Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Poppy

I'm pissed, upset, and hurt. It's like there is a tight knot in my chest, every thought of Julian tightening it further.

I can't call Harper. If she learns that Julian bailed on work, she will go postal, offering advice that would surely land me in a male strip club with an empty wallet and a hangover the following day.

Furiously, I beat the eggs into my pumpkin muffin mix, threatening to crack the ceramic bowl.

Yes, I'm baking pumpkin muffins for dinner, but pumpkin is a fruit, so technically, it is a healthy meal. The cream cheese icing that goes on top is technically a cheese, so I can consider that a protein as well. This is girl logic at its best.

A knock at my door startles me, and I knock over the measuring cup filled with oil.

"Shit!" I grab a cloth and toss it over the mess.

There should be a warning sign on my front door that says, 'Warning: Pissed-off emotional female angrily baking. Do not disturb.'

A second knock comes.

"Coming!" I shout.

My mistake is rushing and not cleaning up the mess. I jump over it but don't account for the width of the oil spill. My heel catches some of the splash zone, causing me to skid and slip.

A jackrabbit, I am not.

"Ouch!" I cry, landing hard on my ass. I bury my head in my hands, feeling the flour press into my skin.

What I want to do is cry. It helps sometimes.

"Poppy!" Julian's voice comes through the door, edged with worry. "Are you okay?"

"Oh god," I exhale. "No!" I call back. I'm not okay. I'm emotionally a disaster, and now not only is my heart bruised, but my ass is as well.

"Open up," he shouts.

I stand and wipe the tears from my eyes. My ankle feels tender from the fall. I shuffle to the door and open it. He's standing there like my knight in shining armor, on the edge of his toes, ready to battle whatever is hurting me. His gray eyes look past my shoulder, then back to me as they skim down my body. The top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and he looks exhausted.

"What's wrong?" Julian asks, his eyes taking in my situation.

Besides my puffy eyes, I'm back in my yoga pants and old stained shirt. Harper would burn me at the stake for committing such a fashion crime again. My hair is up in a messy bun, and I'm willing to bet there is flour on my face and oil staining my ass.

"You!" It's all I can muster, my voice thick with a cocktail of emotions. "You're what's wrong." I turn around with a slight limp now as I go back into my kitchen to begin cleaning up my mess.

"I was an ass," he admits as he follows me.

"More like a coward," I mutter, bending to wipe up the oil. It seeps into my fingertips, under my nails and cuticles. Well, at least I'm getting a manicure as I clean.

Julian rips a paper towel off the rack and comes to my side to help, but I'm an angry bitch right now, and I don't want his help.

"Sit down!" I growl.

"Let me help."

"Julian, just sit down," I snap.

He pauses before standing.

Okay, so he understands the mood of an angry woman. That's a check on his pros' list. Not that I'm still making a list, that is.

He rounds the island and sits on the barstool that came with my apartment. Before he showed up, I planned to eat my emotions in muffins and look for furniture online.

I wash my hands, feeling his eyes watching me. I grab the bowl and pour the muffin batter into the molds.

"It smells good," he offers, but his eyes are on me, not my muffin mix.

I level him with my bitchiest look. Is this a game to him?

"Was it really an emergency, or are you here to fire me?"

He jerks as if I hit him, then stands and rounds the island, taking the bowl from my hand and setting it down. Only the tips of our fingers touch, but it feels like a movie, like sparks crackling in the air, the world around us dims, and it's just us.

"I would never fire you. That's not the kind of man I am. I don't use my work authority over people."

He seems insulted, and now I feel guilty for assuming he would.

"I did have an emergency; my uncle needed to meet with me, and I needed some time to think," he says, the last part coming out in a fast exhale.

"Can we sit down and talk?" He asks. His voice goes low, making my legs feel weak. The way his eyes darken and hone in on mine makes me feel like a teenager watching The Vampire Diaries for the first time.

I open my mouth to speak, wanting to sound like a strong, confident, independent female. But nothing comes out because my brain is all fuzzy from the way his eyes are watching mine. All I manage to do is nod and turn to Putty.

Just then, my stomach growls embarrassingly loud. I turn and begin to make the muffins again. I grab the pan and shove it into the oven.

"What are you thinking?" He probes.

"That's a dangerous and loaded question," I bite, but then I soften my eyes and meet his grey ones. "I'm thinking we have known each other less than a week, and this," I throw my hands up, "is all crazy."

"I agree." He replies, keeping his eyes downcast. He looks like he wants to add something, but he lets me continue.

I swallow, "But I also can't stop thinking about our kiss, which is normal for any woman who had the best kiss of her life." I admit feeling vulnerable.

His lips tug up, and some stress lifts off his shoulders. "I can't stop thinking about it, too, Poppy. I want more of it." His voice turns husky. It is so seductive that it has my yoga pants wanting to shimmy down my legs in an effort to help undress me. "I know it's fast, but I want more of you."

"You're my boss." My feverish hormones start to deflate and pop like balloons.

He glances toward my front door. "I'm your neighbor, too." He flashes me a half-sided, pleading smirk.

"Julian," I sigh, "I'm not going to be a dirty secret." I declare, finally finding my strength. I grab the timer and set it.

He closes the distance, and his gentle hand on my hip pivots me to face him. Is he Superman because it feels like his touch can melt clothing into threads.

He tips my chin up, and I swear my ovaries orgasm on the spot.

"I would never expect you to be one. That's why we need to talk."

