Chapter 36

Blake was already three espressos deep, standing in a glass conference room high above the London skyline, orchestrating what could only be described as corporate magic.

PowerPoint slides. A room full of nervous executives. A multimillion-pound account on the line.

Blake walked them through branding revisions, new engagement strategy, and a pitch so smooth Jamie would have clapped just hearing it over Zoom.

He was sharp. Calm. Brilliant.

And exactly one heartbeat after the meeting ended, he sent a text.

Blake Sterling:
Saved a global campaign. Still thinking about how you look in my bed.

Jamie was on his lunch break, sitting on the rooftop terrace back at the office, still wearing sunglasses even though the sun had ducked behind a cloud. He grinned at the screen and typed back.

Jamie Capulet:
I saved a Google Doc. And tried not to imagine you naked. Mildly successful.

Blake:
Liar.

Jamie:
You’re the one who left me cold-showering and emotionally compromised.

Blake:
Emotionally compromised? Darling. That sounds dangerously close to “in love.”

Jamie:
If I say yes, do I get another vase of roses?

Blake:
You say yes, and I’ll bring the entire Chelsea Flower Show to your front door.

Jamie let his head fall back and laughed out loud, startling a pigeon nearby.

The texts didn’t stop.

Through meetings. Between brainstorms. At night, curled in bed with the light off and the screen glowing in his hand.

They shared everything – what they ate, what they wore, what they wanted.

Blake sent photos from London streets, silly voice memos with terrible impressions, and one hauntingly sexy video of him in a hotel robe, whispering, “Wish you were here to make me late for this board meeting.”

Jamie sent blurry selfies. One where he had a mustard stain. Another where he grinned sleepily at 7 a.m. with no filter, no shirt, and no perfection.

And Blake replied: You’re my favorite kind of messy.

Jamie felt… light.

Like his bones had been rearranged to make more room for joy.

He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t perfect. He was just himself – barefoot in mismatched socks, forgetting to style his hair, singing badly in the kitchen.

And Blake? Blake adored him for it.

That realization hit one morning when Jamie poured oat milk into his coffee and grimaced. Then laughed. Then dumped it and made another with real milk.

Because he didn’t need to impress anyone.

He just wanted to be real.

And for the first time in years – he was.