Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
CHELSEA
“Mmm,” I say, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. I haven’t had my favorite pizza in forever, and it’s just what the doctor ordered. “So good.”
He watches me, his slice already gone, and I try to not let the heat rise in my cheeks.
Our fingers brushed.
There was a moment.
A slight one, maybe not a huge one, but it was still there, nonetheless.
“Sometimes you just need to give in,” he says. Why does my mind whirl somewhere else? Why does my brain immediately picture him shirtless, with his hands reaching for me like he did the other day in his office?
Yes, that memory is enough to quash any feelings I had of Brad taking me seriously.
I didn’t mean to break down. It had just been such a crazy week, and I was excited for half a second before I saw the bank.
For the first time in a long time, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel.
All the late nights, crazy hours, missed school events and weekends working, it was all going to be for something.
But that dream was exterminated pretty quickly.
“Sometimes you just have to take the leap into the unknown.”
He watches me carefully. Just like he was in the office that day, when his eyes somehow darkened and he told me he didn’t like me being upset. Oh, I fully believed him, but that was Brad in full alpha mode, and my lady bits liked it.
“Seize the day?” He smirks.
“Carpe diem.”
“Touché.”
Are we still talking about the bakery?
My cheeks flush, needing to busy myself, I ask, “Would you like a drink?”
“Just some water. I have to drive and I had a beer already.”
I give him a look over my shoulder. “Such a do-gooder.”
He takes off his jacket, hangs it on the back of the stool, and then I try not to groan as he takes one cufflink off at a time, dropping them on the counter as he sits.
He then proceeds to roll up his sleeves, where I get a gander at those full sleeved tattoos on both his arms. I’ve obviously seen them before, and his ink is impressive, but the way his muscles flex when he tilts his arm has my mouth drying and my stomach clenching.
He’s hot. No two ways about it. And there’s that suit again.
Come to think of it, does he even own a set of sweats?
I smile to myself.
“What’s so funny?” he prompts when I pour him a water and slide it over to him.
“I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“You in the school play when we were eight.”
He narrows his eyes. “Hey, I did not lose baby Jesus, that was totally Jonas what’s-his-face’s fault.”
I laugh. “I’m kidding.”
He runs a hand through his impeccably styled hair. “Spit it out, then.”
“I was just thinking that I’ve known you for such a long time and I’ve never seen you in anything but a suit, in your adult life, anyway.”
He looks down at himself. “I… yeah, I guess I wear them a lot.”
“But not to train in?” My teasing makes him smile.
“Nope. I do wear gym gear to train in, smarty,” he says. “And I don’t wear suits to bed.”
“What do you wear?”
I’ve had half a glass of red wine, so I’m a little more bold than I usually am.
“It might shock a good girl like you.”
Okay, that’s flirting. We’ve always had banter, but this feels… different.
“I’m not a prude, B,” I sigh. “Just because you think I’m an angel, doesn’t mean I am one.”
He stares right at me and says. “I sleep naked, Baby Girl. Just me and two thousand thread Egyptian cotton.” He gives me a cheeky wink.
My heart rate accelerates. Now I’m picturing him in bed. Naked. Between those sheets.
This has got to stop. “Wow. I guess I did ask.”
“Your crimson cheeks tell me that wasn’t what you were expecting?” Oh, isn’t he just so smug.
“I thought you’d at least be a pajama bottoms guy.” I shrug.
“Nope. Not even in the winter.”
Someone, please get the fire extinguisher.
“You don’t get cold?” I roll my bottom lip to save from laughing.
“I keep plenty warm.”
I nudge the box. “More pizza?”
“I won’t say no to another slice.”
“I can warm it up, it gets cold quickly,” I offer.
“You’re too good to me.”
Silence falls between us as I heat us up another slice each, then slide the pie onto his awaiting plate.
“So,” I start. “I should give you all the information for Deaton’s soccer game. I’m so sorry to disrupt your day, especially since you already said you’d pick him up from school on Friday. Maybe I can close the bakery early, in fact, I should do tha—”
He waves a hand at me. “It’s not a disruption. Me and Noah are dropping some fliers around the neighborhood, so he can come with me after school until practice, if that’s okay?”
“Of course, that sounds good. How is Noah? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
He shrugs. “The same wiseass he’s always been, but let’s not talk about him. I wanted to swing something by you.”
I stop in my tracks, chewing on the mouthful of food before I say, “Shoot.”
“Okay, but don’t bite my head off, okay? I know the bakery is a sensitive topic.”
I roll my eyes. “I told you I had a momentary lapse, I’m okay now.”
“Well, I was crunching some numbers, and I came up with a plan, if you’ll hear me out.”
I continue to eat, intrigued by him. Brad always has a million great ideas, but I’m suspicious that he’s getting in over his head with my problems.
“I’m listening.”
“Well, I could be your partner. I mean, business partner. I could give you half the money or whatever you needed to buy the building, and then the bank wouldn’t have any choice but to give you the rest because it wouldn’t be as much.
You would run things as they are and I would stay out of it… and we’d share things fifty fifty.”
My eyes widen. “Bradley James Lucas, you can’t do that,” I start, but he’s waving a hand at me.
“I can do it. And I want to.”
I shake my head. Under no circumstances am I involving Brad in all of this mess. “That’s awfully sweet of you, but I can—”
“What? Fight your own battles?”
I frown. “Yes, actually.”
He looks exasperated as he drops his half-eaten slice back down on the plate. “Because of him?” He’s talking about my ex. I know it because he always says him in the same way when he talks about Ron, and won’t utter his name.
“Why are you bringing him up in the first place? We agreed to never talk about that rat bastard.” I don’t mean to, but my eyes glaze over. It’s been over five years, hell, Deaton wasn’t even one when he left. Left and never looked back.
“Hey,” Brad says, his tone softer. “I just meant, you always do this when people try to help you. You push them away and act like you have to do everything on your own, and you don’t.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. “This isn’t a small thing,” I eventually say, my voice quieter.
“Telling me you’re going to put over six hundred thousand dollars into the bakery, knowing I could never pay you back, isn’t peanuts, Bradley, heck, it may even be more than that.
” I shake my head. “I couldn’t do that.”
I know he’s rich, and I know his family are super rich, but that doesn’t mean that wealth extends to me just because Brad feels sorry for me.
“You’re overthinking it. It would be a business investment. That’s all. Yes, it’s a lot of money, but I want to help you stay where you are.”
“The best we can hope for is the new owners will let me stay and I can renew my lease,” I say firmly. “I mean, that can happen. Then I’m worrying all for nothing.”
“You’re also paying rent for a really long time, and the way prices are going in LA, it won’t be getting any cheaper.”
I cock a brow. He’s being sweet, but this is too much. I’m not overthinking this.
Come on already! It’s a lot. “Honey, I know that you have a kind heart under all that gruff, but I’m not going to let you do that. You just want to help, and that’s so generous of you, honestly, I’m touched, but it’s just too much money.”
He gives me the same look he’s been giving me since we were six.
Determined.
If someone said he can’t do something, Brad just went right ahead and did it.
But I’m not using reverse psychology on him. I don’t want him to do this.
No matter what he says, this offer is just too much money to get my head around.
And I can’t deal with it, or him looking at me the way he is. His head tilted, his eyes sincere, that delectable pursed mouth seems to be packed with more meaning than I know what to do with.