Page 35 of Lucas

“Do you have a Sugar Daddy we should know about?” Marnie says. Her mouth twitches like she’s joking, but I know there’s seriousness behind the question.

I grimace.

“Just hang tight, okay?” My pulse hums, and my heart beat picks up speed. “I can’t tell you right now, but I’ve got an idea.”

It’s a Hail Mary of a plan—but if I’m lucky, it just might work.

Chapter 17

I duck into the same dive bar where it all began.

Weaving through the cluster of tables, I work through to the darkest corner of the room, and plop down next to Lucas. He’s semi disguised in a ball cap and hoodie, bringing back a shit ton of memories from that night.

Not all of them good.

I glance over at the bar where I last remember seeing Austin, his bloodied body flattened out on the concrete floor. This is pretty much the last place on Earth I want to be, but I’m glad we haven’t been banned after the last incident.

Regardless of how things ended, Lucas saved me that night, rescued me from more than the advances of a shitty employee. He made me take a hard look at the mundane routine of my life—and showed me how things could be different.

I don’t want to go back to that. I can’t.

I just don’t know if Lucas has enough in him to save me again tonight. There are bigger wolves at the door this time, and they’ve got their razor-sharp teeth bared.

Lucas doesn’t acknowledge me when I sit down, and I admit, that stings.

I lick my lips. “Thanks for meeting me.”

His head jerks and he slugs back a shot of amber liquid. I count a half dozen empty shot glasses on the table and a couple beer mugs. I’m tardy, but not that late. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“Long enough.”

I’m not sure what he means, and the curt tone of his voice is like a wasp bite. I understand that we’re not pretending anymore, but I was under the impression that he had genuine feelings for me. Maybe I was wrong, because it hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours and he’s acting like we’ve never met. “Can we talk about the lawsuit?”

“Christ, Eden.” He sits back in his chair, adjusts his hat, and scowls. “Not that shit again.”

A response catches in my throat. He isn’t slurring, but I can tell he’s drunk. Instinct suggests I should back away, try again tomorrow, but I don’t have that kind of time. “We said we’d discuss it…”

He grunts, and flags down the server who already has another shot on the way. The first inklings of worry flutter down my spine. Lucas gets moody—who doesn’t? But this… something else is clearly going on. “Bad day at the office?”

His scowl gets deeper, meaner. “Why the hell would you ask that now?” he snaps.

I blink in surprise. “In case you’ve forgotten, up until last night, any work discussion at all has been off limits.” I didn’t pry in his business, he stayed out of mine. On some level, I recognize that we were wrong to cut that part of ourselves off to one another, but it’s the only way our relationship could work.

Look at us now.

“It’s still none of your business,” he says gruffly.

The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. I can feel his temper ramping up, and I’m not interested in being on the receiving end when he snaps. “Fine, we don’t have to talk about your work. But we agreed to discuss the lawsuit. When our week of…” My voice trails off not sure how to end the sentence. It was more than just fucking, whether he’s willing to admit it or not. There’s something between us. A connection deeper than either of us thought possible, I know it.

That’s what I need to appeal to—Lucas’s heart.

The waitress drops off another shot and lifts her eyebrow at me in question. I shake my head. Alcohol would just muddy things here, and I need a clear mind. I lean forward and cover Lucas’s hand with mine, hoping the connection reminds him of how right we are together. “Please. It’s important.”

He yanks away as if my touch burnt his flesh, knocking over his drink. “What the hell do you expect me to do, Eden?”

My heart stutters. No darlin’. Eden. More than his temperament, that tells me everything I need to know. He’s done.

“Damn it,” he mutters, shaking off his fingers. Whiskey—or rum, whatever was in that shot—spackles my leather jacket and the side of my cheek. He takes a deep breath and sighs. “I only have one vote. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t change their minds. We’ve all just got to ride this out.”