Page 46 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

My usual oat latte sits waiting on my desk when I step into my office on Monday morning. A smile spreads so wide across my face, I’m pretty sure it terrifies Louise at reception. I catch her startled glance and quickly suck in my cheeks to stop it.

Leaving Julian’s arms this morning took effort that felt borderline painful.

He’s stamped himself permanently into my bones, and I’m not sure if I can survive him.

Turning on my computer, I decide to catch up on emails to distract myself and nearly cry when I see one from Tom Kingsley’s assistant.

Fuck. My. Life.

He’s following up on our previous conversation about the job offer. The one I’ve already declined a handful of times. Apparently, Kingsley isn’t a man accustomed to rejection because he’s now inviting me to dinner tonight with his team.

And, oh, how thoughtful, he’s already made a reservation .

I stare at the screen, chewing my lip in indecision. Maybe dinner isn’t a terrible idea. If I say no again, publicly and clearly, he’ll finally back off.

Sighing, I type out a quick but polite email, accepting his dinner invitation.

It’s at that exact moment that my phone buzzes on the desk. Julian’s name flashes across the screen, and that stupid smile nearly splits my face in two.

I pick it up. “Hi.”

“Come to dinner with me tonight.”

My traitorous heart does a flip. “Julian—”

“Come to dinner with me,” he repeats, voice softer this time as he tries to coax an acceptance out of me.

Dinner is shockingly normal for two people who started their story in darkness and anonymity. I want to say yes so badly it aches, but he’s two minutes too late.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t.” He’s going to hate what I’m about to say. I already hate myself for it. “I’m going to dinner with Tom Kingsley.”

Silence.

Heavy, charged silence.

“Julian?” I ask hesitantly. “You there?”

“Oh, I’m here, sweetheart,” he finally replies, voice dangerously controlled. “But I’ve spent a small fortune on a therapist teaching me how to breathe through situations exactly like this. I’m just putting my money to good use right now. Give me a minute.”

My brows lift, surprised curiosity replacing panic.

He has a therapist.

God, that’s hot.

I file that away for later, smiling faintly before realizing how messed up that reaction is.

“Explain, Celeste.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I say, mostly because I love fighting with him.

“No,” he growls, clearly restraining himself. “No, Celeste, you don’t, but I’m asking really fucking nicely. So please explain how you—the most stubborn, frustrating, beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on—are willingly having dinner with Tom Kingsley?”

I groan and slump deeper into my chair. “For the record, I don’t even plan on staying for appetizers, but it’s not just Kingsley. It’s dinner with his team. I’m declining his job offer. Again. Publicly. So maybe he’ll listen this time.”

“I don’t like it.”

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

In the background, I hear someone call his name, and I seize the opportunity.

“You’re obviously busy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Celeste—”

“Bye, Julian.”

I hang up before he can argue, staring blankly at my phone. My head falls into my hands as regret twists in my chest.

What the hell am I doing?

Kingsley is trouble I don’t need.

Julian is trouble I crave.

And me?

I’m just plain trouble for myself.

∞∞ ∞

I should have known.

Of course, he’s sitting there alone. No “team.” No business associates. Just Tom Kingsley lounging in a leather-backed booth, wearing a smug smile that sets my teeth on edge.

He stands as I approach. “Celeste.” His eyes roam over my dress, appreciation barely hidden. “You look radiant.”

“Mr. Kingsley,” I reply evenly, sliding into the booth opposite him. “I thought your team would be joining us.”

“There was a last-minute scheduling conflict,” he says smoothly as he sits back down. “It’ll just be us.”

How convenient.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he continues, oblivious to my tension, or perhaps enjoying it. “I’ve been looking forward to our conversation.”

I bet you have.

A waiter arrives, and Kingsley turns, gesturing toward the wine list. “We’ll start with—”

“Just water for me,” I interrupt, offering an apologetic smile to the waiter.

Kingsley pauses with irritation flickering in his eyes before he covers it with practiced charm.

“Then water and a bottle of your best red. Just in case she changes her mind.”

I clench my teeth and force a smile until the waiter walks away.

“So,” he begins, “how’s the Blackwood & Calloway project progressing?”

“Ahead of schedule.”

