Page 13 of Just Like You (Square Mile Rogues #2)

Julian

S leeping in the daytime, when it was actually nighttime, in whatever time zone I was currently in?

It did weird things to your body. Even weirder things to your brain, because I woke up with that familiar starving feeling, where I needed to eat.

Anything, anywhere, as long as it was edible, my mouth wanted it. Now.

If I’d been at home, I would have been standing in front of the fridge, eating cheese straight out of the packet. Drinking juice like it was priceless nectar from the carton and attempting to find anything…anything at all to calm that hu nger in me.

Down route in hotels, I would go for my trusty snack bag, and I found myself pottering around the empty room, flicking the kettle on and rummaging in my suitcase.

A packet of biscuits, which I ripped open and shoved two straight in my mouth, standing there chewing like the idiot I was…as he was standing in the doorway watching me. The soft breeze from outside making his shirt move around his waist. A pair of shorts. Bare legs. A smile on his face.

“Hungry,” I tried to say in my defence, crumbs spitting everywhere over my birthday suit. Yeah. Naked, and I didn’t care.

“Doesn’t surprise me. You’ve had almost five hours. I was going to wake you shortly because we’ll need to go for dinner in a bit.”

“A snack is fine,” I said weakly, not wanting to admit that going for dinner? Here? That would drain my allowance before I’d even taken the first bite of the bread roll on the side.

“Julian.”

He said that a lot. My name rolling off his tongue with a warm ease.

I didn’t want to admit that I liked it. Not Jules. Not J. Not any other quirky little nickname. No, just my name, as it was.

“Things are pricy here, okay? Not all of us can afford to dine like kings.”

I wasn’t proud, nor was I ashamed. I wasn’t made of money, and this job was a champagne lifestyle on a soft drink budget, and I just couldn’t justify… I didn’t have the money to pay for things I couldn’t afford. Story of my life .

“Julian, I don’t mean it like that. I’m not here to scrounge off you. I get a free hotel room… Well. I assume it’s not something you have to pay for.”

“No,” I admitted.

“But I will pay for the food and drinks. It’s only fair.”

Oh. Okay?

“I…” I started, trying to wipe the crumbs off my face. I was stark naked, standing here talking to a man who…

Crap. Double crap.

“Let me order you some tea. Toast?”

“There’s a kettle right here. I just boiled it.”

“And I am here to look after you.” He lifted the receiver and…surprisingly politely, ordered me breakfast. With margarine, not butter, and oat milk.

“You remembered,” I pointed out, honestly surprised. The arsehole was…thoughtful. Kind. He put the phone down and wrapped me up in a hug. Just stood there and held me as I smiled into his shoulder. Shirt fabric in my face. Bloody crumbs still in my mouth.

What a mess I was.

“Why are you wearing a shirt and tie?” I asked, trying to get out of his grip so I could breathe. My hands on his chest. His lips on my forehead.

Kisses. He was really into all this cuddling .

“Had to make a couple of work calls. Not supposed to be on holiday, so made it look like I was in the office. Kind of. Not sure I got away with it.”

“You probably didn’t. People are not that stupid.”

“I know.” He grimaced. Then he kissed me. Soft lips against mine.

“I didn’t take you for a cuddler.” I grinned.

I liked it. Why the hell did I like this?

This was weird and awkward and bloody hell, I needed to get dressed before I got myself into more trouble.

“And look, I need a shower, and I usually douche before having…intercourse. I am not a total slob, and I apologise if there was…”

“Julian.”

Here he was again. Hands around my face.

“Do you honestly think I care? You’re just you and you’re human and some…things are expected. You just worked a long flight, and there will be…”

“I stink,” I admitted.

“And you’re gorgeous. In the shower then, and I will get your food set up. Outside?”

I did as I was told, still feeling mighty weirded out by everything this was. Like, that I walked out onto the patio to find tea and toast on a tray, a couple of cushions plumped up on the deckchair he’d arranged for me to sit on. His shirt now open, without the tie, his laptop on the side .

“I get hungry,” I said, wondering why I was spilling out all these unhinged phrases instead of talking about the weather. Commenting on the palm trees and the boat in the distance.

“I went and got some lunch earlier. Brought it back here and sat in the shade.”

“Nice.”

“Yes.”

Here we were again. Why the hell had I agreed to this?

“You’re lucky. Your office is a beach in the Maldives,” he commented, like this was normal.

“Still can’t pay for food here. I usually bring all my own stuff so I can feed myself in my room. Saves money. I have a mortgage.”

