***

Chapter 23

***

It's been five days - or more like an eternity - since the whole 'daddy' incident.

And in these five days, Lucas has taken every miserable and inappropriate opportunity to make me want to kill myself.

It started off on Monday morning, when I logged into my account and saw an email chain with him and two others.

[email protected]
[email protected]

I'm not even going to go into detail on what the conversations included. Not like I responded. But it was quite impressive to see him work from three different accounts.

My dad; on the other hand, sent a melodramatic text to tell me how hurt he was.

Layla, the monster. The daughter that humiliated her father. After everything he's done for her.

Hurt. He's hurt. He's hurt.

Do I want to cry about it? Yes. Do I want him to take a look in the mirror and realize how much he's hurt me? Yes. Will he ever? Doubt it.

I'm glad to have 'Operation Crack Lucas' to distract me from it though.

Which is why I've constructed a bulletproof plan to make it succeed. No distractions. Just data collection.

First things first. Location.

There's this Arabic hookah bar and restaurant. Aside from the normal tables in the main area, it includes lounge areas by the walls. They're separated with sheer veils and each cocooned section has two small couches facing each other, with a low table between them.

Red and blue walls, gold lanterns and chandeliers, colorful pillows. I figured, it allows privacy for an interview without the formality.

Second. Attire.

No funny business means my hair is going up. A black button down with a black tank top.

Lastly. Most importantly. Absolutely zero drop of alcohol in my system. None. Nein. Net.

Except Lucas. Lucas needs to get drunk to answer my questions. Otherwise, I won't let him help me. And I need him to help me.

~

"Drink up. It's on me." I tell him when the waitress in a very short dress sets a glass of whiskey on our table. Lucas and I are seated across from each other on the couches.

The devil smirks. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"Nope." I shake my head, crossing my legs, ignoring the way his eyes fall on them.

He sighs and I try not to notice how his broad chest expands even more. How his deep breath reverberates. I reach for water. H2O. Did you know 60% of the human body is made out of water? So interesting.

Lucas lifts the glass to his lips, casts his dark lashes down as the amber liquid disappears. The crystal glass goes back on the table. I ask the waitress for another.

"What's with the outfit?" He quirks an eyebrow, arms stretches across the headrest.

"What about it?" I feign ignorance.

He scowls. "You're not drinking, you're dressed like a... slutty assistant. And you're squirming every five seconds. Is this some sort of a fantasy of yours?"

"No, you idiot. I'm squirming because you keep staring, I'm not drinking because this is serious, and if you think I look like a slutty assistant, maybe you're the one fantasizing."

"You're too annoying to be my assistant. I'd fire you in two seconds."

"I'd never work for you to begin with."

"You're right. You wouldn't be able to focus." He smirks.

"Mm, I'd be busy filing lawsuits and restraining orders." I smile back.

He rolls his eyes, lifting his second glass. "You should at least have a glass of wine. This is awkward."

"Why is it awkward? You promised you'd answer my questions, don't make any excuses now."

Lucas raises his hand to catch the waitress's attention and smiles politely. "Can I get a glass of Riesling, please."

"Certainly." She responds in a sultry voice before leaving.

A minute later my glass of wine arrives. I roll my eyes, but pick it up, clicking it with his glass for a cheer.

"Now... " Lucas begins, leaning on his forearms resting on his knees. "What do you have for me?"

It's much darker here compared to how it appeared in the photos. I pick up one of the candles from the table and bring it close to my notes. Lucas chuckles, probably at how medieval it looks.

"Question number one. What did you enjoy doing when you were thirteen?"

"You sure you want me to answer that?"

"Focus." I warn, clutching the notebook.

"I am focused. You're just making it really hard to take it serious."

"Ugh. This is impossible." I slump back.

"Ok, I have an idea." He says, his tone of voice easy. "Let's make this a two way thing. I'll teach you how to lead the conversation, and you ask the questions. Sounds good?"

I nod, biting my lip self-consciously. He gives me a reassuring smile and points at my glass. "Cheers."

After ten minutes, Lucas is on his third whiskey and I am almost done with my wine. By now, my muscles have slightly relaxed, and his eyes are glazed with lazy amusement.

We should've probably had dinner. I quickly order some appetizers.

"You look so nervous and vulnerable." Lucas notes when the waitress leaves. "I can't believe I used to think you're an uptight control freak."

"I am an uptight control freak. I just don't want this to fail, that's all." I glare at him.

"It's going to fail unless you go with the flow. Haven't you ever seen how I lead the meetings? Just let go. Be yourself. You're fine."

