Chapter 19 – Morgan
Chapter Nineteen
Mistakes Were Made
Morgan
I had almost fucked Lance in a public place.
So much for showing restraint. So much for decorum. So much for sorting out my feelings.
Several hours later, and I still hadn't recovered from what happened in the boutique.
My skin still tingled where he'd touched me.
My lips were still swollen from his kiss.
And between my thighs, I was still wet and aching, my body refusing to forget the feel of his hands on me, the weight of him pressing me against that mirror.
It's not like we'd talked about it. Hell, what would I say?
I loved how you shivered when I swiped my thumb on the underside of your cock?
Just thinking about it had me pressing my thighs together again, trying to quell that persistent ache.
The memory of his cock in my hand, hot and thick and perfect, made my breath catch.
The way he'd groaned my name like a prayer.
The way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
But Lance... he seemed perfectly normal. We'd come home and he'd gone straight to his office. As far as I could tell, he was on a call. The point was, he'd said nothing about what happened. He acted as if it was either perfectly normal or it hadn't happened at all.
And that pissed me off.
Why? It's not like you know exactly what that was. Or could say what the hell happened to your control.
It was true. I'd felt like I'd been possessed.
My brain knew exactly what should not happen, but my body had a mind of its own. And my heart was still trying to stitch itself together, piece by piece, despite my best efforts to keep it locked away.
The worst part? I wanted it to happen again. Wanted to feel his hands on me, his mouth claiming mine. Wanted to finish what we'd started in that damn dressing room.
Get your shit together. You have things to do.
Well, if he wasn't feeling the urge to discuss anything, then neither was I. Tomorrow was D-Day. I’d be meeting his grandfather and I had to keep my shit together.
I still had my hair appointment first thing tomorrow morning.
I needed to try and get a hold of Miriam about my spot at the co-op.
I'd gotten a phone alert that another payment had been sent back.
And I needed to review three more designs to send to Adele.
So far I'd delivered two and I knew the clock was ticking.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Miriam's number, pacing the length of Lance's living room. The city lights twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I barely noticed them. My mind was too fractured, pulled in too many directions.
"Morgan!" Miriam's voice was bright but held an odd undertone. "How are you, honey?"
"I've been better," I said honestly. "Listen, I got another alert that my co-op payment was rejected. My bank says everything's fine on my end, so I'm wondering if there's an issue with your payment processing?"
Silence . Long enough that I pulled the phone away from my ear to check if the call had dropped.
"Miriam?"
"Oh, sweetie." Her voice was soft, almost sad. "You don't need to worry about payments anymore."
I stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"
Another pause. "I thought you knew. I mean, I was told not to say anything, but I assumed you'd figure it out eventually."
My stomach dropped. "Miriam, what are you talking about?"
"You don't need to pay rent anymore, Morgan. You own your space now. You own the whole building, actually."
The words hit me like ice water. "What do you mean I own it?" Had Gwen and Atticus done something?
She sighed, and I could practically see her wringing her hands. "I'm not supposed to tell you this. He specifically asked me not to mention it."
" He? " My voice rose an octave. "Miriam, who bought what?"
"Lance," she said quietly. "He bought the entire building and put it in your name. Said he wanted to make sure you always had a place to work on your dreams. The deed transfer went through about two months ago. He’s been paying me to manage it still."
The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the hardwood floor. I stared at it for a long moment, my brain trying to process what I'd just heard.
He bought me a building. Put it in my name. Made me a property owner without telling me.
When?
With shaking hands, I picked up the phone. "Miriam, when did this happen?"
"Like I said, about two months ago, honey."
Two months ago. Before I'd left him. Before I'd discovered his lies about my father. Before everything fell apart between us. He'd done this when we were still together, still happy. When he thought we had a future.
"I have to go," I whispered.
"Morgan, honey, are you okay?"
"I'm... I'll call you later."
I hung up before she could respond.
My hands were shaking as I set the phone on the coffee table. The enormity of what he'd done crashed over me in waves.
What the hell had he done?
He gave you a place of safety and financial protection. You always have somewhere to work on your dream.
