Deep Pockets (Kings and Rivals #1)

Chapter 9 – Lance

9

THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH ROOMMATES

LANCE

Way to miscalculate.

Getting Morgan out of the construction zone was the right move. Because over my dead body was I going to leave her in the middle of that, surrounded by dust, exposed beams, and barely functional heat.

But bringing her into my bed? That was the real mistake.

Rookie move.

To be fair, she’d insisted.

Last night had been pure torture. Locking down my senses, trying not to react to every little thing she did, was like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. Her scent—coconut and lime—clung to the sheets, to the pillows, to the very air. It suited her perfectly. And it was everywhere .

I had never let anyone into my space like this before. Morgan being in it felt too personal, too intimate, like she'd slipped under my skin and made herself at home.

And then, to top it off, I woke up to find her draped over me like some kind of starfish. Her leg hooked around mine, an arm across my chest, breath soft and warm against my neck. It took every bit of self-control I had to stay still, not to give in to the pull between us.

I had to slip out of bed like a damn thief in the night just to keep from making a mistake… Again.

Dick: You sure it would’ve been a mistake?

Shut it.

By the time morning rolled around, I was wound tighter than a spring. The tension between us was palpable as we both got ready for the day, moving around each other without speaking. Fuck, I might not survive.

I didn’t bother acknowledging the tension or the way we’d woken up. Instead, I made a couple of calls into the office.

She might not appreciate you meddling.

Yeah well, we’d seen how well things worked out when she was left to her own devices. When she skipped down the stairs, she was dressed in one of her designs. An asymmetrical button-down with a shoulder cut- out, that looked partially tucked into her wide-leg pants. She looked stunning.

“Glad to see you’re up and moving.”

“Yeah, well, I need to hit the pavement to look for a job this morning. Miriam had a lead, so I’ll follow it up and then see what I can get done at the co-op.” She paused in front of me, gripping the counter for support. “I wanted to say thank you again for giving me a place to crash. The second I’m on my feet, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Unwanted warmth spread through my chest, and I cleared my throat in an attempt to dissipate it. “You’re welcome. Also, I made some calls while you were getting ready. Pendragon has an internship program, and I got you in if you want it. It’s a paying gig, and you’ll be on the marketing team, so it’s creative. You can start this morning.”

I grabbed my coffee, poured it into a to-go cup, and casually offered her a ride.

She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes going wide. Then she did something wholly unexpected. Stepping forward, wrapping her arms around my waist and burrowing in. The electric shock of the contact froze me for a moment, and I was too late to return the gesture before she stepped back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured.

I barely suppressed the urge to stroke my thumb across her cheek. “Yes, I did. If you won’t call Atticus, then this is what needs to happen. You can come with me now or make your way to Pendragon at nine.”

A small smile curved her mouth. “I need to take care of a few things first. I’ll see you there.”

“Great,” I said and made a beeline for the door. Maybe I was running, but I didn’t care. It was self-preservation at that point.

I wasn’t a fool. With Morgan in my space, things were going to get messy.

I might not have heard from my brother in three months, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking around. Now that he knew I was in the city, and how to find me, I needed to be careful.

But I couldn’t let Morgan fend for herself.

Put her in the penthouse. Anything that gets her out of your bed.

Absolutely not. Hector knew about the penthouse. Matter of fact, I needed to figure out what to do with that unit. I couldn’t use it anymore. I’d have to determine if it made sense to sell it since the last thing I needed was to have my family know what I’d been up to for the last few years.

Right now, my main problem was Morgan.

I could put her in a hotel. Or rent her a place, but she was just spiteful enough to not accept the help. I needed her where I could keep an eye on her. But I’d have to be careful, or she would catch blowback. Not to mention, I should have been looking after her while Gwen was gone. Instead I’d fucked her, then left her behind and her world had turned to shit.

Or…you just want her with you.

Or…you don’t like peace. You like problems.

Or…she’s yours and nowhere else will do.

I shoved down and buried all those intrusive thoughts. Then did what I’d been doing when it came to Morgan for the last couple of years…I lied to myself. I was just doing the right thing.

Having her here would complicate some things so I shot Silas a quick text.

Me: Need to talk. There have been changes.

Silas: What kind of changes?

Me: We’ve got more variables now. I’ll fill you in later .

Silas: Something you can’t handle?

Me: I’ve got everything under control.

As I made my way into the office, the steel and glass of Pendragon’s headquarters stretched before me—sleek, modern, intimidating.

My PA, Carrie, was already waiting for me when I stepped out of the elevator, a stack of messages in hand and her notepad ready to go. She, like me, liked to be in early. She barely glanced up as I walked by, used to my routine. But today, I had something else on my mind. I’d made sure Morgan was set up with a badge and that she was in the system before coming upstairs. At least things would be smooth for her when she came in.

