Page 96 of A Win-Win Situation

I can feel the weight of his doubts pressing upon me, and my mind races to come up with a convincing response. Panic starts to well up within me, but I push it down, determined to maintain the charade.

"Yes, with Camille," I reply, my voice steady but my words betraying a hint of defensiveness. "We had a last-minute project that required us to work late."

Lucas's gaze intensifies, and I can see the flicker of suspicion in his eyes. He crosses his arms. "It’s nine thirty in the evening, Leora."

When did it get so late, and how long was I walking?

"You’re telling me you worked so hard you missed the dinner you were so excited to go to?"

I take a deep breath, realizing that my lies are crumbling under Lucas's questioning. I can sense the disappointment in his voice as his words pierce through my defenses.

"No, it's not like that," I stammer, my voice filled with frustration. "The project . . . it just got really intense, and I lost track of time. I didn't mean to miss the dinner, I promise."

Lucas's expression doesn’t soften in the slightest, and his skepticism remains. He uncrosses his arms and steps closer, concern evident in his eyes.

"Why didn't you call me? We could have figured something out. I could have helped you."

"I told you my phone died."

"Did Camille’s phone die too? Or was she busy charging it at home?"

He knows I wasn’t with her. My mind races, palms growing sweaty. I’ve already dug myself a hole deep enough for the both of us, and I have to stick to my lie. At least until he’s calmed down. Then I can tell him why I had to meet John alone and why I didn’t tell him. Until then, I’m entangled in the web of my own making.

"I should head back home. You guys talk this out," another voice says, and both Lucas and I turn toward it—toward Liam.

"No, stay," I almost beg.

"Thank you, brother," Lucas says.

"Glad you’re safe, Leora," Liam says before he’s gone, ignoring my plea for him to stay.

"Now, Leora, tell me where you were," Lucas demands, his eyes searching mine for the truth. A truth I’m not ready to share while he’s upset.

"I already told you. I was working with Camille, and my phone died. That's all there is to it. Can we please drop it?"

"Leora, I know you're lying to me, but I don't understand why."

"I'm not lying!" I raise my voice, my frustration boiling over. I hate the way the lie tastes on my tongue.

"Iknowyou, Leora," he says firmly. "I know when something is bothering you, and right now it’s written all over your face. Besides, I called Camille earlier, and when she answered, she was at home. So, let’s try this again. Where were you?" Lucas'sexpression hardens and his eyes narrow. The look on his face is like a stab to the heart. Making more guilt settle in the pit of my stomach.

"I was working with Camille then she left and I stayed behind."

His eyes harden even further as he takes another step toward me, his proximity heightening the tension in the air. I can sense that he's reaching his breaking point, his patience wearing thin.

"Leora," he says, his jaw clenched so hard it’s almost breaking. "You’re telling me that you chose to stay at the office until now, an office with multiple clocks and ways of reading time? Meaning you missed the dinner on purpose—the dinner you knew was important."

"I didn’t know?—"

He moves his hand up in a stop gesture. "I’m not finished! You didn’t send me a message or call me to tell me you couldn't come. You left me worrying at home, going mad, thinking something had happened to you. You could have told me that you didn’t want to spend the evening with me. I could have been at the charity dinner without you." Lucas's words sting, and I feel deep regret for the choices I've made.

"I’ve been worried sick waiting for you, do you understand that? I called the damn police, Leora. That’s how worried I’ve been. I thought you were hurt." Lucas's voice quivers as he pours out his frustrations. His brows are furrowed, and his lips press into a thin line, betraying the emotional toll the situation has taken on him. His hair is all tousled, he’s probably run his hands through it a hundred times this evening, because of me.

The tension radiates through his body, his muscles visibly taut as he takes a step closer, closing the gap between us. The intensity of his presence sends a jolt through me.

Each one of his words is a painful reminder of the impact my actions have had on him. The weight of my choices crashesdown on me with full force. I search for words, desperate to say something.

"I . . . I'm sorry," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

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