Deep Pockets (Kings and Rivals #1)

Chapter 16 – Lance

16

IT WAS ONLY A SMALL HIT AND RUN

LANCE

Morgan was better at payback than I feared.

For hours, all I could think about was her—wet and naked in my office. And everything I wanted to do to her.

How much longer before you give up and move to the penthouse?

Fuck that, I wasn’t moving out. Absolutely the fuck not. Yes, I had other places to go. Hell, I could have gone straight to a hotel, but this was my home, and it was easier to keep an eye on her here.

Uh-huh… from the same bed.

Tonight was going to be the utmost torture.

I forced my brain to focus on finishing work for another minute.

Thanks to Morgan’s little stunt, Silas had placed the Reynolds family in another property, but we’d have to move them again in a week as we had someone else to place.

For the last several years, I’d been focused on helping people my family had harmed. It had started as a way to assuage my guilt over the collateral damage I’d caused, but the more people I helped, the more I wanted to do something more permanent.

And now, I might have a way to do that. Michael Stain.

He was our ace in the hole and we needed to be careful with him. He’d worked for the county commissioner who’d been killed last year.

He was the only one who could place my grandfather at the scene of the murder. All because he’d had the good sense to hide when shots were fired.

He’d gone to ground, but I’d managed to find him. Didn’t hurt to be a hacker.

The trick now is keeping him alive.

There was an Assistant US Attorney very interested in speaking to him.

But we had to tread carefully.

This whole thing was a complicated Tetris game.

Little did they know.

You made it more complicated keeping Morgan here.

I could keep her safe. And keep her away from what I was doing. No one who shouldn’t know where I live does, and I’ve covered my tracks well. You sure about that?

I was sure. My two lives didn’t need to intersect. As far as Morgan was concerned, Lance DuLac never existed. And she would never know. I’d gotten so good at pretending to be the good guy that no one even questioned it.

I had just closed my laptop when Morgan walked in, groaning and whining on the phone with someone.

“Honestly, they expect me to drive a client? I know I’m just a lowly intern, but don’t we have drivers for that?” she said, exasperated.

I couldn’t hear who was on the other end, but I knew Morgan wasn’t talking to her sister. When I stepped out of the office, the tornado that was Morgan had already ripped through the living room and kitchen areas. Keys haphazardly thrown on the sideboard, her coat tossed over the back of a chair, fridge open, glass on the counter, her little fake soda drinks—one already open, the other next to its twin.

She kept yammering away. “Oh my God. What am I supposed to do? If I kill a client, there goes my job and the only income I’ve got.”

I knew the old man had shut off her trust fund, but how bad was it?

She finally said a hasty goodbye, and I spoke up. “What are you yammering on about?” I asked as she whirled around, soda spilling over her hand and onto the countertop.

I resisted the urge to run forward and wipe it up immediately. I’d had years of therapy to help with the compulsions, but watching that spot made me itch.

“Jesus Christ, you didn’t tell me you were lurking around,” she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the cleaner from under the sink and a towel to attack the spot.

“I live here,” I said, my voice flat.

“Yes, you keep reminding me—every time you use the hot water.”

Jesus. Did she have to remind me about that? Fucking hell.

“Well, you’re not exactly being quiet either,” I pointed out.

“Sorry I’ve disturbed your peace. You’re the one who insisted I stay here.”

“Yes. I am.” Something was off. “What’s the matter?”

“Like you care,” she scoffed.

“Humor me.”

“Stupid Darren. Ryan Fourth is flying in. He wants me to pick him up from JFK and drive him to the site where our IT guys installed the relay boxes in Queens.”

“Okay, why can’t you just take a car?”

“Ryan doesn’t trust hired drivers. He’ll only ride with someone from the company. Paranoid much?”

“When is he coming in?”

“Saturday morning.”

“And why isn’t Darren picking him up himself?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s the best part.”

“I’m guessing that’s why you’re so bent out of shape?”

“Yes. Darren said I am an intern, and interns do grunt work. And he’s apparently running a half marathon on Saturday, which, God forbid, he would set aside to meet with a client. So instead, he’s sending me, the intern, to pick up the client, take him to the site, and babysit him, ensuring he’s fed and pampered until Darren finishes his marathon, showers, and eventually makes it over. Can you believe that?”

“I can deal with Darren,” I said with menace.

She must have caught it because her eyes went wide. “No, damn it. I don’t need you to fix anything.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“Well, Lance,” she said, throwing the rag into the hamper and turning back to her drink, “I basically haven’t driven since I was seventeen.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t driven?”

“You remember when I went with a bunch of my friends to the Jersey Shore for Carol Hicks’s birthday, and I got rear-ended. I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car since.”

I cursed under my breath. I remembered that. Gwen and I had to go pick her up. She’d never been in an accident before. For the most part, she handled it well, calm under pressure. But she’d been shaking when we picked her up.

“Okay. But you know how to drive, and you have a license. So maybe you just need a little practice.”

