Chapter 11

We return to our hotel, and afterwards, head to the airport. Flight back to LA is at 10:30 PM, which means I won't get to bed until almost 5 AM. Thank God tomorrow is Sunday.

"Oh, shit! We forgot to buy souvenirs." I complain on our way to the departure area.

Lucas eyes me strangely. "Because it's not necessary."

"Of course, it is. I always get souvenirs when I go to new places." I search for a store, praying for a miracle. "There!"

Without waiting for a reply, I walk across and step into the small store, greeted by basic little globes, keychains, and mugs of New York.

Rummaging through options, I pick a Central Perk keychain and an 'You're The Rachel to My Monica' mug. Casey and I are Friends fanatics, so the decision is crucial.

"Which one?" I turn to Lucas when he joins.

He leans with unexpected attention, then deadpans. "They misspelled Central Park."

I lower down the objects. "What...is...wrong with you."

"What?"

"You poor soul."

He scoffs, picking up a mug with the silhouette of the city. "I don't get the point of spending money on crap that you don't need."

"Then don't buy crap." I shrug.

"What do you call the stuff in your hands?"

"Sentimental gifts are different, they can be an inside joke or something you both have in common." I grin at his unimpressed expression, and take both items to the register. "It's like sharing a part of yourself with someone."

"No one thinks that. People just want a high price tag that'll make them feel like they matter." He mutters over my shoulder.

"Not me." I sing, searching for my wallet.

~

Sometime in the middle of this restless, annoying flight, crankiness seeps in, souring my mood. I start regretting the decision to extend this flight. Not only because my back is splitting me, but because I'm not sure how I'm going to act with Lucas on Monday.

Do I go back to hating his guts? Not after everything he's shared with me. And certainly not after everything I've shared with him.

Do we act like friends? Yeah. yeah, I guess we could act like friends. If I'm going to be his boss, the relationship needs to stay intact.

Because if he quits, finding his replacement will only add more on my plate and—

"Just lean on my shoulder." Lucas whispers, startling my ruminations. The airplane lights are off, everyone's asleep, and the only noise is from the hum of the machine.

"Hm?" I turn, certain that I misheard him.

He chuckles at my surprised expression. "You keep whining and turning every two seconds."

"Oh..." I look away. "Sorry."

"Suit yourself." He murmurs in a hoarse, sleepy voice, closing his eyes.

He leans his head back, protruding a rugged Adam's apple, and releases a deep, slow, gruff exhale. My fingers clench around the arms of the seat as I curl into a ball, shutting my eyes.

When we land, Lucas offers to take the same Uber, saying it's not safe to go home alone at this hour. He also takes my luggage to my apartment door, whispering goodbye to make sure the neighbors aren't bothered.

It all feels like a dream. As if on Monday, none of it will matter.

And it doesn't. Because when I make my usual morning coffee in the break room on Monday, Lucas charges in with a teasing grin, raising an eyebrow at my low bun and button down.

"Back to your boring outfits, I see."

"Back to being an ass, I see." I retort quietly, surprised to sound softer than usual.

"My favorite duo!" Grant booms, joining the group chat. "I heard amazing things about the Ritz pitch. The clients said they were very pleased."

Lucas rolls his eyes, "thanks, wish I could say the same."

"Oh?" Grant creases his forehead. "Something happen?"

Lucas turns on his heel to leave. "Nothing new, they were just being jerks to Layla."

"Hold on." Grant stops him. "Let's take this to my office," he turns to me, "the three of us."

I nod with anxiety, not knowing what to expect. Once he closes the door, I settle on the couch, Lucas across from me, next to Grant.

"So, tell me what happened." Grant asks me.

"Nothing," I force my voice to stay neutral, unbothered, "they were being a little impatient with my slides, I should've just done better."

"Alright... I appreciate your proactivity. But did they say anything to insult you?" He presses, eyebrows knitted with concern.

I frown at his uncharacteristic concern. Is he just covering his ass to make sure I don't complain to HR? Is this a test of leadership?

