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“Fine. But we need ground rules.”

Lucas settles in the chair across from me with a grin, his pose so casual and cocky that I wonder how I ever thought I had a chance at winning against him.

“Lay ’em on me,” he says, gesturing between us.

“I provide my own food,” I say immediately. “None of this feeding me bullshit. I can support myself just fine.”

Lucas rolls his eyes at me. “Fine. If you want to pretend like my home-cooked food isn’t the best thing you’ve ever tasted, that’s your loss, not mine.”

I ignore that comment. He doesn’t know it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

“I pay rent.”

“Absolutely not.”

I’m taken aback by his immediate answer. “Lucas, I should pay rent. This shouldn’t be a freebie. I’m invading your home, using your utilities… I can’t just do that for free⁠—”

“You can, and you will. Hard boundary on this one, Charli.”

My eyes widen. Maybe I should’ve expected this after his money comment yesterday, but I didn’t expect this level of intensity.

“Lucas,” I say carefully. “I would feel a lot better if I wasn’t staying here for free. I really don’t want to feel like I owe you for this.”

His lips purse, clearly thinking about another solution. “How about…you help me out with the occasional side project?”

I blink at him. “If that was code for hacking into someone’s system…hard boundary, Lucas.”

A bark of laughter explodes out of him. “Yeah, no, not exactly what I meant.” He clarifies, “I was talking about my cases. I could use your research brain on some of them.”

I try not to sound haughty, but I don’t know how well I succeed. “I’m not helping you help greedy, shithead clients, either.”

Any remaining smile drops from his face. “Jesus, Charli. They’re not all bad people.”

A little bit of guilt slithers in. Admittedly, I’m making a lot of assumptions based on three cases in my research and a few interactions in the office. Lucas himself hasn’t proven himself to be a corporate overlord, so I shouldn’t jump straight to that conclusion.

My voice is small. Apologetic. “No?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he swallows and asks, “Is that really what you think of me?”

My gut reaction is to answer no. Not because the opposite answer might make him rethink his housing offer—at this point, that offer isn’t the thing that matters here—but because I’m realizing I hate the idea of hurting this man’s feelings. This man, who has been nothing but kind, helpful, and honest with me. It’s not Lucas who my feelings stem from, but his environment.

But I force myself to consider his question. I owe him that. And if I’m going to say yes to his offer, I also need to be honest with myself about the type of man I’m essentially living with.

Do I think that’s the only type of person he works with?

No. I don’t.

The answer comes as quickly as my gut reaction did. And for the same reason. Lucas has shown me in multiple ways the type of person he really is, and that person wouldn’t be completely surrounded by the greedy, immoral crowd I’ve spent my life running from.

I might not understand Lucas’s employer choice, but I at least trust in that.

So I straighten and look him in the eyes for him to see the truth in mine. “No. I don’t.” Then, in a softer tone, “I don’t think that, Lucas. I’m sorry for making you think I did.”

His relief is palpable. His shoulders slump and a breath rushes from his chest. Does he really think that much of my opinion?

The thought is a humbling one.

“Okay,” he says with a deep breath. “Okay, good. Glad we got that sorted.” A pause, and then he glances back at me. “So…you’ll stay?”