Chapter Fifteen

Landon

 

This is a fucking nightmare. That’s what this is. A nightmare where the lay of New Year’s past appears in a silky blouse and a long figure-hugging skirt.

Luci looks entirely different than she did two weeks ago. She’s not the woman I’m out on the boat with, nor the one I’m singing to. She’s not even the woman I’m climbing on top of, whose warm skin presses against mine and whose arms wrap around me, afraid I’ll let go.

Here in Charlotte, there’s more to her. More sadness, as near as I can figure. But that doesn’t make sense. This is her home despite that’s not what she’d claimed.

I’ll admit, when the shock of finding her here wore off, I was pissed. Pissed that she lied, and assuming she was just another woman working me over to see what she could get out of me.

I couldn’t get past the lying and spent most of the meeting fuming. What else had she lied about? How she felt?

The thought gave me pause. She hadn’t told me how she felt, not really. And maybe I interpreted more than was there.

I also couldn’t justify how I’d been used. She never asked me for money and she hasn’t so much as called or sent me a text. The other thing is, I couldn’t discount the way she looked when I offered to help her if she were ever in trouble. She seemed confused, and in way, offended.

Being the jaded man I am, I concluded she was playing me and biding her time until the moment was right to sink her teeth in. Except the longer that meeting went on, the more I picked up on that fragility I first sensed in her. It lingered and warred with the humiliation flushing her skin pink.

Even now that fragility pokes through, demanding my attention and respect. If I’m being honest, it makes me want to hold her, and maybe kiss her, too. But this isn’t my house, and by the way she shrinks inward, she doesn’t want me anywhere near her.

Shit. Luci is different here, another woman I’ve yet to know and very unlike the woman who’d throw her head back when she laughed and who couldn’t get enough of me.

I cross my arms over my chest. If you asked me this morning which Luci I preferred, I would have said the one who wore my T-shirt and boxers. In those clothes, she was mine and nothing else mattered.

Now, fuck me, everything does.

She glances around as if unsure where to look. “Did you need something?” she asks, her voice more of a stutter than that tender way she spoke when we were alone.

I push off the wall. “Mr. Ballantyne told me to stop in and see you. Said you’d change out my furniture. I’m also supposed to get my parking pass for court from you.”

“I see,” she replies, sounding only partially relieved. “Please have a seat.”

She motions to the chair that crazy Kee-Kee sat in, doing all she can to avoid eye-contact with me. I lower myself as she types away on her computer. “Are you looking for sleek and modern, or do you prefer a classic style similar to Mr. Ballantyne’s office?”

She’s been to my place and helped christen a few rooms in my house. She knows what I have and what I like, and in every way possible. “I’m more into modern furniture.”

My husky tone gives away what I’m thinking, including how hard we went at it over the “modern” dining room set.

Her typing slows to a stop and she shoots me a sideway glance. The tension between us couldn’t be worse and neither could this situation.

I need to make it right. God damn, I owe her that much. Even if she did lie.

“There’s no rush,” I say. “I have everything I need at the moment.”

She stares at her computer screen in the same way some people stare out a window, more for something to do rather than see what’s there. “We’re restructuring the floors to accommodate the growing firm. Most of the furniture, including what’s in your office, is being donated to the local YMCA and church.”

She averts her gaze and lifts her phone, tapping her nails against the desk. They’re not long and polished like Kee-Kee’s. They’re short, neat, and clean, just enough to prick and turn me on when they grip my bare shoulders and trail down my back.

I rub my face, wishing I hadn’t gone there.

Her brows knit slightly as she glances in my direction, her face lighting up when it appears someone answers the other line. “Claudio?” she says in the Spanish way it’s supposed to be pronounced. “It’s Luci. I need to decorate another office . . . Yes, for an associate . . . Do you have any new pieces you can email me? . . . Modern please. . . Thank you, Claudio.”

She returns the receiver to the charger. “Made to order furniture?” I ask. She nods. “Sounds pricey.”

She laughs a little, the familiar sound easing some of the tension. “It’s actually cheaper,” she explains. “Industrial furniture is marked up between two-hundred to four-hundred percent the moment it’s labeled as ‘office furniture’. Mr. Ballantyne likes high quality at a good price. Claudio provides both.” Her fingers fly across the keyboard. “I’ll email you your choices in addition to the new pieces Claudio has designed. Make your selection and feel free to change out the hardware if it’s not to your liking. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Her voice quiets as she reaches into the drawer and pulls out an electronic key card. She knows she’s making small talk, just like she knows I’m doing the same damn thing. “This will give you access to the parking deck directly across from the courthouse. The spaces are numbered according to the number on the bottom. If for some reason there is a car parked in your spot, let the attendant know and he or she will provide you with alternative parking within the same garage.”

She slides the card across her desk, leaving it for me to pick up. It doesn’t seem right for her not to want to touch me, not after all we shared.

“Luci,” I begin.

I don’t think she’s going to react, or maybe I do and don’t want to see it.

She covers her face with her hands. When she drops them away and looks at me, it’s as if all that strain between us now rests on her shoulders. “What are you doing here, Landon? You told me you were an engineer.”

I frown, noting she thinks I’m the one lying. “I was and technically still am. I went to M.I.T., developed a robotics program, and sold it to the military. After that I was bored and went to law school.”

“You were bored?” she asks like she doesn’t believe me.

“That’s right.”

“So you went to law school?”

