7. Lauren
Lauren
I hear Silas behind me, his footsteps unmistakable in the quiet office, but I keep my head down, pretending to be engrossed in my phone. There’s no one on the other end, of course. My shift is done, and my work here is finished. I’m not sure why he’s approaching.
“Hey,” he says, voice firm but casual. I don’t turn around, just make my way to my desk to grab my things. I can feel his gaze on me, but I’ve gotten used to ignoring it.
“You worked hard today. You deserve a good dinner.” His tone has that commanding edge that seems to come naturally to him.
“Thanks, but I’m just going to head home,” I reply, packing up quickly. After a full day of dealing with the Walkers—Silas, his brothers, their father—I’m completely drained.
“At least call a cab. It’s late,” he says, standing too close.
“I’m fine, Silas. It’s not the first time I’ve taken the subway this late.” I throw my bag over my shoulder, glancing at him to step aside.
He doesn’t move. “Are you implying I don’t know what the subway’s like?” He raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to say it.
“I’m ninety percent sure you haven’t,” I say without missing a beat.
“And the other ten percent?” He’s smirking now, enjoying this more than he should.
“There’s always a sliver of doubt, thanks to centuries of us being taught not to trust our female instinct.”
He laughs deep and low and finally uncrosses his arms, stepping aside. I walk past him, heading for the elevator, but when it dings open, he steps in too. Of course.
There’s always this strange tension when we’re alone, thick and heavy like the air’s been sucked out of the room. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s there every time. The doors close, and I can feel him watching me in the reflection of the metal.
When we reach the lobby, he follows me out, though his car is parked in the basement. I stop, turning to him. “Where are you going?” I ask, confused.
“I’m walking you home.” His answer is simple, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“No, you’re not.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Bunny.” He grabs my arm lightly but firmly, pulling me toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I sigh, knowing there’s no arguing with Silas Walker once his mind’s made up. He’s relentless when he wants something, and tonight, apparently, he wants to walk me home. By the time we reach the subway entrance, he’s still holding onto my arm like I’m going to bolt at any second. I shift my arm slightly, and he lets go, looking uncharacteristically awkward.
On the subway, Silas sticks out like a sore thumb. His designer suit and shiny shoes practically scream that he doesn’t belong here, and the way his face twists in disgust as he grabs onto one of the subway poles is almost too much. He’s trying, but it’s clear he’s not made for the grit of late-night public transit. I catch myself smirking.
He glances at me, frowning slightly. “What?”
“You know everyone can see this is your first time, right?” I whisper, gripping the handlebar as the subway jolts forward. Silas’s expression shifts slightly, softening, and he starts mimicking the way I hold myself, his movements careful but controlled. I’ve always struggled to keep my balance on the subway, stumbling more than once into strangers. But Silas, of course, doesn’t even flinch. No matter how sharply the train moves, he remains perfectly steady.
He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “And since when do I care what others think, Lauren?” His voice is deep, almost a rumble, my name lingering on his lips, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“Right, of course,” I say, forcing a laugh. “But, still, I’m glad I get to witness your first subway ride in New York.”
“I would’ve preferred you witnessed something else for my first time,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a small smirk, “but I guess this will do.”
My cheeks flush hot, and just as I’m about to respond, a man pulls out a trumpet and starts playing some jazz. Silas turns his attention to the music, and I silently thank the musician for the distraction. But my mind keeps drifting. Silas was my first ... in a way. First kiss, definitely. Not that he knows that. God, the last thing I need is for him to have that kind of leverage.
“What?” Silas asks, his voice pulling me back to reality. He leans in closer, trying to catch whatever I apparently mumbled.
I pull back instinctively, startled by his nearness. “I didn’t say anything,” I lie, shifting a little farther from him.
But he leans in again, his lips almost brushing my ear now. “You said something about me being your first,” he whispers, his tone teasing.
“I didn’t say that!” I shove him lightly on the shoulder, feeling my face heat up again. He laughs, this deep, genuine laugh that fills the small space between us.
His teeth are bright against the dim subway light, and those stupid dimples show up when he smiles. Without thinking, my hand inches toward them, wanting to trace the soft indentations, but before I can make contact, I awkwardly change course and grab the ceiling handle again.
What the hell am I doing?
Silas bites his lip to hold back a laugh, and we both know what almost happened, but neither of us acknowledges it. The subway rattles on, and eventually, we reach my stop. When we step onto the street, Silas falls silent, walking next to me with his hands shoved into his pockets. The silence feels awkward now, but thankfully, we only have a few blocks left to go.
“We’re here,” I say, pointing at the run-down building I call home.
The facade is as ugly as ever—grimy brick, covered in layers of old graffiti. Silas stares at it like he’s seeing it for the first time, even though he’s been here before.
“Lauren …” He looks up, mouth half-open in horror, then back at me.
“Just drop it, Silas. This is what I can afford if I want to live in Manhattan.”
“This place isn’t safe. Last time I came here, a random guy just let me in without even asking if I lived here,” he says, clearly exasperated.
“Welcome to the real world. Not all of us have a guy in the lobby and twenty-four-hour security,” I snap, not really in the mood for a lecture on the finer things.
“They’re called doormen,” he says with a faint smile, but the amusement fades quickly. “I pay you double what most assistants in Manhattan make. Move somewhere else.”
“I’m saving that money.” I pull out my keys, but before I can unlock the door, Silas steps forward and pushes it open, the old thing swinging inward without resistance.
“You see what I mean?” He gestures at the door, frowning. “I don’t want you living here.”
I roll my eyes, but something about the way he’s looking at me catches me off guard. Since when does he care where I live or what happens to me?
“See you tomorrow,” I say, stepping inside, but he follows me to the stairs. I stop and glare at him, daring him to take another step.
“Let me see you get into that hamster house,” he says, smirking as he gestures toward the narrow staircase.
As we climb, the sounds of the building envelop us—kids screaming, dogs barking, the muffled noise of TVs, and arguments leaking through the thin walls. Of course, today of all days, it sounds like a zoo in here.
At my door, Silas places his hand on the doorframe, and for a second, I’m hit with a memory—his hand against the wall, pinning me in place the day he kissed me at the library. My face flushes again. I need to get a grip if I want to keep working for this man. “Thanks,” I mutter, staring at the floor. I can feel his eyes on me, and when I glance up, I see that damn smile of his.
He leans down, his hand slipping under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “One day, I’m getting you out of here, whether you like it or not,” he says softly, but with a seriousness that cuts through the playful banter.
“I don’t need rescuing,” I say, trying to sound firm, even though my pulse quickens.
“I know,” he says, smiling again, “the rescue’s for me.”