Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(17)

“Say he needs to come back tomorrow,” I push. “We’re having a girls’ night.”

“And I’m having an emergency,” he replies.

Willow grimaces at me while she slides the dead bolt. “Sorry.”

“Is it too late to sneak out the back?” I ask before she turns the knob.

“With the amount of wine you drank, I’d feel responsible to stop you.” Willow opens the door with a laugh. “Lorenzo! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Lily,” he says, his gaze instantly connecting with mine like we’re the only two people in the room.

It does something funny to my stomach, and I welcome the warmth that comes with his attention, right until it turns to a boil when I remember I’m supposed to hate him right now.

My common sense must have disappeared along with my inhibitions because I stupidly ask, “Are we back to pretending we know each other tonight?”

Willow stares at me with wide eyes. “What?”

“You’re drunk,” Lorenzo replies.

“Not nearly enough to deal with you at this hour.” I hold my glass up higher. The wine sloshes around, sending a few droplets down the side of the glass. I’m quick to lick them up, all while locking eyes with Lorenzo. He holds my stare for a second before his hot gaze drops to my mouth, and I soak up his desire with a smirk.

Who knew a thirty-dollar cabernet turned me into such a seductress?

“I’m taking you home.” Lorenzo reaches for the glass, but I pull back.

“No. I’m not ready to go yet, but when I am—which I’m not—I’ll request a rideshare.” That sounded much clearer in my head than out loud.

His laugh has an edge to it. “That could take at least an hour.”

“Better than suffering through ten minutes in your company.”

“Um…” Willow’s gaze flickers between us. “I take it you two don’t get along?”

I turn to Willow and smile through the pain. “Remember that fake fiancée Lorenzo was looking for on the Eros app? You’re looking at her.”

Willow’s eyes go wide with shock.

Shit. Did I say that?

One glance at Willow has me thinking, Oh God, you totally did.

Lorenzo’s cold stare makes me shiver.

Willow crumbles from the pressure and throws her arms up. “It was an accident! I swear!”

He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters “Cazzo”I under his breath. The Italian curse word sounds undeniably sexy coming from him, and my stomach flutters.

Must be the alcohol.

“How do you accidentally admit something like that?” he asks.

Willow looks over at me with panicked eyes.

“I’ll fix this,” I whisper to her, but I’m not sure she believes me—or, more so, believes it’s possible to rein in Lorenzo’s anger.

“You know what? I think Lorenzo’s right.” She turns to him. “You should take Lily home because she’s clearly had way too much to drink.”

With a half smile, half flinch, she snatches the wineglass from my hand, hands me my purse, and pushes me outside before shutting the door behind me.

Damn.

The last person I want to drive me home is Lorenzo, but if it means fixing my slipup and saving Willow’s job, I’ll do it.

Here’s to hoping I don’t break down crying in the process.





___________________

I Cazzo: Fuck.





CHAPTER SIX


Lorenzo


Lily, who seemed mighty confident only a minute ago when she brought up the Eros app, stares at the ground, looking unusually pale. The moonlight reflecting off her skin doesn’t help matters, nor does the beige running outfit she has on.

The color doesn’t suit her, and neither does black or white, which she seems to prefer as of late.

How is this the same woman who once told me her favorite neutral was pink? I can’t make sense of what happened to the confident person I’ve watched from a distance since I first laid eyes on her.

What did she do with the pearl clips in her hair, or what made her no longer tuck flowers into her face-framing braids? And where did her range of pastel clothing go, or the collection of sneakers she wore with ribbons for shoelaces?

It’s like she hit the Factory Reset button on her personality, and while I want to know why she turned into a blank slate of a human being, asking her would make her think I care.

Which I don’t.

I can’t.

She follows me to my truck, her steps slightly uncoordinated. I’m not sure what possesses me to open her door and make sure she gets into the truck’s cab without cracking her head open on the driveway, but I don’t shut it until she’s buckled in.

Whatever drunken bravado she had during her outburst fades, all while the uncomfortable silence between us grows. It’s hard to speak, let alone breathe, in her presence, given her addictive scent of flowers, wine, and something I can’t place.

I’d spend the whole car ride trying to determine what it could be, but her speaking ruins the idea.

“Don’t be angry at Willow,” she says once the lakefront bungalow is in my rearview mirror.

“A little too late for that.”

Her hands clench against her lap. “It wasn’t her fault.”