“And Blackwood himself? He has quite the reputation, doesn’t he?”

“Professional. Demanding.” I shrug, feigning boredom. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m surprised he lets you work so independently. Men like him are usually more... possessive.”

“Men like him?” I echo, holding his gaze. “You mean successful men? Confident men?”

He pauses, sensing my challenge. “I suppose.”

“I work with a lot of successful, confident men. They’ve learned not to underestimate me.”

“Of course,” he counters before taking a long breath. “Let me get straight to the point, Celeste.”

“Please.”

“I believe your talents are wasted with Sinclair. Imagine what you could achieve with my resources. Global projects, endless possibilities.”

I tilt my head, studying him. “I’ve thought about your offer, Mr. Kingsley.”

“Tom,” he corrects.

“I’ve thought about your offer, Tom,” I repeat pointedly, “and while I appreciate it, I’m happy with my job.”

“You’re not even considering it?”

“I did consider it, and the answer is no.”

He hums and stews in a long moment of silence.

I don’t notice it at first.

It’s just a prickle, a whisper beneath my skin. That eerie, inexplicable hum of awareness that makes the tiny hairs on your arms rise even though nothing’s touched you.

I shift in my seat, glancing over my shoulder toward the entrance.

Nothing.

I’m on edge tonight. Maybe it’s because I don’t like where this is going.

The silence is only broken when the waiter sets our drinks on the table before he gives a polite smile and leaves.

“Celeste, you’re making a mistake. Blackwood might seem impressive now, but men like him burn bright and fast. It’s not long before everyone around them gets scorched.”

“Sounds personal,” I reply coolly, lifting my water glass.

“It’s a warning. One you should heed.”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“I noticed.” His expression shifts, frustration edging toward something darker. “It’s a shame. You’re exactly my type.”

I set my glass down because if I don’t, I’ll fling it at him. “I’m not interested in being anyone’s type.”

His hand slides across the table, reaching to touch mine.

I lean back, realization settling like ice water in my veins, but I leave my hand under his because this will be the last time this man gets to touch me.

I hope he enjoys it.

“Tom,” I say quietly, holding his gaze. “You knew your team wasn’t coming tonight. You knew before we even sat down that I’d already made my decision. I’ve given you my answer, yet here we are. Tell me, what exactly were you hoping would happen by dessert?”

His eyes gleam in a way that makes my stomach churn. “Celeste, you’re a beautiful woman. Intelligent, talented. Surely you’ve been to dinners like this before.” His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers there. “You know how the game works.”

Every muscle in my body locks tight. “Excuse me?”

He laughs loud enough to attract glances from neighboring tables. Curious stares are cast our way before quickly returning to their conversations.

Attention secured, Kingsley leans forward, his voice lowering to a calculated sneer. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

Shock jolts through my system, followed quickly by a cold, furious clarity.

“Blackwood. You’re sleeping with him.”

The sheer audacity steals my breath for half a heartbeat before anger slices through.

“My professional decisions have nothing to do with who I choose to fuck, Tom,” I say evenly, my voice dangerously calm. “Though clearly, you can’t separate the two.”

“Watch your tone, Celeste. I meant no offense.”

I lean forward, holding his stare without flinching. “Oh, I’m watching my tone very carefully, because it’s the only thing standing between you and a very public humiliation.”

His smile vanishes.

“You invited me here under false pretenses, clearly ignoring the multiple times I professionally declined your offer. You claim you admire my talent, yet you’re here assuming I’d reconsider for what?

Because you complimented my appearance? Because you assumed I’d jump at the chance to attach myself to your rapidly fading reputation? ”

His nostrils flare, but I don’t allow him the dignity of a response yet.

“You insulted my integrity and professionalism, and when that didn’t work, you resorted to throwing accusations about my personal life,” I continue. “Frankly, Tom, go fuck yourself.”

His face turns a furious red. “You’re going to regret this. ”

“My only regret is not recognizing sooner that beneath your sleazy smile, you’re just another insecure little boy who doesn’t know how to hear the word no.”

I rise from the booth, but not before he can grab my hand again in a bruising grip.

“Get your hands off me.” My pulse thrums erratically beneath his touch.

