Hazel's POV
I called Julian on a Tuesday, at an hour I knew he'd still be in his office, because I wanted the version of him that kept his voice steady even when his hands weren't, not the version that answered from a dark house at midnight and said things he might not mean, worn down by exhaustion into a softness that wouldn't survive the morning. I had learned, over five years, exactly which hours of the day belonged to which version of Julian Daniel, and I intended to speak to the one who would remember every word of this conversation when the sun came up.
"You bought the tabloid," I said, no greeting, no warm-up, because I had rehearsed this too many times to waste it on pleasantries, the sentence already sitting sharp and ready on my tongue before he'd even finished saying hello.
T