“Practice how? I don’t have a car, and I’m pretty sure Dad’s not going to let me use one.”

I groaned. “I’ll take you.”

She blinked at me. “What?”

“I said I’ll take you driving.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions. Get your shit. We’re going.”

“Now?” she asked with an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah. Right now. Put on comfortable shoes and meet me downstairs in the garage.”

Morgan

Okay. Ease out. Nice and slow.

For some reason, I was nervous. I couldn't explain it. I was shaking, unable to force my hands to do what I wanted, and the last thing I wanted was for Lance to notice.

But, of course, he noticed.

"Relax. You're okay."

I slid him a glance. "Easy for you to say."

He switched to using the voice. The low dulcet tones people used for injured animals. He'd used the same voice when teaching me to drive. "I know this is hard, but you're doing great."

Was I doing great? Probably not. But if I couldn't do this today, it would be a problem on Saturday. Stupid Darren. And stupid Ryan. Who didn't like professional drivers?

I gripped the steering wheel harder and tried to force my shoulders down.

"Do we have to do this in the dark?"

"Well, it's the top level of the parking garage, Morgan. It's practically empty. There's not much you can hit around here."

"I can hit pylons. See? There's a pylon right there."

"You're fine. Make a right and go down to the next level."

"There are more cars on the next level."

"There will be a lot more cars at JFK. We'll do this for the next couple of days until you're more comfortable. Friday, we'll take you out during the day."

Lance, as it turned out, was a taskmaster. It was just like his apartment. The slightest crumb or the tiniest thing out of place bugged him. Yes, Clarissa had often called me a whirling dervish, but I wasn't messy. I always cleaned up after myself. I was sometimes a little cluttered, especially after work. I needed to dump everything, but I always put things back where they belonged.

When Clarissa moved in, she'd been adamant that even though I'd been used to having a housekeeper, that wasn't how the house would run. She made me do my own chores, and if I didn't keep my room clean, she would make the housekeepers skip it and make me clean it myself.

At the time, I hated it. I was convinced she was my evil stepmother. But it taught me about taking care of myself. My mom had always made us do chores. But when she was gone, Dad hired people to do everything. He didn't want to hear about it. So I'd stopped learning. Gwen kept doing it, but we had just lost our mother, so she didn't make me do anything.

Living with Lance felt like Clarissa moving in all over again.

Except you moved into his bed.

That was a matter of principle.

"Morgan, are you paying attention?"

I flushed and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I'm not distracted. I'm just really freaked out."

"Stop freaking out."

"You are aware that telling me to stop freaking out is only making me freak out more, right?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. Would it be better if I wasn't in the car?"

I nodded. "Yes, probably."

"Okay, pull up over there and parallel park."

I glowered at him. "What? Why?"

"Because I don't know what the parking situation will be at the site. I've never been there. Our hardware guys did the installation. So you might have to parallel park. I want to make sure you can do it."

I groaned.

"Over there." He pointed to two lines that weren't a parking spot that he wanted me to wiggle into. Oh, and the car he suggested I practice on was a goddamn Spider. Elegant, sleek, black. I eyed it dubiously.

It didn't even seem to fit Lance, but boys and their toys.

"Okay, doing it." Gingerly, I pulled the car into position as a bead of sweat rolled between my boobs.

"You just have to remember that you know how to do this. You need practice. We'll get you ready by Saturday."

I eyed him carefully. "You're being nice. Why are you being nice?"

He lifted a brow as he leaned back against the door frame. "I already told you. I promised Gwen I would look after you."

"Right, my sister." The twisting pang of heartache was familiar. So I did what I always did when he reminded me I was only Gwen's little sister. I bristled. "I'm not a scrawny kid anymore."

"I've noticed. But rest assured, I still find you annoying," he said with a wink.

This was familiar ground. "And I still hate your ass."

He grinned. "And she's back. You need this practice."

A smile tugged at my lips. "I don't want to fail at this. And I don't want anyone to say I got a job at Pendragon because my sister owns the place or because Atticus insisted. Whatever I do, I want people to say I did it on my own. I need to know that I did it."

"You are Morgan Crispin-Becker," he said softly. "You are bright and intelligent and beautiful. You can drive a car. Lesser men do it every day. All right, I'm going to get out. Make the same loop as last time. Keep your eyes out for blind spots."

I nodded, and he climbed out.

I tried to forget about him and make the loop as instructed, keeping my eyes peeled. But when I came back to the top floor and didn't see him, panic seized me.

Where was he? I turned off the music and looked around. He wouldn't have just left me, would he?

As I looked toward the stairs, the car rolled and then something slammed on the hood.

Jerkily, I braked, and the front end of the car made a soft thud.

Lance stood directly in front of me, his hands on the hood. "What are you doing?"

Oh shit, you hit him.

I got out of the car shouting, "Oh my God! I was looking for you. Why were you hiding?"

"I wasn't hiding. I was walking around like a pedestrian making sure you're keeping your eyes on the road."

