~ 52 ~

~ 52 ~
LILA

The lights in the restaurant were dim, golden-hued and soft, the kind that made everyone’s skin look warm and the clinking of glasses feel like music. I sat sandwiched between Sophie and Jordan, watching my team laugh over drinks and empty plates, letting their joy wash over me like a balm. Tonight was supposed to be about forgetting. About celebrating. About feeling normal again.

Ethan was halfway through teasing Catherine about the time she accidentally scanned a customer’s phone instead of the barcode on a shirt, and everyone at the table was in stitches. Mia had her head tossed back in laughter, and Anne was wiping a tear from her cheek.

It should have been enough to ground me. But it didn’t stop the whirlpool in my chest.

This dinner was more than a work celebration. It was my attempt to breathe after what had been the most emotionally draining week of my life. From Mom’s memorial, to the fight with Dad that left wounds deeper than I cared to admit, to the chaotic week with the girls—fun but exhausting—to returning to Vegas only to find my home broken into, ransacked, violated. Homeless for a moment in my own city. If Lucas hadn’t...

I pushed the thought away, taking another sip of wine.

If Lucas hadn’t taken me in, I don’t know where I would’ve gone.

But then there was breakfast this morning. The tension. The awkward silence between clinks of cutlery. His half-buttoned shirt. The way his eyes lingered for a second too long when he handed me the apartment key. We hadn’t said much since. Maybe that was safer.

"To Lila," Ethan raised his glass suddenly. I blinked, snapped from my thoughts. "Youngest store manager in KAI-Apparel history to own and manage two stores."

"Here, here!" they all chimed in, clinking glasses.

I smiled, genuinely. “You all did this with me.”

Sophie rolled her eyes playfully. “We know. But let us hype you up, damn it.”

The laughter bubbled again, and I let myself be swallowed in it. Let myself forget the emotional baggage. The anxiety. The fact that I was technically still crashing at my ex-almost-everything’s place because my own was a crime scene.

Everything was going well. The kind of night that made the chaos feel distant, manageable even.

Until I saw him.

My pulse stalled.

Even from across the room, I knew it was him. That silhouette—the confident walk, the way his shirt sleeves were still folded to the elbows like they had been this morning, his tie abandoned somewhere. He walked in next to Theo, whose presence only confirmed the impossible.

What the hell were they doing here?

This place wasn’t exactly five-star—decent, yes, but it wasn’t where people like Lucas Beckett Crawford went to “unwind.” My throat dried as I watched them speak to a waiter, then get ushered to a table—two down from ours.

I quickly turned away, praying no one at my table had seen the sharp shift in my demeanor. Maybe they were just picking something up. Maybe they wouldn’t stay long. I glued my attention to the table like my life depended on it, letting the ongoing argument between Ethan and Mia about which sales tactic had worked best carry me far, far away.

I didn’t dare look back.

Not until I heard someone say my name.

"Miss Grayson?"

My heart stopped.

I turned slowly, already knowing what I’d find.

And there he was. Theo. Standing behind me, a wine bottle in each hand, wearing that same amused glint in his eyes that always made me want to roll mine—or duck under the table.

God, just kill me now.

\----

"Mr. James," I said, forcing a neutral smile, “Nice to see you here.”

The table went quiet, and I felt every eye shift toward the very unexpected guest standing behind me with two bottles of wine. For a split second, I hoped—prayed—they wouldn’t recognize him. But the moment Sophie gasped softly and whispered, “That’s Mr Theodore James, right?” I knew all hope was lost.

In less than a breath, Theo was already stepping closer. “I hope I’m not crashing. Just spotted some familiar faces and thought I’d say hi.”

Before I could even fake an excuse or deflect him politely, Ethan—of all people—grinned wide and said, “Not at all! Pull up a chair, sir. Though… those two bottles won’t be enough for this crew.”

The table erupted in giggles and cheers. I wanted to slide under the table and vanish into the floorboards.

Theo chuckled, giving me a wink I didn’t return. “Alright, I’ll be right back with reinforcements.”

I barely had time to breathe before he returned—this time not alone.

Lucas walked beside him, just as relaxed and unfazed as ever. His presence sucked all the air from the room—for me, at least. The others, however? Oblivious.

“Is that Mr. Crawford?” Catherine whispered.

“I didn’t think he was even real,” Sophie muttered behind her wine glass.

I expected silence. Tension. Awkward shifting in seats. But no—this group of overachievers, now slightly buzzed and high on adrenaline from the success of the week, had zero chills. Anne raised her glass in mock toast and said, “Only way he’s sitting here is if he drops the corporate scowl.”

“Yeah,” Jordan added, nudging out his seat. “Tonight, you’re not the boss. Just Lucas.”

If my jaw could physically drop, it would’ve hit the damn floor.

Lucas, being Lucas, simply smirked. “Noted.” Then he pulled over a chair from the next table and settled right next to me—because of course Jordan’s seat had to be the one beside mine.

Theo slid in between Mia and Catherine, already halfway through a new bottle, laughing at something Ethan said. Just like that, our table became a peculiar kind of chaos—a work-celebration-turned-movie-scene.

From afar, we probably looked like a group of old high school friends catching up after years apart. They teased Theo about his ‘secret visits’ to the stores. They joked with Lucas about his nonexistent social media presence, claiming he had a burner account to spy on his staff. Lucas—calm, collected, and unbothered—actually laughed.

Real, genuine laughter.

I, on the other hand, was spiraling.

Every time his arm brushed mine, every time his thigh grazed against mine under the table, I tried to act unaffected. But my skin was hyper-aware. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to scoot closer or leap across the room.

He didn’t look fazed at all. His fingers tapped his glass occasionally. His voice dipped into that low rumble when he leaned in to speak to Ethan or Jordan. But never me. Not directly. Not yet.

And still, when Sophie made a joke about how handsome bosses should come with warning signs, Lucas glanced at me. Brief, subtle, but it landed. I felt it in my stomach.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said eventually, low enough that only I could hear.

I turned to him, arching a brow. “You’re surprisingly social tonight.”

His lips curved slightly. “I could say the same about you.”

Touché.

Laughter roared from the other side of the table—Anne and Mia now doing some dramatic reenactment of a customer interaction gone wrong, arms flailing, accents butchered, and even Lucas chuckled again.

It should’ve felt like a fever dream. And maybe it was. But something about the way the night unfolded—natural, chaotic, warm—felt... oddly right.

Despite the tension. Despite the unresolved things between us. Despite everything.

I wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the company, or the lingering heat of his shoulder beside mine—but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

And that scared me more than anything else.