Page 7 of Dangerous Obsession
“What now?” she asked, aloud.
She could try one of the other locations. On another night, with another man, another negotiation. The prospect wasn’t appealing. What she wanted wasn’t something she could scene her way into. It wasn’t in careful hands or well-meaning questions. It was in confidence, precision, and the devastating certainty of a man who wanted her but refused to claim her.
Chapter 2
Running on too little sleep, Julia pushed through the door of Gold Coast Catering, already planning her day. Invoices first, then vendor confirmations. The seafood delivery for the Mason-Dixon wedding—yeah, those really were their names—needed to be checked against the revised guest count, and she still didn’t trust the new linen company not to send the wrong color again. There were three events between now and Sunday night, and if she stayed ahead, if she kept moving, maybe nothing would slip through the cracks.
“Good morning,” she called on her way to the office.
The kitchen was in full swing. Pans hitting burners, knives chopping in rhythm, the scent of garlic and citrus cutting through the air. It was familiar, comforting, a place where she could handle almost anything that blindsided her.
“Morning,” Emily said from the prep station.
Leaving the door open so they could chat as they worked, she set her bag down, flipped her laptop open, and pulled up the event schedule. Her fingers moved over the keys. She hit the wrong one, swore under her breath, and backspaced to correct it.
“Did the produce order come in?” she asked.
“It’s here.”
“Good. And the rentals for Friday? Please tell me they didn’t send the wrong linens again.”
“Julia.”
It wasn’t sharp. Not even firm. Just enough to make her look up.
Emily was watching her. Not casually or in passing but taking her in the way she always did when something wasn’t right. “You’re here early,” she said, her gaze lingering on her face.
“I’m always here early.”
“Never before nine.”
Julia gave a small shrug, turning to her screen. “We’ve got a lot going on this week.”
“Mm.”
That was all Emily said. But she didn’t look away.
Julia clicked through the vendor list, forcing herself to focus on the numbers. They were easier than people; numbers behaved themselves. They didn’t tease you, didn’t make you fall in love with them, didn’t walk away like it meant nothing.
Her fingers stilled on the keys.
Love… Where the heck had that come from?
God. Was that what this was?
Her pulse quickened, and a dull ache settled behind her eyes as she stared at the screen like it might offer an explanation.
Could she really be in love with someone after three sessions? Three intense, impossible-to-forget sessions, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who fell for a man that fast. Even the kind who got under your skin without trying, who made surrender feel inevitable.
Leland fit that mold a little too well.
Julia snapped her laptop shut. This wasn’t a novel. This was her life.
“Something wrong?” Emily asked.
She looked up to find her friend watching her with narrowed, entirely too-perceptive eyes.
“What’s wrong,” Julia said, sliding off the stool and heading for the stainless-steel urn, “is that I haven’t had nearly enough coffee.”
