I hand her my glass. “Hold this. I’ll grab something for you. Any preference?”
She lifts the tumbler to her nose and scrunches it. “Anything but this,” she tells me, making me laugh out loud. I nod and head back into the house with my mind racing a million miles a minute.Chapter 15NeaWhen Julian returns, he’s carrying a large glass of white wine. Thankfully. I’m not a massive fan of hard liquor, so the thought of drinking what he’s had makes me tense. He hands me the glass, but there’s something flitting in his gaze as he takes me in once more.
“You look good in those,” he tells me as he settles beside me on the bench.
“Yeah, thankfully, I don’t look like a drowning whale,” I tell him without thinking, but my head snaps up when he laughs out loud. The sound vibrating through me. It’s a genuine smile on his face, which warms my chest. “Sorry, that’s what Phee and I used to say.”
“Phee?”
“Phoebe, my best friend. She’s still in Italy for another two weeks or so,” I tell him. “She followed me out there and then ended up with a longer internship than I had.”
“What made you come back? I mean, Rome is gorgeous.”
I sip my drink, pondering that because if I had to be honest, I could’ve stayed another few months. But instead, here I am, sitting on a porch with my new boss drinking wine while wearing his clothes.
“I needed to be here,” I tell him finally. “My mother was raised in New Orleans; she grew up on these streets, and I needed to connect with her. Being in Rome was magical, but deep down, I knew I had to find myself here.”
“I understand that. I think that’s why I never sold the house and gallery.” Julian’s words hold a certain sadness, one I’ve felt far too many times over the years since losing my mother. “Dad always told me one day I’d realize why he left the place to me.”
“Have you? Realized why?” I look at Julian over the rim of my glass, focusing on his expression as it changes from sadness to contemplation. And I notice that he really is breathtaking.
“I have.” His voice is rough, emotion lacing his words. “I needed to be here for you to arrive.” My heart skitters against my ribs at his confession, then he turns to me. “I have to be honest with you, Nea. When you first walked into my house last week, I didn’t think this would work.”
“And now?”
“Now, the only thing I can think about day and night is kissing you, but that’s unprofessional, and I always try to be a good person.”
“Even when you’re a grumpy asshole?” I counter, the question causing him to chuckle. I decide I like that sound, and I want to hear more of it.
“Even then.” He nods in agreement. Somehow, I think he’s come to terms with who he is, and I respect that. Pain makes us who we are, and if we can’t accept it, then we’ll never be fulfilled.
“So, I’m not fired?”
He snaps his gaze to mine, searching my face, possibly for an answer as to why I would ask him that. “What on earth would make you think I would fire you?”
“For my insolence, and for answering back, but I can’t not speak up when I feel I need to.”
“You speak your mind, Nea.” He smiles that stupid smile again, and my heart pitter-patters in my chest. “I can respect that because I wouldn’t want a doormat to run my gallery. And to be honest, you did an incredible job setting the event up. If I fired you, I’d be shooting myself in the foot.”
“So, you’re keeping me around then?” I arch a brow at Julian, and I can’t help but grin at the smirk he’s offering me. My stomach flutters from the hunger in his eyes.
“It seems so,” he responds. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to come on to you. And I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission. It wasn’t right, and if you ever feel like—”
“Julian.” His name on my tongue, tumbling from my lips, stalls his rant. “I wanted you to kiss me,” I tell him earnestly, hoping he’ll see I’m not lying. I really have been stupidly fantasizing about my boss for the better part of my days, and after that kiss, I know it’s not going to lessen the desire I have for him.
“But it can’t happen again.” His words send ice water through my veins. “We need to be professional. Mixing business with pleasure . . .” His words fall away into the night, and I know he’s right. If this doesn’t work out, our professional lives would be threatened.
I guess office romances truly don’t work out. I nod, trying to swallow back the emotion clogging my throat as I sip my wine.