CHAPTER SIX- LINES

By Thursday morning, the office air felt sharper.

Not colder–just tighter. Like something had shifted in the atmosphere, even if no one said it out loud.

Julian hadn’t spoken to Aiden all day.

He hadn’t called him in. Hadn’t made any comments about the mockups or the internal review pitch. He just remained sealed inside his glass office, expression unreadable, answering emails like nothing existed outside of deadlines and data.

Fine.

Two could play silence.

Aiden focused hard on the Sonder pitch deck. The visuals were stronger now–bolder contrasts, rawer texture. He’d taken Julian’s words to heart: push tension. Make them feel something. He was doing exactly that.

Still, his mind refused to stay quiet. It kept replaying Julian’s words from the night before.

> “If you don’t, I won’t.”

The implications were still crawling under his skin.

Why say it? Why not act on it? What was he holding back?

Aiden wanted answers. But he wasn’t going to beg for them.

At exactly 11:00 a.m., Clarissa dropped a sleek black envelope on his desk.

Julian’s handwriting. Just one line:

> Be ready. We’re presenting live at noon. Room 9B.

Aiden’s eyebrows shot up.

Live? The internal review wasn’t supposed to happen until Friday.

Still, he grabbed the deck, his notes, and moved fast.

—

Room 9B was smaller than he expected. Sleek. Intimate. More like a war room than a boardroom. A few brand leads were already seated. Two execs from Sonder’s U.S. team were present too, including a man Aiden didn’t recognize–tall, with sharp features, tanned skin, and a laugh too loud for this place.

He leaned over to whisper something to Julian.

Julian actually smiled.

Aiden’s stomach twisted.

The man turned and offered his hand to Aiden. “Zane Gauthier. Sonder’s Director of Experiential Strategy.”

“Aiden Shaw. Junior Exec.”

Zane’s smile didn’t fade. “Julian’s newest prodigy, huh?”

Julian didn’t respond.

Aiden met Zane’s hand with a firm shake, then sat down.

Julian remained standing. “Let’s begin.”

He moved with his usual grace, clicking through the deck with ease. Aiden watched, noticing every shift, every decision in delivery. And yet, something felt… off.

Julian was too smooth. Too relaxed. Like he was showing off.

And not for the room–for Zane.

Aiden’s jaw tightened.

When Julian paused for commentary, Aiden jumped in.

“If we want this rebrand to resonate, we need emotional friction. Not just sleek visuals. People don’t buy products. They buy the promise of who they’ll be when they use it.”

Julian turned toward him.

“So you’re saying we lead with aspiration?”

“Not an aspiration. Intimacy. Vulnerability. Something that forces them to lean in.”

Zane gave a low whistle. “Bold, for a junior.”

Aiden’s gaze didn’t leave Julian’s.

Julian’s expression didn’t change. But there was a flicker in his eyes.

He nodded once. “Let’s workshop that.”

The pitch ended. The room cleared.

Except for Julian. And Zane. And Aiden.

Zane chuckled as he poured himself a splash of bourbon from the corner bar cart.

“Your kid’s sharp,” he said to Julian. “Kind of reminds me of you ten years ago.”

Julian glanced at Aiden. “He’s not a kid.”

Zane grinned. “Mm. Touchy.”

Aiden stood. “If I’m interrupting something…”

“You’re not,” Julian said quickly.

Too quickly.

Zane leaned against the table. “So what’s the story here? You two bump heads or… something else?”

Aiden felt the tension coil tighter in his gut.

Julian’s reply was smooth. “We challenge each other. That’s all.”

But he didn’t look at Aiden when he said it.

And Aiden noticed.

—

Later that afternoon, the office felt too loud.

Too many voices. Too many distractions.

Julian still hadn’t spoken to him beyond a quick "good work" after the pitch. He’d spent the rest of the day with Zane…closed-door meetings, low conversation, the occasional shared laugh Aiden could hear even through glass.

It shouldn't have gotten under his skin.

But it did.

He stayed late again. Not even pretending it was just for work anymore.

He was halfway through adjusting a color layer when Julian appeared beside his desk.

“Come with me,” he said.

Aiden looked up. “Where?”

Julian didn’t answer.

He just walked.

Aiden followed.

—

They ended up in the design archives, a low-lit floor rarely used except for pulling old project files. It was quiet. Secluded.

Julian didn’t speak until the elevator doors closed.

“What are we doing here?” Aiden asked.

Julian faced the wall, eyes fixed on the changing floor numbers.

“I shouldn’t have brought Zane into this,” he said.

Aiden blinked. “What?”

“He was a distraction. I let him be.”

Aiden crossed his arms. “So what was he doing here?”

Julian turned.

And for once, he looked uncertain.

“Testing me,” Julian said.

Aiden frowned. “You let him get in your head?”

Julian didn’t reply.

“You don’t let anyone in,” Aiden said, voice quiet now. “Why him?”

Julian stepped closer. “Because he knew me. Before I became this.”

“This?” Aiden echoed. “The mask?

The control?”

Julian’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The version of me that survives this company.”

Silence.

Then Aiden asked the question he hadn’t let himself ask until now.

“Who are you when you’re not trying to survive?”

Julian didn’t answer.

He stepped forward.

And this time, he didn’t stop.

His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing Aiden’s cheek like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to.

Aiden didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“I shouldn’t,” Julian said again.

But his voice was breaking now. His restraint unraveling.

“Then don’t,” Aiden whispered.

And in that space; between warning and want, between silence and surrender… Julian leaned in.

Their foreheads touched.

Not a kiss. Not yet.

But the breath between them changed. The distance died.

And just before anything else could happen, the elevator dinged.

They snapped apart.

A janitor stepped in, eyes wide, then quickly turned away.

Julian backed up. Cold flooded in like water through a cracked dam.

“Get some rest,” he said sharply.

Then he was gone.

Leaving Aiden standing alone in the dim light.

Heart pounding.

Lips still not touched.

But nearly.

Far, far too nearly.