Chapter 20 The Perfect Tool
Lawrence is already at the counter, ordering black coffee and some food.
I settle into the nearest booth as my stomach twists again, reminding me it's been running on nothing since breakfast.
It's almost funny how powerfully hunger works. How it can turn everything else in your body—your thoughts, your pride, your ability to form coherent sentences—into meaningless noise until the craving is satisfied.
Right now, my physiological needs are screaming the loudest.
I press my hand to my abdomen again, willing it to quiet down.
Lawrence appears a minute later, sliding into the opposite side of the booth without asking. He hands me a cup of coffee with cream and sugar while his is black.
Then he sets a small basket of fries in the centre of the table.
"Eat," he says, and it doesn't sound like a request. "Before the rest of your food arrives."
I try to kill the butterflies now fluttering in my stomach because the gesture of him getting me something light before the rest of the food arrives is romantic.
"Yes, sir", I reply in a mocking tone, sticking a fry in my mouth.
It tastes so good.
Lawrence takes a slow sip of his coffee, going through his phone.
That same gloomy look crosses his face again, and I can't hold myself back from asking what the problem is.
"What's with the mood?" I ask, trying to sound uninterested. "You've been weird all day."
I pick up another fry, not looking at him. "Did something happen? Perhaps, the lady I saw you with the other day broke your heart."
Lawrence looks up, staring at me for a moment before huffing.
"Ugh, please." He sets the phone face-down. "That was my sister. She was in town for something," he mutters.
The relief that she isn't his mistress or someone he's romantically involved with is profound. But I act like I'm unbothered, shrugging.
"So what's had your mood so shitty?"
A shadow passes over Lawrence's face. "My mother's sick," he replies quietly. "And it's looking pretty serious,"
I stop chewing.
"The call I received on the night of the gala during our..." He pauses briefly, then clears his throat. "...the call was from one of her many caregivers."
"Oh,"
Now I understand why his mood had changed so drastically that night.
"She's in London." He continues, "I have to go over to see her.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
A mild frown crosses his face, and he brings the cup of coffee to his lips, drinking hard.
I watch him in silence, suddenly feeling bad. Heck, I know how worried I'd be if my mother were seriously ill.
I want to reach across the table and touch his hand or say something that makes him feel better. But I don't.
The food arrives— a large plate of two steamy, greasy beef burgers with extra pickles, and a chocolate shake.
Again, my favourite. I don't know how he knows.
I nearly drool at the sight of them.
"Thank you," I whisper to the waitress.
After she's returned to her station, I dig in, grabbing the burger with both hands.
The first bite is delicious, a blend of hot, juicy beef, melted cheddar, and the tantalising tang of mustard and mayo.
A low moan slips out as I close my eyes, savouring the explosion of flavour.
I'm too hungry to care about how I look.
Lawrence is staring at me when I open my eyes.
"My God," he says dryly, but his tone is filled with a sliver of amusement.
There's a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You could eat a whole horse."
I grimace, gesturing to the second burger still wrapped in its greasy paper.
"You want one? They're huge. I'm not gonna finish both."
He eyes the burger.
"I don't think that's a good idea." He remarks easily. "At this rate, you might eat me next."
My cheeks flame, and I freeze with the burger halfway to my mouth.
Lawrence realises what he just said a second after it leaves his lips, and his smirk falters, replaced by something closer to surprise.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up to my eyes, and for one moment, the booth feels ten degrees warmer.
I gulp hard before wiping my mouth with the napkin. "Haha," I drawl sarcastically. "Very funny, Mr Moore."
"You're the one moaning like that over a burger. I'm merely just stating facts."
I fight back a smile but continue eating anyway.
When we get back to the office, Lawrence disappears into his space without another word.
I move back to my desk, back to the routine that suddenly feels too annoying.
I can't help but miss the version of him I just experienced.
The one who ordered my coffee right without asking, who pushed fries toward me so naturally.
The one who looked tired and human and maybe a little bit sorry.
Today felt like a glimpse of something we could have been. A quiet company in a booth, and a conversation that felt so real.
Who knows how long he'll be in London this time? Maybe even long enough for the memory of his voice saying my first name to fade.
I stare at the screen of my laptop.
Well, at least I have a date with Kieran this Sunday.
Maybe that'll help me forget Lawrence.
Maybe sitting across from him will wash away the memory of his hand on my thigh in the backseat.
I let out a depressed sigh as I try to immerse myself in work again.
"Not fair, universe," I muse. "You didn't have to make my love life this complicated."
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My doorbell rings, interrupting the rom-com I'm watching.
It's past 8:00, and I'm already in my nightwear, my hair in a messy bun.
I'm not expecting anyone, so who could it be?
Padding to the door suspiciously, I peer through the peephole only to see a delivery guy holding a large matte-black box tied with a thin silver ribbon.
It's an expensive-looking package.
I pull open the door.
"Scarlett Thorn?" he asks cheerfully.
"Yes?" I blink, surprised. I didn't order anything.
"Sign here, please." He hands me a tablet. I scribble my name, still confused, and he passes me the box before tipping his cap and heading back down the porch.
I shut the door, lock it, and carry the package to the couch.
The box is sleek, with no branding except a small embossed card on top. I slide it off and can't help it as a smile spreads across my face.
For Miss Thorn. The original dress was unavailable. This will suit you even more.
—L.M.
My stomach flips even though it shouldn't.
Lawrence.
Carefully, I untie the ribbon and lift the lid.
Inside, nestled in black tissue paper, is the most beautiful dress I've ever seen.
It's a violet silk, sewn in a way that's both elegant and dangerous— daringly low neckline, snatched bodice, and a thigh-high slit just like the last one.
I stand, holding it against my body in front of the full-length mirror by the door.
It will look gorgeous on me.
Lawrence might not know it, he might not even suspect, but he's just gifted me the perfect dress for my date with Kieran in five days.
A slow, wicked smile curves my lips as I turn sideways.
I feel evil.
Not my fault, but I've been handed the exact tool I need to move on, to reclaim power... to remind myself that I'm not sitting around waiting for him.