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I can’t tell if it’s a suggestion or an order. Either way, I can’t exactly decline, even though I was kind of hoping I could leave these with him and move right on to the whole robbery thing so I can move on with my life. No matter how alluring Lucas Hale is.
Instead, I sink into the chair opposite his. “Thank you.”
“Oh no, thank you,” he says as he opens the box. “These—” He pauses, looking down at the confectionary excess, and chuckles. “Are my favorite kind. It’s like the flavor was designed with me in mind.”
He takes one, then offers the box to me. I’m more curious to find out what a ten-dollar cupcake tastes like than I am hungry. Accepting one, I sort of just hold it awkwardly as my gaze flits to him.
He takes a bite and makes a sound in his throat that sinks into me all the way down to my bones. He taps the box and nods. “Best bakery in town. They know it, too.”
I’m not expecting much, so I’m not prepared for the flavor explosion that happens when I finally take a bite of the moist, fluffy cupcake. The crunch of the crystalized sugar, dark chocolate, velvety icing, notes of caramel… holy fuck, it’s all utterly divine. My eyes widen, and I make an involuntary noise of yum.
“So that’s how they get away with it,” I murmur to myself in awe.
He chuckles warmly before shrugging. “Don’t know if it would work everywhere. L.A. has a way of supporting even the most ridiculous dreams, and crushing even the most basic aspirations.”
“You say that like a romantic anthropologist,” I lick a bit of frosting off my finger, downplaying the action as much as possible. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. Except—maybe it’s therightidea, considering what I need to do here. “People from L.A. love L.A. Makes me think you’re not from here.”
He shakes his head, then pauses as he savors another bite. “Not originally, no. I’ve been here for a while. Since finishing business school.” He gestures at a picture on the wall of him standing with an older man in an office much like this one—except there’s a fireplace with a mantle, upon which sits a tiny bronze pyramid.Like the one the drug dealer showed me.“My mentor was investing in a start-up here and wanted my help. So, I helped. This photo was taken more recently, of course.”
I make a show of looking at the photo more closely. “Is this the same office we’re in now?” I ask, my stomach twisting with nerves. “What a remodel.”
“Oh, no. That’s my lounge down the hall. It isn’t intended for business, but once you get to a certain level, you discover…” I turn, and those gorgeous, smoldering eyes are on me. “Everythingis business.”
I don’t know how to take that. His face is unreadable, and I want to know what he means, but I can’t tell how he’ll react to questions.
“And you?” he asks, leaning back slightly. “Have you lived here long?”
“Oh, about twenty-five years, give or take a womb ride.”
His smile flickers, brightening for the briefest of seconds with amusement. I’m pleased—too pleased, maybe—to have evoked even the slightest genuine reaction from him.
“Born and raised here, then?” he asks.
“Born, yes. Raised?” I tilt my head from side to side, debating how personal I should really get with someone like him. A few little details couldn’t hurt, though, right? “Well, that depends on your definition. But yes, I’ve lived here that whole time.”
He quirks a curious eyebrow at me. “Well? What is your definition?”
I shrug one shoulder as I take another bite of the ridiculously addictive cupcake. “I basically raised myself,” I tell him. “Myself and my sister.”
“You have a sister?” he asks, leaning forward a little. He seems genuinely interested, even more so than he was before, and I pop the last of the cupcake in my mouth, realizing belatedly that I should have just kept my mouth full instead of chatting with the guy I’m about to steal from. Tossing Cassidy from the frying pan into the fire is not what I’m trying to do here.
“I love your office,” I tell him after I’ve chewed for long enough to avoid answering his last question. Or, confirming the answer, I guess. Trailing my finger lightly over the edge of the desk, I ask, “Is this rose quartz?”
When I glance up, the hooded smile is back on his face. “Just the very top. I enjoy the way it looks, but have no need of a super crystal in my workspace.”
The way his smile curves into a smirk tells me he’s encountered far more hippie crystal girls in this city than he ever anticipated.
“It’s really beautiful,” I comment. I throw the cupcake wrapper away, using the movement as an excuse to get out of my chair. I have an artifact-sized hole in my bag that needs to be filled.
“Thank you again,” I say to him. I really mean it, as well as the apology that slips into my tone before I can quite stifle it. “For saving my life, and for taking this meeting with me.”
“My pleasure, on both counts,” he says. There’s a double layer of sincerity that confuses me—or maybe he just can’t help but use that bedroom voice all the time. “Have a wonderful day, Sophia. And stay out of the street.”
“Will do,” I say with a little chuckle that I hope doesn’t sound too nervous.
Taking that as my cue to leave, I head for the door and pause just before. Glancing over my shoulder at him, I let myself drink in his almost unreal beauty one last time, trying not to think about how strange my life has become for me to wind up there. Having cupcakes with one of the biggest names in all of Los Angeles as a means to steal from him, to save my sister. It’s fucked up, strange, and yet… as I look at him, I can’t help but be glad I got a chance to see him one more time.
“’Bye, Lucas.”
