The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(11)

I up her another level and look back at her dad.

“No. If I’m honest, I don’t think she’s told anyone.” Disappointment runs deep, seeping through my skin and plastering to me like armour.

“She would’ve told the girls,” he tells me, his eyes fixed and wide on my face as realisation sets in that he’s just told me something he shouldn’t have.

I frown. “You said it got rid of Miller. Is that why he left? Because she’s going to New York.”

“She told him she got the fashion designer role and was considering it. He wasn’t happy, and after the shit show at Christmas. It’s been a long time coming.”

He’s referring to Miller proposing to Lucy.

She said no.

Thank fuck.

We all knew he wasn’t right for her. Not a bad man—by any means—but she should be busting at the seams with life and laughter, not walking around glazed eyed and worrying about things that might never happen. If she could see herself through my eyes—her family’s, she wouldn’t be questioning an internship at all. If she could see herself through my eyes, she would have gone the first time she got the offer. Again, she turned it down because she didn’t think she had it in her. She didn’t think she was the “type of person who ups and leaves her life for a new one.”

I’m not having it.

“Can you get this round for the guys?” I ask John, waving over another staff member. “Can you get the next order delivered to the table and have it added to my tab, please?”

“Of course,” the girl replies.

“Excuse me, John.”

Slipping my hand in my pocket, I step away and hit the button on the remote to turn it off. Then I pull out my phone and shoot off a text.

Elliot: Move that ass. NOW. Restroom

She sits and stares at her phone for a solid thirty seconds before she considers getting up, her face paling as she chews at her bottom lip. It irritates me.

She irritates me.

Elliot: Get out of your head!

She looks down and starts to type. I watch three dots appear and bounce along the bottom of the screen as if she is writing an essay.

Luce: Not tonight

I look up and watch as her eyes try to escape my heavy stare.

My feet set off towards her, stalking through the restaurant. Bending at the waist, I lean down and speak low so only she can hear.

“Up. Now. Or I will have you screaming out my name at this table for the whole restaurant to hear.”

She rises like I knew she would. Her fear of causing a scene far greater than her mission to avoid my questioning. My hand forms to her back, and I guide her from the room, not giving a single fuck about the eyes that follow us.

It’s always been this way.

Friends with no benefits and a whole ton of shit in between.

“Why did you do that!” She blushes as she turns on me.

I ignore her until we’re further down the hallway and away from prying eyes.

I do a quick sweep and check that the women’s bathroom is empty, then flick my head for her to come. “In,” I tell her, holding open the door.

She brushes past me and crosses her arms in front of her chest, waiting.

I lock the door and stare down at the stainless steel knob.

“Give me the remote.”

When I don’t answer, she repeats it. This time with more grit mixed into her words. “Elliot, give me the control.”

“You want control? How ironic.” I snap, shaking my head as I finally turn.

I instantly lose the anger from my words as I take her in. I adjust my stance and scrub my hands over my face, not knowing where to start or even if I want to. It’s been this way since I met her, and although I know she’s more than her fears, she doesn’t. She doesn’t see or believe it, and that’s fucking draining.

Still, my feet carry me to her spot at the hand dryers. Grasping her slim neck in my heated palm, I pull her into me, knowing she needs it.

“The fuck you doing, Luce?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, sliding her hands up my back as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do so.

I pull back and look down at her. I don’t hide the disappointment from my face. As much as I don’t want to add to her load, she needs to know bottling everything up isn’t just detrimental to her. It affects us all.

“Does Nina know?”

Her spine stiffens under my hold.

“She doesn’t, does she?” I snigger. “Who did you tell?”

“Who did I tell what?” she questions, and I have to hand it to her, she voices it with pure confidence.

“New York. The internship—with Almendo, I presume?”

She steps back, covering her delicate lips with her fingers. Her other hand flattens on my chest. “I was going to tell you all after the showcase. A couple of days.”

“Bullshit,” I spit.

“I’m not going, Elliot.” Annoyance flares in the backs of her eyes, and I root for it. Crave it. “There was nothing to tell. I already made a decision, and I know it’s the best choice for me.”

“Best choice for you or for the box you reside in?”

Hurt flashes in her eyes, and I ache. From top to toe, my body roars at me to rein it in.

“You have to go, Luce,” I stress.