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She exhaled slowly, as if she’d been holding her breath. “And you’re really not going to tell anyone?”
The trepidation on her face took a slapshot at Sam’s gut, but he remained firm. “No. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
He could’ve left it at that, he knew. But something about the way she was still biting her bottom lip bugged the hell out of him, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reassure her.
“Look, the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured, but my promise not to bring the awkward still stands.” When she didn’t immediately bolt for the door, he continued, “I mean, I do have this whole pizza here, and I have a feeling you’re still hungry. Plus”—ah, fuck it—“I really would like to hang out with you, friend to friend, if you’re up for it.”
For a minute, she didn’t answer, and damn it, he should’ve known better than to let his feelings fly.
But then a tiny smile poked at the edges of her mouth, and she walked back over to her bar stool and said, “Pizza is better cold, anyway.”
* * *
Lucy had officially losther mind. Not only had she blown past all reason and kissed Sam, but she’d let the kiss escalate—and by that, she meant she’d climbed him like a goddamn jungle gym. All of her carefully maintained common sense had flown right out the window as soon as her mouth had touched his, to the point that if he hadn’t brought her back to reality by telling her to open her eyes, she’d have eagerly let him give her an orgasm or three right there in his kitchen. And rather than heeding her brain’s orders to make a beeline for Sam’s door and not look back, she’d let her instincts—swoony bitches—lead her right back to her bar stool instead.
Despite all logic, when he’d said he wouldn’t tell anyone about their kiss, she’d trusted him.
They settled back in at the breakfast bar, both eating quietly for a few minutes, and Lucy weighed her options to break the silence. A thought occurred to her, one she’d meant to express before but hadn’t, because they’d been gently interrupted by Hazel. The topic was potentially touchy, but small talk seemed stupid, considering her tongue had been in his mouth less than ten minutes ago (and she wasn’t goingthere). Anyway, she’d never been a small talk kind of person, and screw it.
“Hey, if you don’t want to talk about this, please feel free to tell me to shut up, but I really am sorry for bringing up your family earlier. I’m super close with my father. Obviously.” She gave up a self-deprecating shrug, because it was probably the world’s biggest understatement. “Sometimes I forget other people have different dynamics. It was short-sighted of me.”
“Ah, it’s okay,” Sam said, matching her shrug. “My fallout with my family isn’t exactly a secret. The papers even covered it. Eldest Faurier Declines to Follow in His Father’s Footsteps. Turns Down Harvard Family Tradition to Pursue a Career as a Firefighter.”
Lucy nearly choked on her pizza. “You were supposed to go to Harvard? Like,theHarvard? With all the ivy-covered buildings and people in sweater vests, Harvard.”
His brow waggle was true to form. “It’s far less impressive once you know that my grades were below average throughout my entire academic career, but my father was ready to donate a building with the Faurier name on it, so yep. They wanted to welcome me with open arms.”
“But you didn’t want to go,” she said, and the look on his face confirmed it.
“And endure four years of academic hell in a major I hated, then two more on top of it to get an MBA so I could enter a career field I also hated, just because my father wanted a mini-me? Hard pass. So, as soon as my acceptance letter arrived, I told my father I had no intention of going.”
“Okay, so you decided Harvard wasn’t for you,” she said. Truly, she couldn’t picture Sam being happy there, and she’d only known him for three years. His father couldn’t have beenthatshocked, could he? “That hardly qualifies as a crime, though, right?”
“Did I mention that I’m the only Faurier in four generations not to have carried the mantle?”
Yikes. “I take it that didn’t go over well.”
Sam’s laugh was all irony. “Let’s just say my father is very glad to have two sons, although if you ask him now, my brother Preston is the only one of us he’ll acknowledge.”
“That’s horrible,” Lucy said, unable to imagine it. “All because you didn’t go to Harvard?”
“Because I didn’t do what he wanted me to,” Sam corrected. “To be honest, Harvard was really just the last straw on top of the thousands that started piling up when I was a kid. I could never sit still. I hated wearing a suit and tie. Ireallyhated school—which went over great, since I went to a very exclusive boarding school notorious for churning out surgeons and senators. But I always wanted to be moving, getting my hands dirty. If there was adrenaline involved, even better. I even climbed the ivy trellis to the headmaster’s second-story office window on a dare once. Got in a shitload of trouble, but man, it was worth it.”
Considering the fact that he’d chosen a career with the RFD rescue squad, where he routinely scaled structures way taller than two stories without breaking a sweat, that actually tracked. “And your father wasn’t open to you pursuing a different career? Not even one that so clearly fits you?”
“My father is a difficult man. His way is the only way. He’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’, and he’ll do just about anything for control. That works for him as a businessman, I suppose.” Sam’s laugh, normally so carefree, held no traces of joy. “But as a good father? Not so much.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, but Sam shook his head.
“Ah, he came by it honestly.” At her raised brows, he explained, “A lot of my father’s money and power is earned, but not all of it. I come from a long line of cold, heartless bastards. The only one bigger than my father is my grandfather, Jameson Faurier II.”
A thought popped into Lucy’s head, bringing a burst of surprise with it. “So, wait. Are you…”
“Technically a Jameson? Yeah.” He slid his now-empty plate over the breakfast bar, and if he was uncomfortable sharing his family history, he was covering it with one hell of a poker face. “My middle name is Samuel, though, and thank God, there were enough of us by the time I was born to require my going by Sam.”
“Sam suits you,” she said, and he gave up a wistful smile.
“But Faurier doesn’t. At least, not as far as my family’s concerned. I’d always been the black sheep, but once that acceptance letter came in, my father gave me an ultimatum. I could either go to Harvard and finally start living up to my full potential—or, his version of it, anyway—or I could leave. I didn’t think twice. It’s been nearly fifteen years since I’ve seen my father face to face. Eleven since I’ve seen my mother and brother. I know that sounds sad, but believe me, everyone involved is happier for it.”
