Chapter 8: Claiming Him

The walk-in cooler hummed with mechanical precision, its stainless steel shelves gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights. Chloe stood among cases of craft beer and premium spirits, her breath forming small clouds in the forty-degree air, waiting. She'd been there for ten minutes, knowing Julian's obsessive nature would eventually drive him to check inventory counts even though they weren't opening for another month.

The door opened with a soft hiss, and Julian stepped inside, tablet in hand, his expression focused on whatever spreadsheet he was consulting. He looked up and froze when he saw her, his professional mask slipping to reveal something that might have been relief.

"Chloe. I didn't expect—"

"We need to talk." Her voice was steady, controlled, giving no hint of the rage that had been building for three days since the showroom incident. "About Cassandra. About what she said. About what you didn't say."

Julian set down his tablet on a nearby shelf, his movements careful and deliberate. "What happened at the showroom—"

"What happened is that your ex-girlfriend called me common, and you stood there like a statue." Chloe stepped closer, and Julian backed against the steel shelving, bottles of imported wine rattling softly behind him. "What happened is that she made it very clear she thinks you're slumming it with me, and you didn't contradict her."

"I was trying to keep the peace, maintain professional relationships—"

"Bullshit." The word came out sharp enough to cut. "You were embarrassed. Of me, of us, of what people might think if they knew the great Julian Blackwood was fucking a dive bar bartender."

"That's not true—"

"Isn't it?" Chloe was close enough now that he could see the fire in her eyes, could smell her perfume mixing with the cold, sterile air of the cooler. "Because it sure looked like you were trying to distance yourself from me the moment someone from your real world showed up."

Julian's jaw clenched. "Cassandra isn't my real world anymore. She's a consultant, nothing more."

"A consultant who knows exactly which buttons to push. Who knows all about Barcelona and Copenhagen and every other exotic location where you two played house together." Chloe's voice was getting rougher, emotion breaking through her attempted calm. "A consultant who made it very clear that I'm just a temporary amusement for you."

"She's wrong."

"Is she? Because from where I stand, it looks like she knows you pretty well. Knows that underneath all your talk about collaboration and partnership, you still see me as beneath you."

Julian's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "Don't put words in my mouth, Chloe. You don't know what I see when I look at you."

"Then tell me." She pressed closer, her body almost touching his, trapping him against the shelves. "Tell me what you see, Julian. Because all I'm getting from you is mixed signals and corporate speak."

The cold air swirled around them, but the space between their bodies felt electric with tension. Julian's carefully controlled facade was cracking, and Chloe could see the real emotion underneath—anger, frustration, and something rawer that made her pulse quicken.

"You want to know what I see?" His voice was rough, almost dangerous. "I see someone who challenges everything I thought I knew about my craft. Someone who makes me question whether I've been hiding behind technique instead of actually connecting with people."

"Good start. Keep going."

"I see someone who's so goddamn stubborn and infuriating that she makes me want to tear my hair out half the time—"

"And the other half?"

Julian's hands came up to grip the shelving on either side of her head, his body caging her in. "The other half, I want to tear your clothes off and show you exactly how not-embarrassed I am about what's happening between us."

The admission hung in the frigid air between them, honest and desperate. Chloe felt satisfaction surge through her chest, but it was mixed with something fiercer, more possessive.

"But you didn't," she said quietly. "When it mattered, when she was trying to put me in my place, you didn't defend me. You didn't defend us."

"I should have." The words came out like a confession. "I should have told her to go to hell. I should have made it clear that you're not some temporary experiment, that what we're building here—professionally and personally—is real."

"Why didn't you?"

Julian's head dropped forward until his forehead almost touched hers. "Because I'm a coward. Because I've spent so long trying to prove I belong in rooms like that, with people like her, that I forgot what actually matters."

The vulnerability in his admission should have softened her anger, but instead it fed the possessive fire burning in her chest. He was hers—her partner, her collaborator, her complicated disaster of a lover—and she was done letting other people think otherwise.