“That’s good thinking. Can’t spend money you don’t have. I learned that early on. My first pay cheque was thrilling and I kind of went wild and then realised I still had to buy food. Wasn’t my finest moment.”

An admission of imperfection. Perhaps I liked that.

“I bought a house with my first pay cheque. Well, it added to my small amount of savings, and I got a first-time buyer loan.”

“Very wise.”

Silence. My mouth chewing dry toast. I’d forgotten to butter it, being a little out of it still. Him sat there, elbows on his knees, a little too close for comfort .

“I’m happy in my house. It’s mine, my home, and I don’t think I ever want to share that. I like what I have,” I said, like I was trying to explain my inability to function. Sat here with a towel around my waist, letting the warm breeze dry my skin.

“I understand that.”

“I mean,” I bumbled on, again spitting crumbs all over myself. What was I like? Inhaling toast like an idiot as this guy just smiled at me. “You probably live in some penthouse apartment in the City and have a personal chef or something.”

Rude perhaps, but I think I’d stopped caring.

“I live in a tiny house in Highgate. Bought it after uni when prices were still reasonable. Slowly did it up, and I have a tiny garden. It suits me.”

“Really?”

“Really, Julian. Not all people are into that kind of lifestyle. No glass penthouses in my life.”

“I see.” I swallowed the inevitably intrusive follow-up questions I had sitting at the tip of my tongue. “But you spend your money on watches.”

“Indulgences. I don’t have many vices. Watches? Yes. I like them.”

“I do too.” I reached out and stroked down his arm. The Patek he was wearing was pretty. Simple but stunning. “This is a nice piece. I have your Rolex in my bag.”

“Thank you. ”

“No more dropping stuff in my bag. I could get in trouble with Customs. Receipts and all that.”

“You’ll be fine. I have receipts and everything. I’d bail you out.”

“Idiot.”

He smiled. Dragged his fingers through his hair as I sipped my tea.

“Must be a lonely life, waking up in different hotel rooms all the time.”

“Not really. I like my own company. It’s just like waking up in your own bed every morning.

It’s the night shifts that ruin it. The tiredness.

Jetlag. Having to figure out what your body needs to eat when it’s craving one thing and screaming for something else.

Trying to get exercise in and remember to pay your bills at home when you’re on the other side of the world.

You can never plan anything. People invite you to weddings you can’t go to.

You miss important things. Yet you see all the wonders of the world.

Get to sit on a beach sipping tea like this. ”

“I get that.” He spoke softly, his words coming out at a slower pace. “My life is really hectic too. I travel, a lot. It’s part of what I do.”

“And what do you do?” I had to ask because to be honest? I didn’t know.

“You know search engines?” He sat up straighter. “Comparison sites. Like when you need to renew your car insurance?”

“Yeah?”

“The company I work for, we handle a lot of different financial products, and we need to be on all the relevant sites. Not necessarily for car insurance, but other kinds of insurance. Accounts. Money handling, financial advice, risk analysis… We need to have visibility there. Clients need to see our brand and our products and want to use us because we have that reputation of skill and safe handling of their assets. That’s what I do.

I negotiate our presence so we can sell what we do. ”

“Oh. Sounds complicated.”

“Not really. I used to work with other departments of the company, but I took over this a while back and found it suited me. My boss decided it was a way to keep me out of trouble.”

“Trouble?” I smiled.

“I’m not much of a people person. Trying to get clients to trust me with their money wasn’t always a good fit.”

“I noticed.”

“But when I like someone?” He winked. Weird.

“You go all in. Obsessively stalk people all across the world until you pin them down in the Indian Ocean and make them have tea with you.”

“I have a bottle of rosé chilling in the minibar. Thought maybe…we could take it down onto the beach. Sit in the evening sun.”

“Who would have thought? You’re a romantic.”

“A sappy one,” he admitted.

“And you’ re good in bed.”

Now he grimaced, with a blush blooming on his face. I liked it. Liked how I could embarrass him and take him down from that high and mighty Mr Andrieu, with just a tiny sentence. The way he looked at me made me smile.

“You are. You know what you’re doing and what you like. It’s attractive. Few people do.”

“I agree,” he said softly. “It’s taken me years to figure out what I like.”

“And what do you like?”

“It’s hard to answer.” He was looking straight at me. “But I like people who can deal with me.”

“Oh, Kieron, I can’t deal with you. Just look at me? I’m sat in a towel here, wondering what the hell I’ve agreed to.”