Chapter 199
Serena
The leather seat beneath me still felt surreal—like I'd stepped through a mirror and hadn't quite landed on solid ground yet. My fingers traced the edge of the armrest, a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake, while the city blurred past the tinted windows in streaks of gray and gold.
Lance sat beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, his presence both grounding and utterly disorienting after everything that had just happened.
Vincent, ever the professional troublemaker, kept glancing at us through the rearview mirror with that insufferable smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. I could practically hear the commentary building in his head, and sure enough, he couldn't contain himself for more than three blocks.
"Well," he began, drawing out the word with theatrical relish, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed glee, "that was quite the performance back there, boss. Real shame I didn't get it on video—would've made excellent viewing material for years to come."
Lance's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "Vincent," he said, his tone carrying a warning that would have made most people reconsider their next words.
Vincent, naturally, was not most people.
"I mean, the way you just stood up there in front of the entire Lawson clan and declared your undying devotion—" He paused for dramatic effect, meeting Lance's glare in the mirror with unrepentant amusement. "I'm just saying, it's not every day I get to witness my perpetually emotionally constipated employer actually admit he has feelings. It was beautiful, really. Brought a tear to my eye."
Lance's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm seriously reconsidering my driver situation," he said flatly, though I caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that suggested he wasn't entirely serious. "Perhaps I need someone who actually understands the concept of keeping quiet."
"Oh, please." I couldn't help myself—the absurdity of the last forty-eight hours, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, the sheer relief of being alive and sitting here beside Lance made everything feel slightly unhinged. "Vincent is the most thoughtful driver you could ask for. If you're thinking of firing him, I'll take him. Vance Heritage could use someone with his particular skill set."
"Are you two conspiring against me?" Lance's gaze swung between us, exasperation warring with something that looked suspiciously like fondness.
Vincent's grin widened. "I'm just trying to clarify something, sir. Now that you've made that very public declaration in front of God, Arthur Lawson, and everyone who matters in New York society—are we officially acknowledging that you two are, in fact, dating? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend, going steady, in a committed relationship?"
"Vincent—"
"Because I need to know how to handle the press inquiries that are inevitably coming. And the family gossip. And the—"
"Vincent, I swear to God—"
"Fine, fine." He held up one hand in mock surrender, though his eyes still gleamed with mischief in the mirror. "But for the record, I'm thrilled. Serena's the best thing that's happened to you in years, and if you screw this up, I'm definitely switching sides."
I felt Lance's hand find mine, his fingers interlacing with mine in a gesture that was becoming reassuringly familiar. The warmth of his palm against mine sent a flutter through my chest that I was still getting used to—this feeling of being wanted, of being chosen, of mattering to someone who'd just upended his entire family dynamic for me.
Lance shook his head slightly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with something close to amusement. "Enough about Vincent," he said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike but with an undercurrent of barely contained affection. "We're making a stop."
I blinked, pulling myself out of my thoughts. "A stop? Lance, I need to get back to the office. I've been gone for two days, and God knows what kind of chaos is waiting for me. Grayson's probably having a nervous breakdown, and I have at least three clients who—"
"Can wait another hour," he finished smoothly, squeezing my hand. "Vincent, take us to Premier Auto Collection."
My stomach dropped. "The Premier Auto Collection? Lance, that's the most expensive dealership in Manhattan. I don't need—"
"You're the CEO of a rapidly growing company," he said, his voice taking on that particular tone he used when he'd already made up his mind and wasn't interested in arguments. "You can't keep relying on Ubers and Vincent's goodwill. You need your own vehicle."
"I have a vehicle," I protested, even as Vincent smoothly changed lanes, clearly already on board with this plan. "Well, I mean, I can get one. A reasonable one. From a reasonable dealership. Not the place where cars cost more than most people's houses."
Lance turned to face me fully, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression, beneath the usual confidence and control. "Did it occur to you," he said quietly, "that I might want to buy you a car? That after everything I just put you through—the fear, the manipulation, the forty-eight hours of hell—I might want to do something nice for you?"
"Lance—"
"Consider it an apology," he continued, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. "A preemptive strike against all the times you're inevitably going to throw the kidnapping in my face during future arguments."
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. "That's actually not a terrible strategy."
"I know." His smile was brief but genuine. "So let me do this. Please."
The please did me in. Lance Lawson didn't say please often, and when he did, it carried weight. I opened my mouth to argue further, to insist that I could handle this myself, that I didn't need him buying me expensive things—but before I could form the words, Vincent pulled up to the gleaming glass facade of Premier Auto Collection.
"We're here," Vincent announced unnecessarily, his tone far too cheerful.
Lance's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen with a frown. "I need to take this," he said, already reaching for the door handle. He pressed his black Amex into Vincent's hand with the kind of casual gesture that suggested handing over a card with essentially no spending limit was perfectly normal. "Vincent, stay with her. Two rules: First, under no circumstances does she pay for anything. Second, make sure she gets exactly what she wants."
"Got it, boss."