Page 39 of Ella Gets the D
“Never better!”Shoot, too much enthusiasm. I don’t know what I expected, but eight years my junior wasn’t it.
Julian is an old soul. His house is pristine, a classic style with vintage vinyls and zero clutter. Minus the charge with a sword at perceived threats, you’d never guess he’s thirty.Maybethirty-five. Nothing about him screams young bachelor who doesn’t know how to do laundry or his taxes. He probably pays a small team to do both, which speaks to his wealth and not his maturity.
“My son has been hard at work in our London office.” Langston grins. “It will be good for you two to meet.”
If only you knew.
He heads to a meeting across town, leaving me with his daughter, who sees through my attempts to downplay my curiosity about her brother.
What does she expect? The man is fine, and we live together, which is weird to say. It’s not like we’re going to start a secret affair and fuck each other senseless. I’m not sure I’d survive if last Saturday is a taste of the main event—and that waswithclothes on.
Who’s thinking about dating, anyway? I’ve got bills to pay, and I refuse to swap out one asshole for another pretending to be a decent man. Even if I was ready, I’ve been MIA for well over a decade. Julian wouldn’t hook himself to a woman with two kids and no stability. I don’t care how good my ass looks.
“He’s not in the office.” Morgan’s tone has the finesse of nails on a chalkboard.
Am I that obvious?
I’m not the only one who needs to get laid. A Snickers isn’t going to cure that crankiness.
The primary Brooke Law International office has a small reception area, twelve offices, open desks for interns, a kitchen, and a conference room. Morgan’s office is one of the four thatface U Street. Her father’s is down the hall on the other side with views of the back alley, which they transformed into Suegra’s outdoor patio.
Only Langston, Morgan, and four other partners and counsel come into the office. That leaves two open offices for the associates and consultants to use when they’re not working remotely or from one of the other satellite offices around the DMV to be closer to clients. I’ve been here a handful of times for pop-in lunches with Morgan and her dad to remember the one tucked into the corner near the kitchen is never open. My guess is it’s Julian’s.
I tell myself that the Victorian windows and crown molding are why I’m on my feet so fast. Not to investigate an office that belongs to a man living as rent-free in my head as I am in his house.
“Good for him,” I say, to the confusion of Morgan and myself. I thumb to the door behind me. “Need to pee. Be right back.”
Morgan has no chance to respond. I’m halfway down the hall, headed in the opposite direction of the bathroom, possessed by the spirit of Nancy Drew. A horny, age-appropriate Nancy with the urge to see another office and admire carpeting.
Normal Tuesday behavior.
I reach my destination after popping into the kitchen for water I don’t need. No one is around to catch me snooping, but does that stop me from peeking around corners and ducking the cameras? Nope.
This is a bad idea. The hallway is silent but likely agrees with me. With my back against the door, I take another glance to the left and right and slip inside with the turn of a knob.
Morgan will kick my ass across every square foot of this floor if she finds me. What’s my excuse anyway if I get caught?My bad. I went down the wrong hall and helped myself into an officethat wasn’t the restroom. Total coincidence that it happens to be your brother’s.
The office is smaller than Morgan’s, with a simple wooden desk and chair facing a worn leather loveseat the color of whiskey. Unlike the other offices dressed for show, Julian’s is for comfort. Black and white photos of the city hang above a walnut sideboard half the length of the wall. A record player sits on top, next to a Wes MontgomerySmokin’ at the Half Notealbum. There’s no television, only two screens and a keyboard on the desk.
His office is an extension of his home. I inhale the cedar and sandalwood scent as my fingers run over the desk with a smile.
“Like it?”
I yelp at the deep voice behind me and squeeze the open water bottle in my hand, forcing out cold water that soaks my sleeveless blouse. Words stall in my throat when I face Julian. He’s leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and a wide grin.
His tailor deserves a raise and a forehead kiss for the light blue suit molded to his body. It’s not tight enough to show a dick print, but it does force attention to his sculpted thighs, broad chest, and thick biceps, which are pulling at the delicate fabric.
Business Julian is a good look, an ebony Ken doll with a tight ass and muscles. His fade is fresh, like he stopped by a barber this morning before whatever meeting he had that required someone to focus on his words and not the gorgeous gladiator in a tailored suit. DC is in the middle of a heat wave, and there’s a good chance the man in front of me is the culprit.
He offers me a white handkerchief. “You alright there?” His steps still at my nod. I follow his gaze down the buttons of my cream blouse to my breasts, which are now visible in my sheer bra. He swallows, his eyes committing the outline of my now hard nipples to memory.
I stare at him until he realizes he’s eye-fucking my titties. “Sorry.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. With the flick of a button, he’s out of his suit jacket. “Here.”
A faint charge passes through our fingers when I take his jacket to drape it over my shoulders. “Thank you.”
Julian rolls his tongue over his bottom lip. When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth kicks up. Curse him and that dimple.
“This is the second time you’ve broken into my personal space,” he says with a tskand sits on the edge of his desk. His feet cross at the ankles like he has all day to entertain our interaction instead of client meetings and whatever else they do around here. Paperwork with a fancy thesaurus to rake in millions in billable hours.
