Thirty-Seven
THIRTY-SEVEN
LUCAS
A fter fucking her again in my bed, and then in the shower—my new favorite activity, I must add—we both got dressed and made our way to the office. This time we walked hand in hand, and it felt real. Like we’re not putting up a front anymore. Her hand fits in mine perfectly, and that’s where I want it to stay.
"Bonjour," Camille greets us with a smirk on her face.
"Bonjour," both Leora and I answer at the same time.
"Your uncle is waiting for you in your office."
I frown, what is he doing here? He’s supposed to be resting. Liam called me two days ago and told me that he’d been very tired. Fluid has started to accumulate around his lungs and in his chest, which the doctors drained, but they told him to rest. Being in my office is not resting.
We walk into my office and I spot him rising on unsteady legs. His arms open, welcoming us, and we take turns greeting him.
"Hey, Ammo, kifak lyom ?" I ask him, curious to know how he’s feeling today.
" Ahsan, ebni ," he responds.
Leora’s attention moves to me in question, and I translate. "He’s feeling better."
Her hand gently envelops mine once more as we take a seat. I can sense uncle's watchful gaze, observing our every move. The corners of his mouth turn up, forming a gentle curious smile. "You two seem to be getting along."
I exchange a glance with Leora and she tries to hide her smile behind her hand. We finally are.
"As much as I love seeing you, is there a reason you took time to come down here when you should be resting?"
"Oh, I’ll rest when I’m dead," he says like it’s a joke, but it’s not funny because according to the doctors, he will be soon.
"Don’t look at me like that, I’m joking. I’m here because I wanted a change of environment, and seeing you always makes me happy."
A knock on the door, followed by Liam’s voice, interrupts us.
"Look at that, the whole family is here," he says with a huge smile on his face. As tired as my uncle looks, seeing Liam brings a certain glow to him. He looks between us, his eyes starting to well up, and Leora catches on.
"How about I go and get us some coffee?" she suggests, leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on my cheek before turning to head out of the office.
"I guess the fake marriage has turned into a real one," Liam states, his comment taking me by surprise.
"Wait, how did you . . ." I begin, but Liam chuckles, cutting me off.
"Relax, Lucas. I may have been gone for a while, but I’m not oblivious. I know you, brother, and I’ve been observing the two of you," Liam says with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I also may have found a copy of your contract while I was helping Ammo with some paperwork after your so-called wedding."
I’m taken aback. "You’ve known for that long?"
He nods. "Yes."
"But you never said anything," I murmur quietly.
"Why would I?" Liam responds with a knowing smile. "I saw the way both of you looked at each other. It was real from the start. You two just didn’t realize it."
His words wash over me, filling me with a warmth that I hadn't realized I'd been missing. The tension that's been gnawing at me for months seems to release, and a genuine laugh escapes my lips. It's been too long since I've shared a laugh like this with Liam.
"So the whole thing about me asking her to the charity dinner was just you trying to do what?" I ask him.
"It was me trying to urge you to do the right thing, which is to not let your pride get in the way of something I know is meant for you."
"You never cease to amaze me, brother," I tell him, getting up from my chair and walking over to him. I pull him into a tight hug, grateful for his understanding and support. I’ve missed this.
When we finally release each other, we both turn to look at our uncle, who's still seated in his chair.
His eyes glisten with unshed tears. We exchange a meaningful glance, realizing that this moment has touched not only us but also our Ammo, who’s been on both ends of mine and Liam’s rocky relationship.
"This is what I’ve been praying for," he says, his voice trembling with emotion, ”that you two find your way back to each other's lives before I leave mine." His words resonate deeply within me. Detecting a hint of fear in his voice, a pang of regret washes over me for the months of estrangement between Liam and me. As the older brother, I should have been the one to bridge the gap, to set aside my ego and pride in favor of family. Instead, I allowed misunderstandings and hurt feelings to fester, driving a wedge between us. The realization that he had been silently praying for our reconciliation strikes me deep in the core.
Liam and I turn in unison and reach out to grab our uncle's hands.
His eyes, once filled with worry, now reflect relief and gratitude.
"And Lucas, when it comes to Leora, I always knew you two would find your way to each other. There's an Arabic proverb that fits you both perfectly: In love, the heart always knows the way. " The wrinkles around his eyes deepen, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, look at that. Am I barging in on family time?" The atmosphere in the room takes an abrupt shift as Michel Beaumont makes an unexpected entrance with Camille in tow. I exchange a quick, puzzled glance with Liam.
