Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Julian pauses to glance up at me, one brow lifting in quiet curiosity. “Is this amusing?”
I shake my head quickly, still smiling despite myself. “No, it’s just—this feels like that scene from A Christmas Story.”
He considers that for a second, then resumes working, handing me a fifth lug nut. “Oh… Fuuuuuuuuuudge,” he says, then smiles at me.
I laugh, hard this time. He gets it and he gets me. The laugh is a full body one, and as my head rocks back, my foot slips on a patch of ice below me.
It’s sudden and sharp, catching me completely off guard, my hand jerking instinctively as the force of it knocks everything loose.
The lug nuts scatter.
I see them midair briefly in the dark—one, two, three, four, five—metallic clicks echoing briefly before they roll out of sight, disappearing into the dark.
For a split second, I freeze.
Then the panic surges back, stronger this time, flooding through me as I whip out my phone and turn on the flashlight. I scan it over the pavement, looking for the lug nuts.
“Oh my god…” My voice is already unraveling as I sweep the light across the ground, desperate to find them. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry—”
I can’t see anything. The light doesn’t reach far enough, the shadows swallowing everything just beyond the edge of the car, and I’m moving too fast, too frantic.
“This is so bad,” I mutter, my heart pounding, embarrassment and panic tangling together in my chest. “I’m so sorry, Julian, I—”
I spin around, looking for another angle and run straight into a hard, male body.
Julian.
His hands grip my upper arms to steady me. His face is inches from mine and the world narrows to the space between us the world blurs. And all I see is his face, looking at me. Me. Like I’m the only thing worth looking at.
And then he kisses me.
It isn’t rushed, but it isn’t tentative. It’s firm, his hand coming lightly to my jaw as if he’s been thinking about this longer than I have. My mind tries to catch up, to insert logic, draw boundaries, list every reason this shouldn’t be happening—but it’s pointless.
Because it feels…
Incredible.
The night goes quiet around us. The only thing that exists is the warmth of him, the way everything inside me tilts and shifts and gives in a way I don’t recognize and don’t try to stop.
And then it’s over. He pulls away, and the chill of the night air hits my lips.
I blink, still too close, my heart racing hard enough to make my voice unsteady when I finally manage to speak. I take two steps back. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”
Julian tilts his head. “What are you sorry for?”
“We… I don’t know… I’m sorry, I know, we can’t do that again,” I say, fumbling for words that make sense.
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“You’re my boss,” I add, struggling to regain my composure.
But inside, I’m pulled in the opposite direction.
“We mustn’t do that again,” I repeat. But there’s a problem… I want to do it again.
I just… can’t.
Before my awkwardness can stretch any further, before either of us can make this more complicated than it already is, headlights sweep across us, bright and sudden, cutting through the darkness.
A car pulls up beside us.
Grizz.
He rolls down his window, his gaze flicking between us, then down to the tire, taking in the situation in a single glance.
“You two need a hand?” he calls out.
I straighten immediately, switching back into professional mode, even as my pulse refuses to cooperate.
“Yes, please,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. “We got a flat.”
Grizz nods as he pulls over, opening his door. “Yeah, looks like it. Let me help.”
I risk a glance at Julian, who’s staring at me with a look that weakens my knees. Why must he do that?
But then he turns away, moving to help Grizz with the tire, and just like that, whatever that was is gone.
Chapter 15
Julian
The conference room is filled with voices and projections and charts with numbers, big and small. Architectural renderings are spread across the table in neat rows—expanded media platforms, revised hospitality layouts, contingency plans layered over contingency plans—and my executive team is walking through them with the kind of focus I expect. Screens glow with data points of projected revenue increases, international media reach, and sponsor activation timelines. On paper, it is everything the league claims to want, every objection answered before it can be raised.
And yet, for five consecutive years, it hasn’t been enough.
“We’ve addressed every operational concern they raised,” Jimmy says, tapping a page in the proposal packet. “Press capacity, transportation flow, security infrastructure—there’s no weak point left.”
“No obvious weak point,” I correct, my voice even as I lean back slightly in my chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin. “If there were, we wouldn’t still be having this conversation.”