If I became Julian’s girlfriend, the arrangement would be practical. Sure, there’d be sex—but that, too, would feel like overdue compensation for the emotional damage I’d endured. And to be honest, I’d been secretly attracted to Julian for years.
I still remembered the first time I visited his penthouse to deliver some urgent documents. Julian had just stepped out of the shower, a towel slung loosely around his waist.
I could never unseen it—his chiseled chest, those broad shoulders, the sculpted V-line abs that could make any woman weak in the knees. From that moment on, I was hooked.
But there was one glaring problem: after three years of working for Julian, I still couldn’t figure out his type.
His dating history was as diverse as it was baffling. He’d been with slender women, curvy women, cheerful extroverts, and shy introverts. Some were drop-dead gorgeous; others were so plain you wouldn’t notice them in a crowd.
Sometimes, I wondered if Julian was conducting some kind of personal research project on the variety of women in the world.
The usual rule that men loved beautiful women didn’t seem to apply to him. He’d dated two women so astonishingly ordinary that I had to double-check to make sure they were real contenders. And yet, they’d been chosen.
This unpredictability gave me hope. If Julian could fall for someone so unremarkable, then why not me?
His generosity was as random as his taste in women, and I was determined to be patient.
By any means necessary, I was going to climb into his bed.
And I would get that million dollars.
There was a saying: “Those who prepare well will always seize the first opportunity.”
After working for Julian Grey for 2,315 days, my opportunity—my golden ticket—finally arrived.
At 1 a.m., my phone rang, jolting me from a restless sleep. On the other end was Marcus Caldwell, Julian’s closest friend and one of the city’s most notorious playboys. His voice was laced with urgency.
“Olivia, you’ve got to help. Julian’s drunk. Completely out of it. You’re the only one who can handle him.”
Drunk? Julian Grey? The man had never touched a drop of alcohol in all the years I’d worked for him. Suspicious but intrigued, I grabbed my coat and left my apartment.