Uh-huh. That’s why you did all that.

It was. But of course, I couldn’t just let it go at that.

I wasn’t being an obsessive, controlling ass. I just wanted to make sure she was settled.

“Carrie,” I said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Who’s running the interns?”

“Sela Warden, I think. Why?”

“I have a request. Can you please have her come see me?”

She lifted her brow, but I said nothing more.

I tucked into work, and twenty minutes later, Sela was in my office.

Her smile was wide and inviting. “You wanted to see me?”

“Hey, Sela.” I gave her a smile. “Your new intern, Morgan Christin-Becker, who did you place her with?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Morgan? The new intern is a Becker?”

“Yes, she’s Gwen’s sister. I’m just checking up on her.”

Suddenly flustered, she stammered, “O-oh. I didn’t know. I’ve got her in marketing under Tony Andriolli.”

“Andriolli?” That fucker spent as much time ogling the interns as he did training them. “That won’t work.”

She pursed her lips. “Why not? That’s where all the marketing interns go. I don’t think showing her preferential treatment?—”

“Is that what you think is happening? I mean it’s plain old nepotism. It is. But she’s Atticus’s sister-in-law, and currently, my directive is to take care of her. What about Mankin? He’s smart and low-key.”

She gave me a narrow eyes scrutinous glare. “He’s got a full team right now. I assure you that Andriolli’s team is fine.”

What was her damn hard-on for Andriolli about? “Move her to Darren’s team then.”

“As a direct report?”

“He runs larger projects. It’ll give her more exposure.”

Sela hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “She must’ve made quite the impression.”

I could hear the implication in her tone. “She’s good,” I said flatly. “I reviewed her file. She deserves the opportunity.”

I’d known Morgan since she was a kid. She could do this.

Sela nodded, scribbling down a note. “I’ll get it done.” "She should be ready to report in less than an hour."

"Excellent. Thank you."

I was playing with fire, and I knew it. Having her so close would be a hell of a temptation.

No. I could do this. She needed my help. I could keep my damn hands to myself. Besides, this wasn’t all about my incessant Morgan hard-on. This team was better. It would give her more opportunities to be creative.

It was also going to be more pressure because Darren did not play. He was a hard-ass, but she would learn a lot.

And…she'll be right under your thumb.

Morgan

I wasn’t going to make it two months with Lance. It had been three days and I was already ready to kill him.

He was hovering .

Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful.

You should be. He got you a job and you have a place to stay because of him.

I was grateful. But it was as if once he rescued me from a construction zone, he felt responsible for me or something. He hadn’t let me out of his damn sight.

At work, every time I turned around, I would swear I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye.

Wishful thinking much?

I shoved down that thought. There was no point in thinking about what had happened with us. Not after the way he’d kicked me out. And especially not after what he’d written in that journal.

Two years ago, I’d been convinced he had a thing for my sister. He’d been overprotective,too involvedin her relationship with Atticus.

But then he’d seemedokaywith them. And yet,reading that journal—seeing that he’d consideredconfessing to Gwen—had twisted my gut intosomething ugly.

It doesn’t matter.

I was over it.

It didn’t matter. The point was, he was definitely hovering. Even now as he followed me to Gwen and Atticus’s. I wasn’t imagining that. Instead of the sweet, sweet alone time, I needed after being stuck with him for the last few days, I had a chaperone.

Or maybe he thinks you’ll run as far away from him as possible?

A small smilequirked his lips, and his fingersdrummed the steering wheellike he was enjoying himself.

“What’s the matter, Morgan?” he teased. “You don’t want to spend time together?”

“If I say no, will you go away?”

“No,” he had the nerve to saycheerily.

I exhaled through my nose.

He pulled the car to a stop a block away fromGwen and Atticus’s penthouse. Instead of letting me go inside like a normal human being, he parked outside asmall bakeryand turned to me.

“I’m going to grab a coffee. Want anything?”

He was being nice.

Too nice.

Why was he being nice?More importantly,could I trust it?

I hesitated. “No thanks. I’m good.”

I watched hiscat-like strideas he walked inside. The moment he disappeared, I pulled out my phone and textedDevon.

Me: S.O.S.

Devon: Who do I kill?

Me: Lance has decided to follow me to help paint the baby’s room.

Devon: Good for him.

Me: No. Not good for him. I need actual help here.

Devon: Okay, have you tried boning him again ? You might find him less annoying .

Me: Devon, please be helpful.

Devon: I just want everyone as loved up as me and Max . Talk to him. Be open. Maybe he has a really good explanation for what happened.

Me: A good explanation for giving me insane orgasms then kicking me out of bed ?

