Chapter 17
CARLIE
Ishouldn’t have done that. My palm burns, and I should not have done that. Lawson stares at me, unmoving, as I wait for his anger.
None comes.
Instead, he turns his head so his other, non-reddened cheek faces me.
“Need another go?”
I open my mouth to—apologize?
To take my hurt out on him? To . . .
He turns again and faces me. “I take it that name is what your dad used to call you.”
How the fuck?
It’s all I can do to nod. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s Mr. People Person, after all.
“I’m sorry he did that to your family, Carlie. Truly, I am. I can’t imag—”
I press a finger over his lips and shake my head. His gaze drops to my mouth.
He’s standing in only a towel with water droplets scattered over his toned chest, shoulders, and arms. A girl could climb this man like a tree and never come back down.
Except I won’t.
I can’t.
He’s my peer. My competition. My rival.
He may have started as my enemy, but I guess somewhere along the way I’ve downgraded him to just the guy who is trying to steal my place at Serenity. Not the oxygen from my lungs.
Is it my place?
Should it be his?
Urgh, this is why I don’t have friends. Don’t do people, period. Mills being the only exception, of course.
Lawson crosses his arms as goosebumps cover his skin.
“Sorry, I’ll let you get dressed.” I wander from the bathroom and slip my own day clothes on.
After the tripwire of whatever it was called this morning, I needed a change of clothes.
Who would have thought dancing around the bungalow to your favorite Ariana Grande song would be so distracting you’d end up in your underwear in front of . . .
Lawson Rawlins.
I swallow. Hard.
Fuck. There’s not a professional boundary we haven’t crossed now. He’s almost seen me naked. Seen me in my underwear. Watched me sleep, no doubt. Witnessed my fears and been present while I bared my soul. I don’t know anyone else on this earth who has ever had that privilege.
Not even Mills.
Was this what Serelle was trying to do here?
Break down our walls?
I guess in a few days, I can ask her.
The city bustles around me as I slip out of the train station and march for the Serenity building. Outside is a gathering of women and children, the doors to the building still locked.
As they should be this early. The sun has barely made it up over the horizon.
Luckily for three mothers with pale, drawn faces and worry etched over their features that I’m guessing would look beautiful in any other situation, I have a key.
“Morning, ladies.” I give them my best smile.
One hugs her daughter into her side. The others barely pay me any heed as they look anywhere but at the corporate woman letting them into the sanctuary.
Unlocking the enormous double doors, I push one open and stand to the side.
I have no idea what happens now, only that they all look like they could use a hot cup of tea and a shoulder to cry on.
The mother and daughter, their clothes soiled and a small backpack on the mother’s shoulder, enter first. It’s only as they walk inside that I see the discoloration on the woman’s cheek.
Oh my god.
The others wander inside, moving through the foyer where I usually take a left and ascend to the upstairs offices, some heading for the bunks and some for the small sitting area littered with vibrant cushions.
Nobody speaks. I take in their clothes, their hair, their sallow and brave faces as they settle in. Have they been here all night?
Just the way Mills would have been.
Scared.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
Fucking unacceptable.
I cling to the door with one hand, fighting back the emotion unraveling with every second I stand here watching them.
Remembering why I came in early—to get a head start on the work I missed during the last week at the resort—I push from the door.
I’m ready to pad upstairs when something tugs on my pants.
Startled, I look down to find a small girl. Big eyes peer up at me. She has messy blonde hair splayed over a jacket and a dirty yellow dress underneath, finished with gum boots. “Please, miss. Can you help my mommy?”
I squat, bringing my gaze eye level with hers. “What’s wrong honey, where’s your mommy?”
“She’s over there, but she’s too sick to come inside.” She turns back, looking out onto the sidewalk.
“Show me?”
She takes my hand, and my fingers wrap around hers.
We walk down the stairs and around the building. A woman sits on the ground, her back leaning up against the brick. She shivers, her dark hair covering half of her face. I close the distance and look her over. “Are you okay?”
When she lifts her head up, her battered face steals my breath.
Fuck. I press a hand to my mouth.
She needs to be in the hospital, not the shelter. But at least the shelter would be safer than the street.
“Can you stand, if I help?” I ask.
Her chin wobbles, and I squat down. “We can go inside and get some help from there.”
She shakes her head. “No, he’ll take her.”
“He’s not allowed inside. I’ll contact the police and the medics, but you have to stand for me, okay?”
After a beat, she nods. Her shaking hands land in mine, and I help her to her feet.
Once inside, I make sure the woman and her little girl are settled and call the services. The next call I make is to Serelle. She should be here. Someone should be here twenty-four seven. Not just during the day. It’s not enough.
I can only imagine how this would have played out if it were mid-winter.
When the police arrive and the medics have the woman in their care, I retreat to the foyer and lean on the wall, observing, just taking in the real-time daily Serenity workings. The difference we are making.
My gaze snags on the little girl of the woman the police are currently talking to. She plays at her mother’s feet. A sad smile tugs on my lips as burning flushes behind my eyes.
“Hey.” A low rumble sees me turn back.
A tear dislodges, spilling down my cheek. The deep blues I spent a week in forced proximity with tighten with worry. A crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a dark blue tie over navy pants, he’s all Office Rawlins today. Mr. Business.
