Arrogant Boss

“Maybe. I’d say my last goodbyes if I were you, Hunt.”

We made it to the Italian restaurant I’d been looking for, a slightly garish place with plastic vinyl booths and enormous portion sizes. Julian laughed at my choice of venue but gladly folded himself into the small space and ordered lasagna.

He didn’t fit in; he never did, really, anywhere. There was just too much life contained in him. People watched him wherever we went-their eyes trailing his movements and gestures.

I watched him as we ate, the steadiness of his hands, the breadth of his shoulders, and the unlikely softness behind his eyes when he smiled at me sometimes. How could this man be mine to enjoy? How could he be real? He still felt like a figment of my imagination sometimes, just like the things we did together.

Too good to be true.

“Ace,” Julian said, putting more parmesan on his plate. “You’re watching me.”

“No.”He bit his lip to hide a smile. “I don’t mind. I know I’m very handsome.”

“And very modest.”

“That’s why you like me.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. I really did like him. More than I should-more than a fling with your boss warranted.

“Tell me more about your childhood,” I said before heaping another spoonful of spaghetti into my mouth.

Julian leaned back in the booth. He looked entirely relaxed, his smile affectionate. “Are you sure you got enough pasta for lunch, beautiful? I’m not sure it will-”

I grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and tossed it in his direction. It fluttered uselessly down onto the table between us and he broke out into genuine laughter.

“Ooh. Scary, Ace.”

“I asked you a question, you know.”

“know.” His hand settled next to mine on the table and he gently traced the line of my finger. It wasn’t technically against the rules of things we shouldn’t do in public, but judging by the way the butterflies in my stomach sprung to life I knew it wasn’t exactly innocent.

“I had a great childhood. My mom was doting, the type who packed me lunch bags every day. She divorced my dad when I was about thirteen, but they continued to have dinner once a week. I think they fell out of love more than anything.”

“No crazy fights?”

“None.”

“How about your dad?”

“Aren’t you the curious one today?”

“We don’t talk a lot about you.”

“Only because you’re infinitely more interesting.”

I frowned at him. “That’s decidedly not true, Mr. Fortune 500. There are tons of things I want to know.”

“Like what? What time I get up in the morning? If I stretch before or after a workout? What the secret to success is? The pin code to my credit card?”

Julian’s tone was teasing, but the questions were eerily familiar to many of the ones I’ve read in interviews with him. No doubt the world was determined to figure out what his secret was.

Hard work, I could have told them all, having seen how hard he pushed himself. How his eyes lit up when he spoke about technology’s ability to push boundaries and create a better world.

“No,” I said softly. “Did you practice an instrument when you were a kid? Did you grow up with pets? What movies make you cry? What’s your favorite holiday?”

Julian looked at me for a long while, a crooked smile on his face. It looked more real than any he’d ever given me before. Mentally, I added this version of him to my roster, to the version of him I get when we’re alone. It’s the version I like the very best.

“You’re a rare jewel, you know that?”

I felt a blush creep up and looked back down at my pasta. “And you’re avoiding the question. Again.”

He chuckled. “Alright then, whip-cracker. My dad wasn’t at home a lot, but we had a great relationship and he was very supportive of my interest in programming. He passed a couple of years back. Ryan took it harder than I did, I think, mainly because he was still so young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” His finger traced mine again. “I played the flute as a child.”

“The flute?”

“Yes. Horrible instrument. I was never any good, just red in the face from all the blowing.” He held up a finger at me, staving off my smile. “Don’t say it. I heard how that sounded as I was saying it.”

I bit my tongue. “I won’t.”

“We had a dog named Nancy, a German Shepherd. I don’t generally cry at movies, but-”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing vulnerability.”

“I’m not!”

I shook my head sadly. “I thought you were more secure in your masculinity than that, Julian.”

“Ace, I’ve-”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

“No. I’m disappointed.”

He laughed. “You’re impossible. Yes. I have gotten teary-eyed at movies, but I can’t remember when I last did. But I’ll have you know that I did, in fact, get a bit misty-eyed when I saw The Notebook.”

The pride he took in this little revelation made me laugh. “Okay, you’re just making this up!”

“I’m not! Why is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s just a bit cliché.”

“Are you seriously telling me you can watch that movie with a dry eye?”

I gave a sheepish shrug. “I might.”

“And you’re the one giving me a hard time? I’m thinking you might be a psychopath now. I should call for help. Where’s the waiter?”