Marcus was already waiting by the time I reached the address he’d texted. As I approached, I saw him unceremoniously shoved out of a sleek black car. The shove came from a single hand—one that wore a custom-made watch I’d picked up for Julian just yesterday.
I pretended not to notice Marcus’s embarrassment and instead turned my attention to the car. There, sprawled in the backseat, was Julian Grey, his usually sharp and commanding presence replaced by a flushed face, messy hair, and half-closed eyes. He looked less like the formidable billionaire I knew and more like an oversized golden retriever.
Dammit, he was adorable.
For a moment, I wanted to scoop him up, ruffle his hair, and call him a good boy. Instead, I composed myself and glanced at Marcus, who was brushing imaginary lint off his designer jacket.
“He refuses to leave the car,” Marcus explained, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And if anyone gets too close, he snaps at them. I’ve never seen him like this.”
Marcus gave me an apologetic smile—one so dazzling I could see why half the city’s women were infatuated with him. “I know it’s not part of your job, Olivia, but I didn’t know who else to call.”