by Lindsey Hart
I wouldn’t want to be near me right now.
She must want my help really bad to be this nice to me right now.
“You don’t have a fever. It’s June. Not many bugs going around. Was it something you ate? I can show you where the bathrooms are if you need to—get there.”
Well, it’s official. I think my balls just packed their bags and bid me a fuck you kind of a farewell. I’m officially glad I just vomited because it’s a reminder that it could have been worse. I could have pooped my pants in front of her. Small mercies do indeed exist, I guess.
“Can I just die?” I moan pathetically.
“I hope you don’t. That would leave me pretty high and dry, don’t you think?”
I cannot laugh right now. That’s not even funny. Aria takes her hand away, and I’m horrified to find that, on top of everything that just happened, I miss the coolness of her hand against my blazing skin.
“It’s okay. I’ll cancel our meeting. I was going to have the lawyers go over everything with us this morning so you could see how things stand, but you need to go home. You’re not well.”
“What gave you that idea?”
Aria rolls her eyes at me. “Throw away the pride and sarcasm. It’s been shot to bits by now, don’t you think? You need to go home.” She nimbly gets to her feet on her sky-high pink heels. I get a good look at her dainty feet and expensive pumps before I let my eyes roam up her pink-clad legs. She’s wearing a pink power suit. And fuck, she’s rocking it.
I think the bad sushi might be making me hallucinate.
“I’ll take you. You can’t drive like this.”
“I’ll get a cab.”
“They’ll charge you if you barf all over their back seat. I, on the other hand, can just get the car detailed.”
“And bill me with interest, no doubt.”
“You’re such an overgrown crappy baby,” Aria mutters. “Let’s go. Can you stand up? Do you need more water? Do you need a few minutes?”
I need you to stop being nice because it’s freaking me out. Aria Watson was raised by wolves. She, in turn, should have turned out exactly like her predecessors. I didn’t think there was a caring, sweet, and compassionate bone in her entire body. Maybe it was all just an act.
My stomach cramps up when I try and get to my feet. I feel myself shaking, but eventually, I’m standing. Trying to take some small steps, I stumble over a few feet and clutch the back of a chair. I’m soaking wet with sweat, but I don’t feel so hot. I’m starting to think the bathrooms might be the best place to end up, public or not. Maybe lawyers have clean asses. Nope. Likely not. But they might have meticulously clean bathrooms.
“Just stay there. I’ll go tell them we have to reschedule. And I’ll warn them that they might need a new recycling bin.”
All I can do is keep myself upright. It’s a herculean effort because suddenly, I feel weak and dizzy. I wish I could stop sweating. I wish my stomach didn’t feel like it was dying a thousand deaths. I wish the hedgehogs would just move out.
Aria’s back in record time, holding a smaller, more compact recycling bin. Wordlessly, she marches across the room, gathers up her pink sparkly tote, then takes my arm. Her hand closes around my bicep in a hold that is stronger than I’d ever give her credit for. Maybe I really am hallucinating.
“Aren’t you going to leave that here?” I ask her when we’re in the elevator. Moving at any speed makes me feel like hurling again.
Aria glances down at the recycle bin in her other hand. “Nope.”
I get it. That’s for me. In her car.
It’s official. I’ve just been castrated by a six-pack of sushi.
Aria’s car isn’t actually pink. I know that. But I’ve always been surprised by that. It is sporty and imported. And it costs over a hundred thousand. That, I know for sure.
She helps me into the passenger side. As I sink down into the cool leather seat, cold from the underground parking at the lawyer’s office—which I didn’t know about or take advantage of—I let out a sigh of relief. I also have some pretty nasty fantasies about hurling all over the expensive interior just so Aria has to spend a couple grand getting the smell out.
That’s mean spirited, and I actually feel bad for thinking that. Aria shoves the recycling bin—a small square that looks absolutely useless for anything other than what it’s being used for right now—into my hands.
I know the ride home is going to be like death. Probably literally, because I doubt Aria can drive, let alone drive a stick, in heavy traffic, in Miami.
But I’m wrong.
Aria is actually a good driver. She has no trouble with the stick or the sport clutch or the traffic. All while wearing four-inch heels. They might even be five-inch. How the hell does she even walk in those, let alone drive? She watches me too. Out of the corner of her eye. At red lights. She doesn’t seem at all worried that I might hurl right beside her. She’s completely cool. Comfortable. Like a neat little cucumber.
“Are you too hot? Too cold? I can adjust the air. Do you want me to roll the windows down? How’s your stomach? I find that when I’m sick, if I slow my breathing down and make it deep and even, it helps. Do you want another mint?”
What I want is to die. Fast. Just get it over with. What I want is my man card back. What I want is to be in my own bed, in my own house, so I can have some peace.
“Lucas?”
I wince. “I’m good.”
“Try the breathing.” Aria demonstrates a few deep breaths.
Like I don’t know what a deep breath is. I know she won’t be satisfied until I do it, so I do. I practice a few, just so she’ll leave me alone. I’m surprised that the cramps in my abdomen finally start to release a little. My stomach stops rolling and sloshing.
“We’re almost there.”
