Chapter 10

Monday night - Ellie

After Meg and Jeremy left, I spent the rest of the day working out in the basement gym, then making calls about the charity ball and trying not to think about how, after I'd treated his wound earlier, Luke had moved away from me like his ass was on fire. Now that it was time to go down to dinner, I was nervous. Would Luke even be there? Gah. This was awkward.

Touching him had made my mouth go dry. Breathing in his scent—a mixture of mint, soap, and something manly like pine needles—hadn't helped anything either. And now that Meg and Jeremy were gone, Luke and I really were alone in this big house. Well, with Linda, Mrs. Hawthorne, and the security guards, but still. I never saw the security guards anymore. Those dudes were like ghosts. And I hadn't seen Mrs. Hawthorne since she'd shown me to my room. Was she on vacation? Did she only work part-time? No clue.

When Meg asked if Luke and I would be civil to each other, she'd been joking of course, but it wasn't civility I was worried about. At this point, I didn't trust myself not to jump him.

I can do this. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the kids. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the kids. I repeated those sentences on a loop in my head as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen.

Tonight, Linda was nowhere to be seen, and Luke was sitting on a stool in front of one of the quartz-topped islands staring at his laptop. Dolly was curled up on a bed in front of the fire. I seriously loved that there were dog beds all over the house. As it should be.

The moment I walked into the room, Luke glanced up and a big smile spread across his face, the type of smile that probably made all sorts of women drop their panties. I cleared my throat and tried not to think about such things. He shut the laptop and stood.

"Hey," I said, tugging my ring finger, feeling all sorts of awkward. We were friends. We were former mutual shit-givers. And now we were what? Employer and employee? I felt more like I was doing a favor for a friend, but money was involved, so it was all a little murky. What wasn't murky was the state of Luke's hotness.

"Hey," he replied, pushing his right hand in his jeans pocket.

Something looked slightly different about him. "Did you get a haircut?" I asked, admiring the newly shorn dark locks. I mean, he'd been hot before, but now he was even more hot. As if that was possible.

"Yeah, I asked my barber to stop by."

"Your barber came here?" I asked with wide eyes. Was that a thing?

"Yep." He popped the p.

I'd never heard of such a thing, but of course the uber rich had all sorts of people doing things for them that regular people didn't. The image of a mobile dog groomer sprang to mind. That was about the closest thing I'd experienced. But somehow, I doubted that Jeremy had been forced to get his hair cut in a truck in the driveway. And he sure didn't have a cloth bandana around his neck.

I wasn't about to ask for more details. Instead, I shuffled over to where Luke stood, leaned over, and braced an elbow on the countertop. "So, what does a country rock star do all day?"

"I've been spending a lot of time in the studio writing songs."

I nodded. "Sounds fun."

"Yeah, that's pretty much the only good thing about having this time on my hands. I can't use the guitar, so I'm mainly working on lyrics with bits of music I pre-recorded."

I kept nodding. "I get that."

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Sure."

He moved to the refrigerator, opened it, and took out first one and then another plate with round metal covers. Like room service at a hotel. He pulled the cover off the first plate to reveal some yummy-looking pasta shells and marinara.

"Linda left parmesan shavings and pecorino," he said, pulling first one and then another small glass bowl of grated cheese from the fridge. "She warned me to get it just right."

"Mustn't screw up the cheese," I agreed. We were from Wisconsin. We both understood the importance of cheese.

Luke took one plate over to the microwave, slid it inside, and pressed some buttons. The light turned on and the microwave started humming. "Three minutes each, Linda said."

"Must be nice to have dinner prepped for you every night." I said it out loud, but it really was more just a passing thought.

"It really is," Luke replied. "I only wish…" He trailed off and frustration briefly crossed his features.

"What? You only wish what?" I prompted. Truly curious.

He scrubbed his free hand through his newly clipped hair. "I was gonna say I only wish my mom would let me help her out."

"Oh, yeah." Meg had told me a little about how Luke had offered to buy their mother a house and pay for a full-time housekeeper, but she'd refused. Which made no sense to me. My grandmother had practically expected me to pay all her bills once I graduated from college. I happily did so. But apparently, Luke and Meg's mom had stubbornly refused any help.

"Drives me crazy," Luke continued. "She won't even let me pay to get the trailer fixed up. She prefers to let that heap of junk fall down around her ears, thank you very much."

I bit my lip, trying to come up with something the least bit helpful to add. "You can't make her take your help."

"I know, but…" He sighed and looked away, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

I didn't press any further. He clearly didn't want to talk about it. I could relate. I hated to talk about my parents too. At least Luke had a mother. Mine had dumped me with my grandmother and taken off practically the minute she was out of labor.

The microwave dinged and Luke removed the first plate and put in the second one. He nodded toward the French doors. "You want to go out onto the patio again?"

"If it's all right with you, can we just eat here?" I pointed to the countertop and the two closest barstools. It felt more casual and less awkward to eat at the kitchen counter, and I was all about bringing the awkward level down. No candlelight. No moonlight. Not even any fancy linen napkins.

