Too close
Chapter 45
Sophia
What is his problem? Seriously.
One minute he forces his way into helping me, deciding out of nowhere to play the nice guy, and the next he is complaining about it.
I knew accepting his help was a terrible idea.
Back at the wholesaler, the men fawned over him so much it felt like I wasn't even in the room.
I am honestly surprised the old man didn't ask Lorenzo for an autograph or a picture.
"Oh, so we're back to the silent treatment?" He lets out a dry, mocking laugh, rolling his eyes when I don't give him a verbal answer.
"As I said, I don't like you," I hiss, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "So I don't waste my breath talking to you."
"Trust me, Miller, I noticed," he snaps back. "The feeling is entirely mutual. I don't like you either."
"Good."
His jaw tightens into a rigid line as he violently slams his foot onto the gas pedal. The heavy G-Wagon surges forward, tearing down the narrow road. The sudden, brutal burst of speed sends a sharp jolt of panic straight through my chest. My heart hammers frantically against my ribs.
"Don't drive so fast," I say, my hands instinctively gripping the edge of the leather seat as I sit up straight.
"Oh, look who's talking now," he mocks, not slowing down a single mile per hour.
"No, seriously!" My voice cracks, and before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out and grabs his muscular forearm.
The exact moment my fingers wrap around his bare skin, his entire body goes rigid.
He freezes. But as soon as he hears my ragged, uneven breathing, his demeanor changes instantly.
The arrogance completely vanishes. He immediately taps the brakes, slowing the massive car down to a gentle, steady pace.
"Are you okay?" His voice drops, suddenly low and laced with an unexpected touch of concern that catches me completely off guard.
"Yes," I lie, my voice shaking. I quickly roll down the window, letting the cool wind rush into the cabin to chase away the suffocating heat building between us. "Just... just drive slower. Please."
The last word escapes me as a desperate whisper. Luckily, he doesn't tease me for it. For the rest of the drive, he keeps a steady, calm speed.
When we finally pull up to my aunt's apartment building, a massive wave of relief washes over me. Her car is missing from the driveway.
Thank God.
If Clara were home, she would immediately invite him inside for dinner, and that is the absolute last thing I need.
"So, where do you want these fabrics?" Lorenzo asks coldly, slamming the driver's side door shut as we both step out into the afternoon air.
I stand by the trunk, my mind racing as I calculate my options. If I tell him to leave the heavy bolts by the stairs, they might get ruined, or worse, I'll have to drag all ten of them upstairs by myself. But if I ask him to carry them up, I have to let him inside our apartment.
"Hello? Earth to Sophia," his voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He is leaning against the car, looking bored and effortlessly handsome. Annoyingly handsome.
"Where are they going?"
"Inside the apartment," the words slip out before I can filter them.
Before I can even think about taking it back, Lorenzo opens the trunk, effortlessly lifts the first few heavy bolts of fabric, and marches straight up the steps.
I scramble after him, unlocking the door just in time.
"Just drop them on the sofa," I instruct, pointing toward the living room.
The second his back is turned, panic strikes again.
I bolt into the small kitchen, shoving three dirty plates into the sink and kicking an empty bag of chips under the counter.
It's not that Clara and I are slobs, but lately, we've both been so utterly overwhelmed with work that cleaning was the absolute last thing on our minds.
"On the cushions?" Lorenzo's deep voice echoes from the living room.
"Yeah, that's fine!" I call back.
Just as I turn around to walk out of the kitchen, my eyes widen.
A black lace bra, the one that Clara had used for some design measurements the night before is sitting right on the armrest of the chair.
With a flushed, burning face, I snatch it up and stuff it behind my back just as Lorenzo walks back into the room.
His sharp eyes immediately dart around the slightly messy apartment, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips. He definitely noticed the chaos.
"Okay, I'll get the rest," he says, his gaze lingering on me for a fraction of a second before he turns back toward the door.
"Damn it," I curse under my breath the moment the front door clicks shut.
When he returns, he drops the final three bolts of fabric onto the sofa with a heavy grunt. His dark eyes slowly sweep across our small living room. His brow furrows as he takes in the empty chip bags, the messy blankets tossed over the chairs, and the stack of DVD cases piled on the coffee table.
"What happened in here?" he asks, his tone dripping with his usual cold judgment. "Did a hurricane hit your apartment, or do you always live like a slob, stalker?"
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms defensively as I lean against the kitchen doorframe.
"It's called a movie night, Calloway. Ever heard of it?"