Devon: Well, when you put it like that...

Me: I need useful tips to either be rid of him or refrain from clubbing him with a hammer.

Devon: Okay. When you go down on him, really focus on the underside of his

Me: DEVON.

Devon:

I sighed, wishing to God I could’ve just stayed at Devon’s.

He has a studio and also moving to Greece

Yes, okay fine. But still .

With a sigh, I tried for sympathy with Micah instead. Me: Can I kill Lance?

Micah: I mean, Gwen might complain, but fine by me.

Me:

Micah: Sorry. Do you want me to beat him up?

Me: Jury is still out.

Just as I hit send, Lance reappeared, acrinkly bag dangling from his wristand two cups in his hands.

He climbed into the car and held one out to me.

“Here you go.”

I lifted a brow. “Is thishot chocolate? Remember, I’m notGwen. I like my coffeeblack. With lots of sugar.”

“Why don’t you take a sip,Spitfire?”

I hesitated but took a tentative sip.

The bold, sweetliquid slid down my throat, warming me against the morning chill. Ibit back a moan.

It was perfect.

Too perfect.

I lowered the cup, eyes narrowing.

“How’d you know how I like my coffee?”

Hisbrow archedslightly, like he was amused.

“I wonder if you forget,” he said, voice low. “Ipay attention.”

Damn, that coffee was good. Also, I could smell the food in the bag, and my stomach growled. A buttery, flaky croissant was just what the doctor ordered.

With a laugh, he said, “Go on. I got a couple for you.”

Damn him. He made it hard to stay annoyed at him.

By the time we reached the penthouse, I hadhalf-drunk my coffeeandstolen half of Lance’s pastry.

The tension that had beenhanging over usseemed lighter. He leaned against the bar, watching me.

Irefused to look at him.

God, why was he sodamn sexy? And why couldn’t I remember that he was anasshole?

When the elevatorpinged, I glanced at him—and caught him staring at my ass.

I shot him ascowl, which didnothingto faze him.

Inside the penthouse, I took in the nearly finished built-ins in the living room, the baby-proofing along the way.

And then we reached the baby’s room.

I paused.

The built-inshelving, the cozy window seat, thesunlight streaming in—it was perfect.

I let out ahappy sigh. “Oh, I plan to fill these shelves withso many books.The Velveteen Rabbit. Amelia Bedelia.and don’t forgetLlama Llama Red Pajama.”

Lance smirked. “You’ve gotstrong opinionson this.”

I nodded, stepping to the corner, where thepaint canswere stacked.

“We’ll start by covering the bureau,” I said. “I’ll grab the tarp and show you the design.”

He followed me. “Okay, boss.”

I pulled thetarp down, revealing themuralI had sketched:

Alittle girl with Afro pigtails,chubby hands, anddimples, playing with her stuffed animals.

Lance went completely still.

“You drew this?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, why?”

“Morgan, that’s fucking outstanding.”

My cheeks warmed. “Thanks, I guess.”

His gazelingered on me.

"You could’ve been an artist,” he murmured.

I shrugged again, forcing myself tolook away. “I do love to draw, but I likebringing things to life through clothes.”

“Or maybe you should maketoys too.” He smirked. “I don’t know, this is really awesome.”

I laughed. “You’regiving me ideas now.”

He gave me a bone-melting smirk. “Maybe that’snota bad thing.”

And just like that, the air between uschanged.

For a second, Iforgot everything.

His betrayal. His secrecy. The journal.

But then I snapped back to reality.

“Remember what he did,” I muttered to myself.

I gave Lancesimple instructions—stick to theflat painting, no detail work, nothing he couldscrew up.

“Basically, stay inside the lines,” I said.

Lance smirked, picking up his brush. “Stay inside the lines. Got it. Just like kindergarten.”

I ignored him, grabbing my phone and putting on someRema and Burna Boy.

The second the music started, Lance’s brow shot up. “Oh, okay. So this is adance party now?”

I shrugged, dabbing my brush in golden-brown paint. “Afrobeats are theonlybeats you should ever play while painting.”

“I didn’t realize this was ahard-and-fast rule.”

“It is.”

Something about theteasing tonein his voicegrated on me.

He didn’t get toact like this was normal—like we werejust painting a nursery together, like he hadn’tdestroyed me once upon a time.

“You’re a little sensitive,” he mused, smirking.

My entire body stiffened.

“I amnot,” I snapped.

He lifted a brow but didn’t argue. Smart man.

For the next hour, we worked incompanionable silence, the rhythmic brushstrokes keeping megrounded.

When Lance finallystepped back, I turned to inspect his work.

The lamb and piglet he’d painted were… adorable.

Annoyingly so.

