Cruel Fortune (Cruel #2)(31)

“Pretty spectacular for your first New York City apartment. I think most people have a minimum of five roommates. I had four.”

“What? No way. You’re a Warren.”

“So are my parents and two younger sisters.”

I chuckled. “I wasn’t counting Charlotte and Etta.”

“That means that you clearly haven’t lived with them. They’re hellions.”

“You weren’t much better at that age, were you?”

“Oh, worse, much worse,” he said with a wink.

“Why am I not surprised?”

I could only guess based on what I knew of Penn’s past. I slightly shriveled inwardly at that thought. When I forgot that Penn and Lewis were best friends, it was much easier to be in his presence.

I turned away from Lewis to shrug my jacket on. I didn’t want to ruin our night. We’d both been looking forward to it.

My face was carefully blank as I faced him once more. “Well, what do you say we get out of here?”

Lewis nodded, but I didn’t think that he had missed my uncomfortable moment. He pulled his jacket back on, and then we took the stairs down to the ground level. I shuddered at the frigid temperature. So much colder than it had been in Charleston this morning. I tugged gloves on, preparing for the walk.

But Lewis gestured to a black Mercedes idling in front of my building. “My driver is waiting.”

“Oh, you have a driver.”

He nodded as he opened the back door. “How do you think we got back to your hotel when you were here for your book?”

“You know…I was drunk enough not to have given it a thought.”

“I remember that very clearly.”

A blush tinged my cheeks as I slid into the backseat. I’d been rather forward the last time we were alone in the back of his Mercedes. It was embarrassing, considering how sober I was now.

And just reminded me of how divergent our lives were. Of course Lewis had a driver. He enjoyed the life that he had grown up in and had no moral objections to his upbringing. I needed to silence the voice in my head that said that was a problem. He wasn’t Penn. And I didn’t want Penn.

“Where are we going?” I asked Lewis once he was inside and the car had started to move.

“It’s a surprise. I think you’ll like it.”

“I like surprises,” I admitted.

“Good. I plan to have a lot of them.” He angled his full attention to me. “Tell me about the drive up here. I still can’t believe you drove alone.”

“Oh, it was great actually. I love road trips. Amy and I went on one for three weeks one summer, all the way to LA. This was nothing compared to that. It’s the basis for one of my books.”

He contemplatively scrunched his brows together. “Have you submitted that one?”

I shook my head. “No, I was writing it before Bet on It, and I just haven’t picked it back up.”

“How can you when you’ve been so busy with the new book? Do you have a title for it yet?”

“I’m leaning toward It’s a Matter of Opinion. Because it’s all about never really knowing the truth and getting every side of the tale, except what really happened.”

“I like it.” He slid a little bit closer to me until our shoulders were touching. A shiver ran through my body. “So…when do I get to read it?”

I laughed. “Never!”

“Natalie! Come on. I’m your biggest fan.”

“That sounds so weird,” I told him, covering my face. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means, you’re a brilliant writer, and I need more of your books in my life. Send it to me. Please, I’m dying to read it.”

“No way. No one reads my books before they’re done, except my agent and editor. I’ve never let anyone look at them ahead of time. I think I’d break out in hives if I knew you were reading it.”

“It cannot be that bad.”

“It is. I swear. Amy snuck a chapter once, and I nearly vomited on her.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I think that’s all in your head.”

“Maybe, but what if I never write another word on it? Then, you’ll have a half-baked idea of my writing in your head.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Natalie, that’s not even possible.”

“Oh, it’s totally possible. But, hopefully, not with this book since I already told my agent about it and she’s already told Gillian about it and I moved to New York to finish and sell the damn thing.”

“It’ll all work out,” he assured me. “No one at Warren wants your career to continue successfully more than I do. But I also want to think you moved here for more than one reason.”

“Oh?” I whispered.

The tension crackled between us.

His hand slid across my lap, reaching for my fingers and lacing them together. His thumb gently stroked up and down as if he were learning the feel of me. And, while my mind was completely occupied by the feel of his hand in my own—the long fingers and broad palm and the amazing softness of that hand—my eyes were locked on his.

“I like to think that you’re here because of me. That I helped you find your way back to writing while you were here. That I can help you even more now that you’re in my city.” He raised our locked hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss on my hand. “That okay with you?”