"They didn't have to insult her to make her feel like shit, Grant." Lucas cuts in, formality out the window. "She tried to present the work they asked her to do, then couldn't sit still for two seconds to listen."

"To be fair, my public speaking skills need training." I justify, refusing to play a victim. "Lucas did great with getting their attention. I should learn from him."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." Grant hesitates. "Because we have the Board of Directors coming tomorrow, and I need you to present."

"Are you serious?" I choke. The Board of Directors are basically Grant's bosses. They invest in the company. They make the ultimate decisions.

"Yeah, you proposed a new organization chart when we select the VP, didn't you? As a potential candidate, they want to hear from you, see how you imagine running the team."

"But tomorrow's so last minute." My chest presses with panic. "I have no time to prepare."

"If you can't, it's fine." Grant assures, but it appears insincere. "I understand it's last minute."

"She will." Lucas says with finality, his serious gaze fixated on me. "I'll work with her."

"Why would you do that?" I scowl. Is he trying to sabotage me? Is he trying to look superior?

"Great." Grant concludes with an oblivious smile, leaning back in relief. "You can stay after work and do some role play. Get comfortable."

I pray that my face isn't turning crimson, while Lucas looks down, stifling his amusement.

~

"Why would you want to help?" I cross my arms, leaned on one hip.

It's 6 PM. Lucas just closed the doors of the conference room. Half of the space is surrounded by windows, the rest by brick wallpaper. An enormous whiteboard stands next to a projector, at the head of the table.

I'm on my third cup of coffee, which is also a great prop to hold when nervous.

Which I'm absolutely not.

"What's the big deal? Are you nervous?" Lucas teases, pacing towards me.

He's in his normal work attire. Dark jeans on long legs, low on narrow hips. A white cotton shirt tautly framing a broad, solid physique. Ember hair tousled, rebellious - styled enough to exhibit care without appearing self-centered.

Why the fuck are we thinking about his hair?!

I step back, glaring. "Don't act like you're my mentor or something. For all you know, I could be your boss in a couple of weeks."

"Don't get your hopes up. I'm pretty competitive." He smirks, reminding me just how much he infuriates me. How nonchalant, yet respected he is. And how I split myself in half for the same, yet end up with crumbles.

"I don't need this." I clip, stepping past him to leave, but he extends an arm to block my way.

"Fine. Consider this returning the favor for saving me during Grey Goose. That day would've been a fail if you didn't show up."

I narrow my eyes, wishing there to be subtitles under his poker face to read his true, wicked intentions.

He raises an eyebrow at my intense gaze. "Ok, you creep. Save some of that energy for training, I won't be going easy on you."

"Who said I want easy?" I snap back, pulling out a chair that's tucked into the table.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" I take a seat, crossing my legs, "I'm waiting for you to start."

He just stares, deliberately stretching the silence until I squirm. Then, he leans down, puts his palms on the table, hovering over me. "We either do this my way," he warns in a calm tone,  "or we don't do it at all. No attitude. No sass. You listen to me, and do as I say. Because we both know that you're worried, and you'll end up flaking tomorrow without my help."

Fear thumps in my rib cage, and I break eye contact, jaw sore with stubborn, egoistic tension. But he's right...I need to get better. I can't go through another humiliation, another meeting where I am unseen and neglected.

"I'll do it your way." I concede.

"Good." He pulls back. "Then get up."

I rise on my feet and step away from the seat, frowning as he sits down and points over my shoulder. "Go to the whiteboard."

"You don't have to be so bossy..." I grumble, following his instruction.

"If you don't want to get eaten alive, don't expect people to be nice to you."

He continues. "Now, I want you to imagine that this room is full of people. You just walked in, everyone's talking, no one's paying attention. What do you do?"

"Um...I clear my throat?"

"Ok, and if that doesn't work?"

"I'll say...'excuse me?'"

He scowls, which only makes me frown further, and when he pushes off the chair and heads towards the doors, I nearly ache with dread that he's giving up already. Am I that hopeless?