I shouldn’t smile, but despite this shit situation and my struggle with who Luci really is, here it is, widening the longer I fix on her face.

“I like a challenge,” I admit. My smile morphs into a smirk at the sight of her blush.

“I graduated at the top of my class,” I add when she doesn’t say anything.

“Of course you did,” she says.

Her reply makes me laugh. “What about you?” I ask.

“What about me?” she replies, growing quiet.

It’s not like she doesn’t know what I’m asking. It’s more like she finds it hard to believe I genuinely want to know. It’s similar to how she acted when we first met, hours before I all but begged her to come with me.

“What did you go to school for?” I clarify.

“Accounting and office administration.” She glances down, the row of thick lashes shadowing her lavender eyes. “I graduated last spring and plan to take my CPA exam in the fall.”

“You’re a recent grad?” I hold out a hand when her eyes widen. “I’m not judging you, but you did tell me you’re twenty-eight.”

My last few words come out harsher than I intend. Maybe because I’m wondering whether she lied about that too.

“I am twenty-eight,” she replies slowly. “I had a late start in school.”

“Why?”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you wait so long to go to school?”

“I thought you weren’t judging me,” she adds, her voice all but vanishing.

“I’m not. I just want to know more about you.” I also want to believe she didn’t lie. Call me a fool, but . . . never mind, just call me a fool.

“You want to know more about me,” she repeats.

I don’t answer. I’ve told her as much before. Maybe she remembers. If so, why does it add to her sadness rather than soothe it?

“I quit high school young and obtained my G.E.D. so I could work.”

No, I’m not an asshole or anything. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not something you really brag about,” she adds.

“You should. You finished,” I point out.

Her cheeks brighten to pink. “There you go again,” she says.

“Making you blush?” I offer.

“Being kind,” she says instead.

My sordid past with Bernadette warns me to stay mad and keep alert—that Luci isn’t that amazing woman I couldn’t stop looking at or touching. In fact, it insists I should call her out on her lies. But in those few words, I’m reminded why I can’t.

Luci hasn’t had an easy life. I suspected as much, but now I know.

I’m not sure she’ll say more, but she does, revealing a little more of herself despite her embarrassment.

“Mr. Ballantyne used to frequent the diner where I waitressed. He liked how I worked and how I took care of things when they went wrong. More than once, he told me I was wasting my talent. I thought he was just being nice until he offered me a job.”

“This job?” I ask.

“No, he started me off as an administrative assistant to the office manager. But the more I did and learned, the more responsibility she gave me. I didn’t realize she was planning on retiring or that she was grooming me to take over. When the time came for her to make a formal announcement, she recommended me for the job and Mr. Ballantyne agreed.” She gives a little shrug, just enough so that the strands of hair that escaped her bun stroke her shoulder. “His only reservation was that I lacked the degree, so he offered to pay for my education.”

“He seems like a generous man,” I add when she quiets.

“He is, Landon.” She pauses. “And because of it, I never want him to question my work ethic or regret hiring me.”

I’m not an idiot, I know where she’s going with this. “Seeing how he made it clear I’d get the axe over you, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“There’s a lot I worry about,” she says, her tone trickling with the same sadness I’ve always felt.

I nod like I understand, even though it’s obvious there’s still a lot I don’t know. In the quiet that follows, I think I should leave and give her some room to breathe. Instead I stay and ask her what’s bugging me. “You told me you live in New Jersey.”

It’s not the question I intend, rather the accusation I don’t mean it to be.

A tiny line forms between her brows. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did,” I counter.

She should grow defensive. I would. Instead there’s that delicate smile that hooked me the first time. “I said I was from New Jersey. I never told you I still lived there.”

I still, feeling more like an ass than I did before, and maybe some relief, too. “So you weren’t lying?”

She tilts her chin, appearing confused. “Why would I lie to you?”

Yeah. Why would she, you bitter bastard?

The corners of her mouth lift. “You told me you lived in Kiawah,” she reminds me.

I take it it’s her turn to call me out. I chuckle, though maybe I shouldn’t. “No, I said I was born and raised in Kiawah, and I was.”

“So that’s not your house?” she questions.

“No, that is my house,” I say. “I bought it after my divorce.”

Shock riddles her small features. For all I assumed things I shouldn’t have, she assumed things too, like that I’ve never been married. “I suppose I should have mentioned that,” I offer. “Guess I’m not too good to be true after all.”

The sympathy that plays in her voice is like a song, gentle like a mist yet strong enough to keep me from moving. “I don’t know about that,” she says.

I don’t know what she’s thinking. I only know there are million thoughts racing through her head, just as they’re doing in mine. “There are probably a lot of things we should have mentioned,” she adds. “It’s just that everything that happened . . .”

I shake my head. “Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what?”

I meet her square in the face. “Don’t tell me that it shouldn’t have happened, because I’m damn glad that it did.”

“I was going to say that everything that happened doesn’t usually happen to me.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, and I all but stop breathing, remembering what it was like to hold this woman in my arms.

“I don’t go home with men I don’t know,” she explains. “And I do everything I can to avoid leaving the wrong impression. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do. You don’t have to worry about me,” I assure her. “Just keep those thoughts of me naked off your mind and we’ll be just fine.”

I rise as her jaw slacks open. I start to walk out, only to stop at the door and glance back at her. “Oh, and if you could stop staring at my ass, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

She whips around, startled.

I walk out the door and head to my office, a smile I’ve gone to long without splaying across my lips.