Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
T his is a very bad, horrible, no-good idea , Lucy thought as she walked up to the brick building on the corner of a busy street in the Pearl District. The stylish neon sign above the big double doors read Bowie’s .
This was the place? She checked her phone’s maps app. Earlier, she DM’d Hope and asked where she might find Joel. Since he didn’t have much of a social media presence—and she’d deleted his number from her phone during a particularly lonely night with too many glasses of Chianti a year ago—his sister seemed like the most logical starting point.
Hope had immediately DM’d her the address of the apartment Joel rented in Portland, which was how she now found herself standing at the corner of Hipster and Trendy looking up at a building that was the farthest thing from what she’d ever imagine a man like Joel, heir and CEO of Morgan Construction, would live in.
The structure was gorgeous, no doubt about that, but it lacked the sleek, ultra-modern look of the properties Joel built and lived in. Not to mention height. There would be no posh penthouse suite here.
Nevertheless, this was the address Hope had sent her, and she was on a mission, so she marched down the side of the block to the entrance to the apartments.
Her finger hovered over buzzer #2, her heart picking up speed. This morning, everything had been so clear. Her plan had seemed perfect. Now her feet tingled and her fingers trembled. Could she do this? Was this the right path? Would Joel Morgan agree to help her become the head of Barone & Sons?
Only one way to find out. The strip next to the number read, Occupied . Time to find out if Joel had really left his San Francisco penthouse for an apartment above a bar in Portland. Taking a deep breath, she punched buzzer #2 with her index finger. A loud buzz filled the air in a jarring sound.
Enough seconds passed that she was about to double check the address, then a promising click and a gravely “Hello?” came through the speaker.
God, did he have to sound sexy even through an intercom? Her palms broke out into a sweat and her voice stalled in her throat when she opened her mouth to talk.
“Anyone there?” Joel demanded through the intercom.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit . Here went nothing. Or everything , her brain taunted. “Um, hi, Joel. It’s—” Shit. What was she doing? “It’s Lucy.”
“Lucy?” He sounded so utterly dumbfounded that a blush inflamed her cheeks.
She was such an idiot. “Never mind, this was stupid. I’m going. Sorry to bother you.”
“No wait—” There was static and a bang, then a curse. “Lucy?— ”
A long buzz sounded behind her, but humiliation had her hoofing it down the street.
There had to be other ways to get through to her father. Maybe she could land a bigger client outside of San Francisco and convince him the company had what it took to grow. Or she could try talking to him again—although the last time she’d done that, Nico had showed up three weeks later and crushed the progress she’d made. Not that she’d made much. Her father had all but laughed off the idea of her as the boss.
Still, there had to be an option she hadn’t thought of yet. Faking an engagement with her estranged husband was preposterous.
She was halfway down the block when Joel called out, “Lucy!”
Please, ground, crack open and swallow me whole. She blamed no one but herself. She’d come here on a grappa induced hair-brained idea that held zero weight and even less potential.
“Lucy, stop!” Joel called again, but this time from much closer—like right behind her closer. Strong fingers curled around her hand. Together, they slowed. “Please.”
Resigned, she turned to face him. He wore a white t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and…no socks.
She stared at his bare feet. “Joel—” The man was crazy. She had a newfound foot fetish, but he was crazy.
“You came to me,” he said, sounding slightly winded, but she suspected it had nothing to do with his sprint. “Why?”
“Um.” She fidgeted with the strap of her bag, wondering if she should lie or tell the truth. She settled for somewhere in the middle. “I wanted to talk about last night, when you, well, told everyone we were engaged. ”
Joel’s gaze didn’t waver. “Sorry about that.” He didn’t look sorry at all. He appeared hyper focused and intense, his sharp eyes tuned deeply to hers, like he was trying to figure out what she really wanted.
Funny, she was starting to wonder about that herself.
“You said you wanted to talk to your family yourself, but if you want me to, I can.”
“No.” Drawing a deep breath, she blurted, “I’m here because I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d be okay if we—” Crap, this was mortifying. She was never drinking grappa with her aunt ever again.
She cleared her throat and started from the top. “I was hoping we could continue with the engagement story a bit longer.”
Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. This was probably what he was like in the boardroom while he brokered deals and negotiated with city planners. Focused and unyielding. Solid poker face. He’d never been like this with her. He’d always been so…open, trusting her with his rawest emotions and letting her see the pieces no one else got to see. And that was why, that night in Vegas, between highballs and five-dollar shafts, it had been so easy for them to say yes to each other.
But that part of him wasn’t for her anymore.
“Why?” His eyebrows drew together, but other than that, nothing.
Excellent question. And since she was here, she might as well lay it all on the line. It’s not like Joel didn’t know her dream.
“I’m hoping that if my family thinks I’m engaged to you, my father will talk seriously about me taking over Barone & Sons one day.”
There, she’d said it. And saying it out loud sounded ridiculous. She sounded ridiculous. Because the idea was ridiculous. What daughter had to get engaged for her father to take her seriously?
She did. That’s who.
When Joel stood there for several seconds, head inclined, sexy lips pressed together, expression immobile and unreadable, she tugged her hand out of his and started walking backward. “You know what? Forget it.”
He jerked forward, like he wanted to grab for her but tempered himself in the last second.
“Wait, Lucy.”
Their gazes collided. A big mistake.
His eyes, knowing and steady, held her captive. “Come up to the apartment and we can talk.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled from her throat. Up to his apartment? She’d come here to talk, so she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but hearing his invitation out loud made the reality of being alone in a room with him laughable.
There was enough history between them to make a Netflix documentary. If you looked unfinished business up in a dictionary, you’d see their faces. The tension between them sizzled even now, on a public street, with people walking around them and gawking like they were a circus sideshow. Going upstairs, alone, into his apartment spelled…disaster?
Joel didn’t appear to think so. His focus remained razor-sharp and centered on her. He’d moved closer, or maybe it was her who’d moved closer to him, she hadn’t been paying attention, but his proximity caused goosebumps to pop up along her arms, little electrical currents of awareness sizzled under her skin. All of which made her feel even more certain they shouldn’t be alone together inside four walls .
“It’s okay, really. This was silly. I’m just going to, uh, go.” She spun again to walk away.
Warm fingers found her wrist this time, looping gently around her pulse and stopping her, and those little currents combusted into full blown sparks. “Luciana.”
Oh fuck. The way he used her full name, like other men used the term “good girl” or “sweetheart.” Like it was a term of endearment, a little dirty and special at the same time. Like she was both sexy and sacred to him. And when those syllables fell off his lips, she almost believed she still was.
He came up behind her. His chest to her back. His breath against her ear. So familiar, so comforting. “Come upstairs with me. I want you to.”
The rich, husky sound of his voice flooded her lower abdomen with heat. As if he was inviting her up to do more than just talk. As if a broken marriage, a lost pregnancy, and four years of next to no communication weren’t sitting between them like a creepy second cousin at a family wedding. How could her body so quickly forget the pain they’d inflicted on each other? How could it ignore the torment in her heart?
“Please.” He didn’t sound like he thought she was crazy, and he didn’t sound like he was laughing at her. His tone held no pity, just the subtle strength and confidence that allowed him to bend any audience to his will.
This man exuded a power unlike any she’d ever encountered. But he made no one feel less than. He respected everyone and listened to every idea brought to his table. That was the reason he succeeded in all things, the reason she’d come to him, and the reason she gave a brief nod before she let his fingers weave through hers as he led her back toward his apartment.