"No problem at all," he replied. "In fact, this is where I normally eat."

"Me too," I said. "Well, I mean at my place. Only I'm usually warming up a low-calorie frozen dinner. Pretty sad."

"See? That's why I used to like ordering pizzas. A pizza is like a party."

I shook my head at him and rolled my eyes.

Five minutes later, we were both perched on our respective barstools, the pecorino and parmesan had been liberally applied to both our steaming plates of pasta along with some fresh basil leaves, and we were digging in. Luke had poured me a glass of the same pinot noir I'd had before, and he was drinking a beer again.

The meal passed in relative silence with a lot of utensils clinking against plates and large quantities of wine being gulped (by me).

"This is delicious too," I managed, wishing to hell that Meg had been able to stay.

"Yeah, Linda's the best. I'm lucky to have her."

"How do you go about getting a private chef anyway?"

He paused and wiped his mouth with the reusable towel I'd pulled from the shelf. "Honestly, I don't really know. My manager arranged it all. Once you've got some money, people come out of the woodwork to help you spend it."

"I bet."

After the last bite of pasta had been swallowed, Luke took both our plates and forks and set them in the dishwasher. I was just about to say I needed to get back upstairs and look at some spreadsheets for the charity ball, but Luke spoke first.

"Want to sit on the couch?" he offered, motioning toward the sitting room.

I pulled a face. It would be rude to rush upstairs, wouldn't it? But the only thing more awkward than outright awkwardness would be acknowledging it. "Sure," I forced myself to say in the most breezy, casual tone I could find.

"Bring your wine," he said, heading toward the couches with his beer glass.

I stopped and clutched the wine glass to my chest. "I can't drink wine on a couch that fancy."

He turned and looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "What?"

"Look, I hate to admit this, but Meg told me how much those couches cost."

"What does that matter?" He stared at me as if I wasn't speaking English.

"I can't afford to replace it if I spill wine on it."

He tipped his head to the side and shook it as if he was exasperated. "If you spill wine on it, I'll have it cleaned."

I shook my head. "What if it won't come out. I couldn't live with that."

He grinned at me. "Then I'll have a wine stain on my couch. Come on."

Wow. He and Meggie really were different. Meg couldn't stand any sort of mess in her space. Luke seemed not to care. Even about a ridiculously expensive couch. I reluctantly followed him to the sitting area and took a seat on the edge of one of the dark-brown velvet cushions. I promptly set my wine glass on the table next to me. Luke took a seat on the same couch, leaving a decent bit of space between us. A normal employer/employee or two friends amount of space. Good. Now maybe I wouldn't be able to smell his aftershave, which had been slowly driving me bananas during dinner.

Luke put his feet on the coffee table, and I couldn't help but notice that even his bare feet looked good. When was the last time I admired anyone's feet? Okay, I definitely needed to have sex. Not here. Definitely not here. But as soon as I got back to Milwaukee, I needed a real date.

"What did you say?" Luke asked, cocking his head to the side.

Frick. Did I say that out loud? "Um. Nothing." I wanted the expensive couch to swallow me whole. As much as this couch cost, it should have a disappear button.

He frowned. "Did you say you need a date?"

"Maybe." I slumped even lower into the cushions. Being eaten by a fancy couch wouldn't be the worst way to go. I mean, I could think of worse ways. Like dying of embarrassment, for example.

"So, I take it you're single?" Luke asked, a smile curving his lips.

I nodded. Facing forward. Okay, fine. We were obviously about to have this discussion. I might as well be honest. "Yeah, I'm single. Really single."

He laughed. "What does ‘really' single mean?"

I blew out a breath and pulled a knee up to my chest. "It means I haven't had so much as a date in hot minute, let alone a relationship."

He leaned back into the cushions and stared at me from under his unfairly long black lashes. His legs were slightly spread, and he was regarding me down the length of his nose like I was some sort of curiosity. "Why is that?"

I paused and took a sip of my wine, carefully ensuring the glass got safely back to the tabletop without a drop falling on the couch. How honest should I be? Oh, hell. Might as well go for it. Do it for the plot and all that. "Finding out your fiancé is cheating on you will do that to a girl."

"What? Your fiancé? Shit." Luke scowled. I could tell he was searching his memory for news that I'd been engaged and then broke things off.

"You don't remember, do you?" I asked.

He scrunched up his nose, looking guilty. "No. I really don't. I'm sorry. When did that happen?"

"Oh, senior year of college." I waved a hand in the air like it wasn't a big deal. Only it was a big deal. A very big deal that still haunted every date I ever went on.

He whistled. "That long ago?"

"Yep. We weren't engaged for long. Only a couple of months. Meg probably never even had a chance to mention it to you."

"That's when I was living in the Bay area." He took a swig of beer before adding, "Wait. Are you saying you've been single since your senior year of college? Like ten years?" The poor man's eyes looked as if they might bug out of his skull.

