Page 57 of The Vow Thief
Her voice carried a calm that came from people who were used to being heard. Considered. I took her hand and held her gaze for half a second longer than necessary.
“Of course,” I said.“Matt Taylor. And this is Jim Holloway.”
We all sat. She opened a leather folio and spread a set of clean, well-structured documents across the table. Her handwriting was neat. Her strategy, neater.
She began describing the foundation she was building. It was new, ambitious, and unapologetically confident. Her numbers worked, and her delivery had rhythm. Jim interrupted once or twice, but her attention kept returning to me. I noticed it. I think she wanted me to.
“This projection assumes a threefold increase in donor engagement by next quarter,” I said, scanning the sheet.“That’s optimistic.”
“Optimism built this country,” she replied.
“Realism kept it standing.” I retorted.
She smiled, just enough to soften the room.“Then I suppose we’ll need a bit of both.”
Jim gave a low chuckle, already halfway out the door.“Looks solid to me. Matt can take point.”
Julianne looked at him and then back at me.“Good. You ask better questions.”
I leaned back slightly.“Transparently, you have done a great job of answering most of my questions in your write-up.”
“Good, I want to get started right away,” she said.
The door to the conference room opened, and refreshments, sandwiches, and various snacks were brought in by my assistant, Wyatt.
"I heard your stomach growl, so I called up for some bites. Help yourself," I said playfully.
When she blushed, I smiled and started putting food on a plate for her.
"Mr. Taylor, you didn't have to..."
I held up my hand. Julianne, please call me Matt. If we are going to be working closely together, let's go by first names."
She smiled and nodded, her beautiful face still flushed.
We talked while we ate, and before we knew it, we had completely finished off the vegetable tray and finger sandwiches. The more we talked, the hungrier we became. An hour had passed before we decided on a date and time for our next meeting.
“I think we’ll work well together,” I said.
“I already know we will.” She gathered her notes and tapped the folder shut.“It’s rare that I meet someone whose tone matches their follow-through.”
She wasn’t flirting. Not exactly. But the air between us felt alive with unspoken awareness.
Her smile lingered as she stood. I rose, shaking her hand again. Her skin was cool, her grip certain. She held my eyes when she said goodbye.
When the door closed behind her, the scent of her perfume stayed. Something faintly floral, bright, and inconveniently memorable.
She left with the retainer and a promise to send over brand materials. I stared at the closed door and told myself the feeling in my chest was professional.
Two days later, she returned with coffee and a red pen. And that scent. She smelled delightful. Something floral and fresh and completely her.
Her name fit her. Clean. Uncomplicated. The kind of name that belonged on the side of a building or a foundation. She had the look of someone who had spent years learning how to be taken seriously and now didn’t need to try. Her beauty wasn’t loud. It was disciplined.
Her long hair was chestnut, straight, and tucked behind one ear like she didn’t have time for vanity. Her dress was red, simple, and structured, cut to move when she did.
Her eyes were a greenish hazel, sharp and aware, scanning everything before landing on me. Her lips always looked like she’d just tasted something too hot to resist. When she smiled, it was polite, almost professional, but something in it lingered a beat too long.
She didn’t just talk, she directed the conversation. The room shifted with her. Even Jim, who could talk over senators, waited for her to finish before speaking.
