Chapter 12
TWELVE
Have fun—with me
SOPHIE
“Good evening, miss. Can I help you with something?” the doorman at The Haven asks.
“I hope so,” I say, forcing a polite smile even though I’m still fuming. “Hi, Davis,” I add, glancing at his name tag. “I’m Sophie Lennox. I’m hoping to see Micah. He lives in the penthouse. Can you help me with that?”
“Of course. One moment.” He picks up the phone. “Hello, Mr. Vale? You have a guest—Sophie Lennox. Sounds good. I’ll send her up.”
He swipes his keycard and gestures toward the private elevator. “The penthouse button will take you straight there.”
“Thank you,” I say, though it takes effort to be polite when I’ve been burning with irritation my entire shift.
The elevator doors open, and I’m hit with the smell of garlic, butter, and something cheesy. Italian food. My stomach growls in betrayal. Great. Just what I need when I’m about to give him a piece of my mind.
“Hey Sophie!” Micah’s voice carries as he steps out of his bedroom, looking irritatingly casual—and irritatingly handsome—in another Westcliffe hoodie. “How was work?”
I cross my arms. “Hm, let’s see. I was working. Then, on my break, my friend came by, and we were having a nice time catching up.” I narrow my eyes. “Until some lunatic showed up saying God knows what. Isn’t that right, baby?”
“Baby.” He has the audacity to smirk. “That has a nice ring to it.”
I hate the way my stomach flips at that. “Micah, what were you thinking? Why would you do that? Holden and I were having a nice conversation. We were about to make study plans—”
“Well, then I’m glad I cut in.”
“Why? He’s on the law school track. Same as me! I could’ve gotten real advice from him. He’s an upperclassman, already took the courses I’m taking—”
“You can study with me. I have a 4.0. Or Wyatt. He’s on the same track as Sinclair. And we’re both the same year as him. So take your pick.”
I let out a frustrated groan. “That’s not the point!
Holden apologized for even visiting me. He said it was a mistake.
He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.
And I couldn’t even tell him I had no idea what you were doing or that you were acting completely insane because then he’d think you're crazy.”
Micah tilts his head, studying me, looking entirely too smug for someone being yelled at. “And why would you care what he thinks about me?”
“You’re a lot of things, but you’re not crazy. I mean—,” I continue, heat rushing to my face. “You know what I mean.”
“I actually don’t. Please explain, baby,”His smile softens, and it’s unfair how much my chest tightens.
“Thought you had a 4.0,” I mutter. “And stop smiling at me like that.”
But the truth is, I can’t even stay mad at him. He’s been nothing but kind to me—helping me when he didn’t have to, driving me places, making sure I eat, even paying for dinner. I owe him, and that makes me even more frustrated because I can’t yell at him the way I want to.
“Micah, I want to live my life while I’m young,” I say, my voice softer now, almost unsure.
“I’m turning twenty soon, and all I’ve done my entire life is work and study.
And that’s all I’ll keep doing until—if—I even get into law school.
I want to date. Have fun. Just be a college student for once. ”
His response is immediate, firm, without hesitation. “Then do it. Date. Have fun—with me.”
My heart flips so hard it’s almost painful. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting, like he’s amused by how flustered I am.
I can’t think of a single thing to say. My throat is dry, and I’m sure my face is bright red. I don’t want to get hurt.
There’s nothing about me that stands out.
I keep my hair short to save time blowdrying it after I shower, my clothes are average at best, and I’m not the kind of pretty that makes people take a second look.
He’ll eventually get bored of me, which will happen sooner rather than later, exactly as Ella said.
But I know I’m lying to myself if I pretend I don’t feel anything. I do. Every time he smiles at me, every time his hand brushes mine, my heart races like it’s trying to escape my chest.
The problem is that I can’t be casual with Micah. I could’ve gone on a few dates with someone like Holden maybe, without getting swept away—he’s safe, easy, no real risk. Or just had fun without real feelings—like Poppy always tells me to do.
But Micah?
Micah feels like a risk. The kind of risk that could break me if I let him too close.
He tilts his head slightly, lips tugging into that knowing grin of his. “You’re quiet, Soph. Is that a yes?”
I shake my head quickly, maybe too quickly. “I don’t know.” My voice sounds embarrassingly breathless.
“Listen, Sophie. I don’t know what Ella said to you, or what you might’ve heard, but I’m not playing around with you.
I’m not killing time. And I’m definitely not spending time with you out of pity.