“How’d I do, Morgan?”

Isighed dramatically, crossing my arms. “Not bad.”

He chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m just saying, you have agood hand.”

“I feel like you’ve told me that before.”

Heatcrept up my neck. “Right.”

I turned back to my work. “If you can paint the little ladder dark brown, that’s probably all we’ll get done today. I’ll finish up this figurine. I didn’t want to take up your whole afternoon.”

His eyesnarrowed slightly. “That’s fine. I have nothing to do today.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you havesomethingto do. Maybe adateor something. Don’t you go out?”

He paused. “Well…”

My stomach dropped.

Idiot.Why had I even said “date”?

Like afull-on, unhinged idiot.

I forced acasual shrug. “Is that what you think? That I’m dating?”

“None of my business.”

Lance’s gaze lingered on me for a long moment. And when he finally spoke, his voice waslow, almost a whisper.

“Why did you starthating me?”

I froze.

Six words. Ice-cold.

“What?”

“Come on, Morgan. Sure, you were asnarky teenager, but you didn’thate me. Not until a couple of years ago. Why?”

I couldn’t say I didn’t hate him. Because I did.

“If you have to ask,” I muttered, “then I don’t know what to tell you.”

His expression grewsomber. “No, I’d really like to know. I know why youhate me now. I get that. But before—why?”

A knot tightened in my belly.

Fucking hell.

“You want to know?” My voice cracked.

I dropped my brush and turned to him.

“That night,” I whispered. “It waswhat you said and how you said it.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“My eighteenth birthday.”

Hisjaw tightened, confusion flickering across his face.

“Iheard youthat night,” I said quietly. “You were talking toMatt. He said I had acrush on you, that I wouldn’t date anyone else because of it.”

Lance’s entire body stiffened.

“Oh, shit.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“And you said,‘Morgan? God, I would never. She’s a kid. That’s so gross.’”

He flinched.

“Fucking hell.” His voice was hoarse. “Morgan, I?—”

I held up a hand. Done .

“It’s fine,” I lied.

But it wasn’t.

Becausethat night had wrecked me. And no matter how much time passed—I’d neverforgotten it.

I grabbed my brush, trying to shake thesharp stingin my chest, but Lance wasn’tfinished talking.

“Ididn’t mean it like that,” he said quietly.

I let out asharp laugh. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

His jaw tightened. “Morgan, I?—”

“Nope.” I cut him off,hatingthe way my voice wobbled. “Let’s justmove on.”

Silence.

Lancestudied mefor a moment, hisfingers tapping his brush, like he was debating whether or not to push further.

Instead, he said, “How’s work going?”

I exhaled, refocusing on my painting. “Fine.”

Lance hesitated.

“That’s it? Just… fine ?”

I narrowed my eyes,instantly suspicious. He was trying to big brother me which was even more humiliating considering I’d admitted to being into him. Christ.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m just—” He cut himself off, but it wastoo late.

I turned fully toward him. “Lance.”

His face was too neutral.

I crossed my arms. “Did youtalk to someoneabout me at work?”

He hesitated forhalf a second. “No.”

I scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“I didn’t talk to anyone,” he insisted.

I lifted abrow, waiting.

“…I might haveaskedhow things were going,” he admitted.

Myblood simmered to life. “Youasked?” My voice was sharp. “Lance, you do not get tocheck in on me. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not in fact a kid.”

“Oh, I notice. I wasjust making sure you’re okay.”

Ilaughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Oh, so now you’re mycareer monitor?”

“Morgan—”

“No,” I snapped. “You don’t get to do this.Treat me like I’m your kid sister.”

His mouthpressed into a tight line. “I know you’re not.”

I could feel mypulse hammering in my throat.

“I have spent myentire lifeproving myself, trying to get people important to me to listen, and take me seriously” I said, my voice shaking. “Fighting against people who think they know what’sbest for me. Who think I need to bemanaged. I spent a damn year not talking because no one listened really.”

Hisjaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“And now, you’rewatching me?” I let out a shaky breath. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“Morgan, it’snot like that.”

Iexhaled sharply, stepping back. “You’re right. It’s worse.”

His expression flickered—guilt? Frustration? I couldn’t tell.

But I saw it.

I knew it.

“You’rehiding something,” I whispered.

His body went rigid.

“Morgan—”

“No.” I cut him off, voice tight. “I’mdone. Just forget it. Forget everything. What I said, what happened after the wedding. Don’t’ check on me. Don’t big brother me. Just pretend the last several months are wiped clean. And stay out of my shit. I want to forget it all.”

His moss-green gaze narrowed just a bit as they searched mine. “That’s what you really want?”

Nope.

“That’s what I want.” Now I was the liar.