Page 46 of Lucas
Chapter Fourteen
LUCAS
I’m just about to head out of my office, my mind already on the stack of reports waiting for me at home when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, my brow furrowing at the sight of my father’s name on the screen.
I swipe to accept the call, lifting the phone to my ear. “Dad. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Lucas.” His voice is tight, clipped. “I just got off the phone with Michael Gant. He’s clueless. Doesn’t have the faintest idea what’s about to hit him.”
I lean back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Good. That’s exactly how we want him.”
“When you take down his company, Son, the victory will be especially sweet. After what that bastard did to our family, it’s about time he paid up.”
“And he will,” I promise, my voice hardening with resolve. “I’ll make sure of it.”
We exchange a few more words, hammering out details and contingencies, before ending the call. I slip the phone back into my pocket and stand, snagging my suit jacket from the back of my chair.
At this hour, the halls of Valeur Real Estate are mostly deserted, as the majority of my employees have already left for the day. I nod to the few stragglers still hunched over their desks, murmuring goodnights as I make my way to the elevators.
As I descend to the parking garage, I let my mind wander, puzzling over the strange turns my life has taken. Returning to the office as a married man has been a change, to say the least. The knowing looks, the sly congratulations, the barely concealed curiosity in everyone’s eyes as they watch me pass... It’s enough to make my skin crawl.
And the flowers. The fucking flowers. Dozens of them. Bouquets and arrangements clutter every surface of my once-sterile office, each one a reminder of the farce I’m now a participant in.
Part of me wants to sweep them all to the floor, to grind the delicate petals beneath my heel until there’s nothing left but dust and broken stems. But I resist the urge. Instead, I smile and nod and act the part of the happy newlywed, all the while screaming inside that it’s fake, it’s all fake.
The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal the dim, cavernous expanse of the parking garage. I stride out, my footsteps echoing in the eerie stillness, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting stuttering shadows across the concrete.
I’m halfway to my usual spot when I pull up short, a frown creasingmy brow.
My car, my sleek black Jaguar, parked in the middle of the driving lane, almost blocking traffic. Someone had deliberately repositioned it, not caring about the chaos it would cause. And in its place sits a hulking red Jeep.
Ava’s Jeep.
For a moment, I simply stare, my tired mind struggling to make sense of the sight.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut as the realization hits.
Ava. Of course. As if nearly running me down this morning wasn’t enough, now she’s fucking with my car. My space. Encroaching on my territory like she has any right, any claim to it.
I go over all the clauses of our contract in my head, but there’s nothing that addresses cases like these. Who would even think of something like this?
I glance at her Jeep again.
No problem. If she wants to start a war, she’ll get a war.
I arrive home and head straight to her room. She’s still at the office, which means her room is empty.
I open the door and step inside, my gaze drawn to the various pieces of lingerie scattered across her bed. I pick up a lacy bra, running my thumb over the delicate fabric, the intricate patterns of the lace rough against my skin.
God, I’d kill to see her wearing this.
My cock hardens at the thought of her standing almost naked before me in the sunroom, all smooth skin anddangerous curves. I put the bra back where it was and pick up a pair of panties.
Fuck.
They smell like her, all warm and feminine and intoxicating, and now I’m hard as a rock, my body responding to even this small piece of her.
But that’s not why I’m here.
