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Last Friday
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2025-07-14 22:29:27Chapter One — Last Friday
Jamie He was never the type to hook up with strangers. At least, that’s what he used to tell himself. But last Friday… the bar was too warm, the lights were too low, and the man—that man—looked at him like he wanted to ruin him slowly and then apologize for it with his mouth. No names. No numbers. Just eye contact across the bar, too many drinks, and the kind of electric chemistry that short-circuited every rational part of Jamie’s brain. They kissed in the back of a cab. Touched like they were already naked. And by the time they reached the hotel, Jamie had forgotten how to breathe without the other man’s hands on his skin. “Tell me to stop,” the man had whispered, voice low and firm as he pressed Jamie against the wall of the hallway. Jamie didn’t. He should have. But instead, he let himself be undressed like a secret and held like something someone might miss in the morning. And he had. Because when Jamie woke up the next morning—barely covered by the hotel sheets, mouth dry, thighs aching—the man was gone. No name. No note. Just a lingering scent on the pillow and a faint ache between his legs that screamed mistake. Except it hadn’t felt like one at the time. Jamie shook the memory off as he adjusted his shirt collar and stepped into the conference room. His first day at the new job—clean start, stable paycheck, full benefits. He’d promised himself he’d leave the chaos behind. No more messy entanglements. No more mistakes. He took a seat near the back, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Around him, people chatted and shuffled papers. A few glanced his way and offered polite smiles. Jamie returned one, even as his stomach twisted. He barely heard the voices around him until someone cleared their throat and the chatter died. “Good morning, everyone,” came a voice from the front of the room. Deep. Calm. Unapologetically in control. Jamie looked up. And forgot how to blink. Standing at the front of the room in a charcoal-grey suit, sleeves rolled just enough to show a scar near his wrist, was the man from Friday night. Same sharp jawline. Same intense eyes. Same crooked smirk that curled at the corner like it held secrets Jamie had already tasted. The stranger—his hookup—turned toward the whiteboard and wrote: JULIAN BLACK Creative Director Jamie’s blood turned to ice. He coughed on his coffee, nearly dropping the paper cup in his lap. “Is everything okay?” someone beside him whispered. He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just—hot coffee. I'm fine.” He was not fine. Not even remotely fine. Julian went on, presenting new department goals, onboarding procedures, creative briefs. His voice was even and composed, every word clean and measured. He didn’t look at Jamie again. Not directly. But Jamie felt it. That pull. That awareness. Like Julian was perfectly aware of every inch of skin he’d touched, every sound Jamie had made. And he was choosing not to react. Choosing to pretend it hadn’t happened. Jamie clenched his fists in his lap. He tried to tell himself this was fixable. Adults made mistakes. They moved past them. Except Julian Black wasn’t just a man from the past. He was the man standing between Jamie and his professional future. After the meeting ended, chairs scraped back and people began filing out. Jamie kept his head down, trying to blend into the walls. His brain was still on fire, and his heart was thundering loud enough to give him away. But then a voice—that voice—spoke from behind him. “Jamie Reyes, right?” He turned slowly. Julian was closer than expected. Polite smile in place. Completely unreadable. Jamie’s voice cracked. “Uh. Yes. That’s me.” Julian nodded like he’d never met him before. Like they hadn’t— No. He was definitely pretending. “Welcome to the team,” Julian said. “I’ll be overseeing your department, so if you ever need anything…” His gaze flicked down—just for a split second—then back up. “My door’s always open.” Jamie swallowed. “Thanks.” Julian started to turn, then paused. “And Jamie?” Jamie looked up. “That shirt looks better buttoned all the way up.” Then he walked away. .
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