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Chapter 20

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Twenty-five quizzes, ten Ted talk videos, five self-help books.

That's how many places I researched to finalize 'Operation Crack Lucas.' 

It's a Friday afternoon at the office. I'm looking at my long list of questions I've prepared for him. But the problem is that he probably won't answer them seriously, unless I set the mood right. Make him comfortable.

But how do I do that without getting... too comfortable?

My dreams are certainly getting too comfortable. Things that should not be done in a workplace environment are flooding my brain. Earlier in a meeting with Grant and Lucas, I turned red and stumbled on my words, because Lucas smacked his palm on the table.

I wish I was that table.

See. This is what I mean. We're getting too comfortable.

Anyway. I need to pick an unsexy location with enough comfort to talk. Just talk. Nothing else.

"Let's go the playground." I suggest when he stops by my office.

He blinks in an 'are you stupid' type of way, muscular arms crossed across his chest. I should hit the gym and get buff. That way I can look at myself instead.

I gulp and continue. "I just mean, I need you to be relaxed when I ask you these questions. And the office setting is too formal."

"So a playground is your genius idea? Want me to push you on a swing while we eat lollipops?" He smirks, lifting a dark eyebrow.

"You lick a lollipop."

"You want to lick a lollipop while I push you on a swing, then?"

"What I wish to lick or not lick is none of your business."

Why is he looking at me like I'm free theater.

I rise on my feet, tossing my purse over my shoulder. I push past him and out my door, headed for the elevators. If he's not going to take this seriously, then I won't either.

"I'm just teasing, monster. Why are you so flustered?" He follows after me. Has he always been this tall?

I scoot away from him, creating more distance. I push the elevator button, looking around for witnesses. No funny business, Layla. Contain yourself. Get laid. Get a dildo for fuck's sake. Call Vadim.

"I thought you wanted my help." I tell him.

"I do." He smiles.

I roll my eyes and step inside the elevator. He follows after me. I punch the button, fixating on the numbers as if that's going to magically make the elevator go faster.

"Are you on your period?" He asks.

My head whips towards him. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I was going to ask if you have an extra tampon. I'm all out."

That makes me chuckle. Some of the tension in my spine eases.

"So, since we're both on our periods-" He stops as the elevator doors open and a group of people in suits give him a strange look.

We step out, with me giggling and him glaring. "I was saying... " He drawls, tone dry. "We could go get dessert at a nearby cafe and you can ask me all the wise questions I know you've worked so hard on."

Hard on.

"Ok." I squeak, rushing my steps to escape to my car.

Something grabs the top of my head. Like those claw cranes in arcades that lift toys. Lucas's hand - claw crane - twists me in the other direction, and my body complies like the toy it apparently is.

"It's a two minute walk. Don't be lazy." He chides, leading us down the street.

~

I feel like Lucas knows that ice-cream is my weakness.

I feel like Lucas knows a lot of things that are my weaknesses.

Like... his hands.

He just flaunts them in front of my face. Picking things up, cracking his knuckles, scratching the corner of his mouth, running it through his hair.

I bet he has little dumbbells just to keep his fingers in shape.

"Ok, so I was thinking... " I lay out my notebook in front of me, clicking my pen. "We can start with some easy questions and then dive deep. For example, can you tell me what are some things that you're good at?"

"Um... " He looks in the distance. He has really dark brows and eyelashes. It contrasts the rich brown of his eyes and hair. Especially now, under the sun, there are warm specs of reds peaking here and there. Like Satan.

"I'm good with my hands." He says. "I got pretty good aim with guns. I can fix things around the house. Cook. I'm good with people. It's easy for me to command a room."

"It's funny how you didn't even mention videography, even though that's what you do." I tilt my head, pushing the tip of the pen against my bottom lip.

"It's fun." He shrugs, taking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. "I like controlling the situation, how things should be done and paying attention to the details."

"But it's not your passion."

"No."

"Yet you've been there for four years. Competing with me for a higher role."

He considers his words for a moment, studying me. "For personal reasons."

I nod slowly, looking down at my notes. "You... control a lot of things. Do you think that's what's hindering you?"

"As in?"

"For example, this conversation." I look up at him calmly. "You decide what to disclose. You're guarded. Is that a conscious choice or unintentional?"

His eyes soften, the corner of his mouth lifts. "You're interviewing me, Layla. What do you expect me to do? Tell you my secrets and cry on your shoulder?"

I scratch my head, looking at my notes. He's right... I need to change tactics if I want to get somewhere with this.

"How about... for every personal answer you give me, you get something in return." I ask, looking back at him.

"And what would that be?" He stares right back.

I bite my lip, looking around. "Um... what do you want?"

His eyes narrow slightly. He leans his forearms on the table. "What are you offering?"

"My body." I deadpan.

