Julian's Pursuit (24 page)

If a woman is poorly dressed you notice her dress and if she is impeccably dressed you notice the woman. I’m not exactly sure where I heard that before. Though if I had to guess, it was likely something my mom spouted when she was going through one of her many phases of embracing ‘Chanelism.’

I’d always taken special pains to dress impeccably for work, but today I took
extra
special pains because I wanted to be a force to be reckoned with.

A tour de force, so to speak.

Julian was right. I needed to step up my game and show them my true potential.

Because if I didn’t, this chance of a lifetime could slip through my fingers.

Even worse, if the job went to Tim, I’d have to report to him, which would be a sentence far worse than death.

“I understand the value I bring to the table and the impact I make on the organizational bottom line,” I whispered under my breath as I stared at the mirror, trying to restore my wits and pep myself up for the interview.

“Don’t worry, babes.” Julian brushed my hair aside and dropped a tender kiss on my shoulder. “You’re gonna do fine. You’ve
got
this.”

Smoothing my palms over my new dress, I asked nervously, “How do I look?”

A smile played across his lips. “Like a million bucks.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He held my gaze in the mirror and any doubts I might have had were quickly dispelled by the quiet pride I saw in his eyes.

“The best outfit you’re wearing is your self-confidence. You’re rocking it, babes. And owning it.”

Right. I pulled in a steadying breath, feeling as sharp and ready as a razor blade.

I was going to show them—
and remind them
—that I was the woman
and
the man for this job.

All in all, I thought the interview went rather well. I could only speak for myself, though. I wasn’t sure how Tim had fared in his interview. To me he always sounded so rehearsed, like an actor struggling to make the best of imperfect lines.

Still, Tim was a cold and ruthless adversary, and a strategist at heart, always calculating a possible advantage.

So although I felt good about my interview, I wasn’t certain if it was enough to secure me the job.

It was two weeks later before I found out that it was indeed enough.

Halle-fucking-lujah!
I got the job.

It was all still surreal to me, even as I walked out of the meeting with my boss, Tony Marsh.

I couldn’t believe it. I was now officially an Account Director at Hall and Heinrich, responsible for leading a team of account execs, accountable for client P & L (profits and losses), in charge of marketing strategy, campaign development, and developing multi-tiered agency-client relationship and ties.

While that all sounded incredibly daunting, I knew I could hold my own.

“Sadie!” Julian caught up with me in the hallway. “I just heard the news.”

“Me, too.” I smiled. “And I was just on my way to tell you.”

He checked his watch. “It’s almost lunch now. I say we go celebrate.”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

Food court. Food court
. I attempted to beam my thoughts to him telepathically.

“Look, I know you’re dying to go to the food court.” His voice trailed off on a laugh. “And we’ll go there, I promise—for dinner tonight with Evan and Andrea. But for lunch, I’m taking you some place special.”

“All right.” I nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

The place was small and intimate, with outdoor and indoor seating decorated like a French bistro. I looked around, feeling as if I’d stepped into the alleyway of a Parisian street.

“Yes,” Julian said to the hostess. “I have a reservation.”

The woman nodded. “For two?”

“Yep,” he replied. “Under the name Julian S.”

“Certainly.” The hostess picked up two menus. “Right this way.” She led us through the main dining area toward the French doors, which exited to the outside seating area.

Outdoors, she led us directly to a table by a water fountain and Julian held out a chair, waiting for me to sit.

I smiled my thanks and moved to take the offered seat. “And I thought chivalry was dead.”

He took the chair across from me and said, “It’s alive and kicking.”

“This is nice.” I settled back in my chair. “I can’t believe you made a reservation.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He smiled. “There was no doubt in my mind that you’d get the job.”

Our waiter arrived soon after and asked us if we wanted anything to drink.

“Wine?” Julian asked and I nodded.

“You order,” I told him.

Julian made a great play of studying the wine list, lightly tapping a finger to his chin as he evaluated the selections. It was a shame he didn’t have a beard to stroke, too. “I’m torn between the Château Mouton-Rothschild and the Beerenauslese. Or,” he added reflectively, “perhaps I should just go with the Blanc de Blancs.”

