SOMETHING WAS NOT RIGHT.
I stared at Julian, repeating his words in my head.
I need your help.
He licked his lips again, trying to catch all the residual powdered sugar from the donut, and I cocked my head to the side. Behind him, the clock on the wall read nearly two o’clock. Had he been gone that long for lunch? I must have gotten carried away listening to my new audiobook. Rebecca Elez was my favorite narrator, and she’d sucked me right into my latest guilty pleasure—a spicy Cinderella retelling. I’d been so engrossed that Julian scared the crap out of me when he came in.
And now he was staring back at me with a strange expression. The crease between his eyes was particularly prominent. And he’d eaten one of my donuts. Odd.
“Are you okay?”
“Well, I did just ask for your help,” he said wryly, “so I think you can figure it out from there.”
He was wrong about that. Because even though I was trying very hard to figure it out, it still didn’t make sense.
“No, I mean, like…are you sick?”
Julian sighed heavily and ran a hand through that reddish hair of his. “I’m going to be if you keep this up.”
“Fine.” Although I was still worried that Julian was either messing with me or terminally ill, I slouched forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees to give my very best impression of concern and undivided attention. “What can I help you with?”
Julian stiffened as his eyes flicked over me, leaving me confused. Did he want my help or not?
He looked at the ceiling for a long moment, and I tapped my foot with impatience.
“I need you to fill me in on the details of how your team won the McKinley case,” he said with a regretful sigh.
I drew back, leaning into my chair again. Julian relaxed in his, getting comfortable. He seemed to think this would be a long conversation, but he couldn’t be more wrong.
“I’m not going to help you take my spot on the case I’m working with Cameron.”
“I’m not—” He broke off abruptly with a growl of annoyance. His hands clapped down on his knees, squeezing. “I’m not trying to take your spot on the case.”
Based on his reaction, I was almost inclined to believe him. But it would be foolish not to ask more questions. “Why do you want to know, then?”
“It’s for a separate case I’m consulting on,” he admitted after a brief pause.
“I thought you were assisting Daphne with research for her case.”
“I am.”
The brevity of his response told me he wanted to leave it there. But I couldn’t care less what he wanted.
“But I thought that case was a child custody case.”
Although Gardner Law was on the smaller side, it had enough breadth that it was able to provide specialized consultation in more than one area of law. It was one of the reasons why I wanted to work here. My experience with medical malpractice had been what got me through the doors, but the option to branch into family law, specifically adoption law, was what made me want to stay.
“It is.”
I wondered if Julian realized that for every short answer he gave me, I’d come back with a follow-up question. On principle, I had to.
“But you’re consulting on another case, too?”
He nodded, folding his arms over his chest, which only served to draw my attention to how his suit stretched over his muscled arms. Considering how long it had been since Julian played football, he still maintained himself well. Working in his dad’s shop likely helped.
I forced my gaze up to his face. “Why are you consulting on it if you don’t have the required experience?”
“Juniper. Please.” My name came through clenched teeth, shocking me at how desperate he sounded. His eyes didn’t shift with mischief, and his dry drawl was absent from his words. This wasn’t Julian Briggs, my best friend’s brother who always gave me a hard time in everything I did in life. This was Julian Briggs, my colleague…who apparently needed help. Genuinely.
So I gave in. He did say please, after all. And that was an awfully large leap of progress for him. “Sure, I’ll help you.”
He breathed a sigh of relief before realizing that I wasn’t finished.
“But it’ll cost.”
Julian studied me warily, and I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t particularly relish the idea of asking him for help. And in this area of my life, especially.
But after doing a mental audit of all my wedding date options after Sofia had messaged me this morning to make sure I’d received her invitation, I’d come up a little short. Okay, really short. I hated to admit it, but between my short-lived undergrad fling and my law school dry spell, I was floating adrift when it came to dating.
Cameron would have been a perfect option—if my professional ethics had not intervened. As soon as I was assigned to work with him on the Waverly case, I knew I had to figure out something else for the wedding. Or rather, someone else. I couldn’t mar our professional and personal relationship so quickly.
I wanted a date, yes. And I very much wanted to make an impression on my birth family. But more than that, I was determined to prove to Gardner Law that they’d made the right choice by hiring me.
“You have a lot of…impressive friends,” I started.
Both of Julian’s brows skyrocketed. “Excuse me?”
“Your friends,” I repeated. “I was hoping you could—”
“Most of my friends are married,” he deadpanned before I could even finish.
“I just need a date for a wedding,” I admitted. “It honestly doesn’t matter if they’re in love with someone else.”
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I really considered them, and now that I had, yep, they sounded bad.
“Um, I care,” Julian intoned.
“I just meant that it would be fake,” I quickly amended. “As in, not real. As in, just pretend.”
“Juniper…” he started, and I prepared myself for the lecture that was clearly on the tip of his tongue. Ah, just like old times. Reminiscing never felt so annoying.