“You okay?” he says, thumbing my cheek dry.
No.
Maybe?
I turn back to glance at the little girl. How many more exist in this city?
How many more women have nowhere to go?
How many stay because of that factor?
How many never leave, until it’s too late . . .
Nausea floods my chest, burning.
“Excuse me.” I bolt upstairs, spilling into the women’s bathroom. My eight-dollar coffee and brioche return in a grizzly fashion, splattering all over the toilet bowl.
Breathing in a long, deep lungful, I splash my face with water before fixing my makeup.
The second the door to the bathroom gives way under my hand, I find Lawson. He leans on the wall by the restroom.
“You don’t have to keep tabs on me, Rawlins.”
“You’re here early.” His eyes are full of worry, nothing else.
“I wanted to catch up. What’s your excuse?”
“Same.”
“I guess having a week away wasn’t great for business.”
“I have full faith we can catch up and then some.”
“That makes one of us.”
He chuckles and falls into step as I walk past, heading for the fish tank.
“You opened the doors early?” he asks as we walk in and dump our belongings.
“The shelter needs to be open at all times . . . I couldn’t leave her out there, she—”
A stone explodes in my throat. I screw up my face, desperate to stem back the emotion that is trying its hardest to claw its way back up from the pit of my stomach.
Lawson stills, his hand frozen on his laptop where he slid it onto his glass desk.
My chin wobbles.
Fucking traitor.
What the hell is wrong with me?
One week away with this man, and I go from impenetrable to inconsolable.
I clear my throat and turn back to my bag.
Baggage.
We spent a week unpacking ours, and this is the outcome. The soft version of me. The weak, blubbering mess that is Carlie Marie Lamont.
Fuck it.
When I turn back, Lawson is standing mere inches from me. “Need a hug?”
I scoff at him, but the sound breaks, disintegrating into a muffled sob.
Fucking great.
He’s wrapped himself around me before the next breath fills my lungs. A large, warm hand runs over my hair, and I suck back a wobbly breath.
“We can do something about it, Carlie. We have that privilege. But we’re going to have to work together.”
I compose myself and push from his hold.
Part of me doesn’t want to leave. It’s been a long, long time since I have felt at home this close to a man.
So long, it’s merely a vague memory. And I think it’s all the weeks we spent hating each other, being in each other’s business.
After all, attention is still attention, regardless of whether it’s negative or not.
Looking at him like I hate him is still looking at him.
The way we were before Manuel and his clipboard feels like an old skin we’ve shed. We’ve changed.
I’ve changed.
Who knew seven whole days could do that to a person.
I dry my face for the second time in an hour and set my shoulders back. “Right, in that case, we should dig deep. Get on the same page and make plans to make this place thrive, no matter which one of us stays.”
A sad smile blooms over his face. “Sure, Miss Carlie, let’s do that.”
I chuckle at his use of Manuel’s name for me.
His smile stretches to a grin.
Said it before, and I’ll say it again. The man is gorgeous. Not that those words will pass my lips in any audible fashion.
Ever.
We get to work. Running the numbers. Brainstorming marketing, planning, and sponsorships.
I order in lunch, and we don’t leave the fish tank for anything.
It’s after four by the time Serelle comes to find us.
We’re sprawled out on the floor. Lawson sits on one side of our spread-out papers and projections.
I’m on the other side, leaning against the glass wall under the whiteboard, surrounded by the budgets and marketing materials from previous years.
A soft knock is followed by the door opening as Serelle enters. “How’s it going?”
“We’re taking another pass at the historical data to make a better, more advanced plan moving forward,” I say.
Lawson rises to his feet, tugging his tie off and lowering a hand to help me up. I take it and stand beside him.
Serelle crosses her arms, raising a brow and doing her best to flatten a smile. “I see camp worked wonders.”
“Yeah, we’re best buds now, hey, Lamont?” Lawson messes up my hair with a hand. His fingertips work over my scalp.
Good lord . . .
He doesn’t make space between us, and his sandalwood and spice shrouds me. My body responds to the proximity instantly. I blow out a settling breath before I slap him away. “Get off me, Rawlins.”
Serelle chuckles. “Well, almost, then. It’s good to see you two getting along. I knew you’d be friends. You both have such strong reasons to be here. I had a feeling about you guys. Keep up the good work. I’ll need those updated reports and quarter one’s projections around Thanksgiving.”
“We’ll have it ready.” Lawson closes the door behind her, and when he turns back, he stretches. “You know what? I could use some fresh air.”
“Need to go walkies, do we?”
“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”
I huff a small laugh at the longest drawl-infused yes I’ve ever heard.
“You want to come?”
I still.
Yes.
No. I mean . . .
I clear my throat. “I’m good. I’m going to tidy up and call it a day. It’s been a long day.”
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, hey?”
“Yup. Tomorrow.”
He grabs his wallet and walks from the office as I slump into my chair. It’s been a long day. My body is weary. Achy, actually.
I clear my throat again, and pain lances down it.
Oh great.
Just when we finally make it onto the same page. I finally have a real, concrete purpose for what we’re trying to achieve here . . .
And a tiny army no one can see readies its ranks to take me down.
Fucking hell.