The first semester in Oxford has already started. Balancing between studying to become a lawyer and life in general, Julia Eden has found herself sitting across from a shrink, or in better words: a psychologist.
It only gets worse when the old man s...
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She was using him. Without realizing or not, she still was. And like a fool, he was letting her. Neal had never been in a situation like this, for a girl before. First of all, Julia had made it pretty fucking clear that she wasn’t going to be seeing him as more than a friend. Second, she seemed genuinely smitten with Clarke. Third, he was going to be leaving for Boston after his father’s mayoral election for which it wouldn't work between them anyway. For a guy like him, romantic relationships were a luxury anyway. Yet here he was, trying to help her.
But was he only doing it for her sake? Neal had always been drawn to trouble. In fact, he had met one of his closest friends, Frieda, in a fraternity party at Harvard, in the verge of getting raped. Situations like that weren’t unfamiliar to him.
Rest of the drive was quiet and infuriating. Neal wanted to get out of the confines of the car, get at least a few feet away from Julia to think clearly. Everytime, he moved, the hammering in his head increased. And then again, he had to be back at the penthouse before it was midnight, to study for the bar. Besides, there was the possibility to find an unpacked suitcase back at the penthouse. At least 70% of his suitcase had been filled with his textbooks. He had to move mountains to convince the housekeeper, Mrs. Angie not to touch the suitcase.
As much as he’d like to go back to the penthouse and celebrate his father’s victory in the first round of election, he was also determined to help Olivia. For a split second, he looked at Julia. Two guileless blue eyes fixed on him, making him wish that whatever she was suspecting turned out wrong.
Among Jermyn Street’s array of period and modern architecture, Beau House stood with its façade of limestone and bronze metal detailing.
"Jules," Darien nudged Julia back to the world, with a slender olive finger. "We're here."
“We’re not going to take long,” Julia said without glancing at him.
As she reached for the door with shaky hands, Neal, out of instinct, clutched her hand in his, surprised at how cool her skin felt against his now.
"Neal..." she tried to mutter a protest.
"Let me come with you.”
"But I need to..."
"No, Julia. I insist. Besides, I won't take the risk of sending you girls there alone, if what you're saying about this place is true.”
Hastily, he grabbed his jacket from the backseat and shrugged it on, not caring when his hair tousled in the air coming through the open door.
Across the street, through the bronze doors, they entered, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the polished Caldia marble. The penthouse at the sixth floor smelled like vodka, weed and All Purpose liquid cleaner. Girls in short plaid skirts were on the bohemian tea table, performing a borderline stripper dance to some crappy metallic music Neal couldn't recognize.