I awkwardly lead Julian into my living room, mentally kicking myself for not having a couch yet. Bringing my parents' furniture here felt wrong. Deep down, I wanted to leave their items in my childhood house, hoping they would return one day. It's pathetic, but it's also the truth. So, I only brought my bedroom stuff - the bed, a TV stand, a dresser, and a few cabinets, along with some odds and ends from college.

So, here I am, in a beautiful apartment, but with a sense of decor that's just... Ikea meets a teenager with no sense of style. I can do so much better, and I want to. I can't wait to focus on myself and not mend the past.

"I still have to buy some furniture," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I wanted to take my time to find things I liked. I was planning on doing some online shopping tonight."

"I don't care about furniture. I'd sit on the floor as long as it was next to you," he says, and I can't help but feel a flutter in my stomach.

I pause and look over my shoulder at him. "You can't say things like that," I whisper. It's too passionate. Too nice. Andrew, my ex, never spoke to me like that.

Julian steps closer, his voice a soft murmur. "It's the truth." His fingers play with a strand of my hair, sending a thrill through me. "I'd tell you we could sit at my place, but if I take you there, I'll lead you right to my bedroom. That's the truth also."

I swallow hard, torn between caution and desire. Turning, I go back and grab a stool; Julian grabs a second, and we sit in my living room, staring at each other. It's awkward, to say the least.

"This feels like an AA meeting," I mutter.

His laugh lightens the mood. "Well, we each do have confessions to admit to." He says, those grey eyes looking at mine with a longing.

I look down and nibble on my lip. My next inhale captures the scent of Julian's cologne—or maybe it's his body wash. Whatever it is, it's pure man, clean and fresh, big balls and all. It's addicting, and I want to buy the entire bottle.

He rocks his knees from side to side, gently nudging mine back and forth like a temptation. It's as if a force wraps around us, pulling our bodies closer even when fate tries to keep us professional.

"I don't want you to be a secret, but I also can't allow anything to happen between us publically, that is," he admits.

It jars me, and I feel rejected, which is silly because his offer is for the best.

"It's not what you think, Pumpkin," he presses, his hand reaching out to touch my knee but then retreats to his leg. "I'm insanely attracted to you. Fuck," he sighs, "I've never met a girl like you, which is crazy because we just met. I feel like I've known you for years. Like I can just relax with you."

"This is the ‘it's not you, it's me talk." I interrupt him, "I'm not mad. I get it. You're my boss."

He clenches his jaw, "But you don't. All I'm asking for is time."

"What does that mean?"

"Something personal is happening in my life, and I don't want my mess to spill into yours. I'm juggling a lot of fires right now, and I want to extinguish them so you're not affected by any of my issues. I can't divulge all the gritty details," he begins. "The nature of my family business is dangerous. I'm sure HR had you watch the videos and tested you on the protocol."

I nod, feeling my forehead wrinkle in confusion. What other issues is he referring to?

"Roger in security was intro enough. Sterling Defense designs weapons. I'm used to working at a security company. I used to work at CypherTech, a cybersecurity company." I say, swallowing a heavy stone of emotions. "It was my parents' company."

My emotions must tell him everything he needs to know because he gives me a moment of silence.

"We use CypherTech as a layer of our cybersecurity. It's the best in the business," he says with pride.

I blink rapidly, trying not to cry again. I wiggle to adjust my seating, but the stool makes me feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.

"My parents were good at stuff like that. Sometimes, I think Harper should have been their daughter. She's so good with computers. They would have been so proud of her. It was my dad who inspired her to learn code. She was at my house, and we snuck into my parents' office. My dad caught us and then showed us what he was working on. I had no clue what he was talking about, but Harper's eyes widened. My dad told her about apps for kids that taught code. Harper downloaded them, and a few years later, the FBI was raiding her house because she hacked into the Pentagon."

Julian laughs. "No way."

I nod, realizing I'm deflecting the topic of ‘us' by talking about my past, but I can't help it. Talking with Julian is easy and oddly therapeutic.

"They would have been so proud of you, too," he says seriously as he inches his hand closer to my knees. His exhale warms my face. "I lost my mom," he confesses.

My eyes shoot up, and we just stare at each other. My fingers inch out, reaching for his, as we share a silent embrace.

"I hated when people said they were sorry, so I won't tell you that," I say as I reach out and grab his left hand. "Thank you for telling me."

He interlaces our fingers. "I don't know why, Pumpkin, but I feel like I want to tell you so many things." He squeezes my fingers gently. "That's why my plan feels like a bad one. I know it's going to hurt you, and you probably are going to slap me and tell me to get out, but it's the only plan I have that keeps you safe but still allows us to see each other."

"Why would it hurt me?" I ask, looking down at our interlocked fingers, the prime example of masculine versus feminine. His skin is tan, some edges roughened and calloused from his time in the military. Julian's body bears visible scars, while my body conceals my battle wounds. Physically, I might appear unscathed, but mentally, it's a whole different story.

"Because I want to keep seeing you, I want to understand what it is about you that makes my heart skip a beat. You make me feel excited." He glances down at his wounded arm in a sling, "I didn't think I would feel enthused again."

I bite my bottom lip, watching him struggle to confess his intentions.

"But I also can't allow people to know that we're seeing each other. It's not safe for you; that's why I should walk out this door just as your neighbor and boss." He tilts his head up, meeting my eyes, "But I can't because I'm selfish. I want to kiss you again. I want to do so much more than that. That's why I want to keep our business life professional and not our home life. I want to keep us a secret."