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Julian strides purposefully back inside the penthouse, as though he has some very important business to attend to. Two lines appear between his eyebrows and he frowns.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If I’d known your brother was here, I wouldn’t have come out.”
“It’s fine. You had no way of knowing.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Unfortunately, Vince will probably inform my parents of your existence, and my family will descend on my home to meet you. They’ll be thrilled.” He does not say this sarcastically. No, he’s serious. “They’re desperate for me to ‘settle down,’ as they call it, even though my life is already pretty settled. My grandmother threatened to bring prospective brides to my office every day if I refused to take time off.”
I laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he says. “Well, okay. I guess it’s funny if it’s happening to someone else.”
I kind of like the idea of meeting his family. Since we’re not actually together, I don’t feel any pressure to get them to fall in love with me. Vince’s visit was entertaining, and I think seeing Julian with the rest of his family could be entertaining, too.
“I could pretend to be your girlfriend,” I say.
“Whatever for?”
“So they stop bugging you about finding a woman. Just for the next two weeks.”
He shakes his head. “No fake relationships. That’s ridiculous.”
“I was totally against the idea of fake relationships, too. But then my sister asked my brother’s best friend to pretend to be her boyfriend for a long weekend at a beach house, because she didn’t want to show up by herself when her ex-boyfriend was there and—”
“My head hurts just thinking about that.” Julian groans.
“Anyway, long story short, they’re a happy couple now.”
Crap. I’ve made it sound like I want a fake relationship because it could turn into something real.
I hurry to add, “Not that I want that to happen to you and me.”
“Of course not,” he murmurs. “What do you have against me, anyway?”
“Nothing. I just don’t do relationships. You said you don’t, either. Remember?”
He nods. “In my case, it’s because I work too hard. I might want a relationship, but I’m too much of a workaholic for one to ever succeed.”
“Is that what your ex-girlfriends said when they dumped you?”
“Yes. They complained that I was always at the office and wasn’t emotionally invested in the relationship.” He pauses. “But that can’t be your reason for not dating.”
“It isn’t.”
A silence.
“Care to elaborate?” he asks.
“Not really.”
He seems to accept that. “Would you like me to make you a latte?”
“Ooh! Yes, please.”
He smiles at me, as though he finds my excitement rather cute.
“I can’t believe you have a fancy espresso machine,” I say, then realize who I’m talking to. “Actually, I can totally believe it.” I walk over to the counter and peer at the machine. “Cool.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“What are you having?”
“I ate an hour and a half ago. Bacon and scrambled eggs. I can make you some?”
“Ooh, that sounds wonderful!”
He tilts his head and looks at me as though he can’t quite figure me out. “Are you always like this?”
I remember decadent chocolates tasting like woodchips.
I remember my sister bringing me to the emergency room.
“No, I’m not. But this is an entirely different world for me, and it’s kind of exciting.” I hesitate. “Do you think I’m shallow?”
“Not at all.”
I sit down at the table and watch him prepare my breakfast. I’d figured a man like Julian wouldn’t even be able to boil water and would consider such tasks beneath him, but he moves around the kitchen with ease. It’s been a long time since a man cooked a meal for me. Actually, I’m not sure it’s ever happened before.
“Do you cook often?” I ask as he beats two eggs with chopsticks.
“Just on the weekends. My housekeeper makes my dinners during the week.”
Of course he has a housekeeper.
Like I said, this is an entirely different world for me. It’s like when you’re traveling to a new city and everything feels brand new.
Julian is wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. I admire his arm muscles as he works the espresso machine, the perfect lines of his back. He exudes power, even when he’s making a latte.
He doesn’t look much like his brother, plus the way Vince carries himself is completely different. Vince swaggers or saunters into a room; Julian strides. Perhaps that’s a silly distinction, but there’s a massive difference simply in the way they walk. And sit. Julian would never sprawl on a couch the way Vince did. Julian’s taller, too—he’s about six feet, whereas Vince is maybe five-nine.
Vince also smiles easily, carelessly. Julian’s default expression is more serious, but when he does smile, it’s a zillion times better.
Actually, Vince looks a little different in real life than he did in the calendar. He’s a bit lankier and not as muscled. Is that the camera or has his physique changed since that picture was taken a few years ago? I wonder if he still has a six-pack.
I expect Julian would not appreciate that line of questioning.
Julian sets a latte in front of me. “I’m sorry I don’t know how to make a gingerbread latte.”
I sip my drink. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
He returns to the stove, and the smell of bacon wafts toward me. Few things smell as amazing as bacon in the frying pan.
“You have another brother, don’t you?” I ask.
“Cedric is the middle child. He’s a writer.”
Right. I remember now. Cedric Fong’s first novel came out a few years ago. It was a Globe and Mail and New York Times bestseller. I didn’t read it because it was about a young, white, down-on-his-luck writer in Toronto, and it sounded...well, like the kind of thing that had been done many times before.
“He hasn’t been able to write anything for a few years, though,” Julian says. “He’s currently traveling the world, trying to find himself and get over his writer’s block, and...frankly, I’m not sure what else. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
“My sister’s boyfriend—”
“The poor guy who had to fake a relationship?”
“Yes. Will. He’s a writer, too. Science fiction.”
Julian comes over to the table and sets a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me.
“Dig in,” he says.
I put a forkful of scrambled eggs cooked in bacon grease into my mouth and groan. “This is really good. You know, if the whole CEO thing doesn’t work out, you could be a chef.”
“Good Lord,” he mutters. “I’m not sure I can be in your presence while you eat.”
“What? Are my manners that awful? Am I chewing with my mouth open?”
“You sound like you’re having a sexual awakening.”
I stare at Julian. There’s something intense about him, telling me that he never does anything in half measures. And, God, the muscles that are barely contained by his T-shirt...
I could easily have a sexual awakening with him.
Not happening, I tell my body. I can’t afford to get attached, especially to someone who’s admitted he doesn’t get emotionally invested in relationships.
Definitely not happening.
I have a feeling I’ll be telling myself that a lot over the next two weeks.