“Come on, Julian,” I said before he could really rev his engines up. “I know you must have at least one friend whose number you could hand over in return for my superior expertise on medical malpractice.”
To my dismay, Julian looked horrified.
“Forget about it.” He threw his hands up in the air, shaking his head. “This was a bad idea.”
But now that the opportunity had presented itself, I was starting to think it was a truly wonderful idea. A little trade-off—what could go wrong?
My brain raced down memory lane, looking for potential. It foraged through the hazy, hidden recollections of that night Gemma and I had visited Julian at college in California. One face in particular swam to the forefront, clearer than all the rest.
“What about that one roommate you had?” I asked. “Neil? Nick?”
“Noah?” he choked out.
“Yes!” I crossed my arms over my chest, proud of myself. Maybe a little smug. “That’s the one.”
If I remembered correctly, Noah was ridiculously attractive, flirtatious, and friendly. Someone who would definitely be comfortable acting as a plus one.
Julian’s eyes shot to the ceiling. Exasperation riddled his expression.
“To my knowledge…” he began slowly, gaze dropping one inch with every word. “Noah is single. He’s not really the type to ever not be single.”
He said the last part pointedly, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking to get involved with someone right now, either. Would it hurt if I hit it off with my date and we went on to live happily ever after in our own spicy fairy-tale retelling? Of course not. But it wasn’t a requirement.
“Yeah, on second thought…no,” Julian said, suddenly standing. But with one glance down at me, he sat again, a look of consternation on his face.
“No?”
“I’m not setting you up with Noah.”
“You remember the part when I said it wasn’t real, right?”
“I remember,” Julian said gruffly.
“I don’t care that he doesn’t want commitment,” I clarified, so maybe he could get it through his thick skull. “So, what does Noah do these days? Where does he live?”
I hadn’t heard his name come up in conversation at the bar with Cameron, and that meant it was possible Noah was a washed-out, big-leagues reject by now. That wouldn’t really bode well for my plan, so it was best to check.
“You don’t know?” Julian asked, raising his brows.
I shook my head, and if Julian possessed a larger capacity for positive emotions, I would have said that amused him. His lips twisted as he studied my face.
“I assumed that’s why you mentioned him,” he said. “Noah London plays for the Knights. He lives here. In Boston.”
I immediately straightened with interest. His name did ring a bell. “Your roommate was Noah London? The quarterback?”
My standards for dating were not usually so high or so vain. In fact, considering my dating life had been all but nonexistent, my standards were incredibly low. But this was different. This was Sofia’s wedding.
“No,” Julian repeated, shooting down my hopes. “I mean, yes, he plays professionally as a quarterback. He was my back-up when I played in college and then went on to take my place before going pro. But no—we’re not going there. I’m not setting you up with Noah.”
“All I’m looking for is his number and maybe a few words of encouragement whispered in his ear,” I pleaded, hating how quickly this had changed from him begging me to me begging him. But it was one hell of an opportunity, and it would be wasteful to pass it up. “For how much time I’ll be putting in to help with your consultation, that’s more than a fair deal.”
Julian was quiet for a long moment. He worked his jaw over, rubbing it repeatedly. The air in the office stilled slightly, and with all my nervous energy, I had to keep myself from tapping my finger on my desk while I waited.
“He might say no,” he finally pointed out.
I shrugged. “Then he says no.”
With a grumble beneath his breath, Julian turned toward his desk again. He started shuffling papers with far too much force, and I had to clear my throat to get his suddenly chaotic attention back.
“So it’s a deal?”
Even though Julian loved to call me dramatic, my antics didn’t have anything on the sigh he released as he looked gloomily over his shoulder.
“It’s a deal.”
“What are you doing here?” Gemma Briggs dropped next to me, her ice skates clanging against the cold metal bench as she set them down. Her ice-blue eyes flicked over me in assessment while she pursed her lips. “You’re oddly ill-equipped to be at the rink.”
“I came right from work.” I drew my cardigan around me as though it actually afforded me any warmth.
“But…why?”
“Because it’s cold here.”
A raised brow met my statement.
“And I needed to cool down after making a deal with the devil,” I admitted.
“The devil, huh?” Gemma rolled her eyes, her wry expression pulling taut in a way that had to be hereditary or genetic or something because I knew someone else who made that same exact face at least five times today.
“Plus, I knew you’d be here,” I added, hoping to sugar her up. “And I need to talk to you.”
Gemma had never been one for small talk, unnecessary niceties, or anything that didn’t cut right to the chase. So she said, “I don’t think I can listen to another rant about my brother, Junes.”
Damn.
Gemma took stock of my expression. “He was the devil in the equation, wasn’t he?”
She looked a bit disappointed, and I supposed I could understand that. Out of all of her siblings, Gemma was closest to Julian. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t perfect about their relationship was…me.
“Of course not.” I flashed a sickly sweet smile. “Julian is an angel.”
Gemma blinked at me twice.
Okay, maybe I laid it on a little too thick.
“Go ahead, then.” She threw her hands up. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Do you want to get out of here first?”