“Apologies, Celeste. The wine is going to my head. Please sit. We can talk.”

“Remove your hands.”

“I’d listen to her, Kingsley. She has a hell of a right hook.” A voice—familiar, rough, and more angry than I’ve ever heard it—cuts through.

Julian’s gaze falls to where Kingsley is touching me, and every muscle in his body goes taut with tension. “Take your fucking hands off her, or you’ll be shitting your fingers for a week.”

Kingsley’s eyes widen before he yanks his hand away. “Julian. Good to see you. We were just discussing business.”

“Were you?” Julian raises a brow, slipping his hands into his pockets, which somehow makes him even more lethal. “Didn’t realize touching was part of your business model.”

“I was simply making a point.”

I see it the moment it happens.

That tiny shift in his expression.

The heat in his gaze sharpens into something colder, and a familiar shadow seems to settle over him.

I don’t know much about his past, but I know enough to recognize that Julian can’t stand bullies.

“Julian.” I step closer and rest my hand on his forearm just as his weight shifts forward. If I don’t stop him now, Kingsley’s face will be unrecognizable before his dinner arrives.

“Look at me,” I whisper.

His focus cuts away from Kingsley and lands on me, a thousand silent words passing between us.

“Everything is fine,” I tell him. “Tom was just receiving my final answer.”

My fingers squeeze his arm once. Twice. Three times.

I watch the tension bleed out of him until his shoulders lower and his breathing evens. The Julian everyone knows—the one who hides the darker parts of himself behind careful control—slides back into place.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. Not once. “Good, because I’ve come to collect my architect. We have important matters to discuss elsewhere.”

I almost smile. “Then let’s go.”

Kingsley stands, irritation burning bright in his eyes. “Celeste—”

“Thank you for the offer, Tom,” I interrupt. “My decision stands.”

With that, I stride toward the exit, feeling Kingsley’s stare burning into my back.

Julian follows, but I can feel the anger bristling underneath.

Damn my stupid heart.

I might be falling for this man, but he’s not getting away with it that easily.

The moment we step outside, I whirl on him. “Were you following me?”

He shrugs and slips his hands back into his pockets. “Coincidence.”

“You don’t do coincidence.”

“I thought you were meeting with him and his team.”

“Yeah, well, so did I,” I fire back. “Turns out he meant the team in spirit. Or in his imagination. Or maybe he thinks he and his raging ego are a team.”

Julian exhales a laugh, but it dies quickly.

I glare, hating how quickly my heart is beating, how completely this man can unravel me with a single look.

“I had that handled.”

His gaze darkens. “You shouldn’t be alone with Kingsley.”

“What the hell do you think I am?”

“I already know what you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“A woman who shouldn’t be underestimated,” he says. “Which is exactly why Kingsley won’t stop until he gets what he wants. I don’t like you around him. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“I don’t need saving, remember?” My voice cracks slightly. “I don’t need a hero.”

“Tough shit, remember?” He steps closer, lowering his voice to something dangerously intimate. “And I don’t want to be your hero, Celeste. You do a damn good job of being your own. I just want to…” He trails off, searching for the words.

“Protect me,” I finish because I understand more than he realizes. My resistance dissolves as his hand encloses mine. “Fine, but only if you let me do the same for you.”

I smooth my palm down his silk tie and tug.

There’s a dark shadow clinging to this charming man of mine.

I see it sometimes when his guard slips, when he doesn’t know I’m watching.

I catch glimpses when our bodies are connected, when he unravels completely beneath me.

It’s there in the way his gaze sometimes drifts, lost in memories he’s never shared.

It’s in those possessive touches in the dark, where he thinks that because I can’t see, I must not feel the depth of his need.

And it’s there, too, in moments when he takes control only to surrender it back to me, silently begging me to wield it against him.

He’s waiting to be hurt.

I see it.

And I hear it clearly in every word he leaves unspoken.

Curling two fingers under my chin, he tilts my head up. “Besides you, who do I need protecting from, huh?”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat and hold his gaze.

“Yourself,” I whisper. “Sometimes, Julian, I think you need protecting from yourself.”

His lips twitch like he wants to smile, but his eyes tell me he already knows I’m right.