36. Lemon
Chapter 36
Lemon
I stumble out of the lecture hall, my brain fuzzy and my hand cramping from three hours of furious scribbling. Holy shit, I actually did it. My last final is over.
Done.
I want to collapse right there on the steps and cry from sheer relief.
Instead, I force my leaden legs to carry me to the waiting town car. Marco, my driver and low-key bodyguard, though Atticus would never admit it, opens the door with a smile.
"Congratulations, Miss Lemon," he says warmly. "How'd it go?"
I manage a weak thumbs up as I slide into the plush leather seat. "I think I nailed it. But ask me again when I can feel my hand."
Marco chuckles and shuts the door, giving me a moment of blessed silence before he slides into the driver's seat. As we pull away from the curb, I let out a long, shaky breath. It's over. Four years of blood, sweat, and tears quite literally, in some cases, and I'm finally done .
Okay, more like closer to five years, but whatever.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I barely register my phone buzzing. When I finally fish it out of my bag, I see a string of texts from Poppy.
Lemon! Call me ASAP!
Seriously, I'm freaking out here.
I think I need a bodyguard or something.
Some creep keeps posting about me online and now I'm getting letters?!
My stomach drops. Poppy's always been a drama queen, but this doesn't sound like her usual antics. With shaking fingers, I hit the call button.
She picks up on the first ring. "Oh thank God," she breathes. "I was about to send out a search party."
"Sorry, I just finished my last final," I explain quickly. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not fucking okay!" Poppy's voice rises to a near-shriek. "Some psycho is stalking me online, posting all these creepy messages about how we're 'meant to be together' and shit. And now I'm getting letters at my apartment. How the fuck did they get my address?"
My mind races, trying to process this flood of information. "Have you called the police?"
Poppy scoffs. "Yeah, fat lot of good that did. They said they can't do anything unless the creep actually shows up in person. Like, what am I supposed to do, wait until he's standing over my bed with a knife?"
As I try to calm Poppy down, a plan starts forming in my mind.
"Poppy, listen," I say, cutting through her panicked rambling. "I've got an idea. And I know someone who'd be perfect for the job."
"Who?" she demands, her voice half hope and half skepticism.
"Just trust me, okay? I'm sending him out to Milan ASAP."
"Him? Who the hell are you sending, Lemon?" Poppy's voice rises an octave. "Some rent-a-cop? I swear to God, if you're pawning me off on some mall security reject?—"
"Jesus, Pop, chill," I interrupt. "I'm sending the only man I trust with my best friend's safety. That's all you need to know right now."
There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line. Then, "Fine. But if this guy turns out to be a total loser, I'm holding you personally responsible."
I can't help but snort. If she only knew. "Trust me, Pop. He's anything but a loser."
Marco pulls up to the penthouse, the sleek building looming above us. "Look, I gotta go," I tell Poppy. "Try to relax, okay? I'll call you later with the details."
"Okay," she says, her voice small and scared. It makes my chest ache. "Thanks, Lem. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Probably hire an actual rent-a-cop," I quip, earning a weak chuckle from her. "Love you, bitch. Talk soon."
I slip out of the car as soon as Marco opens my door and I take a deep breath, a smile spreading on my face as I approach the building.
"Afternoon, Miss Lemon," our doorman, Gerald, greets me with a warm smile. "How'd the final go?"
"I think I crushed it," I reply, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. "Thanks for asking, Gerald. "
He tips his hat as he opens the door for me. "Anytime, miss. Have a good day now."
I nod, stepping into the cool marble lobby. My boots click against the polished floor as I make my way to the elevator bank. The familiar ding sounds as the doors slide open, and I step inside, grateful for a moment alone.
As the elevator begins its ascent, I pull out my phone again, my fingers flying over the screen as I type out a message to my dad.
Hey Dad, I need a favor. Poppy’s got a stalker situation in Milan. I know you're not far. Any chance you could keep an eye on her for a bit?
I hit send and watch the floor numbers tick by, waiting for his response. It doesn't take long.
Dad
Christ, Lemon. I'm on vacation, not running a security detail.
I can practically hear his gruff voice through the text. Another message pops up before I can reply.
Fine. Send me her details. But I'm not happy about this.
I smirk, imagining his scowl as he typed that out.
Thanks, Dad. You're the best. I owe you one.
The elevator dings again as it reaches the penthouse floor.
As I unlock the door, I'm hit with a wall of warmth and the rich scent of chocolate. What the hell ?
I push the door open to find Atticus and Ezra standing there, looking like they're trying way too hard to be casual. Atticus has loosened his tie, which for him is practically the equivalent of stripping naked in Times Square. Ezra's got that shit-eating grin plastered on his face, the one that usually means he's up to no good.
"What are you both doing home?" I blurt out, my eyes darting between them. I focus on Atticus, because seeing him here in the middle of the day is like spotting Bigfoot riding a unicycle. "Shouldn't you be terrorizing some poor intern or something?"
Atticus' lips twitch, almost like he's fighting a smile. "I wasn't going to miss this," he says, his deep voice sending a familiar shiver down my spine.
Before I can process that, Ezra practically bounces on his feet. "There's cake," he announces, like he's revealing the secrets of the universe. "Chocolate cake, to be exact. And it's vegan." He puffs out his chest, looking ridiculously proud. "And I fucking made it, so you better wanna fuck it."
I can't help but laugh, the tension of the day finally breaking. "Jesus, baby. I don't think that's how baking works."
Ezra winks at me. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, bellezza."