He spoke with a note of
hauteur
in his voice, complete with all the proper inflections.

It sounded something like this: I’m torn between the sha-TOH moo-TAWN rawt-SHEELD and the BAY-ruhn-OWS-lay-zuh. Or maybe I should just go with the BLAHNGK duh BLAHNGKS.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or be highly turned off. Then Julian looked across the table with that devilish glint in his eyes, and it quickly dawned on me that he was mimicking Glenn from the office. Glenn Price. Resident Art Director and pretentious prick.

The waiter made a suggestion. “Sir, the Château Mouton-Rothschild would pair nicely with the house special.”

Julian nodded sagely. “I suppose I’ll go with the sha-TOH moo-TAWN rawt-SHEELD.”

“Excellent,” said the waiter. “We offer both the 2006 and 2010.”

“A 2010? God, no!” Julian said it with such force that he almost fell off his chair. “I’m no animal! I don’t drink wine that young.” He frowned with disgust. “Besides, that year was too wet.”

“It was a wet year,” agreed the waiter in heartfelt tones. “So you’ll go with the 2006 then?”

“Of course.”

“Certainly, sir.”

At this point I was watching the exchange with amused eyes, struggling like the devil not to laugh. Unable to help myself, I played along with the shenanigans. “We’re such acid freaks, you see,” I said gravely. “Flabby wine just doesn’t cut it for us.”

“Certainly, ma’am. And are you ready to order?”

I picked up my menu and quickly perused the entrées. “I’ll have the house special.”

The waiter nodded, and turned to Julian. “And you, sir?”

“The same.” Julian snapped his menu shut. “And send a glass of wine to the chef. Tell him it’s from J-Dawg.”

“Will do.” Our waiter gathered our menus and wandered off.

“J-Dawg?” I suppressed a grin.

He shrugged. “It’s what my buddy, Liam, calls me.”

“Liam? Your sister’s husband—he works here?”

“Uh-huh. He’s owns this place.” A hint of pride tinged his voice and I understood why this place was special to him, why he wanted to take me here. “Wait till you try the food. Liam’s a badass in the kitchen. He’s a master chef, one of the best.”

I stroked his leg under the table with my foot. “Oh,” I moaned, making my voice airy and breathless. “Is the food orgasmic?”

He smiled, a curve of his sculpted mouth. “You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

Yes, I did. I took great pleasure in watching him squirm when I gave him blue-veined throbbers out in public. And I found it especially amusing when he told me he pictured playing mini golf with his grandmother whenever he had to tame the rumbling in his loins.

“Why?” I lowered my voice and feigned innocence. “Do you have a hard-on right now?”

Grinning with just enough arrogance to make him look sexy, he reclined in his seat and said coolly, “Nah. That’s my dick normally. Huge, right?”

“You poor thing.” My shoulders lifted with laughter. “Is your stiffy giving you a hernia? Don’t worry, all you need to do is tuck and duck and I’ll try not to laugh.”

“Miss Frost,” he chided, “behave yourself.”

“You, too,” I countered. “I don’t think our waiter appreciated your—”

“My
je ne sais quoi?”
He shrugged. “I was just channeling Glenn.”

“I know.” I sat forward, leaning my elbows on the table. “And that was a very convincing impression of Glenn. You must have lunch with him pretty often.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound too thrilled. “I don’t really have a choice since we work together on so many campaigns.”

“Hey,” I pointed out. “At least you don’t have to work with Tim.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He hesitated for a brief moment and his face grew serious. “Is Tim giving you a hard time?”

“No.” While it was not the whole truth, it did not feel like too great a lie. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Listen.” He reached across the table and gave my hand a firm squeeze. “If he gets out of line, you let me know, okay?”

I squeezed his hand in return, but didn’t comment.

“I don’t understand.” He frowned. “What’s his beef with you? It’s like he has some sort of personal vendetta against you.”

I said nothing.

Seconds passed before he spoke again. “Tim told me you accused him of sexual harassment, too.”