Lorenzo completely freezes. He looks from a crumpled popcorn bag back to my face, his sharp jaw tightening. For a fraction of a second, the arrogant look entirely vanishes from his face, replaced by a strange, hollow blankness.
"A movie night," he repeats, the words sounding completely foreign on his tongue.
"Yes. Why? Don't tell me the great Calloway has never stuffed his face with cheap popcorn while watching a movie."
He lets out a dry, bitter laugh, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"My family doesn't do 'movie nights,' Miller. The closest we get to family time is sitting at opposite ends of a twenty-seat dining table, discussing stock portfolios and charity galas with our lawyers present. I don't think I've ever just sat on a couch with my parents. Not once."
A heavy, suffocating silence falls over the small room.
My heart does a strange, uncomfortable flip behind my ribs. I want to snap back with another sarcastic comment, but the quiet vulnerability in his voice catches me completely off guard. Underneath all that obscene wealth and arrogance, is he actually entirely alone?
Lorenzo seems to realize he just shared something deeply personal, because his gaze snaps back to mine, instantly turning dark and sharp.
He takes a slow, deliberate step out of the living room, moving straight into my personal space.
The air between us instantly shifts, turning thick and suffocatingly hot.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. He stops just inches away, completely towering over me.
"Like what?" I whisper, my breath catching in my throat. I want to step back, but my pride refuses to let me retreat from him.
"Like you pity me," he snaps, his eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity. "I don't need your sympathy, stalker. I have everything I could ever want."
"Everything except a family that actually cares about you," the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Lorenzo's jaw clenches violently. In a lightning-fast movement, he steps even closer, pinning me completely between his broad frame and the solid wall. He leans down, his face so close I can feel the warmth of his ragged breath brushing against my lips.
"You think you're so smart, don't you?" he whispers, his voice a dark, velvety caress that sends a violent shiver straight down my spine. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for a brutal, agonizing second. "You think you have me all figured out."
"I know exactly what you are," I breathe. My heart is hammering so loudly against my ribs I am terrified he can actually hear it. Every single nerve ending in my body is on fire. I hate absolutely despise his arrogance but staring at his lips right now makes me feel completely dizzy.
"Then you should know how dangerous it is to push me, Sophia," he murmurs.
He slowly lifts his hand. His knuckles drag agonizingly against the sensitive skin of my jawline, tilting my face up toward his.
The touch is electrifying, a beautiful, burning contrast to his harsh words.
The hatred we've been throwing at each other for weeks suddenly morphs into a desperate, magnetic hunger.
He dips his head, his lips a mere millimeter away from mine, the tension so tight it is about to snap.
CLICK.
The sharp sound of a key turning in the front door lock echoes right next to us.
"Sophia, honey! You won't believe the traffic..." my aunt's cheerful voice rings out from the hallway.
We jolt apart instantly.
Lorenzo steps back with lightning-fast reflexes, his cold, indifferent mask slamming right back into place before I can even draw a breath.
I frantically stumble away, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter.
My hands are trembling violently and my face burns a furious crimson just as the front door swings wide open.
"Oh..." My aunt stops dead in her tracks, her eyes widening as she takes in the massive, imposing figure of Lorenzo standing right in the middle of her living room.
"Mr. Calloway," she greets him, recovery breaking through her shock as she walks further into the room and drops her grocery bags onto the counter.
Instantly, Lorenzo's dangerous, intense attitude vanishes. Like a chameleon, his pristine, polite public mask slips right back over his features. A charming smile spreads across his face as he steps forward, effortlessly reaching out to stabilize one of the sliding paper bags for her.
What an absolute player.
I can only watch him in pure disbelief.
"Please, call me Lorenzo," he says, his voice smooth, warm, and dripping with a politeness I didn't think he was capable of. "I was just helping your niece drop off the fabrics. But I'm afraid I have to leave now. Duty calls."
He turns toward the front door, but right before he steps out into the hallway, he pauses.
He looks back at me over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto mine one last time.
The fake warmth completely vanishes from his gaze, replaced by a dark, burning intensity that promises our conversation is far from over.
It sends a fresh, icy shiver straight down my spine.
"Well, thank you so much, Lorenzo. But next time, you must stay for a cup of tea," my aunt calls out warmly after him.
"Of course," he replies smoothly.
A second later, the front door clicks shut, and his heavy footsteps fade down the hallway. He disappears, leaving behind only the faint, intoxicating scent of his woodsy cologne.
Finally, I let out the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.
My knees shake violently as the silence of the small apartment settles back around us.