How the hell does she even know where I live? I mean, of course, she knows where Cassie and our parents live. But me?
I live in an average neighborhood where most of the houses were built in the sixties. They’re traditional Miami style houses in nice bright colors. Mine happens to be Caribbean blue. It’s nothing fancy. Just a two-bedroom bungalow. I’ve made a pretty decent living working at what I do, but I’ve been putting it away. I have my own ambitions. Ones that don’t include working in the grocery industry forever. Or working, kind of, for my dad and my stepmom for the rest of my life. Not that they’re not great. Because they are. I just…have my own dreams and stuff.
“Your house is cute,” Aria says without smiling. “Do you want me to help you in?” She’s dead serious. Dead serious with helping me. I’m twice her size. I’m half a foot taller, even though she’s nearly six feet herself and probably almost level with me in those heels, but I’m double her weight for sure.
“I’m good.”
“I didn’t ask if you were good. I asked if you needed help. There’s no shame in it. You know what there’s shame in? Falling face-first onto the concrete sidewalk out there. That could break your face. You have a nice face, Lucas. Don’t mess it up like that.”
She appears serious about that too. My stomach tightens, and this time, I don’t think it’s the sushi or the hedgehogs.
“I’ll make it. Thanks for the ride.”
Aria pauses. Nods. Pauses again. I still don’t reach for the door handle. I can tell she has something she wants to say, and for some reason, I want to hear it. So, I stay put. My ass does not budge from the expensive leather seat. This is the most ridiculously expensive car I’ve ever been in. I don’t want to like it, but I kind of do. It purrs like a kitten, and while it isn’t exactly comfortable, it looks fun as hell to drive.
“I know I shouldn’t have asked Cassie for the favor.”
I must really be hallucinating now because Aria looks almost regretful, sorry, and contrite. Three things Aria Watson never is.
“I—I’ll pay you for your help. Like any other job. I’ll make it worth your time. I do value it. And I do thank you for agreeing to do this. Eve
n if you don’t like me. It does…mean…a lot.” The words are painful sounding.
Normally, I’d have some witty, snarky jab to throw back at her, but right now, I’m coming up with a ton of nothing.
“What would you normally charge for consulting like this?”
“A million. Maybe a million and a half.” I’m lying through my teeth. I’ve never done any consulting for anyone before. I might have made some forty under forty list, but honestly, I’m not some genius. I just found some good opportunities at the right time. Convinced a few people to sell when they were ready. Made the right moves. I have to admit that it’s been more luck than actual skill. At least, as far as those doors opening up went.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll make it two.”
“Two?” I quickly snap my mouth shut. “Right. Two.” I gulped. “Two sounds good. When did you reschedule the meeting for?”
“I was waiting to hear back from you. I’m not going to drag you into it as sick as you are. I might be a heartless crocodile, but I’m not that mean.”
I nearly laugh. Almost. A heartless crocodile? That describes Aria so perfectly. Was that humor I detected in her tone? Was she actually laughing? At herself? I’ve never known Aria to be anything but serious before—a serious bitch, that is. I think about what Cassie said about the scaly exterior. I nearly laugh again because it fits the crocodile description very well.
“I’ll call you and let you know.”
“You can just text me. That would be fine.”
“I’ll call.” We are not friends. Texting is for friends. I reach for the door handle, but Aria clears her throat, and my hand freezes there.
“Just so you know, it’s going to be fine. This. I’ll be totally professional. My ovaries aren’t open for business.”
“Your what?” Why the hell did she say that? Right when I was actually starting to not dislike her so much.
“See you later, Lucas. Feel better.”
I eject myself out of the car in a hurry. The air in there is suddenly thick and stifling, and now I can’t stop thinking about Aria’s ovaries. Being very open. And very ready for business. I’ve never felt so sick in my life all thanks to rotten fish, and there my dick goes, getting to half-mast despite the whole stomach, humiliation, and ball shriveling problems from an hour ago.
I make sure to angle away from the car as I trudge to the door. When I go to open the damn thing, I realize I’m still holding the stupid recycling bin in my hands.
The very unexpected, large lump of cash I’m suddenly going to be getting, which also changes everything, aside…this is going to be a fucking disaster.
CHAPTER 5
Lucas
Three days later, after couch surfing for two days to get my stomach bent back into shape, I do my walk of shame.
Back to the lawyer’s office.
I have to sit in the same boardroom, this time across from Aria and an ancient, little old man who looks like he should have retired about six decades ago. Aria is, of course, wearing a pink dress complete with pink pumps, her blonde hair pulled up in a neat twist above her head. Her makeup is tasteful and flawless. She might be a princess through and through, but she’s a neatly put together one. I keep trying to find something to fault her while we’re going over the details of her grandfather’s company, but I come up with nothing.
My eyes stray now and then to the corner of the room. The recycling bin is gone. I pity whoever had to deal with that. Some poor janitor who I should find and apologize to later. Offer to buy them coffee or something stronger so they can forget about that foul bin of sin.
After four hours, we’re finally done.
