Page 38

FOURTEEN

CHARLI

If Lucas is surprised by how little I have with me, he doesn’t show it. He just takes my three bags in hand, waits for me to grab Milton and my computer backpack, and then exits the conference room.

Shit. Is this a bad idea?

I’d made peace with sleeping at the office this weekend—kinda. I wasn’t thrilled about the hiding, or possibly having to explain to a security guard why I was at the office on a Saturday night, but I knew it was my only option. For Milton, I’d do whatever I needed to do.

But I’d be lying to myself if I said Lucas’s offer wasn’t a relief. One that hit way harder than expected.

I didn’t really care about the boss thing. Or the elevator thing. I just needed to push back a little so it wasn’t obvious how relieved I was.

I glance sideways where Lucas is sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the gear shift.

This man has no business looking this good wearing a suit and driving a stick shift.

Okay, maybe the elevator thing did need to be put out in the open. Because I cannot hook up with my not-boss.

“So, uh…” Lucas’s hesitant tone snaps me out of my drooling. “Do you have everything Milton needs for tonight? Or do I need to DoorDash him some…I don’t know, some kind of special litterbox sand or something.”

I let out a sound of amusement. “Ah, that’s right. You’re not a cat guy.”

“It’s not that I’m not a cat guy,” Lucas hurries to argue, “I just…don’t know anything about them.” He sends a skeptical glance at the cat currently loafing in my lap. “But I’ll tell you what. If he can go the weekend without destroying my home, I’ll profess to liking his people.”

I turn to gape at him. “He’s not going to destroy your home. He might be a little high maintenance, but he’s not aggressive.”

“He’s high maintenance? So he does need special litterbox sand.”

I sigh and relax back into my seat. “No, he doesn’t. I mean, he needs a litterbox, yes, but I meant high maintenance in reference to his demands. You know, he needs his blankets folded a certain way, his food served at a certain time, that kind of thing.”

When Lucas gapes at that, I grin and add, “Yeah, I was surprised by it, too. But I figure: there’s a reason the Egyptians worshipped cats way back when.”

“I’m not worshipping him, but I’ll get him a nice blanket,” Lucas grumbles, downshifting as he takes a corner.

My focus goes right back to his hands. I’d expect them to be pampered, moisturized, maybe even with a manicure, just with the way he dresses and carries himself. But to my surprise, he’s got callouses on his hands and marks on his knuckles.

I want so badly to ask him about them, but it’s just inappropriate enough that I shouldn’t do it. Because I don’t just want to ask him, I also want to feel them.

I’m distracted from my thoughts when Lucas pulls into a parking garage.

“You’re this close to the office?” I ask in surprise. We’ve been driving for less than ten minutes. “Don’t tell me you moved here because it’s so close to where you work.”

His silence is answer enough.

“You, sir, are a workaholic,” I say with a chuckle. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“My family likes to mention it from time to time,” he mutters as he pulls into a valet line. “We’re here. Don’t worry about your stuff. Someone will bring it up to the apartment.”

My eyes widen. It’s only just now occurring to me that Lucas might be richer than I realized. His car—an Audi—probably should’ve been my first clue, but I was too worried about Milton and too thrown off by Lucas’s offer for it to register. Now that I’m looking around the dashboard and interior, I’m realizing I might be a little out of my element.

I spent my teenage years in one of two types of housing situations: after my mom died, we either lived in shitty, rundown apartments, or whatever luxury apartment my dad’s flavor of the week inhabited. There was no in-between.

But even though money doesn’t feel intimidating to me, I’m still fully aware of the fact that it changes things. For one, I live a different type of lifestyle. I’m no longer used to the luxuries that come with money.

Sure enough, my nerves start to bubble to the surface. “Lucas, are you sure you’re okay with a cat in your apartment? This place looks like it’s really nice, and I don’t want to⁠—”

Lucas interrupts me by opening his door and stepping out of the car. He disappears, and I’m left sitting in the passenger seat, confused, when suddenly my door opens.