"No," I shot back, slightly offended. "There have been a couple of guys since then, but nothing too serious."

He pressed a hand over his heart. "Oh, good. You scared me there for a minute. I thought I might have to fly up to Milwaukee and kick your ex-fiancé's ass if he had you that screwed up."

I had to laugh at that. "Well, he's still up there if you want to kick his ass. He's also already been divorced once, I hear."

Luke's brows shot up. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds like a real jerk."

"Oh, he was. That's my specialty, falling for jerks." I pointed both thumbs at my chest. "The bigger the player, the more interested I am. Was. Was. I don't do that anymore. I've spent a lot of time and money on therapy to break myself of that habit."

"You're in therapy?" He sat up straighter and leaned toward me, obviously interested.

"Not at the moment, but I've gone off and on over the years. It's helped me a lot."

"I'm in therapy right now," he said softly.

"Really?" Wow. Chalk up another surprise from Luke Knightley. Most guys I knew didn't go to therapy, and the ones who might probably wouldn't admit it. It was nice to hear him so readily talk about it.

"Why do you look surprised?" he asked.

I gave a super lame shrug. "I didn't figure you for a therapy type of guy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What? Nothing bad. I just mean?—"

He blinked innocently at me. "You just mean you think I'm a big jerk who isn't in touch with his feelings."

"Well, are you in touch with your feelings?"

"Hell no. But I'm trying." He cracked a smile at me.

I couldn't help but smile back. "That's really good to hear, Luke."

"Yeah, apparently I'm more screwed up from Tiffany's betrayal than I thought."

"Tiffany?"

"The nurse who sold the pictures to the tabloids."

"Oh, yeah. That's pretty messed up."

He nodded silently for a few minutes before he shook his head and said, "Okay, so when was the last time you dated anyone seriously?"

Oh, no. I didn't want to answer that question. I took another careful sip of my wine while I contemplated my options. "Haven't we talked about me enough? What about you? Why are you single? I know it's never been from a lack of candidates."

A grin spread across his face. "What exactly are you saying, Ms. Hoffman?"

I set my glass aside and crossed my arms over my chest. "I think you know what I'm saying. You've had a reputation for being a player since high school. Probably middle school."

He tilted his head from side-to-side a few times. "Yeah, well. I can't help it. I'm a mess."

I laughed. "A mess? Is that what we're calling players these days?"

He shrugged. "I mean I'm a mess at relationships. I can start one fine. It's sticking with it that I have the problem with."

I arched a brow. "No kidding."

His scowl returned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean Meg and I used to have bets on how long your latest girlfriend would stick around."

He winced. "I told you." He set down his beer glass and pointed his right thumb at himself. "Mess."

"Okay, Mr. Mess. So, what's the plan? Don't you ever want to get married and have kids? Settle down?"

He shook his head vigorously. "Nope. No. Not for me. I'm my father's son. I'm not capable of settling down, and I would be a horrible father."

I frowned. "Wow. That's really sad. Do you really think that?"

"I know it," he answered. "What about you? You want to settle down?"

Clearly, he wanted to change the subject from himself. "Sure. One day. If I can find a good guy. They seem to be scarce. But Meg found Jeremy, so there's hope."

Luke blew out a long breath. "Yeah, I'm still glad she dumped Dr. Strangelove."

I laughed so hard I would have shot wine out of my nose if I'd still been drinking it. Dr. Strangelove was Luke's nickname for Meg's ex-boyfriend, Harrison, a history professor at her college. He'd tossed her over last year for a Hollywood starlet. The guy was a total douche.

"Now that's something we can agree on," I said after my laughter died down. "Harrison drove me nuts."

"Yeah, I never trust a guy who wears tweed jackets with suede elbow patches."

"Or who asked for permission to kiss her. Ick." I shuddered.

Luke's brows shot up. "What?"

"I mean, look, consent is nothing but sexy, but Harrison was still asking even after they were boyfriend/girlfriend. Just so not hot."

"So, you like a man who takes charge, do you?" Luke shot me a look that was both hot and dangerous.

I swallowed hard. How the hell had we gotten into this conversational territory? "You could say that. But I'm more interested in a man who doesn't cheat. That shouldn't be too much to ask."

"I agree. And I hope you find someone as solid as Remington is."

"Thank you." I inclined my head to him. "Got any more hot, stable, loyal friends?"

He laughed. "A couple of guys in the band are single. They're coming over later this week."

"Really? Then by all means, introduce me."

Instead of replying, Luke moved closer to me. "Ellie," he said, his voice husky. An unexpected tremor shot through me at his nearness. "I want to thank you. Truly. For staying with me. It means a lot."

He moved even closer, his gaze dipping to my lips. Oh, my God. He was about to kiss me. Or at least he was close enough to. I couldn't let that happen.

In a flash I was up off the pricey couch and halfway across the room. "No problem. Happy to help," I yelped like an idiot. "Thanks for dinner. I gotta go look at some spreadsheets. See you in the morning."

I was probably halfway upstairs before Luke even knew I'd left the room.