The first week of Julian's permanent residency in the Torres building was, surprisingly, the most productive week of my career.
I had expected a storm. I had expected the "predatory blue eyes" from the lunch table to follow my every move with a magnifying glass. Instead, I got a gentleman.
Julian was a ghost of professional courtesy. He moved back into the office next to William's with a quiet efficiency that was almost admirable. He didn't demand extra coffee; he didn't bark orders at the staff. He even brought me a tin of rare loose-leaf tea from a boutique in Mayfair, claiming he'd noticed I preferred herbal blends over the office's standard caffeine.
"You're a very observant woman, Madelyn," he'd said with that smooth, charcoal-smoke voice. "It's only fair I return the favor."
