Page 33 of A Win-Win Situation
This is ridiculous. I've always prided myself on being in control, on being able to compartmentalize emotions and physical desires. But ever since Leora entered the picture, it's like a switch has been flipped. I can't seem to escape the way my body reacts to her presence—the subtle quickening of my heart rate, and the distracting twitch of my cock. My thoughts wander when I should be focused on more important matters, lured away by the magnetic pull of her presence.
She’s been annoying me at every stop—I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way, dammit.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the cold water beating down on me. It's a sharp contrast to the heat that had been building within me, a reminder that I need to regain control. This situation, this arrangement—it's difficult enough without adding unnecessary complications. Leora might challenge me in more ways than one, but I can't afford to let her affect me like this.
I turn the water off and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry myself. As I stand there, I make a silent promise to myself: I won't let thoughts of Leora distract me. I'll keep up the act, maintain the distance, and ensure that this arrangement remains strictly business. Because getting tangled up in emotions and desire would only complicate things further, and that's the last thing I need.
After my shower, I get dressed in a dark blue Armani suit and a simple white button down. I check my reflection in the mirror; my curly hair looks unruly per usual, but I don't bother trying to tame it. According to some, it's part of my charm. My mum was one of them; she always used to let my hair run wild, insisting it showcased my wild spirit.
I slip on a pair of brown leather shoes and make my way to the living room, grabbing my keys and phone on the way. I step out of the elevator and into the parking lot, heading towards my car—a sleek black Mercedes-Benz, and unlock it with the press of a button.
Around the rearview mirror hangs my mother’s rosary; it's white and gold, and I touch it just like I always do before starting the car. The engine roars to life, and I navigate my way through the busy streets to pick up my new fiancée. Pulling up to the hotel, I see Leora waiting outside.
Let’s get this evening over with.
I get out of the car and walk towards her, feeling a surge of pride and possessiveness as I take in her appearance: her blackdress hugs her curves in all the right places, and the sight of her toned legs draws my attention more than I care to admit. Her brown hair cascades in waves down her shoulders, and there's a glint of determination in her green eyes, a reminder that she's not one to be underestimated.
"Leora," I say with a nod. "You . . . look good." I shift uncomfortably, my attempt at a compliment falling somewhat flat. "I mean, it's a great dress."
She raises an eyebrow, the tension between us palpable, but she replies with a tight smile, "Thank you, Lucas. You're almost charming tonight."
I ignore her jab at me, my eyes drifting to her lips as she speaks; they look sinfully full. They’re painted a shade of pink that complements her complexion perfectly. She must have been a siren in a previous life, luring men into the deepest of waters before drowning them.
I don’t think she’s aware of how much of an effect she has on the male population, considering she’s completely oblivious to the hungry look coming from one of the hotel's doormen. He’s practically undressing her with his eyes, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
Instinctively, I wrap my arm around Leora’s waist and glance towards the doorman once more, my expression hard, a silent warning:She’s with me. He quickly averts his gaze, suddenly finding something fascinating on the marble floor.
Exactly.
"What are you—" she begins, clearly taken aback. But I don’t let her finish.
"Let’s go," I say firmly, my voice leaving no room for arguments.
I guide her towards the car, my arm still wrapped protectively around her. There's a surge of possessiveness within me that surprises even myself. I can't stand the thought ofsomeone else eyeing her that way when she’s supposed to be my fiancée.
I open the door to the passenger seat and when she steps closer to me, before lowering herself into the seat, I can’t help but lean in slightly to smell the sweet scent of her perfume—vanilla. I close my eyes before closing the door and making my way to the driver's seat.
Her soft voice surprises me, and I turn my head to look at her.
"Are you sure about this?" she asks, motioning between us with her hands. "About this whole thing?"
My mind races. Would anyone be sure in this situation?
"No," I say truthfully, before turning the key in the ignition.
"Me too." I can feel her eyes on me as I drive, but I don't look at her. The weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air, questions I don't yet have the answers to. Yet, I can't help but wonder what she's thinking.
Will she be able to pull this off?
Will she convince the others in the restaurant that what we share is real?
Will I?
My uncle chose this restaurant because he knew a few of the stakeholders would be here tonight.
Tonight is about us making our public debut.
The questions swirl in my mind as we pull up to the restaurant. I step out of the car and make my way around to open her door, but apparently Leora is in a hurry. She's halfway out of the car by the time I reach her, my hand extended. Her shoulders tense, and a furrow forms in her brow before her eyes meet mine, and she takes my hand.
