Chapter Eight #3
Lennox listened as his anger sharpened with every word. He liked anger when it had a target. It made everything simple for him to handle.
“Did he give you his card before today?” he asked.
“No.”
“Have you had any other contact with his company?”
“A few emails from generic accounts. Marisol forwarded them. I ignored most of them because they were dressed up as partnership opportunities and I could smell the bullshit through the screen.”
“Do you still have them?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if I look into Curtis and Bell Community Strategies?” he asked. “And the developer behind them.”
Lane went still. Lennox felt her hesitation. Not because of Curtis. Because of the question. Would you mind?
He watched her register it, watched the irritation soften into something more complicated. Surprise. Approval. Suspicion, because she was still Lane and he was still him.
“Well, look at you,” she said. “Asking before committing cyber sins.”
“I’m evolving.”
“Slowly. Like dial-up.”
“That hurt.”
“It was meant to.”
“Did it work?”
“No. I have fiber optic.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”
He held up the card. “Can I?”
Lane looked at the card, then at him.
“Yes,” she said. “You can dig.”
“Thank you.”
“But Lennox?”
“Yeah?”
“No illegal nonsense that can blow back on my food bank.”
He paused.
Her eyes narrowed. “That pause was loud.”
“I was adjusting expectations.”
“Adjust them toward lawful.”
“Ish.”
“Lennox.”
“Fine. Nothing that blows back on you or the food bank.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is the most realistic version of what you said.”
She stared at him.
He smiled.
“You are exhausting,” she said.
“You like me.”
“I tolerate you under protest.”
“Progress.”
She looked away, but he saw the smile she tried to hide.
It did something stupid to his chest. They stood in the quiet of her office as the muffled sounds of the food bank moved around them.
Carts rolling. Voices calling out. Somebody laughing near the pantry shelves.
The life of the place breathing beyond the door.
Lennox looked at Lane and realized no version of him could walk away from this woman again.
Not from her body.
Not from her mouth.
Not from the way she stood between vulnerable people and powerful men in bad suits.
Not from the girl she had been or the woman she had become.
He slipped Curtis’s card into his pocket. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
Lane blinked. “That wasn’t a smooth transition.”
“I didn’t want to lose momentum.”
“From gentrification threats to dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Romantic.”
“I can add flowers.”
“Please don’t. You’d probably send a funeral arrangement and say it represents my dating life.”
He smiled. “That’s actually very good.”
“Do not steal my insult for later.”
“Too late.”
She shook her head, but her smile was there now, fuller than before.
Lennox stepped closer, slow enough for her to tell him not to.
She didn’t.
“Let me take you on an actual date,” he said. “No sabotage. No medical supplies. No surprise appearances from me because I’ll already be the man across from you.”
Lane studied him.
He expected a fight or a deflection sharp enough to draw blood because that was their rhythm.
She resisted, and he pushed. She insulted him while he flirted with her.
They circled each other as two people too stubborn to admit the ground beneath them had already shifted.
But Lane only looked at him with her beautiful eyes steady and warm in a way that made his breath catch.
“Yes,” she said just like that.
No ten-minute speech about his personality defects, though he had no doubt she had one loaded and ready. Lennox stared at her for a second too long, still shocked at the ease of her answer.
Lane’s brows lifted. “You asked.”
“I did.”
“And I answered.”
“You did.”
“You malfunctioning?” She asked.
“A little,” he joked.
Her smile widened. “Good.”
He chuckled, stepping close enough that the space between them felt less like distance and more like restraint.
“What time?” she asked.
He told her to be ready by seven, but that was it.
Her eye narrowed, and he knew she wanted to ask for more details; instead, she told him not to make her regret saying yes.
He assured her he wouldn’t and told her to wear something comfortable.
He let her know he was taking her somewhere she could let her hair down and relax.
That quieted her, and he watched the words reach her, watched the way they settled beneath the armor she wore so beautifully. Lane looked away first, but not fast enough. She threatened him once more before sending him to unload a truck.
He walked past her into the hall, and her voice followed him.
“Lennox?”
He turned, and Lane stood in the doorway of her office, arms crossed, face carefully arranged into irritation even though softness kept trying to break through.
“Thank you,” she said.
The two simple words impacted him more than anything else she could have given him.
Lennox nodded once. “Always, Lavender.”
Her eyes rolled on instinct, but she didn’t correct the name. He carried that small victory all the way back to the loading dock.