The Allure Of Julian Lefray Part 4

She sneered.

"Well it feels like I'm in the loony bin. Look at this stuff! It looks like lettuce with a bad perm!"

I rolled my eyes. "That's kale, Lorena."

She waved me off as if I wasn't making any sense.

"I can't fit into any of my old clothes either," she said, redirecting her glare to the overflowing closet, grimacing at the piled garments she hadn't cared to hang up after trying them on.

"That's a good thing," I a.s.sured her. "You were way too skinny before. A little bit of added weight means you're getting healthy."

For a long time my family never spoke of Lorena's drug problem. The hints and warning signs were dust to be swept under the rug, along with the other skeletons that my mother believed should be kept locked away in the closet. Lorena would have probably sought help years earlier if only she could have spoken up about her problems.

"I brought you something," I said, reaching for the brown bag behind my chair.

Her hazel eyes lit up and I knew I'd done the right thing by bringing her a gift.

She made grabby hands as I handed over the large bag. She ripped it open without hesitation and pulled out the large black frame I'd picked up on my way over.

There were three photos framed side by side. One photo was of the two of us when we were little, all big teeth and dirty faces. The second photo was of the two of us the year before at Christmas. The third was a photo of our father and us before he'd died. I'd purposely picked photos that didn't include our mother.

"Aw, I love it!" she said, holding it out in front of her for a better view.

I took in the sight of her for a moment. She'd been in rehab less than a week and she already looked better than she had in years. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow and she'd started to put a little meat on her bones.

I promised her I'd hang the frame on her wall before I left, knowing it would add some personality to her room. Each "guest" at The White Dunes had their own small room. It was the most expensive rehab facility on Long Island, but even her lavish room still looked like a sterile cell, and I knew that to Lorena, it felt like one as well. The walls were white. The linens were white. The desk, doors, and dresser, all white. The colorless aesthetic was not her style, and I intended on helping her decorate as much as I could.

"Now enough stalling, how's my company?" she asked, dropping the frame on her lap and staring at me with expectant eyes.

"I'm in the process of cleaning house," I declared, cutting through the bulls.h.i.t. For the last year, she'd done everything in her power to run her company into the ground. If there was any hope for revitalization, it needed a major overhaul, beginning with the staff.

"Geoff? What about Gina?" she asked with hope in her eyes.

"Everyone will be replaced."

I had zero remorse for the employees I'd already let go. There were only a handful of them, all under qualified, all enablers of Lorena's drug addiction. Their expulsion from the company had been a long time coming and she knew it.

Lorena rolled her eyes and went to work twisting her hair into a knot on top of her head. She'd taken the brown hair we shared and bleached it a pale blonde, verging on white, a few months back. Her roots were showing now that she was stuck in "rehab h.e.l.l", but I knew she'd color it back as soon as she could.

"And my s.p.a.ce in Brooklyn? Are you planning on dumping that as well?"

I frowned, unsure of how honest she wanted me to be. I had plans to overhaul her entire company, to get rid of the employees and slim down on expenses. I'd wanted to step in years ago, but it was Lorena's baby, and I respected her need to make decisions on her own. At the same time, I owned 49% of the company and that 49% was about to be worth nothing if something drastic wasn't done.

"The Brooklyn warehouse is still under lease for the next two months, but I'd like to move the company to a s.p.a.ce in Manhattan."

She groaned, but I pushed on.

"While I'm running the company, I'm not commuting out to Brooklyn every morning. I'll find a s.p.a.ce in Manhattan and set up shop there."

"And you're the only employee right now? Just great." She threw her hands in the air in defeat.

"No, actually. I hired someone just this morning."

She slid her gaze to me, curiosity and skepticism fighting for control over her features.

"And who, pray tell, did you hire to help run MY company? Some idiot straight out of fashion school? So help me G.o.d if they think they can come in and take over my designs-"

"Relax. I hired someone you'd like. Her name is Josephine Keller-"

"Wait. Josephine from What Jo Wore?"

"You know her?"

Lorena nodded. "I don't live under a rock. She's that pretty blogger chick from Texas, right?"

I hesitated before nodding and then told myself I was only confirming that she was from Texas, not that she was pretty, though she was. Gorgeous even, but I shook the thought away.

"She'll be my a.s.sistant, but she'll also help me with the branding and marketing side of things."

"Where will the two of you work while you look for a new place?" she asked.

I swallowed before answering. "My hotel."

Lorena nodded with an arched brow. "Interesting. I mean, convenient."

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Do you have any office s.p.a.ces for me to take a look at yet?"

"I'm meeting with a realtor tomorrow morning. I'll bring over information about the prospective properties after that."

"a.s.suming I'm still alive tomorrow." Lorena frowned just as a knock sounded from her door.

A moment later, a "recovery and wellness concierge" popped her head in and smiled. "The group activity is starting in the main room in fifteen minutes. We'll be screening Sixteen Candles while lighting sixteen lamps filled with different aromatherapy oils."

She smiled and closed the door after her announcement and Lorena's eyes widened in horror. "Do you see what I mean? They're poisoning me with cheesy 80s movies and yucky lettuce."

I laughed and stood to leave. My baby sister had made her bed of kale, and now she had to lie in it.

Chapter Eight.

Josephine I'd just finished shoving the last bite of a donut in my mouth when my phone buzzed in my hand. I wiped the chocolate icing from my mouth and discarded the donut box in the trash. I took extra care to get rid of all the evidence of the sweet doughy deliciousness because that's how denial works. No proof, no calories. Ha!

