Julian

Chapter Two — Julian

Julian Black didn’t usually make mistakes.

He operated on structure, routine, precision. His days were blocked by the hour, his inbox was always clean by noon, and he didn’t forget things. Not names. Not faces.

Not Jamie Reyes.

He had hoped—naively, maybe—that Jamie wouldn’t remember him.

That Friday night had been a lapse. A surrender. One drink too many and two weeks of tension crashing into a hotel room he never intended to revisit. They’d agreed: no names, no follow-up, no strings.

It should’ve ended the moment Julian slipped out before sunrise.

But now?

Jamie Reyes was sitting in his conference room, sipping lukewarm coffee and trying very hard not to meet his eyes. Wearing the same mouth he’d kissed until it was red. The same hands that had gripped the sheets. And a nervous flush that painted his throat like a memory Julian hadn’t asked for—but couldn’t seem to forget.

Julian stepped into his office and shut the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the blinds.

You should’ve said no, he told himself. You should’ve walked away.

But he hadn’t.

And now Jamie Reyes was working under him. Reporting to him. Vulnerable in a way that made Julian feel… something dangerous. Something like guilt.

Or want.

---

He sat behind his desk, tapping his pen once against the glass surface before pulling up Jamie’s personnel file. It had taken him two minutes to find it after the meeting. He told himself it was due diligence.

That was a lie.

Jamie had graduated top of his design cohort. Won two minor awards for motion graphics. Had glowing letters of recommendation from two of Julian’s colleagues in the industry. His portfolio was clean, vibrant, clever—annoyingly clever.

He’s not just some distraction, Julian thought. He’s qualified. Professional. Smart.

Which made this situation even worse.

Julian rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. His conscience was already writing policy violations in the air.

There were rules. There were always rules.

And Julian followed them.

He was the rule-follower. The man HR consulted when writing the office dating policy. The supervisor with no scandals, no weakness, no mess.

So why had his pulse jumped when Jamie walked in?

Why had he leaned in too close in the break room, just to watch Jamie’s throat move when he swallowed?

Why had he said that shirt looks better buttoned all the way up, like some sort of cowardly callback to a night he never should’ve wanted to remember?

---

A soft knock at the door pulled him out of his spiral.

He cleared his throat. “Come in.”

The door cracked open, and Jamie stepped inside.

This time in full light.

Auburn hair slightly tousled, cheeks still pink from either nerves or the elevator ride up, and lips pressed into a polite, unreadable line. He stood like someone expecting to be scolded. Or invited closer.

Julian’s jaw tensed.

“Have a seat,” he said quietly.

Jamie did.

Their eyes met.

The space between them sparked.

Julian laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the desk like a shield. “Let’s get one thing clear,” he said. “What happened before—before either of us knew who the other was—will not happen again.”

Jamie blinked, startled. “I didn’t say it would.”

Julian exhaled through his nose. “Good.”

Silence.

Too heavy.

Too charged.

Jamie’s voice was softer when he spoke again. “But you do remember it, right?”

Julian looked at him.

That damn mouth.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I remember everything.”