"You want to show me?" she asked, her voice dropping to something dangerous and low. "You want to prove that I'm not just some blue-collar experiment you're trying out?"

Julian's eyes darkened as he caught the intent in her voice. "Chloe—"

"Then show me. Right here, right now. Show me that you're not embarrassed to want me."

She reached for his belt, her fingers working at the buckle with efficient movements. Julian sucked in a sharp breath, his hands moving to cover hers.

"We're at work. Someone could come in—"

"Let them." Her gaze was fierce, challenging. "Let Cassandra walk in and see exactly where your priorities lie. Let everyone know that the precious mixologist isn't too refined to get his hands dirty with a common bartender."

The word "common" came out bitter and sharp, loaded with all the hurt and anger she'd been carrying since the showroom. Julian's expression shifted, understanding finally dawning.

"You think that's what I believe about you."

"I think that's what everyone believes about me. Including you, when it's convenient."

"No." His voice was firm, almost angry. "That's not—fuck, Chloe, you're the least common person I've ever met. You're extraordinary."

"Prove it."

The challenge in her voice seemed to snap whatever restraint he'd been maintaining. His mouth crashed down on hers, desperate and claiming, tasting like expensive coffee and suppressed desire. Chloe's hands finished what they'd started with his belt, pulling him free while he worked at the buttons of her jeans with fingers that shook slightly from cold or anticipation.

"Here?" Julian asked against her mouth, even as his hands pushed her jeans down her hips.

"Here." She bit his lower lip hard enough to make him groan. "Against your precious temperature-controlled wine collection. Let them know who you choose when it matters."

Julian spun them around, pressing her back against the steel shelving with enough force to make bottles rattle. The cold metal against her back was a sharp contrast to the heat of his body, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he lifted her.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice rough with desire and something that sounded almost desperate. "To mark your territory like this?"

"Yes." The admission came out fiercer than she'd intended. "I want everyone to know that you're mine. That whatever fancy history you have with her doesn't matter anymore."

Julian's laugh was dark, almost feral. "Possessive."

"Damn right I am."

When he pushed into her, it was with a desperation that matched her own—not gentle or careful, but claiming and desperate and perfect. The cold air swirled around them, but where their bodies joined was nothing but heat and need and the kind of connection that had nothing to do with technique or finesse.

"You're not common," Julian said against her throat, his voice breaking with emotion and exertion. "You're brilliant and fierce and you scare the hell out of me because you make me want things I didn't know I was allowed to want."

Chloe's response was lost in a gasp as he found the angle that made her see stars. Her nails dug into his shoulders through his expensive shirt, and she hoped they left marks—evidence of this moment, proof of her claim on him.

"Say it," she demanded, her voice breathless but commanding. "Say who you choose."

"You." The word came out broken, honest. "I choose you, Chloe. Every time, every choice, it's you."

The admission undid her completely. She came with his name on her lips and the taste of victory in her mouth, her body claiming his as thoroughly as her heart had been claimed by him.

Afterward, they stayed pressed together in the frigid air, breathing hard and trying to piece together what had just happened. Julian's forehead rested against hers, his expression soft with something that looked like wonder.

"We just had sex in a walk-in cooler," he said finally.

"Best use this place has seen so far," Chloe replied, her voice still rough.

Julian laughed, the sound genuine and free of his usual careful control. "Cassandra is going to hate the security footage."

"Good. Let her see exactly what she lost."

As they straightened their clothes and tried to look presentable, Julian caught her hand.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm not embarrassed. Of you, of us, of any of it. I'm proud to be your partner, Chloe. In every sense of the word."

Chloe squeezed his fingers, feeling some of the possessive rage finally ease in her chest. "Good. Because if anyone else calls me common, you're going to defend me."

"With pleasure," Julian said, and meant it.

They left the cooler separately, but the air between them had shifted again—less antagonistic, more solidly partnered. Chloe had marked her territory, and Julian had finally chosen a side.

Now they just had to hope it was enough to build something lasting on.