Method(28)

“Of course, the perks,” I mutter with a grin. He gives me the side-eye, and I raise my hands in defense. “I’m not complaining.”

It’s still a few hours before sunset, and we have all the time in the world to frolic…privately. I’m having a hard time concealing my elation. Huntington isn’t just a library. Attached are extensive grounds full of botanical gardens, a conservatory, and museums full of priceless art. We park close to the entrance and Lucas takes my hand to help me out of the SUV. His grip is warm, and when he slides his thumb over the delicate skin of my wrist, heat stirs in my belly before he lets go. Gathering the basket from the back, he again grabs my hand as we approach. At the entrance, an older woman stands in wait at the door without a hair out of place, a friendly smile on her face.

“Mr. Walker, welcome.”

“Thank you, this is Mila.”

“Hello, Mila, I’m Sylvia, the operations manager here at the library.”

“Nice to meet you. Thank you for having us.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m a huge fan.” She does a quick sweep of Lucas, and honestly, I can’t blame her, he’s magnetic.

“So you met Tim at the entrance, he’ll be chauffeuring you around as much of the grounds as possible.”

“Sounds perfect,” I whisper, a little entranced and Lucas squeezes my hand in response.

More pleasantries are exchanged as I stand in wait studying Lucas next to me. I haven’t had a chance to talk to a soul about my date with Mr. Hollywood, and I’m not sure that I will. So far, it’s still very new and a bit surreal. Tim takes our basket from Lucas and puts it on the seat of the golf cart, and we both hop on. Lucas insists I take the front seat and in seconds we take off past the conservatory. Tim acts like a tour guide about the property, asking us for the specifics of where we might want to go. I speak up, possibly out of turn in my excitement. “I’m more interested in touring the gardens…if that’s okay?”

I look back to Lucas whose eyes are already on me, and he nods. “Sure.”

“The Rose Garden, please, Tim,” I say, clapping my hands together like a kid at Christmas.

After giving us a few details about the library, Tim stops on the pavement at the edge of the garden, and we both hop off.

“Take your time,” he says. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to move on.” We thank him, and as soon as we step into the expansive grounds, out of earshot, I’m exhilarated.

“It’s all ours!?” Lucas nods, seemingly pleased to see my reaction as he takes my hand. “Let’s go.”

We follow the signs down the paver-laced walkway, and I gasp when the entirety of it comes into view. Most of the roses are in bloom, and the smell of them hits my olfactory senses, sending me into a cloudy haze of intoxication.

“Oh, my God.” I’m stunned as I take in the number of blooms.

“Are you a fan of roses?”

“I am now,” I say softly, squeezing his hand before letting go and walking ahead of him, eager to get lost. I approach a statue surrounded by sprays of delicate bushes and admire it.

“It’s the temple of love,” I say softly. Hands on my hips, I look back at Lucas still standing where I left him and see he’s watching me with a mix of amusement and heat. “You have no idea just how good you did. How did you know this would be my jam?”

He shrugs. “Maybe I asked a few questions or maybe…I got lucky.”

I stalk back toward him alight with possibility as I soak him in, in the best imaginable surroundings. “This is incredible, Mr. Walker.”

“Glad you’re happy,” he says, again taking my hand. We spend endless minutes walking the grounds before we head back to Tim and our picnic basket. After a few more stops, we end up in the Japanese Garden on a patch of grass overlooking a curved wooden bridge covering a small pond.

“Even by California standards this is stunning,” I say. “I’m a sucker for scenery.”

“Me too,” he whispers, and I can feel the heat of his stare.

“Did you grow up here?” he asks, setting down the basket.

“Yeah. California born and raised.”

“Private school?”

I draw my brows at his question. “I think you might have the wrong idea about me.”

“How so?”

“I went to regular high school,” I say, spreading out the thin blanket I packed in the basket. “I wasn’t chauffeured around, and I damned sure didn’t use my daddy’s credit card for my weekly allowance. My parents worked really hard for what they have and acquired their wealth along the way, but I wasn’t given a Barbie pink Porsche with a bow on it for my sixteenth birthday. If I wanted something, I had to ask for it, and they would figure out a way for me to earn it. If I seem privileged to you, it’s only because I really can appreciate the finer things. I have a taste for them, but by no means am I entitled to them or expect them. I work for them. Living in that house is my perk of being Ma?wenn and Alan Badri’s kid. And it’s a big one. But if I weren’t working the way I do, they would take notice, and I’d be out on my ass, trust me.”

He watches me from where he stands next to the blanket. And his silence wears on me.

“What?” I ask, gesturing for him to take a seat.