Chapter 206
Serena
"But—"
"Besides," he continued, cutting off my protest with the same calm authority he used in boardrooms, "Marcus was one of Felix's allies. Paying to remove him from his position is an investment, not a loss. Long-term, it strengthens our position considerably."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"You're insane," I finally managed.
"Probably." He reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so casually intimate that it sent warmth flooding through my chest despite everything. "But you're stuck with me now, so you'll have to get used to it."
I shook my head, unable to suppress a tired smile. "I don't think I'm in the mood to buy a car anymore. Today has been... a lot."
"That's fine." Lance straightened, offering me his hand. "I'll have the rose-gray convertible delivered to your office tomorrow morning. Consider it an apology for subjecting you to Vanessa's meltdown."
"Lance—"
"Non-negotiable." His eyes glinted with amusement. "You wanted that car. You're getting that car. End of discussion."
There was no point arguing. I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet, trying not to think about how natural it felt to lean into him, to let his arm settle around my waist as we headed toward the exit.
Vincent fell into step behind us, and I could practically feel his satisfaction radiating off him in waves.
---
The interior of the town car smelled like leather and Lance's cologne—sandalwood and something darker that I'd never quite been able to identify. I sank into the plush seat with a sigh, letting my head tip back against the headrest.
"Where to?" Lance asked, settling in beside me. His thigh pressed against mine, warm even through the layers of fabric. "The office?"
I glanced at my phone. Nearly six o'clock. The sun was already starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the Manhattan skyline in shades of amber and rose gold.
"Too late," I said. "Whatever's waiting for me there can wait until tomorrow." I hesitated, then added, "Can you drop me at Chloe's place? I... I think I need to see her."
Vincent's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror, crinkling slightly at the corners. "Ms. Vance is still living with her friend? I thought by now you might have found your own place."
Heat crept into my cheeks. "I've been busy."
"Busy building a company from scratch," Lance interjected, his tone matter-of-fact. "Which is admirable, but Serena—you're a CEO now. You can't keep crashing on your college roommate's couch indefinitely."
I bristled. "Chloe doesn't mind—"
"That's not the point." He shifted to face me more fully, and I could see his mind already working through logistics, analyzing variables, calculating solutions. "Her apartment is in Williamsburg, right? Near the Bedford Avenue stop?"
"Yes, but—"
"That's a forty-minute commute to Vance Heritage during rush hour. Longer if there's track work." His brow furrowed slightly. "And the neighborhood's loud—all those bars and music venues. You'd have to be up by six-thirty to make it to the office by eight, which means navigating through crowds of people still stumbling home from the night before. Not exactly conducive to running a business."
I stared at him. "Have you been stalking me?"
"I've been paying attention," he corrected. "There's a difference. And what you really need is a place in Midtown or the Upper East Side. Close to your office, quiet enough to actually sleep, with enough space that you're not tripping over furniture every time you turn around."
Vincent made a sound that might have been a cough or a laugh. I shot him a warning look in the mirror.
"Thank you for the real estate advice," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I already told you—I'm not letting you buy me a house. The car was pushing it. If you think I'm going to accept a Manhattan apartment on top of that, you're out of your mind."
"Good thing I'm not offering to buy you one, then."
I blinked. "You're not?"
"God, no. Do you have any idea how much property values are dropping right now? Anyone who buys in this market is going to lose at least fifteen percent in the first month alone."
Relief and embarrassment warred in my chest. "Oh. Right. Of course."
"What I'm saying," Lance continued, his eyes gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like mischief, "is that my place would be perfect for you."
The car suddenly felt very small.
"Your place," I repeated slowly.
"Mm. It's in Lenox Hill, which puts it twelve minutes from your office if you leave by seven-forty-five. The building's pre-war, so the walls are thick enough that you won't hear your neighbors. And as you've pointed out before—" his lips curved into a smile that made my stomach flip "—it has plenty of open space. Perfect for someone who likes room to move around."
"Lance's trying to ask you to move in with him," Vincent supplied helpfully from the front seat. "In case that wasn't clear."
Lance shot him a look that could have frozen nitrogen. "Vincent. If you value your employment, you'll stop talking."
"Just trying to help, boss."
I felt my face burning. The buildings outside the window were starting to look familiar—we were getting close to Chloe's neighborhood, the streets narrowing and filling with the eclectic mix of vintage shops and artisanal coffee places that made Williamsburg simultaneously charming and insufferable.
"We're almost there," I said, my voice coming out slightly strangled. "You can drop me at the corner of Bedford and North Seventh."
"Serena—"
"Almost there!" I repeated, louder this time. My heart was doing something complicated and uncomfortable in my chest, and I needed to get out of this car before I said something stupid. Or agreed to something even stupider.
The car glided to a stop in front of a converted warehouse building with a faded mural of a phoenix spreading across one brick wall. Chloe's apartment was on the third floor, overlooking a community garden that was probably lovely in summer and looked like a muddy wasteland now.
I reached for the door handle.
Lance's hand closed over mine.
"Think about it," he said quietly. "That's all I'm asking."