I have to say I’m surprised at Aria. She’s actually a quick learner, and she grasped a lot of what was going on. Maybe her Master’s isn’t so bogus after all. I still can’t believe she has one. Her. Cassie is a thousand times smarter than Aria, and she doesn’t even have a Master’s. Why the hell would someone get an education like that and not tell anyone? It’s obvious she didn’t. If she had, she would have told Cassie or Rin, and I no doubt would have heard about it through one of them, one way or another. It’s weird. It’s really weird.
Just because I give Aria some credit and make promises about getting the list of people to interview to her by tomorrow morning so she can go over it doesn’t mean I don’t try to beat a hasty retreat out of there as soon as the crusty old lawyer, who is actually a pretty sweet old guy, closes his folders and announces something about time for a cup of tea.
I’m fast. Not fast enough, though. Aria catches up with me at the elevator. She thrusts one pink sparkly pump into the almost closed door, her slim ankle taking the brunt of it all, making me wince before the door slides back open.
“Thanks for holding it,” she cheerfully says as she steps in.
I can only gape at her. She has her pink tote thrown over one shoulder, a stack of paperwork and folders in her slender, creamy arms. One of her hands peek out from below the stack, the perfectly painted pink fingernails with little diamonds staring back at me.
I punch the numbers on the panel uselessly, hoping I hit somewhere closer to the main floor and didn’t send us up to some random floor.
“I hope you’re feeling better,” Aria says sweetly. She’s facing the closed door. We still haven’t moved.
I glance back at the panel, and I can feel my balls shrivel up when I realize I didn’t actually manage to hit anything with my random stabbing a few seconds ago. I try again, and this time, the main floor button has an orange ring around it.
“Yeah.”
“What happened? Was it something you ate, or did you get a bug?”
“Hmpf.”
“You’re super talkative this morning. I noticed it in the meeting too.”
“I was thinking.”
“Thinking.”
The elevator finally starts moving. I don’t tell her she should try it sometime. That’s too mean, and even I have limits. Plus, I’d just be a sheer asshole, because Aria actually kind of impressed me this morning.
“You’re okay now? Or were you toughing through it? If you weren’t, you could have let me know.”
“I’m fine.”
“So… what happened?”
I can tell she’s not going to let this go. Aria is one of those people who reminds me of a Rottweiler with a bone. Or maybe a Doberman. Yeah. She’s definitely more of a Doberman. Sleek. Petite. Shiny. Could gnaw your leg off in a few minutes.
“I ate bad sushi.”
“Bad sushi?!”
The elevator keeps descending. I glance at the lights flashing above the door. We were on the twenty-first floor when we started. Only eight more to go.
“Why the heck would you eat bad sushi?”
“I didn’t know it was bad.”
“Don’t you have eyes? A nose? Didn’t it look off? Smell off? Where did you eat it? Whatever place you had it, you should call the health district or something and report them. They could be poisoning other people.”
“It was from a gas station.”
I pointedly look forward even though I can feel Aria’s eyes staring a laser beam right through me.
“A gas station! Why—why would you—didn’t you think—how—I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“Smart?”
“Yeah. Well, you have two Master’s Degrees. How the heck did you get a double Master’s if you freaking eat gas station sushi? Do you have a death wish? Or maybe you thought a good case of food poisoning would get you out of working with me.”
I somehow manage to keep a straight face, though I’m sure my usual mask of composure is slipping big time. I probably look a little like the cute old lawyer minus the cute. He clearly uses dentures, and his mouth kind of has that pinched up expression of someone whose teeth don’t fit quite right because he takes every chance he can to throw them in a glass somewhere and go without. That’s the expression I probably have right now.
Finally, the elevator stops, and th
e door shimmies open. I can’t say I’m a gentleman. I cut Aria, push through the opening, and spring through the lobby of the building towards the glass doors at the far end. I have to give her credit, though. Aria certainly knows how to handle a pair of heels. She catches up with me as I reach the door. I don’t hold it open for her. Actually, I slip through and try not to grin when it slams in her face. But she proves to be resourceful, like some kind of blood-sucking insect, and she falls into stride with me a few seconds later, her heels clicking away on the concrete sidewalk.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like… offend you.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” I mutter under my breath. I walk a little faster, hoping Aria will trip in a crack on the sidewalk while trying to keep up. Okay, I don’t really hope that. Not even I can be that mean. She could break an ankle or her wrist or something. If she’d just fall and humiliate herself, I could live with that, but actual harm? I can’t wish for that.
“I was just asking—”
“You were just asking? No. You weren’t just asking. Do you know what a rhetorical question is, or did they not teach you that in your online business bullshit?”
“See!” Aria pants. I’m walking pretty fast, and she’s starting to struggle to keep up. “I thought this is what we do. Banter. Like this. I thought you already established that we weren’t going to be civil to each other. I was just trying to meet the parameters you set out.”
I stop so fast that Aria nearly breaks a heel, trying not to skid past me. She’s breathing hard, her shoulders heaving with the effort of basically running to match my power walk.
“I didn’t set out any parameters. I didn’t put any conditions on this…this partnership. Unfortunately. Because if I could, I’d—”
“Have a drink with me.”
“What?”
“Have a drink with me. There.” Aria points to a fifties-style diner just down the street.