Page 79 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

We all try our wine, then Cedric turns to me. “What do you do for work?”

“Biomedical research.”

He whistles. “Your girlfriends are always impressive, Julian.”

“I’m not that impressive,” I protest. “It’s not like I run my own lab.”

“You’re impressive,” Julian murmurs, quietly enough so that only I can hear, and it sets me aflutter.

We talked about my research the other day at breakfast, and he asked some surprisingly intelligent questions.

Well, I suppose it wasn’t actually surprising. This is Julian, after all, and he’s good at everything.

I look at his brothers. “Tell me about the women he’s dated.” This is probably a bad idea, but I can’t help being curious.

“Hmm,” Cedric says. “There were a couple of lawyers—yeah, Julian definitely had a thing for lawyers for a while. Then there was a doctor, an engineer...”

“This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke,” I say.

“Challenge accepted,” Vince says, resting his hands on the back of his head. “A lawyer, a doctor, and an engineer—”

Julian holds up a hand. “I don’t need to hear this.”

“Thank God. I can’t remember the rest of that joke. The drugs and alcohol must have fried my brain.” Vince is being sarcastic. I think.

“You know,” Cedric says, “two years ago, we never could have gone out for dinner like this. Vince would have been working fourteen-hour days, Julian would have been working fourteen-hour days, and I would have been on my book tour.” He raises his wine glass, and we all clink glasses. “To being lazy!”

“Amen,” Vince says before downing half his glass.

“Do you ever miss it?” Cedric asks.

“Why would I? I have money and no demands on my time. It’s the perfect life.”

Julian looks skeptical but says nothing. Soon, conversation switches to the design of the cardiology wing at East Markham Hospital.

The waitress brings us bread and takes our orders. The bread is as good as the stuff Julian served me yesterday, and I eagerly take a second slice.

I feel fine now. It’s nice to hang out with people after work, and I like Julian’s family.

But then I remind myself that I’ll probably never see them again. Julian’s two weeks of freedom are almost over; my two weeks in his life are almost over. We probably won’t have time to take those scrapbooking lessons or make a terrarium.

I pull out my phone. “Let me take a picture of the three of you for the scrapbook.”

We take a few pictures and sip our wine. Our appetizers arrive, and they’re delicious.

“You doing okay?” Julian whispers.

“Yes,” I say. “I’m just fine.”

Except I’ve realized how hard it’ll be to walk away from Julian Fong. Earlier I assumed it wouldn’t be a big problem, but now I know otherwise.

I met his family, and he met mine. I let him see me at my worst; I told him my secrets.

It won’t be easy, but all good things must come to an end. I know that all too well.

Somehow, I’ll just have to deal.