The word
too
was not lost on me. “I did.” The table was quiet for a moment before I added, “Because he
did
cross the line with me.” I met his gaze almost as if to challenge him, daring him to call me a liar after I’d hurled those same accusations at him.

But he didn’t.

“What did he do?” While he kept his voice even, I could hear the thread of worry and anger that underlined it.

“You believe me?”

“Of course I believe you.” His voice was strong, and it was certain.

Emotion caught in my throat, prickly and raw.

Julian trusts me, he believes me.

“What did he do?” he repeated.

The waiter chose that moment to return with two glasses of wine.

After he left, I picked up my wineglass and took a long sip. “Grabbed my hips and simulated sex, slammed me up against the wall and called me a dirty, little cunt…” I pulled in a shaky breath. “He hasn’t laid a hand on me in a while, though.”

When Julian spoke again, I heard the dark undercurrents in his words. “Did you file a complaint with HR?”

I nodded.

“And?”

“They didn’t take me seriously. Tim gave them his side of the story. He told them he was reaching around me to grab a fax and just happened to brush up against me.” I took another swig. “And they believed him. When I told them about all the other inappropriate things he’d said to me, I was met with a wall of BS like: ‘Maybe you’re overreacting’ and ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.’”

“Fuck HR.” His anger spiked, rolling off him in waves. “I’ll take care of Tim
my way
.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I can handle Tim.”

The last thing I needed was a brawl in the office. “Promise me, Julian. Don’t do anything stupid. Like I said, I can handle him. I
know
how to keep Tim in line.” I reached for my wineglass and took another long sip, hoping to God that what I’d just told him was true.

When we got back to the office, Julian entered the building first while I waited a good ten minutes before I elbowed the door open and stepped from the car.

There was a whisper of movement and I almost jumped when Tim appeared before me.

The shadowed lighting in the parking garage gave his expression a darker, more sinister cast.

Unease slithered across my shoulders.

“
Well, well, well
, if it isn’t the Sadist Bitch. I finally have you all alone to myself.” He laughed—a harsh, humorless sound. “Now who would’ve thought I’d get passed over that promotion? And who would’ve thought they’d give the job to you? You of all people!”

I spoke with deadly calm. “You report to me now, Tim. If you ever—
ever
—cross that line with me again, I’ll report you to HR and I
will
get you fired.”

“Oh, I know you already went to HR to tell on me, you little snitch. And guess what? All I got was a written warning.”

“I’ll file another complaint against you,” I said quietly, pronouncing each word as a distinct, murderous threat.

“I’m not worried,” he sneered. “Uncle Les has my back.”

He took a step closer, enjoying the way my eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, you didn’t know that, did you?” He wore a self-satisfied smirk. “Les Heinrich is my uncle.”

Les Heinrich—as in
the
Les Heinrich who was the founder of this agency and who sat on the board of directors—
he
was Tim’s uncle?

Tim had to be fucking kidding me.

Only he wasn’t.

“And here’s something else you might not know.” A hint of slyness crept into his voice. “I know all about you and Simon. I know you fucked my little cousin. That’s how you got the job here.”

A rush of mortification flooded my body. But I let none of it show on my face. “Who told you?”

“Simon.” He gave an unpleasant laugh. “He’s back.”

Wait. What? Simon is back from London?

My mind was scrambling furiously and my world was shifting beneath my feet.

“Tongues will be wagging at the office when they find out you fucked Heinrich’s son.” A crooked smile twisted across his face. “I wonder what Julian will think when he catches wind of this.”

Steeling my face to impassivity, I worked hard to put a note of disdain in my voice, lest it trembled instead. “What does Julian have to do with this?”

“What?” He ran a finger along the sleeve of my blouse. “You think I don’t know you’re fucking Julian, too? You dirty whore.”

His words were like a slap.

I jerked fiercely away from him. Tim was a bully. A coward driven by his deep-seated insecurities. His fears of inadequacy. “What’s your deal, huh? Is it because I rejected your advances? Or is it because you’re just all butt-hurt I got the promotion and you didn’t?”