The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(16)

“That doesn’t seem like any fun.” I smile down at her and flick the lock open.

Pulling open the door, I nod my head for her to go. “Let me do the talking, okay?”

I try to convey my seriousness, but I doubt she sees it. She thinks I’m fucking around.

“Trust me.” I place my hand on her back and guide her from the restroom.

We stroll down the corridor, and her body shrinks in on itself with every step. “Don’t make it obvious,” I whisper close to her ear, running a finger up her spine and forcing her shoulders back. My eyes drop to her tightly drawn lips. “And smile, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t tell them!” she hisses as she looks up at me with wide eyes.

I frown down at her. “What?”

“It’s Nina’s night—”

“Here they are!” Maggie calls. “What took you so long? Everything okay, Luce?”

“Please, Ell. I’ll tell them Monday morning once I accept the offer, but don’t mention it tonight.” She slips out of my light hold and rounds the table with a terribly fake smile on her face.

“Everything is fine.” Lucy nods at her mum, and I see the silent exchange between them. Her mum knows about New York. She probably thinks that’s what’s wrong.

John gives me a grim look, and I advert my eyes fast as I take my seat. I don’t need Daddy John giving me any looks across the table. It’s bad enough with the rest of our friends right now.

They aren’t stupid, but they also don’t know a damn thing.

At least nothing that I’ve ever told them. And what’s even to tell?

“Where have you two been?” Scarlet asks, twirling a lilac strand of hair around her finger.

“Just for a cheeky finger.”

“Elliot!” Maggie scolds.

“Sorry, Mags.” I chuckle lightly as the whole table eats up my ruse in amusement—all but John. I don’t even look in his direction.

No one at this table expects anything to happen between Lucy and me. We’ve known each other for over three years without so much as a kiss—we still haven’t kissed—but our unique relationship over the years has desensitised them right now, and sneaking off for a “cheeky finger” means something entirely different for them. They think I’m fucking around.

It’s glorious, really.

“Let’s eat,” Mason announces, pulling my focus to him.

Okay, maybe Mase doesn’t think I’m fucking around, and perhaps I should be prepared for the look on his face to be transformed into a string of words at some point in the night.

He can’t be mad. Lucy and I are just a bit of fun.

It’s all we’ll ever be.

In fact, that’s one thing I’m certain of. I’m Elliot Montgomery, the notorious playboy who doesn’t have a plan in life. And she’s Lucy Morgan, the hopeless romantic with a blueprint to her life tattooed across her heart.

Our eyes meet, and she swallows thickly, not returning my smile.

She knows it’s a bit of fun, right?





6





Lucy





I made it to Wednesday before I made my first move. After fending off a killer hangover all day Sunday, feeling like I might die of mortification over what happened between Elliot and me most of Monday, and then coming to the realisation that I definitely shouldn’t be going to New York, only to break down in my shower—because I know I should go—I decided the best place to start when it came to moving forward was to speak to my boss, a dear middle-aged lady named Jean. I’ve worked as a designer for her since I left university, and the thought of leaving Venty’s terrifies me. Jean has looked after me over the years, and she was one of the main reasons I declined the internship the first time it was offered.

Will she be mad?

Can I come back once I’m done?

I couldn’t ask for a better boss than Jean. She’s bent rules on numerous occasions, saved my ass over huge mistakes, picked me up on bad days, and made me laugh harder on good days.

“Lucy, my love?”

I place my hands flat on the corded carpet and let my fingers tips flex against the beige threads. I turn my head to hear her. “Yeah?”

“Did you want to have that chat now?”

My palms heat with her words. When she called my name, I knew exactly what she was going to say. I asked her if we could chat this morning, and she was all for it. I needed a minute to gather my thoughts, so I asked if we could do it later in the day. She was busy at the time and agreed.

“I’ll be right down,” I call back.

“Shall we have a cuppa?”

Is this a tea occasion? She obviously wants one if she is asking. “Yeah, sure!”

All the words I’ve been practising in my mind swirl over my tongue silently as I place the last few garment bags on the rails. I’ll finish displaying them later. I practice how I can word everything I have to say. The reasoning, the dates I can work to if I leave, the thank-yous for all she’s done for me. Everything.

Then I go downstairs.

“I presume this is about New York?” She catches me off guard. Completely. It throws me, and I’m left standing mute on the spot as I try to figure out how she’d know.