Chapter 7 The Art Of War (Over Coffee)

• Monday mornings were Clara’s personal brand of hell, but today? Today was war.
• She walked into the building like a woman on a mission, which she was—Operation: Avoid Julian Nightingale Until the Heat Death of the Universe. Unfortunately, the universe disagreed.
• “Miss Bellamy,” a smooth voice greeted her as the elevator doors opened.
• She did not sigh.
• She did not scream internally.
• She absolutely did not look at him.
• “Julian,” she replied without turning. “Still allergic to humility, I see.”
• “Still pretending sarcasm is a personality trait, I see.”
• She gave him a sugar-sweet smile. “Only when it works.”
• ⚡
• They shared the elevator. Alone.
• He pressed the button for the 23rd floor.
• She stared at the door like she could will it to open faster.
• Julian leaned against the wall with that irritating ease only men with good hair and an inflated sense of importance possessed.
• “I take it the camping experience didn’t convert you?” he asked.
• “Unless the goal was to turn me into a mosquito buffet, no. But I do appreciate being blindfolded and shouted at by a woman named Stephanie. Really centers the soul.”
• He chuckled. “You were good at the maze.”
• “I was excellent at not dying. That’s where I shine.”
• He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re not like other journalists.”
• Clara raised a brow. “What, you mean I haven’t bribed your assistant for a quote or tried to dig up dirt on your grandfather’s oil tycoon origins?”
• “Something like that.”
• She let a beat pass. “I prefer a cleaner game. Besides, I already know Miranda’s the skeleton in your closet.”
• Julian’s expression flickered for half a second.
• Then the elevator dinged.
• He let her walk out first. “Careful, Clara. You’re starting to sound jealous.”
• She turned over her shoulder. “Of Miranda? Please. I had acne in high school too, I just didn’t become a Bond villain because of it.”
• ⚡
• Julian couldn’t focus that day.
• Clara had burrowed into his brain like some kind of chaotic squirrel, disrupting every rational thought with her wild eyes and sharp tongue.
• He sat at his desk, reviewing reports, and still his mind drifted.
• He’d told himself she was an annoyance.
• But annoyance didn’t explain the way he’d panicked when she tripped on a rock during the trust walk.
• Or the fact that her laugh had burrowed under his skin like it belonged there.
• He hated not understanding things.
• He hated not understanding her.
• ⚡
• Downstairs, Clara was dealing with a tragedy far more immediate.
• The office coffee machine had betrayed her.
• “What do you mean decaf only?!” she yelled into the pantry, arms raised like a dramatic soap opera star.
• Olivia popped her head in. “The new intern tried to fix it. He thought milk went in the water tank.”
• “I’m going to scream,” Clara muttered.
• “You can always get a drink from the café across the street.”
• Clara sighed. “Fine. If I get hit by a bus on the way, tell HR they’ll need to pay out my life insurance. And also that I died bitter.”
• “Noted.”
• ⚡
• She regretted everything the moment she stepped outside.
• Because of course Julian was already at the café.
• And of course he saw her.
• And of course he was smiling.
• “That’s a new coat,” he commented as she joined the line behind him.
• “You keep tabs on my wardrobe now?”
• “Maybe. I have an excellent memory for things that look good.”
• She side-eyed him. “You must have amnesia when you look in the mirror then.”
• He laughed. Loud. And genuine.
• It annoyed her how much she liked the sound.
• He stepped aside after ordering. “Your drink’s on me.”
• “Why?”
• “Because I’m trying to annoy you in new, creative ways.”
• “Well, bravo,” she said dryly. “You’re doing great.”
• ⚡
• Their drinks arrived.
• Julian didn’t leave.
• He sat at her table.
• Uninvited.
• “Do you just... exist to ruin my peace?” Clara asked.
• He took a sip of his espresso. “I’m just here to enjoy the company of a fellow caffeine addict.”
• She narrowed her eyes. “You are suspiciously charming today. Are you dying?”
• “I might be.”
• Something flickered in his eyes. A flash of melancholy. Then it vanished.
• Clara blinked.
• For half a second, she saw something older in him.
• Sad. Familiar. Like déjà vu laced with grief.
• She shook it off. “Well, if you do die, I’m not writing your obituary. Just so you know.”
• “Would you cry at my funeral?”
• “No, but I’d definitely clap.”
• He laughed again.
• And something in her chest tugged.
• ⚡
• Back at her desk, Clara tried to work.
• But her mind was fuzzy.
• Julian was becoming a problem.
• Not the usual, suit-wearing problem.
• The heart-fluttering, cheek-heating kind.
• And she didn’t have time for feelings.
• Especially not for a man engaged to her high school nightmare.
• But even now, as she opened her emails, one thought buzzed in her mind louder than the rest:
• Why does he feel like someone I used to know?