Page 31 of Ms. Lead

And if it’s nothing when I leave as it should be, then it’s nothing.

Studying me warily, but with so much hope in her eyes, I want to scream, she steps over and kisses my cheek. And I instantly feel like the ugliest creature in the universe. I’ll be breathing fire, knocking down buildings, and destroying Tokyo any minute now.

Shit. Even my internal jokes don’t cheer me anymore, and those were my last line of defense.

I’m doomed. I’m fucking doomed. Actually, no, we both are.

Chapter Eighteen

BIANCA

THE LAST MAN ON EARTH

After the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been on the last few hours, it’s nice to sit down to dinner and have a regular conversation. There’s something about talking in public that puts guard rails around what we’re talking about to keep us from going out of bounds or taking things too seriously. And while we’re technically in public, we are also very private at the moment.

We’ve come to a Mischief client’s restaurant, The Library, which looks like it could be an actual library located inside one of the Strip hotels. It helps to be friends with the chef, too, as we are given a private table hidden behind the bookshelves of the main restaurant. Typically, reservations are impossible to come by, but knowing people has its privileges. As Oliver pales at the prices on the menu, I assure him we won’t be paying anything but gratuity. His publisher might truly hate him if we had to pay. That gets a sigh of relief from him and makes me chuckle.

Things between us have loosened up since our tense discussion at my apartment, and the mood has lightened too. He’s barraging me with decoration ideas for my living room.

“How about a neon sign?” He smirks. “Isn’t there even a neon graveyard or something here in Vegas? I’m sure you could find something there.”

“It’s called the Neon Boneyard and is an actual museum, I’ll have you know.” He acts as though I’ve put him in his place. Good. “It’s not a store. Although you’re right, there is a lot of neon here. That’s a thing now, getting sayings made into a neon sign.”

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. What kind of sign should you get? Let’s think on it. How about something about your job, like ‘Boss Lady,’ or something ironically self-evident like ‘Neon Sign.’ It would go with your décor or the extreme minimalist theme you have going on.”

“I think I liked the cat poster idea from earlier,” I laugh. Watching him brainstorm ideas is entertaining in itself.

“I’ve got it. The perfect neon sign for you, and I think even Ava will approve of it. ‘Aunt B.’” He draws his hand through the air between us, writing it out, then smiles, satisfied with himself and his suggestion. It is a good one.

“It is perfect. I love it. I’ll order it first thing tomorrow. In pink, just for Ava.”

He rests his elbows on the table and his chin on his folded hands, his smile turning melancholy.

I mirror his pose. “What is it? You look thoughtful.” Our conversation has flowed so naturally, I’m surprised to see this downturn in him.

“It’s nothing bad. On the contrary, it’s great. Fantastic, even.”

“Oh? Do tell.” I bat my eyelashes demurely at him in encouragement, trying to lift his mood.

His brows knit together for a moment as he chooses his words. I can tell he’s being careful, which raises my curiosity even more to find out what he’s being so cautious about. He’s typically pensive, but this amount of care is strange for him.

“You will be a great mother.” He pauses, gauging my reaction, or lack thereof, since I’m so shocked, and hurries to expand on his thought. “If you want to be, that is. I don’t know your plans for family or that sort of thing. I’m just saying, should you choose to be a mother, you will indeed be fantastic at it.” His cheeks flame red as he talks. He must think he stepped on a conversational landmine because he’s trying to dance around it like crazy.

I’m tempted to let him keep talking, just to see where he goes with it, but I decide to throw him a lifeline.

“Thank you,” I say, but then I feel the need to go on like he did. “I think I would like children one day. If my circumstances ever reach that point.”

“Circumstances?” He’s curious but now seems even sadder than before. “What circumstances are those?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Find the right partner. Feel financially steady enough to handle that sort of thing. Get all my ducks in a row.”

“So, you’re going to try out ducks first? See if you can handle that, are you?” His mouth twitches into a crooked smirk, but his gray eyes are still dark. The humor he’s trying isn’t reaching. He’s deflecting, but who knows from what.

I cock my head at him, ignoring the attempt at deflection. “How about you? Do you want children?” It might be nice to know these things before I get too crazy about him. Although, I think that ship has already sailed.

The dark eyes go black, and his lopsided smile is gone too. A nerve has been struck, and it’s an unexpected one. With how he interacts with Ava, I thought for sure he’d want kids. He’s so good with them.

He clears his throat and starts spinning his water glass nervously. “No. I don’t think kids are for me.” He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head in distaste. “I don’t mind other people’s children, of course, for short periods. But they go home at the end with their parents, and I get peace and quiet. Just how I like it.” The fake smile returns with a flash, and my heart instantly aches for him.

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