I bite the inside of my cheeks with annoyance, looking away, thinking of what the hell to do.

"Come here." Lucas beckons with his chin. I scowl, but he rolls his eyes. "Come here."

I should listen. If I make it into a big deal, then he'll think it's a big deal, and it's not a big deal.

He gives me an approving smile when I sit next to him. I ignore how his hand is stretched on the headrest behind my head.

Lucas licks his lower lip then bites it, hiding his amusement. "Can I at least get a smile?"

"Do you know how much women hate hearing that?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Great, make it a gender thing." He scoffs, finishing his whiskey. When he sets it down, he turns to me and leans in. "Smiling makes the person in front of you more comfortable. If you want me to open up, you should smile."

"I can't just smile." I repeat sarcastically. "I'm not a fucking doll. And I'm especially not going to smile to make you feel better."

Lucas chuckles and rubs his face. "My God... "

I stare confusedly as he leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. "What have I gotten myself into... " He groans quietly.

"Nothing yet. You haven't answered a single question."

"Fuck it. Ask me again. Let's just do it."

"What did you enjoy doing when you were thirteen? Besides jerking off in a sock."

Lucas smirks at my last comment then looks away, thinking for a moment. "Um... I liked... spending time with my family."

"You did?" I tilt my head.

He nods, throat bobbing as he swallows. "I liked hanging out with my dad."

Ok, I already knew that.

"What did you guys do together?" I ask.

"We'd cook. We'd grill. He'd teach me how to season different kinds of meat. How to get the textures right. How to pair it with different things, based on what's in season."

"Do you think you liked that because you got to spend time with him, or because you were genuinely interested in cooking?"

"Both." He shrugs. He seems bored, but I'm glad that he's at least answering. "He was fun to be around. There was never a single boring moment with him."

I nod, jotting down some notes. The melodious middle-eastern music penetrates the silence, contradicting my actions with soft intimacy.

My chest throbs when his hand cranes towards my face and his knuckles brush against my cheek. I look up at his sparkling, hooded eyes.

"Next question." He murmurs. His fingers caress down my jawline, absentmindedly, as if I'm not gaping at him.

But he's willing to answer, and I don't want him to shut down. So I look back at my notes. "W-what's your greatest accomplishment?"

I grip the pen, prepared to write whatever he's about to say, but he stays silent. I look up to see him frowning, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"Did you hear what I asked?" I ask softly.

He nods his head, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't think I have one, to be honest."

"Of course you do. I'm sure you have many."

His hand drops from my cheek and he sighs. Disappointment sinks down on my shoulders.

"Ok, what would you like to accomplish?" I lean a little closer.

"What would I like to accomplish?" He repeats, looking into nothing.

I nod with enthusiasm. "Yeah, if you could accomplish anything - forget about money, or time, or resources - what would it be? What would make you happy?"

Lucas observes me for a moment, a smile forming on his lips. "You're doing better."

I smile back at his compliment. Pleased to hear his praise. "So?"

"I don't know, I'm so close to answering. But I need a little more."

"Ok, let me paraphrase. Imagine if-"

"That's not what I mean." He taps my forehead. His eyes slowly travel around my face. "Put your hair down."

I blink a few times. "This is not America's Next Top Model. Stop judging my appearance."

"But I like it down." He frowns with a little pout.

"You're being ridiculous." I scowl with a plummeting pulse, getting up to go to my seat.

He grabs my wrist and pulls me back. "Giving up so easily? I thought you wanted to help me."

"What's next? You're going to ask me to strip too? I'm not playing this game, Lucas." I snap.

"Yes." He says casually, making my mouth gape. "Take that button-down off."

"Excuse me?" I laugh nervously.

"It's your fault for pretending to be someone else." He makes a tsk sound, amused. "I don't want the uptight Layla. I want the real one. Give her to me and I'll give you the real Lucas."

"Oh my God." I chuckle, rubbing my forehead. "Shit, I think I got you too drunk."

"You should be grateful. I'm very honest when I'm drunk."

Fuck. I can't lose this opportunity. If I get all the answers I need, then I won't have to go through another nerve-wrecking meeting like this. It's now or never. I should just do it.

Biting my lip, I reach behind my bun and take the hair tie off. The curls from yesterday - now loose and wavy - cascade low on my waist.

"I don't want to take my shirt off." I say, realizing how sexual it'll probably look.

"Aren't you wearing a tank top underneath?"

I slowly exhale, suppressing my frustration. Scanning the crowd behind the certain of our cocoon, I notice how the others are in cocktail dresses and crop tops, fitting right in.