But I hadn't asked for that. I hadn't wanted his money, his protection, his grand gestures. I'd wanted honesty. I'd wanted him to trust me enough to tell me the truth about who he was.
No, and he didn't want you to know about it. He just did it for you.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I had to blink them away. The turmoil of my emotions overwhelmed me. Holy fuck. No one had ever done anything like that for me before.
I didn't even know the tears had slipped until I tasted salt on my tongue.
Damn him for doing this thing for me. I didn't ask for it.
He knew what you needed and just made it happen. Just like the driving thing. And moving me into the loft... twice.
The memories flooded back. Lance teaching me to drive in the empty parking lot behind his building, patient and encouraging even when I'd nearly run him over…
by accident. Lance showing up at Gwen and Atticus's place when it was still under construction, finding me trying to sleep in a sleeping bag on concrete floors, and insisting I needed somewhere safe to stay.
Lance always, always anticipating my needs before I even voiced them.
He'd been taking care of me this whole time.
And you ran from him.
Christ, I was so stupid. Here I'd been convinced he was trying to control me, to cage me, when really he'd been trying to give me wings.
He'd bought me freedom—a place where I could create, where I could build my career without worrying about rent or utilities or whether I'd have to choose between groceries and fabric.
The co-op wasn't just a workspace. It was my sanctuary. My creative haven. And he'd made sure I'd never lose it.
My chest ached with the weight of his generosity, his quiet care. How many other things had he done? How many ways had he looked out for me that I'd never even noticed?
Before I knew what was happening, my feet were carrying me to his office. I had to tell him I knew. Had to thank him. Had to figure out what the hell this meant for us.
I knocked once just as my phone buzzed in my hand.
The salon was calling. Damn it. I needed to talk to him, but if they were making any changes to my appointment, I needed to know.
I answered just as he opened his office door, looking flushed and slightly disheveled. His hair was mussed like he'd been running his hands through it, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. God, even rumpled and stressed, he was gorgeous.
"Morgan. What?—"
I held up a finger as I answered. "This is Morgan."
The woman from the salon started speed-talking about a plumbing disaster and how sorry she was. Lance's gaze locked on mine, his brows knitting when he noted my tears. Those dark eyes that missed nothing, that could read me like an open book.
"I understand, but this is sort of an emergency situation.
Is there anything we can do? I really can't cancel my appointment.
" My brain was on overwhelm overdrive and the tears kept slipping down my face as I mentally scrambled to try to solve my new problem and simultaneously process what Lance had done for me.
"We had a flood in one of the shampoo rooms, Miss Becker. We have to shut down for the day."
I sucked in a sharp breath, my pulse ticking higher. "Okay, but I have an event tomorrow. You can't just cancel on me last minute."
"I'm so sorry. We were hoping to fix the issue before notifying clients."
I paced harder, catching my reflection in the mirror near the entryway.
These braids were not going to last through a black-tie event.
I needed my hair done professionally for tomorrow night.
For the moment when I'd have to walk into a room full of Lance's dangerous family and play the part of the devoted fiancée.
"What if I have a stylist come to the house?" I tried, clinging to one last shred of hope. "I just need someone who can take care of my hair tonight or early tomorrow morning."
The woman hummed on the other end. "We do have a stylist who does house calls, but she won't be available until midnight."
I stopped pacing. "Midnight?"
"Yes. She works nights. You'll need to have your braids taken out and your hair washed and blow-dried beforehand, but otherwise, she's an option."
"I'll take it."
This was fine. It's just one more thing going wrong. No big deal. I needed to solve this problem. I could handle having my braids taken out at eleven PM. It wasn't ideal, but it was doable.
As soon as I hung up, Lance stepped closer, his presence immediately calming despite the chaos in my head. "What's wrong? Can I help?"
The offer was so simple, so immediate, that fresh tears sprang to my eyes. Here I was, falling apart over hair appointments and life-changing revelations, and his first instinct was to help. Not to judge, not to tell me I was overreacting. Just to be there.
Swallowing hard, I lifted my gaze to his. "You want to help me take out my braids? Do you know how?"