Deep Pockets (Kings and Rivals #1)

Chapter 10 – Morgan

10

A LITTLE JEALOUSY NEVER HURT ANYONE

MORGAN

The afternoon sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lance's SoHo loft office, catching the edge of my laptop screen where it sat mockingly silent on his industrial steel desk.

Most Wednesdays, I worked a half day and then went to the Co-op. But my stupid luck and the printer at the co-op was down for maintenance. One of the artists had had a major jam and tried to fix it himself, and well…no printer.

I slammed my hand against the pristine surface, frustration bubbling over as the printer spat out yet another error message. The Hudson River sparkled beyond the windows, a perfect view I usually loved but couldn't appreciate while my designs lay scattered across the concrete floor.

"Work, damn it," I muttered, fighting back tears. After everything—the showcase, proving myself—I was going to fail because of a stupid printer. The stark white walls of his office seemed to close in around me.

"What did that desk ever do to you?" Lance's voice carried from the doorway, rough with irritation.

I jumped, not having heard him come up. He stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, looking like he'd stepped off a GQ cover—if GQ models typically wore thundercloud expressions.

"The printer's possessed," I snapped back. "And my laptop's frozen, and these textile applications are due tomorrow morning, and?—"

"And you're going to break my furniture." He crossed the office, radiating that particular breed of controlled annoyance that seemed to be his default setting lately. "Move."

"I can figure it out?—"

"Morgan." My name came out like a growl. "Move."

I rolled my eyes but shifted aside. He leaned over me, his cologne—woodsy with hints of citrus—wrapping around me as his fingers moved across the keyboard. "Since when are you an IT guy?"

"Since someone decided to wage war with my printer." His jaw ticked, but I caught the ghost of amusement in his eyes.

The printer suddenly whirred to life, my designs flowing out perfect and crisp. A smug smile played on his lips as he pulled out his phone and made a quick call in Mandarin.

I stared at him like he'd grown a second head. He caught my look and shrugged. "I can hear your stomach growling from here."

Without warning, he shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over his chair before rolling up his sleeves. My eyes caught on the defined muscles of his forearms. "What are you doing? Don’t you have to go back to the office?” I asked, watching as he neatly aligned my designs. His movements were precise, almost careful.

He wasn’t just helping; he treated my work with the same meticulous attention he gave to his billion-dollar deals. I hadn’t expected that.

“I’m working from home on some things. I didn’t anticipate you being here. So for now, I’m helping you cut fabric. You've exploded my office into a pile of textiles—helping you is obviously the only way to restore equilibrium and get my office back so I can work. Or don’t you trust me with your designs?”

Seriously, who was he? “I-I trust you,” I said quietly, then blushed at how quickly the words came out.

"Just like you trusted me to be your getaway driver during that senior prank? When your so-called friends bailed and left you with three bags of ping pong balls and blue dye that would have gotten you expelled."

"You came for me," I said softly, the memory washing over me. The scent of his cologne mixed with the familiar smells of the loft—leather and wood and him.

His expression darkened, something fierce flickering in his eyes. "I always do."

And there it was—the simple truth that had always made him dangerous to my heart.

Four hours after finishing at Gwen and Atticus’s, I met Devon forfarewell drinks.

“So, are we going to talk about you and Mr. Hot Stuff?” Devon asked, grabbing another dumpling. “Are you really okay with a truce?”

I popped one into my mouth, savoring it before responding. When I’d texted him about how thepaint sessionwent, he insisted on agossip sessionbefore heading off to parts unknown.

“I’m glad my mess of a life is so fascinating for you.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, talk about what?”

Devon sighed, dramatic as always. “Spill it, Becker.”

“We painted. That’s all,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That’s disappointing,” he said, pouting.

“It’s not disappointing. We’re moving past things. I’m fine. He’s fine.Everything’s fine.And today, he helped me. Can you believe that?”If only I did.

“That’s what we’re going with? How did he help? It can’t be orgasms—you’d be way more relaxed.”

I threw a bean sprout at him. “Would you shut up? It’s confusing. At Gwen and Atticus’s, it seemed like… I don’t know.Like he was disappointed when I shut down talking about the past.Then today, he wasnice—well, as nice asLancecan be. He actually helped because I wasup a creek with no paddle.”

Devon smirked. “So,apathy, huh?”

I shrugged. “Maybe normal isn’t possible, but we canbury thingsand get to theapathy stage.”

Devon leaned in, grinning. “Apathy…right. I’m sorry.But you still want him, don’t you?”

“No.Wanted.Past tense. I wanted him. But now? I’ve seen the error of my ways. I willnotbe traipsing down that yellow brick road ever again.”

Devon cackled. “So, he’s theWizard of Oz? Justsmoke and mirrors?”

I exhaled, leaning back. “The Lance I fell for waskind, supportive, loyal. But what he did?I’m not getting over that. But…I canlock everything down.”

Devon arched a brow, slurping his pad Thai. “Yeah? And how’s that working out?”