” His voice is calm, earnest. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have made a complete fool of myself in front of Holden earlier. ”
His grin only deepens, and he leans in just a little, lowering his voice like he’s letting me in on a secret. “Let’s have fun. Go on dates. Travel. Think about it.” Then softer, “I’m not going anywhere.”
And that’s exactly the problem.
“Come on,” he says, motioning toward the island. “You haven’t eaten yet, right? Sit. I’ll get you a plate.”
“I’m fine—”
“Sophie.” His tone is firm but warm, like he’s not giving me a choice, and for some reason, I don’t hate it. “You’ve been working all day. Eat.”
I glance toward the island and blink. “Micah, what is all this?”
The entire countertop is covered—pasta in cream and red sauces, baskets of garlic bread, fried calamari, and at least three different salads.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “I’d cook for you, but I’m terrible at it. So I ordered a little bit of everything.”
“A little bit?” I say, raising a brow.
He smirks and points to one of the plates. “And this—” he taps the container of bruschetta “—you liked this at the restaurant last night.”
I look closer. It’s not just one or two plates. There are five. At least.
“Micah…” I can’t help the way my chest tightens. Nobody’s ever done something like this for me before. “You didn’t have to.”
“I told you I’d have dinner ready,” he cuts in easily, his grin softening into something gentler. “So sit, Soph. Eat with me.”
My heart does another somersault, and I slide onto the stool, trying not to smile too hard as he starts opening containers for me.
We’re finishing up dinner when my phone buzzes. One glance at the name on the screen, and my chest tightens. My stomach knots so fast it almost hurts, and my hand trembles slightly as I swipe it open.
Carter
Busy today, sweetheart. I’ll let you get paid for the hour. But my patience is running thin, so give me an answer by the next session.
Oh and by the way, I left you something at the student center. Pick it up today, or I’ll just have it delivered to your work. Would be nice if you had it the next time I saw you.
I swallow hard, forcing down the nausea crawling up my throat.
Even reading his words makes my skin feel too tight, like I need to scrub them off me.
Sweetheart. The way he wrote it makes me feel like I’m already trapped in whatever filthy game he’s playing.
I don’t even want to know what he left for me to go pick up.
But I can’t have whatever it is, delivered to the cafe.
I exhale slowly, shoulders sagging with reluctant relief. At least that’s one more session I don’t have to sit across from him. I haven’t officially dropped him as a student yet because he’s all I’ve got right now—no other students have requested me, and I need every bit of money I can get.
Westcliffe only allows up to five “sick day” cancellations that still count as paid hours, and I’m trying to collect as much as I can before I finally cut ties for good.
But I know I’ll have to cancel him soon.
Obviously, I’m not accepting his offer—just thinking about it makes my stomach churn.
But I’m also scared of what he might do if I push him too far.
He made it very clear his family has money and power, and I have neither.
One rumor, one whisper in the wrong ear, and everything I’ve worked for could fall apart.
I need to keep my record clean. I need law school. I need a secure future.
“Who was that?” Micah asks, his tone sharp with suspicion. “What’s wrong?”
My throat tightens. I want to tell him—God, I want to let him fix this, to let myself believe I’m safe with him. But Carter’s family has money and power, and if I drag Micah into this, Carter might try to ruin him, too. I can’t let that happen.
And if I lean on Micah now, if I let myself get used to the way he makes me feel protected, what happens when he’s gone? That's not a risk I can afford.
This is my battle. It's always been mine.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, forcing a small smile. “Dinner was amazing. Seriously, thank you.”
His eyes narrow, not buying it. “Sophie, I can tell that message bothered you.” His voice is firmer now, almost demanding.
“Really, it’s fine.” I reach across the table, resting my hand over his, hoping the touch will distract him, maybe soften the edge in his gaze. But it doesn’t.
“Thank you for dinner, Micah. It was perfect.” I tell him instead.
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me.
His expression then turns from suspicion, more to something else entirely. But he’s still watching me too closely, and I have to look away before he sees just how shaken I really am.
“Don’t do that,” he says quietly.
My chest tightens. “Do what?”
“Brush it off like it doesn’t matter.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “Not with me.”
MICAH
“Let’s get you home,” I say, keeping my tone as gentle as possible. She’s clearly rattled by whatever message just came through, but I don’t push.
“I, uh, actually, I need to head back to campus. I have to pick something up,” she says. “I’m gonna take the bus, though, so please, just stay here.”