“Friends sounds great.”
***
Outside the restaurant, I say goodnight to Mira with a friendly hug, put her in a cab, and skip a ride home in favor of a walk. I’m taking a lot of late-night strolls these days.
The temperature is mild for nine p.m. in early May, and New York really is the city that never sleeps. As I wander the streets, lost in thought, I encounter all sorts of people: college students out for a cheap drink, club-goers, the socialites, the Wall Street types, older folks like myself going home after dinner, the hipsters, the artists… The city has it all. But the multicolored crowds aren’t enough to distract me; my thoughts keep going back to a certain Attorney in Heels.
Where is she now? At home with Tegan? What are they doing? How long before the agency will send her on a date with someone else? And what if the next dude isn’t a creep who brings his mother to second dates?
Vivian is beautiful, smart, and fun in her own very annoying way. It won’t be long before a man who’s not a complete fool snatches her up. The idea makes me want to puke. But what can I do about it? I can’t ask her out; she’d laugh in my face. She hates my guts. Maybe not hate-hate, but she’s strongly prejudiced against me, and how can I blame her? I attacked her out of nowhere when we first met, and I haven’t always been on my best behavior around her. But only because she pushes my buttons so quickly she trips my sanity.
Right. I need to dispel her misconceptions about me. Yes, and I know where to start.
I’m a man with a plan.
Twenty-three
Vivian
Friday morning, I exit the elevator on my floor with the same wariness of the past two days. I haven’t seen Shrek since The Accident on Tuesday night, and I have no idea how to behave around him now.
My strategy is doomed to failure, of course, as no later than tomorrow Lucas will pick up Tegan and drive her to Boston, and there’ll be no avoiding him. But the longer I can put that awkward meeting off, the better.
Careful to walk on tiptoes as to not make any noise with my heels, I cross the landing to my door and unlock it. Still on stealth mode, I move into the office and close the door with the softest click. The sound echoes impossibly loud in my ears.
I’m being paranoid. No way Shrek heard that.
But I haven’t even made it to the desk when a double knock on the door makes me jump. With no early appointments on today’s schedule, there’s only one person who would drop by unannounced.
I dump my briefcase on the desk and wait for another heartbeat. Maybe, if I pretend not to be here, Shrek will go away.
“I know you’re in there,” Lucas’ voice calls from the other side.
He’s so pretentious. I really can’t stand him.
I take a deep breath, fuel my inner rage, and throw the door open. “What?” I say witheringly.
I was aiming for cold and haughty, but, gosh, does he have to look that good every single morning? Does he never get a bad hair day? Freshly shaven, in one of his usual impeccable suits, and with his smoldering blue eyes, he takes my breath away, melting all my coolness. His sandalwood scent finishes the work, destroying the last of my safeguards.
Unaware of the effect he’s having on me, Lucas raises a pink paper bag, saying, “I come in peace and bearing donuts. We need to sit down and have a conversation.”
My mouth waters a little, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the donuts or thanks to the thought of sitting on top of Lucas—I mean, sitting down with Lucas. No one is sitting on top of anyone. Not in my office. And just like that, an image invades my mind: Lucas carrying me to the desk, clearing off the clutter with a sweep of his arm, and placing me on the hard, flat surface to kiss me until we’re both breathless and dizzy.
Lucas’ voice brings me back to the present. “Vivian?”
The way my name rolls off his tongue makes me shiver. I’m going insane. It’s the only possible explanation.
Fighting to cool my spirit and tone, I ask, “Is it really necessary?”
“Yes.” Lucas pushes past me, uninvited, into my office.
He lays a paper napkin on my side of the desk and places a perfectly glazed pink donut on top. Then he sits on one of the clients’ chairs and bites with gusto on another equally pretty donut.
And never in my life would I have imagined being jealous of a pastry.
Without much of a choice, I sit at the desk, eyeing the fried treat suspiciously. A single bite would be enough to sell my soul to the devil, I’m certain. But, honestly, the glaze looks delicious—as does the devil—so I give in and relish the sugar rush. Then, since the anxiety is killing me—is he here to talk about the kiss?—I ask, “What is it you wanted to discuss?”
Lucas is sitting with an ankle resting on his knee as if he owns the place.
“Us,” he says nonchalantly.
A simple word that causes a void to form in my stomach.
“What about us?” I ask. I won’t mention the kiss unless he does.
Lucas uncrosses his legs. “We started on the wrong foot a month ago. Mostly my fault, I’ll admit that.” He gives me a cheeky smile that puts a warm fuzz in my belly. “Even if you did cut in front of me at the train station, and stole the last donut at Starbucks, and snatched the corner office of my dreams from under my nose all in less than an hour—”
“If you’re still going on about—”
Lucas raises his hands placatingly. “I’m not. I just wanted to contextualize my reaction of that day. I was stressed about the office situation, and you’d rubbed my feathers the wrong way, so
