,” he murmured, his voice a low caress. “Prepare to forget everything you thought you knew about going away for the weekend.”
Sierra’s breath hitched. For the first time in months, she felt untethered, free of deadlines, of guilt, of the ghost of a life that had nearly been hers.
But as the jet banked gently, a shadow flickered across her mind: Ryder’s smile, sun-bleached and slow, his calloused fingers tracing her jaw. “You belong here, Si,” he’d said.
Where did she belong?
She swallowed hard, tipping her glass to Julian’s. “Here’s to forgetting,” she said, though she knew, somewhere deep in her bones, that some things could never truly be left behind.
The engines hummed, a steady rhythm as the city of fashion and innovation rose to meet them. And Sierra, for the first time in a long time, allowed herself to wonder who she might become in its shimmering, uncharted light.