The strong smell of whiskey is brought under my nose. Lucas hands me the glass, urging me to drink. I sip on the bull piss and grimace.

"I'll take it off later." I decide and tuck my legs under me, turning to him. "Who do you admire the most in the world and why?"

Lucas folds his hand under his chin and concentrates.

I take a deep breath, consumed by his cologne. My eyes linger on his masculine neck, his smooth, golden skin dotted with dark hair near the unbuttoned area of his black button-down.

Fuck. How I wish I could straddle and lick him.

My heart hammers in my chest. I'm not even tipsy.

"I used to admire my dad." Lucas answers, voice quiet. "I used to want to be like him."

I lean closer. "Why did you change your mind?"

He doesn't look back. "Because."

His body heat washes over me as I edge closer. "Tell me."

He turns his head and stills for a moment. I stop breathing. His eyes lower to my lips. I self-consciously chew on them, not moving.

"Tell me." I repeat, voice hardly audible.

He shakes his head, eyes hard, jaw tight.

I look away in defeat and start to retrieve, but his hand catches my waist, stopping me.

My hand goes on top of his, hesitating whether to take it off or leave it. He observes me with a stern gaze then grips my waist harder.

My lips part and my back arches. His eyes fall on my mouth, my neck, then on my button-down. His eyebrows furrow together.

"You want me to take it off?" I shock myself as the words leave my mouth. As if this is all normal. As if any of this makes sense.

He nods. A single, slow, definitive nod.

"Okay." My arms are numb and tingly as they go to the top of my shirt and undo the first button. I keep my eyes on him while he looks at my hands. I undo the second button, the third, counting in my head until I reach the bottom.

My fingers hold the neck of my shirt, edging it over my shoulders. "What made you change your mind, Lucas?"

Lucas looks back at me, dark chestnut eyes swimming in gold. "You won't approve of my answer." He murmurs.

"I thought you don't care about what people think." My reply is as quiet as his.

"Maybe I do."

"If you don't judge me, I won't judge you." I lower the shirt over my shoulders and suck in a sharp breath as his gaze follows my movement.

He lifts his finger and brushes it across the top of my breasts. "You're so red..."

I look down at his tan, long finger dancing across my crimson skin. "I'm nervous as fuck."

"Why?" His finger continues to move, slowly, softly, attentively.

"Answer mine, and I'll answer yours." I say, watching him.

He glares this time. "You drive me nuts, you know that?"

"You promised me you'd answer." I challenge back.

"Don't push too far."

"What if I want to?" I raise an eyebrow. "Will you run away?"

He snorts under his breath, dark wickedness on the corner of his mouth. "No."

"Then answer."

He smirks at me and with the hand that was gripping my waist, he jerks me towards him. My palms meet his chest as he puts me on his lap, straddling me around him.

"The fuck are you-" I look around and try to get up, but he chains me with his arms.

"I suggest you don't order me what to do." He grumbles, gruff and thick in my ear.

Words get annihilated when I feel his mouth travel down my jawline, invading the sensitive, burning curve of my neck.

I should pull away. Cuss him out. I can't.

"I bet you'll hate me, if I told you... " Lucas murmurs against my skin as he trails back to my ear, his stubble scratching along the way. "The reason I don't want to be like him... even if he was the most amazing person..."

His hand moves up my spine to the nape of my neck, threading through my hair. His other arm envelops tightly around my waist.

"I don't want to go through what he did." His voice drips with heavy guilt. "Don't want to give everything. To everyone. And be left with nothing. I don't want that, Layla."

"You're afraid." I'm surprised that my voice sounds stronger than I feel. Perhaps it's the pain in him, urging me to be firm for him. Because how can he live like this?

"I'm not afraid." He growls, fisting my hair, then releasing when I gasp. "Okay, maybe I'm a little afraid... but don't call me out on it."

"You're so bipolar." I chuckle, squirming nervously. The friction against his denim makes me ache in a dangerous way. I clench my thighs, swallowing back a whimper.

"You force me to say things I don't want to say." His hands move to my hips. He looks down at where we're connected. "Do you have any idea what that makes me want to do?"

"I don't think I want to know." I lie.

He sinks his fingers and rolls me against him, making me fall on his chest, stealing the small whimper I was trying to keep.

"You're full of shit, you know that?" His voice is smug, menacing. "You think I'm stupid?"

"I think we're both being stupid." I breathe heavily, pulling back. "Let me go."

He stares under his lashes. "You sure?"

~ A/N~
Holy shit. Once again, this is not how I imagined things unraveling lol. Vote to bring these two together!