Chapter 1 - The Blue Moon Incident
The first mistake I made was drinking the fifth cranberry vodka.
The second mistake was believing the room had only started spinning because I was tired.
The third mistake—the one that changed my entire life—was opening my contacts, meaning to text my best friend, and tapping Julian Cross instead.
I stared at the glowing screen through crooked glasses, one hand gripping the edge of the sticky bar table at the Blue Moon Lounge in midtown Manhattan.
Come get me.
Sent.
My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might fall through the floor.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
Beside me, Mara Bennett was laughing at something the intern Leo had said, her red curls bouncing under the bar lights. She had dragged me here after work because, according to her, a woman did not get publicly praised by the coldest CEO in New York City and then go home to drink chamomile tea alone.
That woman, unfortunately, was me.
Nora Quinn. Executive assistant. Twenty-seven. Quiet. Practical. Famous in the office for cardigans, color-coded calendars, and avoiding eye contact with men who looked like they belonged on magazine covers.
Especially one man.
Julian Cross.
CEO of Cross Global. Thirty-six. Millionaire. Ruthless in meetings. Gorgeous in a way that felt unfair to normal people. Storm-gray eyes, black hair, tailored suits, and a voice that made senior board members sit straighter.
For eight months, he had treated me like a useful piece of office furniture.
Then, that afternoon, during a quarterly strategy meeting, he had stopped mid-presentation, held up my report, and said, “Exceptional work, Nora Quinn. This is exactly the level of precision I expect.”
My full name.
In front of everyone.
I had nearly swallowed my tongue.
Mara had declared it a romantic emergency.
Now my phone buzzed in my hand, and in my panic, I somehow typed again.
I’m drunk.
Sent.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
Then my traitorous fingers added one more message before my brain could stop them.
Also you look gorgeous in a suit.
Sent.
I froze.
The Blue Moon was loud around me—finance guys laughing too hard, glasses clinking, music thumping under conversations—but for one terrible second, the world went silent.
Then the screen lit up.
Julian Cross: Where are you?
My heart forgot its job.
“Mara,” I said, my voice small and strangled.
She turned, saw my face, and immediately sobered. “What did you do?”
I handed her the phone.
Her eyes widened. Then widened more.
“Nora,” she whispered. “You texted Julian Cross that he looks gorgeous in a suit?”
“I meant to text you.”
“You tell me I look gorgeous in a suit?”
“Mara!”
Before she could answer, my phone rang.
The name on the screen might as well have been a death sentence.
Julian Cross.
I answered because panic had eaten my judgment.
“Hello?”
“Nora.” His voice was low, sharp, and frighteningly awake. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the Blue one.”
“The Blue Moon?”
“Yes. Maybe. The moon is involved.”
“Are you alone?”
“No. Mara’s here. And Leo. And several strangers with expensive watches.”
There was a pause. I could hear movement on his end—doors, muffled voices, a car engine.
“Stay inside,” he said. “Do not leave with anyone. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“You don’t need to come.”
“You asked me to.”
“I was trying to ask Mara.”
His voice dropped. “But you asked me.”
Then he hung up.
I lowered the phone slowly.
Mara looked like she had just witnessed a lunar eclipse. “The man is coming.”
“I’m going to be fired.”
“You’re going to be kissed.”
“I’m going to be sued.”
“You might be sued after being kissed.”
“Mara.”
Leo slid into the chair across from us, his grin pure evil. “Did I hear correctly? Julian Cross is coming here?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Mara said.
Leo’s eyes glittered. “This is the greatest night of my professional life.”
I put my face in my hands. “I’m moving to Vermont. I’ll raise goats. Goats don’t care if you drunk-text CEOs.”
But before Mara could reassure me, a man I didn’t know appeared beside our table.
He wore a dark coat and a polite smile that never touched his eyes.
“Ms. Quinn?” he asked.
The sound of my last name from a stranger’s mouth made me sit up.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Cross sent me. He’s delayed outside. I’ll take you to the car.”
Mara’s smile disappeared.
Leo stopped filming us with his eyes.
“I thought he said he was coming in,” I said.
The man held out a hand. “It’s crowded. He doesn’t want attention.”
Even drunk, even embarrassed, something inside me went cold.
Julian Cross did not hide from attention. Attention hid from him.
“I’ll wait here,” I said.
The man’s smile tightened. “Ms. Quinn, it’s raining.”
“It’s not raining.”
“It’s about to.”
He reached for my bag.
Mara stood up. “Touch her purse and lose a finger.”
The man’s gaze flicked to her, irritated now.
Then the bar changed.
I felt it before I saw it.
A sudden stillness. A shift in energy. Conversations dimming. Heads turning toward the entrance.
Julian Cross walked into the Blue Moon like a storm wearing a charcoal suit.
May you like
His jacket was open, tie slightly loosened, black hair imperfect for once, and his gray eyes scanned the room with terrifying focus until they landed on me.
Then on the man standing beside me.
