Chapter 14
Aria
Three days. It has been three days of applying to various law firms in the city and I am already receiving polite but firm rejections from the first few I applied to.
At this point, I have a sneaking suspicion that Jacob’s bullshit was not only to get me fired but to go full scorched earth with my entire legal career.
An ethical violation can be a career-ending move and it looks like that was his intention, especially because explaining my side makes me sound fucking crazy.
I let out a growl of frustration and close my laptop.
I am sitting in the corner of Karma’s coffee area using Lucy’s wifi to try and wade through job listings so I don’t feel like as much of a leech as I do currently.
Not that she appears to feel that way; she seems like she is genuinely enjoying having me invade her space.
I would very much like to invade her space even further…
I push away the errant thought. Those types of thoughts have been getting more and more frequent as we have spent more time together.
Pushing them away, though isn’t helping because fuck I thought moving in with someone was supposed to kill the attraction?
It feels like I am going through two to three pairs of panties a day.
She is just so fucking adorable. She sings while making breakfast, for crying out loud!
She dances while tidying up. She greets every single person who comes through Karma with energy, enthusiasm, and a stunningly authentic smile.
I am pretty sure half the people leave a little bit in love with her.
Not that I blame them, since I feel the same.
And isn’t that a bitch?
She isn’t perfect, by any means. She is a huge grump in the morning before she gets coffee in her system.
She gets distracted during tasks and leaves things half-finished, like a half full laundry basket being left on the couch.
She gets a little too passive aggressive during friendly debates.
But the worst part is that none of these things have dimmed my attraction to her.
No, instead it has been dialed up to eleven. And speak of the devil—
“Hi!” she chirps as she plops into the chair across from me, twin French braids bouncing with her.
“I come bearing gifts!” Which is an understatement.
Sitting in front of me is a large Lavender Haze and a chocolate cherry chunk cookie, which is to die for.
I tried to argue with her about bringing me her inventory, especially since she won’t let me pay for them, but she just acted like she didn’t hear me (like a fucking princess) and flitted off to help another customer.
I have learned to just accept that she is going to do as she sees fit.
“Thank you,” I sigh, reaching for the tea and taking a sip. Perfect, as always.
“How’s the search going?” she asks, taking a sip of her own coffee: some overly sweet blended drink that likely contains enough caffeine to kill a horse.
“Not well,” I groan. “I got a few rejections. Sent out a few more applications. But, I honestly don’t think I am going to have much luck with any of the firms in the city.” At this, I give her a pointed look and she returns it.
“Of course not.” Deep irritation colors her words, but she takes a deep breath and continues in a far happier tone, “Perfect timing, then! I think you — we — need a break. So, I think we should take a trip this weekend! The beach isn’t too far away for a nice little weekend getaway.
” She gives me a look that I am starting to become very familiar with.
It’s a look that says I am being courteous and polite, but I will not be listening to any arguments and it would be easier for you to simply nod and smile and agree. I privately call it her Princess Look.
“Lucy,” I begin, “I am not in a financial position to take a trip right now and I don’t want to be a burd—”
“You are not a burden.” Her tone is a tad sharper than she likely intends it to be.
As expected, it is gentler when she goes on, “Seriously, it would really be nice to get away and I want you to come. I am the one dragging you away, so obviously I would cover the trip. You would be doing me a favor by keeping me company, I swear.” And then she pulls out her not-so-secret weapon: the puppy dog eyes.
I already feel myself caving and she knows it.
“Nothing too fancy, please. And only for the weekend. Monday, I want to get back to applyi—” Her squeal cuts me off and I can’t help the upturn of my lips.
“Thank you thank you thank you!” She gets up and comes around the table to hug me. I discreetly take in her scent, which has become my new favorite: coffee, vanilla, and something uniquely Lucy.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, trying to keep my face from flushing, which is an utter failure as I feel her press a kiss to the top of my head before heading back to take care of other customers. Fuck.
As I see her refocus on other tasks, I switch to the other open tab in my browser and continue my other, private research. I school my face, because there’s no reason to let her know I am also having an existential crisis.
***
Later that evening, I am upstairs in the apartment cooking dinner. Me contributing to the cooking is the one argument I have won so far. Tonight is my second night cooking and I am just putting the finishing touches on the chicken alfredo when I hear Lucy open the door.
“Dinner is almost ready!” I call from the kitchen, adding a dash of salt to the dish. When I don’t hear any response, I frown and call out again, “Lucy? Is that you?”
After another silence, I take the food off the heat and go in search of Lucy. When I turn the corner and see her red-rimmed eyes and vacant expression, I approach her carefully, but with an urgency that was missing before.
“Lucy, Princess, are you okay?” At the nickname, her eyes snap up to mine and she breaks out of whatever trance she had been in. She gives me a smile that is far less exuberant than normal. At my worried frown, she sighs and drops her purse on the table by the door.
“Sorry, I just got back from therapy. I am…pretty much always a mess afterwards. I should’ve warned you. Sorry.” She cringes, shifting her weight and refusing to make eye contact. I place a finger underneath her chin and tilt her face up until she can’t avoid meeting my gaze.
“Lucy,” I say seriously, “it’s totally fine.
I am just worried about you.” I hold her gaze for another moment before stepping back, breaking the tension.
I continue in a more casual tone, “But, anyway, therapy makes sense. I always need a few minutes to decompress after my sessions. Take all the time you need and I will get the table set.”
I pause for another moment to gauge her reaction, but she just seems relieved. I give her a small smile and head back to the kitchen, begging my heart to stop beating so damn fast.