Page 61 of A Win-Win Situation
She pauses for a moment, her eyes flickering between me and my hand. "Okay," she says softly, taking the keys.
I watch as she gets out of the car and walks toward the elevator.
I don’t drive away yet. I’m watching her closely—how her body moves with every step she takes. When she reaches the elevator, she hesitates.
Come on, Leora, use the pad to make the elevator door open. She complies, but as the doors slide open, she hesitates, not stepping inside. Instead, she turns to the left and heads to the door that leads to the staircase and I watch her disappear.
What is she doing?
Why would she take the stairs when there’s a perfectly fine elevator right in front of her? There’s more than twenty flights to reach our apartment. Is she seriously climbing them all?
I sit there in the car for a few minutes, debating whether to follow her or leave. Then realization dawns on me. Every time she steps into an elevator, she hesitates. She almost shuts down during the ride and her breaths grow heavy. When we reach our floor, she rushes out of the enclosed space.
When I asked if she was alright yesterday, she told me she was fine. She almost had the same reaction when we rode in the elevator together the first time. Is it a coincidence? If she had any issues, she would have told me, right?
You fool. Why would she tell you when you’re in the middle of an argument?
I shake my head. Maybe she just felt like taking the stairs.
With that, I drive away to the office.
TWENTY-TWO
LEORA
I’m a fool.
A complete moron.
I hate stairs, almost as much as I hate elevators at this point.
I mean, honestly, what is two to three minutes of anxiety, when I can keep dry and have a heartbeat under one hundred and sixty beats per minute? But now, as I trudge up the seemingly never-ending steps, I'm drenched. My dress is sticking to my skin, I have boob sweat, and I’m even sweating in places I shouldn’t be. This is not the wet feeling I normally strive for.
My poor Saint Laurents are hanging from my hands as I walk up this hell of an incline, barefoot, contemplating why I hate myself so much. I thought it would give me some time to think about Lucas and why he’s being so weird, considering he didn’t speak to me the whole ride back home and then he just left me. I thought the brunch went well, except for his ex showing up.
When I came out, I immediately recognized her as the blonde who straddled him that night at the club. What I hadn't known, however, is that she's Lucas's ex. Much like last time, she seemed desperate to get his attention, and I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all.
It’s not like I’m jealous, if they want to they can get back together when our agreement is over. But right this second, he’s connected to me through this marriage. Which means he isn’t hers to take just yet. It’s a bit of a slap in the face, though, the amount of disrespect you have to harbor to flirt with a married man.
I try to shake off the feeling of irritation as I walk up the stairs. I don’t need more problematic people to think about, so my mind floats back to Lucas and the brunch.
I thought we were on the same page and that we'd both moved on from the argument, but that’s clearly not the case. The brunch was our first real test, other than the wedding, and I thought we worked great together.
Two puzzle pieces finally falling into place.
I’m still shocked over how he treated Michel after I walked away. I didn’t hear what he said, but I watched from afar as the scene unfolded. Even though I don’t know him that well, it felt like I was witnessing a completely different side of Lucas. It felt good to see him stand up for me that way; it made me feel safe and protected, and the moment we shared at the table felt genuine.
I clutch the bag of soaps closer to me, chuckling a little bit at the memory, before another hits me.
The kiss.
My fingers instinctively go to my lips, reminiscing about the electric, sweet sensation of his mouth on mine. To say I crave more is an understatement, but no matter what, Lucas must remain unaware of that desire. To be fair, he had mentioned that Michel and Melina were watching, suggesting that the kiss was prompted by their presence rather than his own wish.
When I finally reach the door to the twenty-third floor, I’m panting and gasping for air. I really need to start working out because this isn’t even slightly healthy. I’m practically dying.
I use the fob to unlock the door but instead of opening, the keypad lights up with the word CODE.
What damn code is it talking about? I don’t have a code, and Lucas didn’t mention anything about one. I take my phone out of my bag and send him a text.