But instead, he stops there and turns to me, palms open. "I'm you. I'm walking in," he walks my way, eyeing the empty chairs around the table, "everyone's busy, so I clear my throat. But no one cares. What do I do next?"

Suddenly he claps, making me flinch, and raises his voice with a grin. "Alright, everyone! Thank you for coming, I'm so excited to have this meeting with you, let's get started."

He strides towards the whiteboard, uncaps a marker and writes in big, impatient letters. "Don't ask for their attention. Take it."

I nod, smiling with rising excitement. The urge to whip out a notebook itches within, but I opt for repeating each word in my head, making sure it sticks.

"Cool, now everyone's listening." He continues, looking at me, "how do you start the presentation?"

"Uh, I'll introduce who I am and what we're going to discuss, then start the slides."

"Good, show me." He goes to his seat again.

I clasp my hands, but then force them to untangle. My voice shakes a little. "I'm Layla, I head the analytics of the creative department. And today, I want to go over a new org chart as we scale the team and expand the brand."

Lucas tilts his head with distaste. "Um...it's alright, but it's boring. These people are in meetings all day, they fall asleep the moment they sit. You need to excite them."

"Excite them? What am I, a circus?" I scowl, hand on my hip. "If they're sleepy, that's their problem. They should go to the gym, or have some coffee."

"Who cares? You're the one that's going to take the fall. You need to make them do what you want."

"Make them? Lucas, this all sounds so manipulative, I'm just trying to work-"

"It is manipulative, Layla. It's all a game. A game. You play to win. You don't play to make friends, no one is here doing this for charity. These people want to make money, go home, and live their lives." He fixates on me to make his point, "no one goes home and worries about this shit."

"But I do. I worry."

"Then stop." He sighs, standing up again, "why do you care so much?"

Heat threatens my face with insecurity, so I look away. "It's not important."

Lucas observes, probably collecting information about all my weaknesses. He comes in front of me and leans back on the table, crossing his arms. "You need to understand that these people don't matter," he murmurs. "They're not in your life, they have no idea who you are. Why do you care about their opinion?"

"Because their opinion is what's going to change my career!" I argue, desperation clear. "They decide my future."

He scowls. "No they don't."

"You don't get it, do you? You're family, you're in. You don't have to prove anything."

"That's not true. Why do you make assumptions?"

I look down, afraid to say more, afraid that I'll cry and expose myself more. Expose that I resent him for something that's not even his fault.

Lucas runs his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Look, I don't act this way because I'm family. I act this way because I don't care. I don't care what people think of me."

"How? How can you not care at all?"

"Because I don't." His expression hardens, and he walks away, creating distance. "Because whether people like you or not, it doesn't change a thing. Yeah, maybe it's nice when you're doing well, they kiss ass and stick around. But if you need help, you're on your own. So fuck them. Whether they like you or not, it's not about you, it's about their benefit. So skip the nerves, the worries, the fluff, and give them what they want, get it over with."

Heaviness weighs down around him, with the way his words carry more than the purpose of this training, with the way they speak of personal burdens he buries within.

I wish I could know more, but he's distant. He chooses what to reveal, always in control.

"And another thing," he turns back abruptly, taking me by surprise. Swirls of brown dive into mine. "You don't need to dress like this."

"I like dressing like this."

"No, you don't. You're more comfortable in feminine clothes. With your hair down. In dresses and shit."

I laugh nervously. "You're so ridiculous."

His eyes soften, lips curve up with a gentle smile. "Trust me. The harder you try to impress people, the more miserable you'll be. Just have fun, Layla. Fuck people. Be you."

"Don't say fuck people..." I roll my eyes, fighting my amusement, and failing.

He smirks, knowing. "Say it."

"No!"

"I'm your teacher, it's part of class."

I giggle and slip past him. "I'm not going to say it, Lucas. It doesn't align with my values. It wouldn't be right."

He scoffs, "you'll learn one day."

"No, you'll learn. You'll learn that some things are worth caring for."

~ A/N ~

Who's training who, huh?