A grin spreads across my face at his antics. I drop my bag and kick off my boots, padding into the kitchen where a decadent chocolate cake sits on the counter. It looks like something out of a food porn magazine, covered in glossy frosting and perfect swirls.
"Holy shit," I breathe, leaning in to inhale the rich cocoa scent. "You actually made this?"
Ezra slides up behind me, his chest pressing against my back. "What, are you doubting my skills?" His breath tickles my ear, sending a rush of heat through my body.
"No, I know you can cook," I say, turning to face Ezra with a smirk. "But like, a full-on two-tier chocolate cake wasn't on my radar. Thank you though. I love it." I lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips. "And I love you. But I'm not fucking a cake, no matter how good it is."
Ezra's eyes dance with mischief. "Your loss, bellezza. This cake is sexier than half the people I've dated."
I snort, shaking my head. "Jesus, Ez. I don't even want to know what that says about your dating history."
"Probably nothing good," Atticus chimes in dryly from behind us. I turn to see him leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes are fixed on me, sending a jolt of desire through my body.
"You're one to talk," Ezra retorts, but there's no heat in it. He reaches around me to grab a knife, his body pressing against mine in a way that's definitely intentional. "Now, who wants the first slice of this orgasmic masterpiece?"
I raise my hand, suddenly realizing how hungry I am. "Me, please. I haven't eaten anything but coffee and anxiety all day."
Atticus frowns at that, his brow furrowing. "Lemon," he starts, his voice taking on that stern tone that makes my insides quiver.
"Save the lecture, old man," I cut him off, accepting the plate Ezra hands me. "I promise I'll eat later on."
Atticus' frown deepens, but he doesn't push it. Instead, he accepts his own slice of cake from Ezra, eyeing it suspiciously. "You're sure this is edible?"
Ezra clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Atticus. When have I ever steered you wrong in matters of the palate?"
"Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?" Atticus deadpans, but he takes a bite, anyway. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "This is actually quite good."
"Told ya," Ezra preens, cutting himself an enormous slice. "Now, can we take this party to the living room? My feet are killing me after working over a hot oven all day."
I roll my eyes but follow him to the plush sectional, sinking into the soft leather with a contented sigh. As I take my first bite of cake, I can't help the moan that escapes my lips. "Holy shit, Ezra. This is amazing."
Ezra winks at me over his own forkful. "Told ya you'd wanna fuck it."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Still not happening, but I'll admit it's a close second to your actual skills in bed."
Ezra grins, licking a smear of chocolate frosting off his thumb. "Speaking of being in bed, now that you're done with school, we'll actually have you around all the time. No more acting like a sad puppy in a kennel, waiting for you to come home."
I snort, nearly choking on my cake. "Pretty sure you've never acted like a sad puppy in your life. More like a hyperactive squirrel on crack."
Atticus rolls his eyes, his lips twitching in that way that means he's trying not to smile. "If you'd like to spend some time in a kennel, Ezra, that can certainly be arranged."
The way he says it, all low and commanding, sends a shiver down my spine. Ezra's eyes light up with mischief. "Ooh, promises, promises," he purrs.
Before things can get too heated, because let's face it, with these two, that's always a possibility, Atticus turns to me, the corners of his eye softening just a fraction. "What do you want to do next, Lemon? Now that you've finished your degree."
I blink, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, I just stare at him, fork suspended halfway to my mouth. "You mean...you're not going to tell me what I'm doing next?"
The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I immediately want to crawl under the couch and die of embarrassment. But Atticus just raises an eyebrow.
"Contrary to popular belief," he says dryly, "I don't actually control every aspect of your life. You're an adult now, with a degree. The world is your oyster, as they say."
I set my plate down on the oak coffee table, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I don't know," I admit, my voice small. "I guess I haven't really thought about it. I've been so focused on just getting through school..."
Ezra reaches over, squeezing my knee. "Hey, no pressure, bellezza. You've got time to figure it out. And in the meantime..." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "I can think of plenty of ways to keep you occupied."
I laugh, grateful for the moment of levity. "I bet you can," I tease, leaning into him.
Atticus watches us, his expression unreadable. "You know," he says slowly, "if you're interested, there's always a place for you at the company. In whatever capacity you'd like."
I blink, surprised. "Really? You'd...you'd want me to work for you?"
"With me," Atticus corrects, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine. "You're more than qualified, Lemon. And I think you'd be an asset to the company."
I bite my lip, considering. The idea of working at Reid Enterprises is both thrilling and terrifying. On one hand, it's a prestigious company, and I'd be learning from the best. On the other…well, the complications are obvious.
"I'll think about it," I say finally, twirling a lock of hair around my finger. "It's definitely tempting. Though I have to wonder..." I trail off, a wicked glint in my eye as I look at Atticus. "Would the boss be amenable to bending me over his desk and fucking me on a regular basis? Because that might just seal the deal."
Ezra chokes on his cake, coughing and laughing at the same time. Atticus, however, doesn't even blink. His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile that makes heat pool in my belly.
"I believe that can be arranged," he says, his voice low and spelling fun and trouble for me. "Among other things."
My breath catches in my throat as I hold his gaze. Ezra's hand tightens on my knee, and I can feel the tension in the room ratcheting up by the second.
"Well then," I manage to say, my voice only slightly breathless. "I guess I'll be submitting my resume soon."
Atticus nods, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "I look forward to receiving it."
And just like that, I can see my future unfolding before me—filled with two men who drive me absolutely wild. It's not conventional, and it's definitely not what I expected when I showed up a year ago with nowhere else to go.
But as I look at Atticus and Ezra, I realize I wouldn't have it any other way.
This is where I belong.
This is home.