I swatted his hand away as he reached for one of my dumplings. “I’mnotwasting energy on hating him anymore.It’s exhausting.”

Devon winced. “Is there anything I can do? Max and I—if we weren’t moving?—”

“Please stop.” I cut him off. “That’s thelastthing I want. Besides,I got bailed out anyway.”

“Yeah, but?—”

“It’s fine.I’ve got this.” I pasted on afake smile.

Devon studied me,skeptical but amused. “If anyone does, you do.”

Isnorted, shoving another dumpling into my mouth. But as I chewed, my stomachdropped.

At the bar, Lance.

He wasn’t alone.

An older man sat beside him—salt-and-pepper hair, square-jawed, all black attire.He didn’t look like abusiness associate. The air around him wasoff.

Dangerous.

Devon followed my gaze. “Who are we staring at?”

I swallowed. “There’s a guy at the bar.Sort of looks like Lance.”

Devon’s head snapped around. “Ooh, let me see. His corporate photos don’t do him justice.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?”

“I am. I’mTeam Fine-As-Fuck.”

I groaned. “What would Max say?”

Devon grinned. “Max wouldagreeand say, ‘Yes, that boy isfine as fuck. Go get a closer look.’”

I smacked his arm. “Stop. Right now.”

“What’s he doing here?” Devon practically vibrated with excitement.

Good question.

“Please, Devon.Don’t call him over.”

“This will be fun.”

“Absolutely not,” I hissed. “You think I want to deal with hisbullshitright now?”

“Honey,Iwant to deal with his bullshit.”

I exhaled, reaching for the waitress, ready to get the check. But before I could move, Ifelt it—the shift in the air.

I looked up.

Lance was already walking over.

Of course.

He stopped when he sawDevon, brow lifting before settling into aneutral expression.

I muttered under my breath, “This is about to get ugly.”

Devon, unbothered, grinned. “Those green eyes. That lethal face card. That hair.The man looks like he just left someone’s bed.Good enough to eat.”

“Could you not ogle my frenemy?”

Devon shrugged. “I have eyeballs.”

Lance’sgaze flicked between us. Itilted my chin up, feigningindifference.

“What are you doing here, Morgan?” His tone was even, but hiseyes were sharp.

“Having dinner.” I crossed my arms. “Why are you in the Village?”

His brow lifted. “Do you think I’mfollowing you?”

I didn’t miss how hedidn’t actually answer.

Before I could call him on it, Devonpounced.

“What’s up, man?I’m Devon.” He dropped his voicean octave, full offaux charm.

I stared at him.What the hell was with the bro accent?

Lance’s brows went up. “This is Devon?The friend you stayed with?”

Devon smirked. “Oh, babes, youtalk about me?”

I could kill him.

Lance’s jaw ticked.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “Devon is thefriendI stayed with after the thing with my dad.”

Devon chuckled. “A friend? Wow. I thought we wereso much more than that.” He winked.

Lance’s jaw tightened further.

Then,Lance, being the asshole he was, said?—

“Yeah, thanks for looking out for heruntil I got her situated.”

Devon’s brow lifted. “Situated where, exactly?”

Lancepuffed out his chest. “She’s with me inSoHo.”

Devon’s brow shot up. “With you?”

Lanceshrugged, all casual. “We’ve known each other a long time. Morgan needssomeone looking after her.”

I could do without the territorial posturing.

I exhaled. “Well,Devon and I have plans.”

Lance chuckled. “Don’t let me run you off.Let me buy you dinner.”

“Nope. Completely unnecessary.”

But Devon?Devon saw an opportunity.

“Dinner?Why don’t you join us?”

Iscowled.What the hell was he doing?

Lance must have read my face, because hissmirk faltered.

“Oh, sorry. I have to get back to mymeeting. Just picking up food.”

My stomach tightened. Meeting. At a bar.

I narrowed my eyes. “A meeting? Here?”

His smirkreappeared, smooth. “Yeah.”

I pressed. “With who?”

His smirk held, but there was somethingtight in his posture. “Justwork.”

Vague. Too vague.

A slowprickleworked its way down my spine. Lance washiding something. And Ihated liars.

Devon sighed, playing along. “Oh, that’s too bad.Next time, then.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah.Next time, Devon.”

Devon grinned. “Can’t wait to get the fullMorgan childhood breakdown.”

Lance’s jawticked again. “Well, I don’t have all those details.I haven’t known her that long.”

Devon, bless him,went for the kill.

“Oh? I thought she said you were like abig brother.”

Lance’s face shuttered.

“Um, sort of.” His voice was tight. “You two have fun.”

And then he wasgone.

But my mindstayed lockedon his words.

Ameeting. At abar. With someone whodidn’t look like business. I let out a slow breath as Devon smirked at me.

“Why would you do that?”

Devon leaned back, smug. “What?That man is into you.”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t care.”

Devon just grinned. “Okay, honey buns.Whatever you say.But I’m sad I won’t be here for thefireworks.”