I patted my face dry. Then, because the supplies were there, I cleaned my glasses.
“This is all just part of the grieving process,” I told my reflection. “You don’t really care if Lucian is human or not. Your brain is just trying to find something else to obsess over. Things will get better. Eventually. Probably.”
Half-assed pep talk complete, I exited the restroom and ran smack into a hot, hard chest.
My tote hit the floor with a thump as big, warm hands steadied me.
I knew who it was without looking at his face. I knew it from the electrifying current that streaked through my body.
“Is looking where you’re going too much to ask from you?” Lucian said gruffly.
“You’re the one plowing past the ladies’ restroom at a hundred miles an hour,” I pointed out, giving him a shove. He didn’t budge, and that irritated me.
I was the one who conceded and took a step backward. I reached down for the straps of my bag, but he got there first.
“Jesus, what are you carrying in here? A dismembered body?”
“Why do men always feel the need to comment on the weight and contents of a woman’s purse?” I asked, lunging for the straps.
He held the bag out of my reach. “Curiosity. We can only carry what fits in a wallet or a briefcase. This feels like an entire set of encyclopedias.”
“If you must know, they’re Dad’s files. I found them this morning and was going to give them to Lina to give to you.”
“You were going to give them to Lina,” he repeated, his voice dangerously calm.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“Rather than me.”
Something prickled at the back of my neck. Danger. Beware. Proceed with caution.
I ignored the warning. “Yep.”
“Why?”
“Why?” It was apparently my turn to play parrot. “You know why.”
“Elaborate,” he insisted.
“No.”
He fixed me with a glare, then turned on the heels of his very expensive loafers and marched down the hall with my bag.
“Hey!” I had to jog to keep up with his long, well-dressed legs. That bag didn’t just have files. It had all my essentials like car keys, lipstick, tablet, pepper spray, and snacks.
He stepped through a doorway, and I followed him inside, not realizing until he was closing the glass door behind me that I’d just voluntarily entered the devil’s den.
Lucian’s office.
Of course it was in a corner. And of course it was huge with breathtaking views. It was cold, formal, impressive. I thought of my own cozy, chaotic office.
“Weird. I expected it to smell like brimstone, but I’m catching whiffs of…fish,” I said, sniffing the air.
Lucian swore under his breath.
“Okay. What is your problem, Lucifer?” I demanded.
“You. Once again, it’s you.”
“Give me my bag back.”
Instead of handing it to me like an adult, he set it on the very expensive-looking coffee table in front of a pricy-looking white sofa. Had the guy never heard of IKEA? He pointed toward my tote bag. “Give me the files.”
I sat with a huff on the silk upholstery and pulled the tote across the coffee table’s marble surface.
“I don’t know why you’re getting so pissed off when you’re proving my point. This is exactly the reason I was going to give the files to Lina in the first place,” I grumbled.
“Do you think I want to dislike you?”
I looked up, startled by the sharpness of his tone. He was dragging one hand through those dark polished waves of hair while patting his pockets with the other.
“If you even think about lighting up a cigarette in here—”
“Don’t even pretend you didn’t help yourself to a drag of the last one I had in your presence,” he said.
I felt color flood my cheeks. “Oh, shut up.” I yanked the files free, and out came two library books, my cosmetics bag, and half of my snack stash. “And yes. I do think you want to dislike me. I think you love to hate me.”
He stood, legs braced, hands on hips like he was preparing for battle. I pretended not to notice the clench of his already well-defined jaw under the perfection of his beard.
The guy had been a gorgeous teenager, and Lina was right. He’d grown up to be a damn god. Sometimes life just wasn’t fair.
“Here are the damn files that you can give to the damn attorney so you can keep looking like a damn hero to my mother.”
I shoved the stack toward him, then spied the Mary Louise Upshaw news clippings in the pile and snatched them back.