After I wiped my hands, I swiped my finger across the screen and answered the call.

"h.e.l.lo?" Yeah, my mouth was still pretty full. Attractive, I know.

"Josephine?"

The deep voice sent a slight shiver down my spine. I swallowed slowly.

"Julian?" I asked, pulling the phone away from my cheek to check the number. I didn't recognize the area code.

"Yes. Sorry to call you so early. I just wanted to let you know that we won't be meeting at my hotel like we originally planned."

"Oh."

I sounded sad. Why did I sound sad? Had I been looking forward to seeing the inside of Julian's hotel room? Had I wanted some alone time with him?

"Is that all right?" he asked, sounding worried.

"Oh! Yeah. Of course. Where are we meeting instead?"

"My realtor has lined up a few properties for us to take a look at. I'll text you the first address after we hang up."

"Okay, cool. I love looking at real estate."

He laughed. "Really?"

"Yep."

"I can't tell if you're kidding."

I laughed. "I'm borderline addicted to HGTV. It's not healthy."

"Ah, I see. Well, we'll be going into some unfinished job sites, so make sure you wear closed-toe shoes."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll dress the part," I quipped.

"Are you getting ready as we talk? I'm already on my way to the first address."

Oh c.r.a.p. "Let me go so I can map it."

"All right. Good luck."

I dropped my phone and scrambled to finish getting ready. Last night Julian had emailed me a few details about my first day on the job. I'd planned on meeting him at his hotel-where we'd be working until we found a s.p.a.ce to rent in Manhattan-but if we were going to be running around town all day, I needed to change my shoes. My feet would be screaming by the second listing.

I slid into some black leather flats and peeked at the mirror before dashing out the door. A stray chocolate sprinkle was lurking in the corner of my mouth from the donut I had allegedly eaten a minute before. I wiped it away and rea.s.sessed my makeup. Not bad. Not bad at all.

It was warming up nicely in New York City, but there was still a morning chill lingering in the air, so I walked to the first listing instead of taking the subway.

Julian was standing near the entrance of the building, chatting with a short, balding man in a three-piece suit. The man had on a blue paisley tie that coordinated with his pocket square and a Bluetooth thing sticking out of his right ear. Ah, he was definitely the realtor.

"Josephine," Julian said with a smile as I approached.

I scanned over his outfit quickly, pushing away the swell of l.u.s.t that accompanied the sight of him. Black slacks-not cute. White b.u.t.ton-down-not cute. Fitted black jacket-ew. Who thinks defined arms and a broad chest are attractive? No one.

He reached forward and gripped my arm just above my elbow as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. JESUS CHRIST. He smelled divine, like he'd spent the morning in the woods building me a log cabin. I hated him.

When he pulled back after our kiss, he kept his hand on my arm and introduced me to Sergio, our realtor. Taking it as a cue, Sergio leaned in to kiss my other cheek. I flinched, and my nose knocked his earpiece to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, let me get that!" I sang, trying to allay the awkwardness.

I bent to grab it before either of them could get it, then handed it to Sergio with an apologetic smile.

"Let me just grab the key from the lockbox and then we'll head inside," Sergio explained.

I nodded and wet my lips, trying hard to work up the nerve to glance at Julian. I'd felt so confident during our phone call, but in person my courage dwindled away as if it'd never been there at all.

"No overalls? I'm a little disappointed," Julian quipped as he turned toward me.

I laughed and glanced down at my outfit. He read that blog post!

"I figured overalls were more of a second-day-on-the-job kind of look," I said with a smile.

Julian laughed. "What's a third-day-on-the-job look then?"

"Jorts."

He laughed, but furrowed his brows. "Jorts?"

My smile fell. "Oh c'mon. You don't know what jorts are?"

He shook his head with a bemused expression.

"They're cut-off jeans, made into shorts." I made a cutting motion across my thigh. "Mostly worn by hipsters with handlebar mustaches."

"I guess I'll see them on Wednesday," he laughed.

"Got it!" Sergio explained, motioning us forward and sweeping the door open with enough razzle-dazzle to give Vanna White a run for her money.

And so began our tour of really c.r.a.ppy New York real estate. Julian and I quickly learned the lay of the land. Any spot worth renting cost enough to purchase a small island in the Mediterranean, and if the property was priced reasonably, well, there was a reason. Rats, poor plumbing, no windows-the list went on and on. By the time we were walking through the sixth listing, we'd both all but given up hope of finding something quickly.

We were touring the final property of the day, an apartment that was listed on the market as a commercial office s.p.a.ce, but it didn't look any better than the previous listings. The entire apartment couldn't have been more than 400 square feet total, and the floor plan was incredibly odd. Right when we walked in, we were led into a small room with three chairs lining the walls. An ornate black chandelier hung from the ceiling, but there was no artwork on the wall. It looked like a stark waiting room of sorts.

"Is the s.p.a.ce vacant?" I asked the realtor.

"No. Their lease is up in two weeks and the landlord wants to get a new tenant in right away."

I nodded and continued into the s.p.a.ce, skeptical of what we'd find. There was a once-functioning kitchen to the left, and off to the side there were two small doors that branched off the main hallway.

"How could someone cla.s.sify this as a commercial s.p.a.ce?" Julian asked, following after me. He seemed just as disappointed as I was.