Once a Doormat Now Untouchable (Caleb and Sydney) novel Chapter 102

Chapter 102

Sydney was so sleepy she could hardly keep her eyes open. All she wanted was to drag herself home, rinse off in a quick shower, and collapse into bed until the world turned upside down.

But life rarely went her way. Or rather, Julian rarely let her have her way.

She had barely taken a few steps when a car horn blared behind her, jolting her into a shiver. She turned and saw the rear window sliding down. Julian’s cold, forbidding face greeted her. His brow bone jutted sharply, his deep-set eyes severe, carrying

a natural air of distance.

Her drunken haze cleared a little. “What is it, Mr. Sterling?”

A deep red scarf hung loosely around her neck, leaving a slender stretch of porcelain skin exposed. A streetlamp glowed directly overhead, making her delicate features look even more flawless, as if her skin would bruise at the faintest touch.

At work, she usually tied her black hair up in a casual bun. Now it fell loose over her shoulders like wet silk, gleaming beneath the light. From head to toe, she looked gentle, almost docile.

Yet the moment she spoke, her tone was laced with quiet defiance.

Julian withdrew his gaze with unhurried ease. “I’d like to hear about the project’s progress from you, Ms. Wilson.”

Sydney had always worked at the clinic. She wasn’t used to this corporate nonsense of late-night summons. If it had been about saving lives, she would have had no complaints. But what he asked had nothing to do with anything urgent.

“The project assistant compiles the progress reports weekly, and Mr. Shepard sends them to your inbox,” she said.

“But I want to hear today’s progress.” Julian lifted a brow. “Or is it that you don’t want your job anymore?”

‘Damn capitalist tyrant,’ she cursed inwardly.

Sydney drew in a breath, fighting to shape her words through the fog of alcohol. The winter wind only made her lips stiffer and her speech clumsier. “Today, Sam Milton and I reviewed last week’s proposed plan, and…”

“Continue in the car.” His dark eyes lingered on her, his tone flat, as if stating the obvious. “The window’s open. I’m cold.”

Once again, Sydney surrendered to fate. She climbed into the car and gave him a full report, as clearly as she could. She wanted to sound diligent, reliable, and indispensable, so she laid out everything step by step.

Most of it would have sailed over the head of an outsider. Yet to her surprise, Julian listened with patience until she finished.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked something that had nothing to do with work. “You let a man into your house this late at night. Aren’t you afraid Caleb will find out?”

Work was work. Private life was private.

She met his gaze and asked, “And what does that have to do with you?”

Although tipsy, her response cut sharp. He should worry about his own girlfriend. If Charlotte wasn’t sneaking men into her apartment at night, then fine. So why meddle with her?

Julian’s brow lifted slightly.

“If word gets out, people will say I’m the one who raised you. I’ll have to rein in your behavior a little. Otherwise, the Hamptons might come knocking at my door.” His tone was calm, as if his reasoning were the most natural thing in the world.

Sydney smirked, her voice edged with bite. “Raised me? You only raised me until 16. Julian, you still owe me two years.”

By law, guardianship lasted until 18.

Suddenly, he leaned in, fingers tightening around her wrist. Inch by inch, he closed the distance and breathed in the faint scent

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of jasmine tinged with alcohol that rose from her skin.

His pitch-black eyes remained hidden in shadow. His thumb drifted lazily across the delicate skin of her inner wrist, ignoring the way she kept retreating until her back pressed against the car door.

“So what you’re saying, Missy, is that you want me to make up those two years?”

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