Sugar

Chapter 7: Bristol

I go out to take my usual pilates class, then come back and do all the things I usually do—eat dinner (but this time it's the private chef who brings it to my floor on a cart), shower, answer my texts, and crawl back into the massive bed, but there's the lingering awareness of the two floors above me. Jared's floor and Gwen's floor. And as I'm trying to fall asleep, I can't help but wonder what they're doing. Maybe they're on the same floor, who knows? Maybe they're even in the same bed. It's not my business, anyway. But I'm suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that Jared could take the elevator down to my floor anytime he wanted to. Not that he would, but it's not like my floor is locked or anything. It's his building, after all. This whole place, all 72 floors, belongs to him. So it's difficult to think of this as a home—it feels more like a lavish hotel suite to me.

During my second week as Jared's assistant, we start working after hours because he's in a precarious legal situation—one of the company's clients was in a highly televised trial, and now people are criticizing the company itself because our lawyer didn't handle it properly. I take the elevator up to his floor, and it's just the two of us, not Gwen, sitting in his living room and preparing for our upcoming trial. It's way more casual than our workdays in the office—I'm dressed in sweatpants and a little top, with my legs curled up on the couch, my hair in a ponytail. It feels like when I used to spend late nights preparing for mock trials in law school.

I'm so comfortable here in Jared's home that I'm scared. His voice is so familiar to me, and I know all the colors in his eyes, and I know the layout of his kitchen and living room perfectly. But what did I expect? I was the one who accepted the title of personal assistant, after all. And as his personal assistant, of course I know his kitchen, because I always go there to pour us drinks and get snacks.

I don't know him, though, and he doesn't know me. Because we don't talk about anything past surface level.

"Do you think his witnesses will be good?" I ask Jared, who's sitting right next to me. There are papers all over his coffee table in front of us.

"Knowing his lawyer, he probably has tons of witnesses," Jared says, his face deep in concentration. "And they'll probably present a case that's almost airtight."

"Is he a really good lawyer?" I say. I'm getting kind of worried.

Jared shakes his head a little, and I can't read his expression—whether it's hate, disapproval, or admiration, I can't tell. "He's great. Too great, it makes you wonder whether he's cutting corners." I raise my eyebrows. This is going to be either the best or worst trial ever.

Jared looks at his expensive wristwatch and frowns at the time. I check my laptop—it's almost ten already. I hadn't even felt the time go by. When I'm around Jared, it's like I'm floating in a perpetual haze, like I can think about nothing else but the moment and the warmth of his voice.

"It's late," he says. "You hungry?"

"A little," I admit.

"We're going to be here for another hour at least. Why don't you order something." He hands me his phone. "You can use any of the apps." He goes back to scrutinizing the papers on his lap.

I look at the shopping apps on his phone and I'm so amused because I didn't expect a billionaire to have the Domino's app and the Shake Shack app and a bunch of other apps that I have on my own phone. I can't help but laugh a little.

Jared catches my eye and half-smiles. "Bristol, I'm a man. I need my Shake Shack." He leans back on the couch with his hands clasped behind his head.

This is the moment I finally understand what Annelyse told me—he's just a person. He's not some sort of magical being that can turn my blood into ice or kill me with a single look. I turn to face him, to really look at him for the first time, this enigmatic billionaire that I could never fully understand. I meet his eyes, and he cocks his head in a silent question, like he's wondering about me as well.

I let my gaze trace down his arm, which, in this position, has all of the sinewy muscles on display. Damn, he must be serious about working out. I unwillingly feel the heat pool in my stomach and my heart starts racing faster. So I bring my gaze back up to his gray eyes, and I find them staring at me with an intensity that matches mine. Gone is the inquisitiveness from earlier; now his gaze is heavy, serious. It makes me falter a little, but I can't bring myself to look away from his face—if anything, my gaze falls to his lips, and I part my own slightly.

He sits up straight and lowers his arms, then reaches a hand out toward my face, but only to brush away a curl of blonde hair. Then he speaks in the lowest, most gravelly voice I have ever heard from him. "You have to be careful, Bristol."

We finally break eye contact and I go back to ordering food on his phone. I inhale shakily, and I vaguely realize that my heart is pounding. It's like that day I walked out of his office—I feel like I've just been ripped out of a sort of bubble and now everything feels cold. Like Jared was my source of warmth. I've never felt this vulnerable before in front of someone I barely know.

Thankfully, the feeling doesn't last long—I have distractions, in the forms of mountains of legal papers I have to decipher, and the delicious Shake Shack burgers that arrive a while later. If Jared and I don't understand each other at all, at least we have a mutual love for Shake Shack, which is what's important.