Gemma coached the figure skating team at St. Maverick’s, one of the many prestigious colleges in Boston. Since I made a habit of coming to the rink when I wanted to pretend it was winter, I usually dressed intentionally. Watching skating practices was the perfect excuse to don my favorite peacoat in early fall.
But today, I hadn’t planned to come, and my cardigan wasn’t cutting it. Even if I did want to cool off a bit.
After flashing me an I told you so smirk while again giving my outfit—my ill-equipped one—a once-over, Gemma stood. “Come on. Let’s pick up some food and head back to my place.”
“Excellent.”
Gemma lived on the outskirts of Boston. She’d moved here about a year ago after landing her job at St. Maverick’s. Unlike me, she missed the small-town life and sought as much of it as possible while still working in the city. Usually, I wouldn’t drive out to her place on a weeknight, but desperate times called for desperate, suburban measures.
“So tell me about this deal you made with my brother,” she said once we’d gotten our hands on a bottle of wine and takeout from the little Italian place near her apartment. It was a mistake to sink so deep into her couch with a bowl of pasta balancing on my stomach; I doubted I’d be able to fight my way out of this comfort trap after a glass of wine and a pound of carbs.
“Actually, it was me who proposed it,” I admitted through a mouthful of five-cheese delicacy.
Gemma nearly choked on a sun-dried tomato. “What happened to keeping your head down and ignoring him?” she sputtered. “That’s what I told you to do, remember?”
I filled my mouth with another bite of pasta, afraid to tell her I hadn’t been particularly good at sticking to that tidbit of advice. But was that really my fault when Julian was the one who interjected himself into everything?
“He asked for help with a case, so I asked for something in return,” I explained. “Simple.”
“Julian asked for help?” Gemma snorted. “Fat chance that happened.”
“He did,” I insisted, even though I understood why she doubted it. I’d doubted it, too.
“Julian does not ask for help. He doles out unsolicited advice whenever he gets the chance. But ask for it?” She shook her head, waving her fork around as she chewed a mouthful.
“Believe me, I was just as surprised as you.” I shrugged. “But I got him to give me Noah London’s number in return, so…”
Gemma stopped chewing. Her eyes grew wide, and—oh my God, was she choking? Shit, I was not confident enough in my first aid skills for this.
To my immense relief, Gemma swallowed a second later and licked her lips clean. “For the wedding?”
We’d always ridden the same brain wavelength—ever since fighting over the same seat in the cafeteria on the first day of middle school.
I nodded. “If I have to make an appearance at Sofia’s wedding, I’m going to do it the right way.”
“As a liar?”
I flicked Gemma on the leg, and she laughed.
“I’m here for this. Really, I am, Junes. But isn’t London a bit of a player?”
“That’s what Julian was concerned about, too.”
“Yeah?” She twirled her fork in her pasta, considering my words.
“Yeah, but I’m not looking for a relationship. If he’s a one-night sort of guy, then that’s perfect for this.”
Gemma made a slight humming noise in her throat that sounded a lot like the words I’m not so sure about that, Juni. But when she spoke again, she asked, “Did you tell Julian why you wanted Noah’s phone number? Does he know about the wedding and Sofia?”
“He knows it’s for a wedding date, but I didn’t mention Sofia.”
I’d only made the connection with Sofia over the last couple years, so unless Gemma had told Julian about her, he probably didn’t know I even had a sister.
“I wasn’t sure how much you wanted the others to know about your birth family, so I never said anything to him,” Gemma said, answering my thoughts for me.
“That’s probably for the best.”
Julian didn’t need to know the details. He’d somehow find a way to use them against me.
“Have you texted Noah yet?” Gemma asked.
“No,” I groaned. “I don’t know what to say.”
After abandoning her pasta bowl, Gemma clapped her hands together. “We need more wine for this.”
So more wine we got. But nearly a whole hour and an entire bottle later, we still hadn’t figured out how to successfully slide into Noah London’s inbox.
“He plays here, doesn’t he?” Gemma asked. Her head was in her hands, and she looked stumped.
I affirmed her question with a nod, and her lips stretched into one of those smiles. A skinny-dipping on Lock Island past curfew kind of smile. Or a steal your dad’s convertible for a midnight drive kind of smile.
But those things hadn’t ended well, and I was a bit past my rebellious stage—seven or eight years past it. So I was pleasantly surprised when Gemma’s suggestion had me matching her grin.
“You know,” she said, “I think they have a home game tomorrow.”
I liked the path she was going down, but I had already spotted a few very critical roadblocks.
“There’s no way I’d be able to talk to him there, though.”
“Maybe.” Gemma swirled her wine in her glass, giving me a meaningful glance. “But I think I know someone who could.”
“You?” I asked hopefully, ignoring the obvious, gut-curling answer.
She shook her head. “A different Briggs.”
Damn.
“And I bet he would just love to take you to meet his friend,” she added with a wink.
I groaned.
He would definitely not love it.
But God help me, I was going to ask him anyway.