"So easily?" He lifts a taunting eyebrow. "And here I thought I had to work for it."

"Shut up." I scowl, pulling back. I stuff my belongings in my purse, done with this whole thing.

"Aw, are you leaving?" He teases. "Did you want me to touch you that badly?"

I master a smirk, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "If I wanted you to touch me, it would've happened already."

"It has happened-"

His sentence gets cut off when my phone rings. I pick it up from the table and frown at the caller ID.

"Excuse me." I mumble, leaving the table and walking a couple of feet away. "Dad?"

"Laylay, hey. I'm so sorry, I thought I left you a voice message on your birthday, but I found out it never went through. How was it? Did you celebrate?"

"Yeah... " I drawl, unable to hide the hurt tone of my voice. "I celebrated."

"I know you're probably mad at me. I understand. I'm so sorry." He continues. He sighs before he continues. "I'm in LA. I'm actually by your apartment, are you home?"

My pulse quickens. My dad's here? To see me?

"Oh. I'm- I'm actually not. But I can get there in twenty minutes if you wait." I say quickly.

"Ah... well, I got a gift for you. I'm going to leave it by your door, but I can't wait. I'm here though. I'll be here for the weekend. I'll take you out for a birthday dinner tomorrow, what do you say?"

"Ok." I smile. God, I missed him. "What time?"

"Seven? Do you want to bring some of your friends? I can treat you all for a second celebration."

Aw, he's really trying. This is sweet of him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lucas. I bet dad would be so impressed to know I'm friends with someone like Lucas. Maybe I can ask Lucas to say nice things about me. If he finds out that Lucas is related to Grant and thinks highly of me, I bet he would believe him.

"I could bring my colleague with me. I have to ask him though."

"Colleague? What about Casey? And your other friends?"

"Casey's unfortunately in San Diego this weekend with Jacob. They're officially dating."

"Oh, good for them. How about you, huh? Any guy in your life?"

I chuckle awkwardly. "No, dad. I need to focus on my goals for now."

"Good girl. No need to waste time on men. We're not worth it." He jokes. I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I missed you." I mumble, throat constricted. I wrap one arm around myself.

"Missed you too, honey. I'll see you tomorrow. Can't wait to hear all about it and meet your colleague."

When I hang up and return to Lucas, I can't contain the happiness oozing out of me.

"I need to go home. My dad dropped off a gift for me by the door." I put my bag over my shoulder.

Something in his expression hardens. I don't know if it's disapproval after what happened in New York or if he was looking forward to spending more time together.

Then I realize that I need him to butter me up to my dad. So I should probably butter him to get him to butter me up.

"I need you to butter me up." I blurt, earning a justified scowl. "I mean, could you please join my dad and I for dinner tomorrow and talk about how awesome I am?"

He tilts his head to the side, like I'm an alien he can't understand. His jaw is tense, almost angry.

I scratch my head. "Think of it like a business meeting. Everything with him is formal anyway, so it won't be weird." As the words leave my mouth, I realize how utterly ridiculous and pathetic I sound. I shake my head. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"Are you nervous to meet with him?" He asks, getting up from his chair.

Am I?

Or am I finding excuses to be around Lucas?

Can he tell? Is it that obvious?

"I know. It's pathetic." I say quietly, looking away. God, I want to go home and cry. Why does this happen every time I talk to my dad? I get so childish and irrational and stupidly emotional. I hate it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You obviously don't have to come."

"If it's going to help you, then I don't mind." He says, taking a step closer. His cologne wraps around me, and despite the daylight and crowd around us, I can't take my eyes off of him.

I shake my head. "I can't have you constantly helping me if I can't do anything for you in return."

"You are doing more than you know." He says softly. "Even if it's through awkward interrogations and random requests."

"You're just saying that."

"I don't just say things." His tone takes a stern tone.

I stare back, trying so hard to understand him. His eyes give nothing away. He's just looking at me with his full attention, not moving. It makes my chest rise and fall from the tension. Heat threatens to expose just what he does to me. I shake my head again, breaking eye contact.

"I can't. I need to do more." I need to be useful. And right now, I feel like a codependent child.

I turn on my heel to go back to the office parking lot, wondering what's waiting for me at the door.

When I park by my apartment, I rush to my door and spot a golden gift bag with white tissue papers peaking out of it. Anticipation and nerves coil inside as I snatch the bag and impatiently take the tissue papers out.

Like a bucket of cold water, disappointment rains over when I see a Michael Khors gift in my hands. The same kind he gifted last year. Even though I told him that I don't like their perfumes. Even though I hinted how I like sentimental gifts more than these fancy things.

The tears I've suppressed pool my eyes and fall on the package. I shove the gift back in the bag and go inside my apartment, shutting the door.

~ A/N ~

Well, shit. Should Lucas join for dinner? Vote to send Layla some support <3