Chapter 75
Lance
"Obviously," I said curtly. "Where else would we go?"
"Oh, I don't know." Vincent's tone was the picture of innocence. "I thought perhaps—"
"You thought wrong."
"Of course, sir." He paused, then added with absolutely no shame whatsoever, "I'll take the scenic route. Give you a bit more time."
I opened my mouth to tell him to do no such thing, to get us there as quickly as legally possible, but the words stuck in my throat. Because Serena had shifted again, her face pressing against my thigh as she settled into sleep, and the sight of her like this—unguarded, trusting, peaceful—made something in my chest ache in a way I absolutely could not afford to examine.
Her breathing had started to even out, and I thought maybe—maybe—I'd get through the rest of this ride without further incident. I let myself relax slightly, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, just to keep her steady as the car moved through traffic.
Then she started talking in her sleep.
"Lance," she mumbled, the word muffled against my leg. "You're so... hot... God, you're so hot..."
My hand froze on her shoulder. I felt heat creeping up my neck despite the car's perfectly regulated temperature.
"Miss Vance appears to be dreaming," Vincent observed helpfully.
"I can see that," I said through gritted teeth.
"About you, it seems."
"Vincent, I swear to God—"
"Just an observation, sir."
Serena shifted again, and I held my breath, praying she'd just settle back into silent sleep. Instead, she kept talking, her voice soft but alarmingly clear.
"When I'm CEO..." she murmured, a small smile curving her lips even in sleep, "I'm gonna get you. Just wait, Lance Lawson. You won't know what hit you..."
My entire body went rigid. In the front seat, I heard Vincent make a strangled sound that was definitely not a cough this time.
"She's drunk," I said, more to myself than to him. "She doesn't know what she's saying."
"Of course not, sir."
"This is just... alcohol-induced nonsense."
"Absolutely, sir."
"Vincent, if you don't stop—"
"I'm not saying anything," he protested, though his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.
I forced myself to breathe normally, to maintain some semblance of composure. This was fine. This was manageable. Serena was drunk and rambling and none of this meant anything. By tomorrow, she probably wouldn't even remember—
"God," she sighed, her hand coming up to rest against my knee again. "Your body... Lance, your body is so..."
No. No no no no no.
"Serena," I said, my voice low and warning. "Stop talking. Just sleep."
But she was on a roll now, her filter apparently completely dissolved by wine and exhaustion. "Your shoulders," she continued, her words slightly slurred but enthusiastic. "Like a goddamn Greek statue. And your abs—do you know how many abs you have? Because I counted once when you were—"
"Serena." My voice came out strangled.
"—and your arms, and your chest, and—" Her hand started moving up my thigh, and I caught it quickly, holding it still. "—and everything else. Especially—"
"Vincent," I said urgently, desperately, "drive faster."
"I thought you wanted the scenic route, sir?"
"I've changed my mind. Drive as fast as legally—"
"Your ass," Serena announced proudly, completely oblivious to my rising panic. "You have a really great ass, Lance. Has anyone ever told you that? Because they should. It's like—it's like two perfect—"
"Jesus Christ, Serena, please stop talking—"
"—and I bet lower down, you're also—I mean, I've thought about it—a lot actually—and I just know you're—"
I didn't think. Couldn't think. My brain had completely short-circuited, bypassing every rational thought I'd ever had about appropriate boundaries and professional distance and all the very good reasons why I absolutely should not do what I was about to do.
I leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't romantic. It was pure desperation—a last-ditch effort to stop the absolute catastrophe of words that was about to come out of her mouth in front of my driver, who I'd have to see every single day for the foreseeable future.
But the moment my lips touched hers, something shifted. She made a small sound—surprise, maybe, or something else—and then she was kissing me back, her lips soft and wine-sweet and absolutely perfect in a way that made my carefully constructed control shatter into pieces.
Then, as quickly as it started, she went still. Her body relaxed completely, her breathing evening out into the deep, steady rhythm of genuine sleep.
I pulled back slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest. Serena's face was peaceful now, all that mischievous energy finally settled into quiet rest. Her lips were slightly parted, and I could see the faint flush still coloring her cheeks.
What the hell had I just done?
"Sir?" Vincent's voice was carefully neutral, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.
"Not a word," I said, my voice rough. "Not a single goddamn word, Vincent."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Good."
"Though I should mention we're about five minutes from Miss Laurent's apartment."
"Fine."
"And sir?"
I closed my eyes. "What."
"That was probably the most effective way to stop her from finishing that particular sentence."
"Vincent."
"Just saying."
...