I reach up, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, my fingers lingering just long enough to trace the delicate curve of her jaw. Then, I tilt her chin up, my thumb brushing over her skin as I lean down, pressing my lips to hers.
All our other kisses over the past few weeks have been feverish, edged with urgency. Like we were teetering on the edge of something we weren’t ready to name.
But this kiss… this kiss is different.
It’s soft. Intentional.
We’re not kissing like we’re afraid it might be the last. We’re kissing like it’s the beginning of something more. Something real.
I slide my arms around her, pulling her even closer, and she melts into me, sighing softly against my mouth. It’s a sound that unravels me. Like coming home after wandering for too many years.
When I finally pull back, I keep her close, just far enough to take her in. The soft glow of the office lights catches the golden flecks in her hazelnut eyes, and I swear I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.
Not just because she’s Jules—she’s always been beautiful—but because this version of her, the strong, independent, fiercely determined woman standing in front of me, rivals every version I’ve loved before.
She exhales, almost like she’s thinking the same thing, before laying her head against my shoulder.
And I hold her there, our hearts beating against one another’s, as if they’re trying to remind us this is where we belong.
But the moment shatters like glass at the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat.
My head snaps toward the doorway.
Standing there, his expression twisted in fury, is my father.
“Am I interrupting something?” he snarls, his voice dripping with condescension.
Jules tenses beside me, her hands dropping to her sides. The fire in her—the fiercely independent Jules I’ve watched come back to life—flickers, withdrawing into itself. It’s the same look she had that night at the gala when he humiliated her for showing up late, paint-stained and unapologetic.
I step in front of her without thinking, my body instinctively blocking his line of fire. “What do you need?”
“Did you forget we have a meeting right now?” he snaps. “With Susan.”
There’s no meeting.
I know it. He knows it. He’s doing this to get under Jules’ skin.
“It’s not on my schedule,” I say evenly.
His gaze narrows on Jules, the same cruel smirk curving his lips that he’s perfected over the years. “What’s your ex-wife doing here?”
“If this isn’t about work—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Does Susan know you’re getting cozy with your ex?” His tone is taunting, his smirk deepening as his gaze flicks to Jules, dissecting, demeaning, trying to make her feel small.
My grip tightens around Jules’ hand, a silent reassurance.
“Why would she?” I ask coolly. “Susan is my co-worker. That’s it.”
Jules’ breathing hitches at my words. I don’t dare look at her, but I can feel the shift in her body behind me.
Dad lets out a low chuckle. “We all know that’s not true.”
I keep my expression calm, cool. “I’m in the middle of something. If you could wait outside until I’m done, that’d be great.”
His face darkens. “I don’t pay you to make out with your ex-wife,” he thunders. “I pay you to do a goddamn job.”
And that’s it.
