Julian

Chapter Four — Julian

Julian Black didn’t believe in fate.

He believed in structure. Discipline. Forward motion. Systems. He built his career like scaffolding—each promotion, each project, each perfectly filed report—designed to support the image he worked years to create: untouchable.

And then Jamie Reyes walked into his office and cracked something in him wide open.

Julian had told himself it was over.

One night. Done.

He’d walked away before dawn, left the hotel without a word, even deleted the address from his phone before the elevator hit the lobby. It was supposed to end there. Neat. Anonymous.

But then Jamie appeared at orientation.

In a soft blue shirt. With hair that curled near his ears. And a mouth that had once begged him not to stop.

Julian remembered that mouth far too well.

He also remembered the way Jamie had looked at him across the desk earlier—wide-eyed, flushed, trying so hard to pretend like his world wasn’t shaking.

Julian had told him it wouldn’t happen again.

It was the responsible thing to say.

But he’d said it while watching Jamie’s throat move when he swallowed.

While his gaze drifted down without permission.

While his memory pulled up images no professional man should be entertaining in the middle of the workday.

---

The rest of the afternoon had passed in slow motion.

Julian had reviewed quarterly targets. Answered emails. Signed off on two department-wide campaigns. All while fighting the urge to glance across the open floor to the desk tucked quietly against the west-facing windows.

Jamie sat there like a storm barely contained.

He had one hand in his hair. His foot bounced occasionally. His mouth pressed tight when he concentrated.

Julian knew better than to look too long.

But he did.

He always had a weakness for quiet ones with fire beneath the surface.

And Jamie had burned.

---

It wasn’t until the office began to empty that Julian realized he was still watching.

He stood, stretched his back, and turned away from the windows just as Jamie gathered his things. He didn’t say goodbye.

Julian didn’t expect him to.

He stayed until nearly seven—long after the floor went silent—and stared at the blank screen of his desktop like it held answers.

He could control this.

He had to.

They worked together. He was in a position of power. There were rules. There was HR. There was common sense.

But none of that changed the fact that his body reacted every time Jamie walked past.

None of that explained the way his chest tightened when Jamie avoided his eyes.

None of that prepared him for the quiet, persistent hum in the back of his skull—you remember what he tastes like.

Julian pressed his palms against the edge of the desk and bowed his head.

He was going to need to be careful.

Very, very careful.

---

The next morning, he arrived early.

Earlier than usual.

Just to prove a point—to himself, mostly.

He was seated in his office, reading a pitch deck, when Jamie walked in.

Julian didn’t look up. But he felt it.

The moment Jamie crossed into the space.

The subtle shift in the air.

The awareness that curled hot and sharp behind his ribs.

He counted silently to five.

Then ten.

Then—finally—glanced through the glass just in time to see Jamie tuck a piece of auburn hair behind his ear and sit down, unaware he was being watched.

Julian exhaled and turned back to his screen.

This was going to be a long fucking week.