"Monsieur, I told you they were in a meeting," Camille huffs between breaths, clearly flustered by Michel's intrusion.
"Really? I thought you meant they’re waiting for my meeting," Michel mocks.
"We don’t have a meeting today," I state firmly, my distaste for Michel becoming more evident by the second.
"We don’t? Well, since I made the effort to come down here, why don’t we?" Michel’s suggestion holds an air of arrogance.
"Of course, please come in and sit down," my uncle intervenes, attempting to diffuse the mounting tension.
I watch as he takes a seat. There’s a subtle shift in his posture and a guarded look in his eyes. He’s hiding something.
He directs his attention at me. "Let’s cut to the chase. I don’t think you’re cut out to take over the hotels."
"I’m already aware of your opinion, Michel. But you’re wrong, I’m more than capable of running this company."
"Michel, this is neither the time nor the place for such discussions," my uncle replies, his voice measured and firm.
But Michel doesn't seem inclined to back down. He leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine for a moment, and then he addresses my uncle directly. "I, on the other hand, have a good head for business. Just step down, appoint me as the new CEO, and we won't have to vote. I promise I’ll keep Lucas and Liam in their current positions."
My uncle exchanges a glance with me, and we both know that Michel's proposition is far from genuine. Trusting him with the position would be a grave mistake, one that could jeopardize everything we've worked for.
"I appreciate your confidence in your abilities, Michel," my uncle says, maintaining his composed demeanor. "But the decision has already been made on my end, and I stick by it."
Michel's smirk turns into a snarl, his voice dripping with menace. "You have no idea what's at stake here. You will see this empire you're so proud of slip through your fingers. The vote will be just the beginning, and you'll be left with nothing."
I clench my fists, struggling to contain my anger. My uncle, however, remains remarkably composed.
"Michel, threats won't get you what you want. We'll face the vote, and the stakeholders will decide. But mark my words, as long as I’m alive, I’ll never hand this company over to you."
Michel's tone takes on a more threatening and aggressive edge, his desperation to seize control of the company palpable. "Be careful, Antoine. We all know your time is ticking," he hisses, leaning even closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "I also know things that you and your dear nephew might not want people to know about. "
Anger bubbles up inside me as Michel's threats become more intense. My patience wears thin, and I'm ready to take action.
"That’s enough," I declare firmly, my voice trembling with restrained anger. "Leave my office, now."
My uncle doesn't say a word, but his stern expression mirrors my sentiments. Does Michel know about Leora and my agreement?
A cold shiver runs down my spine as his words hang in the air. Michel has always been willing to go to great lengths to achieve his goals, but it’s taken a sinister turn.
Michel stands up, a small, taunting smirk on his face. "I think I’ll repaint this office and make it more to my taste."
Liam steps forward. He's taller and broader than Michel, and his imposing presence makes Michel take a step back, a flicker of fear crossing his face. Liam's message is clear—Michel should think twice before taking any drastic actions.
Once Michel is out of the office, my uncle slumps into his chair, an air of weariness about him. Concern laces my voice as I ask, "Are you okay?"
My uncle attempts to reassure me, but his words are cut short by a sudden fit of coughing. When he removes his hand from his mouth, it's stained with blood.
"I'm fine," he insists, trying to downplay the severity of the situation.
Liam, however, is less composed. Panic flashes across his face, and he interjects urgently, "We need to get you to the hospital. This isn't something to take lightly."
Despite his concern, my uncle rises from his chair. "I told you, I'm fine. Now let me be," he repeats firmly, his voice carrying a sense of stubborn determination. He begins to walk toward the exit, where he almost bumps into Leora, who has returned with coffee and desserts, a look of confusion on her face.
As my uncle walks past her, Liam calls after him, his voice tinged with concern and urgency, " Ammo , please, let us get you checked out. This is serious."
Leora's eyes widen in alarm as she listens to our exchange, and she sets down the tray.
My uncle raises his hand, signaling that he's not willing to entertain the idea of seeking medical attention. Liam and I exchange worried glances, but there's little we can do when our uncle is so insistent. We watch as he continues toward the exit, his steps steady but his face slightly pale.
