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"For this."
She looks up at me. Something sparks in her eyes, like she believes there's a chance. "Do you really need to be this oblique?"
"Yeah."
"Bullshit."
"Maybe. But I want it to be a surprise."
She takes my hand. "Okay, but if it's not a surprise—"
"You want a lunch full of carbs?"
"I was going to say I want the ten orgasms Ethan promised, but I guess I'll settle for lunch."
Her touch lights up my body. It pushes away the storm clouds in my mind.
It makes it feel like this is fucking possible.
Like anything is possible.
With anticipation eating at my insides, it feels like the drive takes a million years. The entire time Lacey's hand stays glued to mine. She sits back in the passenger seat, her eyes flitting from me to the scenery.
Our surroundings give nothing away. We're in front of an unassuming West LA office building. It's a beautiful day. The blue sky is shining high. The air is moving with a light breeze, carrying the hum of traffic on the nearby freeways.
And Lacey is sitting next to me, her brown eyes filled with curiosity, her lips in a tiny hint of a smile.
I park in the lot and turn the car off. Lacey looks around as she slides out of the car. She takes an unsteady step. She's wearing those black heels. They do amazing things to her long legs, but she can't walk for shit in them.
I slide my arm around her waist and guide her to the office complex. She watches with rapt attention as I pull out the key to the suite and unlock the door.
There. We're on the left.
It's another lock.
I turn the handle and hold the door open for her. "After you?"
"Let me guess. You're surprising me by doing my taxes?" She looks up at me. "You do know it's September."
"I do."
"Okay, so it's not taxes. General accounting?"
"Go inside."
She turns to the room and takes a step inside.
Her eyes go wide.
A sigh falls off her lips. "No fucking way." She practically jumps into the Herman Miller chair.
She runs her fingers over the desk and stares at every piece of machinery.
This is a hell of an editing suite. At least that's what the guy who owns the place claimed. I asked around, and everyone agreed—this is as good as any editing suite gets.
Lacey spins in her chair. Once she's slowed, she pulls her knees into her chest and looks up at me. "This is an office."
"An editing suite."
