Bad Decision
1491 Words
If there was one thing Harper Blake learned in her first ten minutes at Cross & Co., it was this — intimidation was their office aesthetic.
The place looked like the inside of a billionaire’s mind: sharp, cold, and suspiciously expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, glass-walled meeting rooms glowed with ambition, and every desk looked like it belonged in a magazine spread.
Even the air smelled rich — like cedar, caffeine, and quiet stress.
“First day nerves?” Zoe had texted that morning.
Harper had typed back: More like first day chaos. Pray I don’t spill coffee on the CEO.
Now, walking through the maze of desks, she wasn’t sure if she was praying hard enough.
The HR orientation had been short, polite, and mildly terrifying. Her new team had smiled with that too-smooth “we’ll decide if we like you later” expression. Everyone dressed like they were auditioning for Succession: The Sequel.
And then there was Julian Cross.
He hadn’t said a word since hiring her. No follow-up emails. No instructions. Just that smirk and a start date.
Until now.
“Miss Blake,” his voice came from behind her — low, even, and entirely too close.
Harper turned, her heart doing that annoying adrenaline jump it had been doing since she met him.
“Good morning, Mr. Cross,” she said, holding her notebook like a shield.
He leaned against her desk — her desk — and folded his arms. “Settling in?”
“Trying to,” she replied. “Still learning which coffee machine doesn’t sound like it’s dying.”
Julian’s mouth twitched. “Good. You’ll need caffeine. We have a client pitch in two hours.”
Harper blinked. “We?”
“Yes,” Julian said casually. “You’ll be assisting me. Your file said you’re good with presentations.”
“I am,” she said slowly. “But I’ve been here twenty minutes.”
“Then it’s a fast learning curve.”
He started walking, glancing back only once. “Bring your notes. And coffee. Two sugars.”
Harper stared after him, half-annoyed, half-thrilled.
If arrogance were a sport, Julian Cross would have Olympic gold.
By 10 a.m., Harper had discovered that working for Julian meant two things:
He moved like a storm in a suit.
His team worshipped him the way people worship chaos—out of respect and fear.
The meeting room was buzzing when she entered, carrying a tray with two coffees and her laptop. Julian sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly undone. Of course, he looked infuriatingly good.
He glanced up as she entered. “Punctual. I like that.”
“I live to impress,” Harper said dryly, setting the coffee beside him.
“Good. Keep doing it.”
The pitch was to a luxury brand CEO—sleek woman, scarlet lipstick, the kind who could fire you with a smile. Harper stayed quiet, pretending not to notice the way Julian’s voice dropped every time he emphasized a key line.
He had presence. Command. The kind of charisma you couldn’t fake.
Halfway through, the client frowned. “I’m not convinced your campaign captures emotional value.”
Julian’s gaze flicked to Harper. “Miss Blake, thoughts?”
Her brain stuttered. What?
“Um,” she began, and every pair of eyes turned toward her. “If we paired the product narrative with customer stories, it would humanize the luxury aspect. Add authenticity to aspiration.”
Silence.
Then, slowly, the client smiled. “That’s exactly what it needs.”
Julian didn’t react, but his hand brushed hers under the table — a subtle, wordless acknowledgment. Approval.
By the time the meeting ended, Harper’s nerves had transformed into adrenaline.
“Good work,” Julian said quietly as they walked out.
“Thanks,” she said. “Though a little warning next time would help.”
“I find spontaneity reveals character.”
“Does intimidation count as character?”
Julian chuckled. “In this company? Absolutely.”
Back at her desk, Harper checked her messages.
Zoe: How’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Questionable Morals?
Harper: Rude. Accurate. Weirdly effective.
Before she could reply, someone cleared their throat.
She looked up—and froze.
Ethan.
As in the Ethan. Standing at her desk like a ghost from a less attractive past.
“Harper,” he said, smiling that same condescending smile she used to mistake for charm. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Likewise,” she said coolly. “Didn’t expect you to still be alive after your last text.”
His smile faltered. “You work for Cross now?”
“Last I checked, yes.”
Ethan shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “You know he and I—”
“Hate each other? Yeah, Julian mentioned.”
“You shouldn’t get mixed up with him, Harper. He’s dangerous.”
She stood, crossing her arms. “You mean he doesn’t ghost women over text? Must be terrifying.”
Ethan scowled. “You’ve changed.”
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “That was the point.”
Just then, Julian appeared beside her—because of course he did.
“Cole,” Julian said, voice smooth as silk over steel. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Ethan straightened. “Just visiting a client.”
Julian’s eyes flicked between them. “Funny. Looked more like pestering my employee.”
“Employee?” Ethan repeated, incredulous.
Julian’s gaze slid to Harper. “One of my best hires.”
Something in his tone—possessive, deliberate—made Harper’s pulse jump.
Ethan noticed too. “Careful, Cross,” he said tightly. “She’s not a toy.”
Julian smiled, slow and cutting. “Good thing I don’t play games I can’t win.”
Ethan muttered something and stalked off, ego visibly bruised.
Harper exhaled. “Well, that was fun.”
Julian turned to her, eyebrow raised. “Ex-boyfriend interference on your first day. That must be a record.”
“You have no idea.”
He studied her. “You handled him well.”
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing on imaginary targets.”
A faint smirk. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“You’re already there,” she said.
By lunch, the entire office knew Ethan Cole had shown up. Gossip moved faster than Wi-Fi.
Harper spent the afternoon drowning in spreadsheets, pretending her cheeks weren’t still burning from that standoff.
When the clock hit six, she was packing up when Julian’s voice came again.
“Dinner?”
She turned. “Excuse me?”
“Dinner,” he repeated. “It’s tradition. I take promising new hires out to discuss performance.”
“Performance? I’ve been here eight hours.”
“Then we’ll discuss potential.”
Harper hesitated. “And this isn’t a power move?”
Julian smiled. “Everything’s a power move, Miss Blake.”
The restaurant was the kind that had more candles than chairs. Harper felt slightly out of place in her office blazer, but Julian looked completely at home—of course he did.
Over wine and risotto, they talked business—sort of.
“You’re smart,” Julian said finally. “Too smart to waste energy on revenge.”
Her fork paused mid-air. “Who says this is about revenge?”
He tilted his glass toward her. “You forget—I know Cole. I saw his face when he realized you work for me. You wanted him to see that.”
Harper leaned back, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I did.”
Julian’s voice dropped. “And maybe I don’t mind helping you with that.”
She blinked. “Helping me?”
He leaned closer, candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw. “Let him believe you’ve moved on. Let him see you with me.”
Her pulse jumped. “You mean—fake dating?”
“Publicly. Strategically.” His tone was calm, calculating. “He’s desperate for attention. Let’s make him desperate for yours.”
Harper stared at him, half in disbelief, half in fascination.
Julian Cross was offering to fake-date her to destroy her ex.
“This is insane,” she said.
“Probably,” Julian said. “But effective.”
She laughed softly. “What’s in it for you?”
“Entertainment. And leverage.”
Harper considered him—the confidence, the smirk, the undeniable pull between them.
It was reckless. Manipulative.
Deliciously tempting.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But no one gets hurt.”
Julian’s smile deepened. “Sweetheart, everyone gets hurt. That’s half the fun.”
That night, as Harper walked back to her apartment, she replayed the conversation in her head.
Fake dating Julian Cross.
Her ex’s biggest rival.
Her new boss.
Every rational part of her brain screamed bad idea.
Maybe this time, the bite will be worth it.
- Writer