"I was keeping my eyes on the road! You just jumped out to scare me." I was blustering and panicking. "Are you hurt?"

"Were you trying to run over me, Morgan?"

"Oh, relax. I was going five miles an hour."

I was a disaster. I was hopeless. I hadn't meant to run him over. Then panic took over, and tears welled in my eyes.

Lance's eyes went wide. "Fuck. Don't cry."

"I'm not crying, you asshole!" I said as a tear slid off my lashes, and I swiped it away. "Fuck you." I threw the keys at him and marched for the stairs. "Fuck this. Who needs a job anyway?"

Lance

Way to go asshole.

I hated seeing Morgan cry. Maybe I'd overreacted. It's not like she tried to run me over on purpose.

I stared at the steering wheel, flexing my hands as guilt gnawed at me. I shouldn't have blown up at her. But something about Morgan always got under my skin, and tonight was no exception.

I glanced up at the loft window. She was in there, probably pacing, hurt and angry because I couldn't keep my cool. Apologizing wasn't my strong suit, but sitting outside like a coward wouldn't solve anything. I parked the car and headed to the elevator, the crisp evening air hitting my face.

Inside the loft, I didn't see her immediately. She must be in the bedroom.

Fix this, dumbass.

In the kitchen, I opened the freezer and found the small tub of rainbow sherbet I'd stashed. I hadn't told her about it when she moved in, figuring I'd need it for a moment exactly like this. Apology sherbet. Classy, Lance.

I grabbed two spoons and headed upstairs. With each step, I felt my earlier frustration lifting. We'd fought before—hell, we'd been fighting most of our lives—but this one felt different. I hadn't meant to lose my temper.

The bedroom door was closed. I knocked softly. No answer.

Try harder.

"Hey, Morgan," I called, keeping my voice light.

Silence.

I cleared my throat. "I've got rainbow sherbet. Your favorite."

After a beat, shuffling feet approached. The door cracked open a few inches, just enough for one eye to peek out.

"You've been hiding sherbet from me?" she asked, her voice thick with accusation—and tears.

I shrugged, holding up the container like a peace offering. "You caught me."

The door opened wider, revealing her face, red and blotchy from crying. It twisted something deep in my chest. I hated being the cause of that look.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you," I said quietly. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."

Her lips twitched like she was about to speak, then she sighed and stepped aside. I took the invitation and walked in, handing her a spoon as she sat on the edge of the bed. I joined her, setting the sherbet between us.

We sat in silence except for the sound of spoons scraping against frozen dairy. It wasn't until I'd taken a few bites that the tension in my shoulders began to ease.

"You didn't overreact," she said softly. "I mean, you kind of did, but I... I shouldn't have freaked out and, you know, run into you with the car."

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

Morgan glanced at me, her mouth curving into the smallest hint of a smile. "No, you didn't."

"Maybe a little," I muttered, earning a weak laugh from her.

The moment faded, and the weight of what happened settled between us.

"I'm sorry, too," she said quietly, setting her spoon down and tucking her knees to her chest. "It reminded me of the last time you tried to teach me to drive. On the bridge." She paused, rubbing her forehead. "You remember that, right?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "I remember."

How could I forget? She'd been sixteen, hands gripping the wheel like her life depended on it, white-knuckled and trembling. We'd gotten stuck on the middle of the bridge, her panic rising by the second. I'd spent what felt like forever talking her down, keeping her calm, reassuring her that she could do it.

"You talked me through it," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "I can't remember if I ever said thank you. You saved my ass a lot back then."

I stayed quiet, letting her talk.

"I probably should have mentioned it earlier, but I appreciated all the times you bailed me out." Her words hung in the air, heavy and genuine. Morgan wasn't the type to dish out compliments, especially not to me. But the way she said it now, her voice soft and sincere, hit me hard.

It took me back to all those times—her messing up, me coming to the rescue, neither of us talking about it afterward.

"You never had to thank me," I said, clearing my throat. "I've always had your back. You know that. You were like family to me. I would have done anything you needed. You know that."

Her mouth curved in a small, sad smile, and she nodded. "Yeah, I guess I did."

The silence stretched between us, not awkward, but reflective. I thought about all the times I'd been there for her, and how we'd drifted apart. I thought about how much I'd pushed her away, and now, sitting here with her, I realized how much I missed being the one she turned to when things went sideways.

We sat eating quietly, the tension finally easing. Eventually, Morgan shifted, scooting closer and pulling the blanket over her legs. I hesitated, then set the sherbet aside and moved closer too. No pillows between us this time, no invisible wall.

"I don't want to fight anymore," she said softly, staring down at the blanket. "It's exhausting."

"Me neither," I murmured. "I hate it."

As we lay there, side by side, the room quiet except for our breathing, Morgan's voice broke through one last time.

"I'm sorry I ran you over," she whispered, and I could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.

I chuckled softly, turning to look at her. "I forgive you. Just try to aim better next time."