Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Poppy

"You said yes!" Harper's shriek pierces through the phone. No sooner had Julian left than I was dialing Harper. I needed her insight.

"I thought you'd be thrilled. You're the queen of advocating naughtiness. Isn't sneaking around with my boss the epitome of naughty?"

"Naughty would be having sex on his desk during office hours," Harper quips with a hint of sarcasm. "Poppy, it worries me, him insisting on this secrecy."

I share her concern, though I won't admit it. "It's a temporary thing. Just until he figures out whatever this work issue is. And you know," I muse, sinking back into my bed, the covers enveloping me in a cocoon of thought. "Maybe it's for the best. We barely know each other. Sure, There's undeniable chemistry, but why rush to HR over a kiss that might be a fleeting moment?"

The line goes quiet, save for the rapid-fire tapping of Harper's keyboard.

"Harper, are you listening to me?" I sigh, rearranging my pillow, my eyelids heavy with fatigue.

My gaze drifts across my new bedroom. I need to make buying new furniture a top priority. Having my old bedroom stuff makes me feel like a teenager again, and those are years I don't want to relive.

"I'm always listening," Harper's voice is tinged with a focus that means she's onto something. "But I'm also doing a bit of digging. I need to see if Julian's ‘work threat' is legit."

"Harper, you've got to stop playing detective in people's lives. I'll find out what I need to in due time."

"If he's some sort of psycho, you'll be wishing you listened to me when he's looming over you with a knife," she half-jokes, but there's a seriousness in her tone that chills me. "Let me do a little snooping. It's harmless, I promise."

I fluff up my pillow. "I'd rather not know what you unearthed. It feels... invasive," I respond. Though deep down, I know she'll tell me everything, especially if she uncovers any lies. Heck, she will be on the first plane back home, ready to castrate Julian.

"I'm hitting the hay. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Oh lord, you sound like a farmer from the 18th century. I hope you don't reply to his texts like that. You know what, I think dating him, even if he is a psycho, will be good for you."

I laugh.

"I miss that sound, and I like that talking about Julian makes you laugh again," Harper adds. "Okay, I have to go investigate. I'll talk to you later. Love ya." She ends the call.

I toss and turn, wondering if Harper is right. Is Julian lying to me? Is there another reason he wants to keep us a secret, or will this work out for my benefit?

***

Ding.

I roll over, prop myself up on my elbow, and snatch my phone. All traces of sleep vanish from my eyes when I see it's a text from Julian. I bite my lip, trying to stifle my glee.

I bolt upright, knees knocking together. "I can't wait to see you too," I murmur. This secret dating thing is going to be excruciatingly hard. But, fingers crossed, it's worth it. I shoot back a reply.

For the next ten minutes, as I get ready for work, I agonize over every word I've sent, second-guessing my every move. Dating's not really my forte, so yeah, I'm overanalyzing each syllable.

Ding.

My coffee almost becomes a casualty as I lunge for my phone, filled with anticipation.

A crazy squeal slips from my lips. I should drop to my knees and thank the lord I made that sound in the privacy of my closet.

Midweek dates? That's new to me. It was always Fridays or Saturdays in the past. Even when I dated Andrew, we were busy with school and mostly saw each other on the weekends.

I freeze at my front door, a total goner.

My cheeks are basically blushing permanently now. On the bright side, I'll save money because I don't need to buy blush anymore.

How the heck do I respond to that? I want to play it cool, not come off as some lovestruck fool.

I'm half-tempted to text him to ditch Wednesday and just come over now.

The entire walk to the bus stop, I'm crafting a response.

Clutching my phone to my chest, I gaze out the bus window, watching Dallas merge into a blur. A wave of warmth floods my chest, mingling hope and excitement—feelings I haven't known in over a decade. It's tempting to run from these emotions; hope is terrifying yet exhilarating. It's like skydiving, praying your parachute opens.

I glance down at my phone, thinking about my past. It's like an unmoving cloud in the sky.

"You shouldn't do it," I whisper, ignoring my advice. I open Google and type in Andrew's name. It's a monthly ritual, not out of longing, but bluntly, sometimes hoping for news of his demise.

It's harsh but true. I know what I saw and overheard. Men like Andrew must have a long list of enemies. I pray one of them is bold enough to challenge him and his father.

I keep tabs on him; knowing where your monster lurks is better than being blindsided.

No new updates, just the same old engagement news. That poor girl. I send her a silent prayer, hoping she knows what she's getting into.

I shut down the search and re-read Julian's texts.

I screwed up big time in the past, but with Julian, it's a different kind of secret I'm holding onto. Something in my gut tells me Julian's different. I just really hope his kind of difference doesn't leave me heartbroken.