The bar Julian picked was low-lit and tucked between a flower shop and a tattoo parlor on the Lower East Side. It wasn't the kind of place Ava usually went—too moody, too intimate—but that might've been the point.
He was already there when she arrived, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans that looked effortless but expensive. His hair was still slightly tousled, like he hadn't tried too hard. She hated that it worked on him.
"You came," he said, standing to greet her.
"You said one drink," Ava replied, shrugging out of her coat. "That's my limit."
"I'll make it count."
She gave him a look. "Try not to."
He laughed and gestured toward the booth he'd snagged. "Your presentation was impressive, by the way. You didn't let on you were nervous."
"That's because I wasn't."
"Right. Of course. Unshakable Ava Monroe."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You Googled me."
"You're in charge of a campaign I'm funding. I do my homework."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what did your homework tell you?"
Julian sipped his drink—something amber and neat—before replying. "That you're sharp. Efficient. Relentless. But guarded."
She blinked. "That last one wasn't on my LinkedIn."
"No," he said, eyes warm but serious. "That one was in your eyes."
The server arrived, breaking the moment. Ava ordered a whiskey sour and focused hard on the menu even though she wasn't hungry. She needed a distraction. He was too observant. Too calm. It threw her off.
"So," she said after a beat. "Tell me something about you that isn't Google-able."
Julian considered. "I used to be in a band."
Ava laughed. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "College. Bad name. Worse songs. I played bass. Thought we were going to be famous."
"And now you're a CEO."
"Same amount of late nights. Less eyeliner."
She smiled, despite herself. "Do you miss it?"
He hesitated. "Sometimes. I miss the noise. The mess. There's something honest about music. Raw."
Ava watched him carefully. "And you like control now."
He met her gaze. "Don't you?"
She looked away. "Touché."
Their drinks came, and conversation began to flow easier. They traded stories—his startup struggles, her worst campaign disasters, a shared love of old movies and Sunday mornings. The tension melted, reshaping itself into something warmer, less sharp.
But just as Ava started to relax, a voice cut through the air like glass.
"Well, well. Julian Reed. Imagine seeing you here."
Julian's expression shifted in an instant—cool, guarded. Ava turned and saw a woman approaching, tall and sleek, with dark red lips and the kind of designer coat you don't buy on sale.
She stopped at their table, eyes flicking to Ava before landing back on Julian. "Didn't know you were back in the dating pool."
"Hello, Claire," Julian said smoothly, but his jaw was tight.
Claire. The name had weight. History.
"Oh," Claire said, smiling at Ava. "You must be new. Has he shown you the loft yet? Or is that still reserved for 'serious'?"
"Claire—" Julian began, but Ava held up a hand.
"It's fine," she said, turning to Claire. "And no, I haven't seen the loft. But I have seen him spill coffee on himself and beg for a napkin. So I'd say I'm getting the more authentic experience."
Claire blinked.
Julian looked at Ava, surprised. Impressed.
Claire's smile thinned. "Cute."
And then, just like that, she was gone.
Ava exhaled slowly. "Ex?"
"Ex-fiancée," Julian said after a moment.
She raised her eyebrows. "Ah. That explains the venom."
"She's not usually that dramatic."
Ava snorted. "She literally performed a drive-by sabotage. She came over just to rattle you."
Julian stared at his drink. "Well. Mission accomplished."
Ava hesitated. Then: "What happened?"
Julian looked at her. "Are we doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Digging. Sharing war wounds."
She considered. "One wound for one wound."
Julian leaned back. "Alright. I'll go first."
He paused, then began. "Claire and I were together five years. Built most of the company side by side. She was brilliant. Ambitious. We wanted the same things—at least at first."
"And then?"
"She wanted to settle. I didn't. I wasn't ready. I didn't think she was either, but… she asked, and I panicked. She said she wanted stability. Kids. A house outside the city. I wanted… I don't know. Time. Space."
"So you broke it off?"
"I didn't even get that far. She beat me to it. Called me a coward. Maybe she was right."
Ava was quiet for a moment. "That sounds… complicated."
"It was."
They sat in silence. Then Ava lifted her glass. "Okay. My turn."
Julian looked at her. "Lay it on me."
"I dated my boss."
His eyebrows shot up.
She nodded. "When I was starting out. Fresh out of grad school. He was charismatic, successful, said all the right things. Promised mentorship, growth. I thought it was real."
"And it wasn't?"
"He was married."
Julian winced. "Oof."
"Yeah. Apparently I was the 'professional escape.' He said he loved me. Said he was going to leave her. He didn't. I found out at the company retreat. His wife showed up."
Julian looked horrified. "Jesus."
Ava took a sip of her drink. "I left the company. Started over. Swore I'd never mix work and romance again."
Julian tilted his head. "So this drink…"
"Isn't romance. It's me proving I don't hate your face."
He laughed. "That's a start."
They fell into easier conversation again, slower now, less defensive. Something about sharing their scars had softened the edges. They weren't posturing anymore. They were just… people. A man and a woman in a booth, trying not to fall too fast.
The night slipped by unnoticed until the server brought the check.
Julian reached for it, but Ava blocked his hand. "Split it."
"Come on."
"Split it," she repeated.
He held up his hands. "Okay. Independent woman. Noted."
As they stepped outside, the air had turned colder. Ava wrapped her coat tighter. Julian offered his scarf without asking.
She took it.
They stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, unsure of what came next.
"I had a good time," he said.
"Me too," she admitted.
"I want to see you again."
She hesitated. "Julian…"
"I know. Work. Lines. Complications. But I'm asking anyway."
Ava bit her lip. "Let me think about it."
He nodded. "Fair."
They stood there a moment longer. Close. Warm.
Then she stepped back. "Goodnight, Julian."
He watched her walk away, scarf still around her neck.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt the unmistakable tug of something real.