Leora approaches us cautiously, her gaze fixed on my uncle's departing figure. "What happened?" she asks, her voice filled with genuine concern. We tell her everything, including my suspicions that Michel knows . . . everything.
As soon as we step foot in the elevator, Leora’s anxiety skyrockets, as it always does. For someone so afraid, she has to be one of the most courageous people I know. To fight fear the way she does is remarkable. No matter what the fear is, conquering it takes strength and determination—two qualities Leora possesses.
However, sometimes a person needs a little push, and that’s what I’m here for.
I don't try to start a conversation to take her mind off the moving elevator, like I usually do. I’ve attempted that a few times, and I think it’s been working. But right now, I have another idea that I hope will help her associate better memories with elevator rides. It will also help me relax after the shit day we’ve had.
Her back is pressed up against the wall and I move closer to her—close enough that she has to tilt her head back. She watches my every move, unsure of what I’m doing, but as I raise my hand to press the red button on the control pad, her whole face changes.
"What are you doing?" But it’s too late. The elevator stops with a sudden jolt, and I can see the panic in her expression but I quickly reassure her.
"Just trust me," I say, my voice calm and steady, even though I’m nervous. If this doesn’t make her relax, I’ll probably have caused more damage than good.
Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her chest is heaving with every breath she tries to take. "Lucas. Please, make it move again," she says in a low voice. "P-please."
I reach out and gently cup her face, making her focus on me. "I would never do anything to hurt you. We’re going to create a new memory here," I explain. Her eyes snap open and lock on mine. "Something to replace the fear with something better. Call it cognitive behavioral therapy. Something you’ll enjoy, okay?"
She swallows hard but nods, her trust in me evident, causing my own heart to beat faster. With the elevator at a standstill, I lean in and capture her lips in a soft kiss. At first, she’s tense, but as the seconds tick by, she eases into the kiss, her body melting against mine.
Her arms find their way around my neck, pulling me closer—a silent plea for more. I respond by pressing her into the wall with a bit more urgency, allowing our bodies to meld together. A soft, melodious moan escapes from her lips, and I seize the opportunity to deepen our kiss. She allows my tongue to explore every part of her mouth, tasting her sweetness and hunger.
I move from her lips to her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. My lips find the sensitive spot, and I press gentle kisses there, eliciting a low moan from her.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, urging me up to find her mouth again in a fervent, hungry kiss. Her taste is addictive—I can't get enough of it, and I curse myself for not allowing this to happen sooner. I want to worship her every chance I get, to make her feel cherished and adored. Every sigh and moan that escapes her lips fuels my own need, driving me to seek more of her and to give her everything I have.
I break the kiss once more, my gaze locked on hers. The fear that flickered in her eyes a few minutes ago has vanished, replaced by a fiery desire. Her ragged breaths now rise and fall in rhythm with mine, the earlier elevator-induced anxiety completely forgotten. It seems my idea has been working, but I’m not done just yet. I’m still hungry.
"So, this is the medicine I've been needing?" she asks with a giggle, a rosy blush adorning her cheeks.
"You're so beautiful when you're flustered," I murmur, my lips hovering near her ear. "But we're far from finished."
A curious yet assertive smile dances across her lips as my hand trails down her hip to find the hem of her sweet dress. It has been driving me insane since we left the apartment.
"We can't," she whispers, her voice trembles even as her body leans into mine, telling a different story. Her hands grip my shirt, fingers clutching the fabric tightly. "Not here." Her breath is unsteady, even as her body betrays her.
I chuckle softly, my breath hot against her skin. "We absolutely can. Who's going to stop us?" I murmur, my fingers slipping under the fabric of her dress. Slowly, I trace her delicate, soft inner thigh and stop when my fingers brush against her underwear.
When I feel how wet she already is, I groan loudly and lean my forehead against hers. "You’re killing me, Leora." She bites down on her lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.
My good girl.
"I think it’s you who’s actually trying to kill me," she says into my lips as I lean down to capture them again.
I’m too hungry to be gentle right now. She gasps when I grab her underwear and rip them off, placing the ruined piece in my breast pocket. Then I kneel, my tone commanding, "This is what I want you to remember every time you step into an elevator." I don’t wait for her to answer. Instead, I shove my face forward, devouring her as her moans sing symphonies that echo in the small space.