Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Harper Hawthorne isn't looking for a billionaire. She's looking for a way to keep the lights on. Single-handedly holding her world together since she was a teenager, Harper works two jobs, lives in a rent-controlled apartment on the Lower East Side, and sacrifices everything for her younger brother. When an unexpected phone call lands her a chauffeur job behind the wheel of Julian’s car, she takes it for exactly what it a paycheck.
Julian notices everything about her. Harper tries not to notice anything about him. What begins as a professional arrangement starts to crack at the edges when Harper proves, repeatedly and effortlessly, that she’s unlike anyone Julian has ever encountered before. She’s too sharp to ignore, too genuine to keep at arm's length, and entirely unimpressed by his world in a way that makes it impossible for him to stop thinking about her.
Julian doesn't do commitment. Harper doesn't believe in fairy tales. But some collisions are inevitable and some people are worth every risk you swore you'd never take again.
Julian is a slow-burn hockey romance about a guarded billionaire, the woman who got under his skin without trying, and the long road back to trusting that a second shot at love is always worth the leap
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Julian
The front door closes behind Grizz with a loud click that echoes through the foyer and settles deep in the old but sturdy bones of my townhouse. I remain exactly where I am, my hand still resting against the cool brass knob, as though I can feel the last trace of his urgency through the metal.
He didn’t second-guess himself at the threshold. He left with a purpose that doesn’t need to announce itself. He had a focus in his expression I haven’t seen before.
He’s going after her.
The realization doesn’t surprise me. What surprises me is the way I admire him for it.
I found him wandering the streets of Manhattan a few hours ago with the particular aimlessness of a man who had lost an important piece of himself. I recognized it immediately because I’ve often felt aimless myself, and I did what any reasonable employer would do. I invited him to my home for Thanksgiving dinner.
It didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. Grizz McAvoy is the best player on my New York Vipers hockey team. His talent is unimaginable, but he was a wild card in all ways when we made the offer. He’s the man opposing teams build defensive schemes around, a force of nature on the ice. He’s also unpredictable, brash and pigheaded at times, landing himself in hot water with the league and the front office on more occasions than I’d like to count. But he seems to have gotten that under control, and I think that’s a direct result of Daisy’s impact on his life.
He’s a man who has genuinely—if not recklessly—fallen in love with a woman.
And he was wandering around like a lost puppy because he let his fear convince him that walking away from her was the wiser choice.
Grizz has always known how to pursue what he wants on the ice. He attacks a puck battle as a personal affront, shoulders lowered, momentum unquestioned. But this is different. This isn’t about a contract clause or playoff positioning or proving himself to a coach. This is about a person he loves. About rearranging his life around someone who has somehow managed to matter more than his fear of putting his heart on the line.
And that is rare.
I step back from the door slowly, letting the foyer reclaim its stillness. Thanksgiving Day light filters faintly through the tall windows along the staircase, turning the air a muted gold. The house seems larger in his absence.
I find myself smiling. He’s found someone worth chasing.
That simple truth stirs emotions in me that I don’t immediately welcome. It’s not jealousy, exactly. It’s more complicated— recognition of something I once knew intimately but have no desire to ever experience again.
“Sir.”
Percy’s tone is smooth and unhurried, as though he’s been standing there for precisely the number of seconds required to interrupt my thoughts at their most inconvenient depth.
I turn to find him positioned just beyond the archway, his posture immaculate, his dark suit pressed as always. His silver hair is combed back flawlessly, and his expression—respectful yet faintly admonishing—suggests he’s well aware that I have drifted into unproductive introspection.