Page 47

Got the dress you chose from Ava Figaro. Also, try not to look TOO in love during the Johnson update. Garrett might actually explode. ??

“Coming over tonight?” Lucas asks, reading the text over my shoulder. “We can practice maintaining appropriate professional distance.”

His smile promises we’ll do anything but.

“I need to get ready for tomorrow,” I protest weakly.

“I’ll help you prepare. Professionally.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

I do. Heaven help me, I really do.

These past two weeks have been a revelation, discovering that the connection we’ve always had translates into every aspect of our relationship. From strategy sessions to quiet moments on the porch swing, from boardroom presentations to shared breakfasts in the early morning light, we fit together in ways I never imagined possible.

“Fine,” I concede. “But only because I need to practice my Johnson metrics presentation.”

“Of course,” he agrees solemnly, though his eyes promise much more than preparation for client meetings. “Strictly business.”

Neither of us believes that for a second. But that’s the beauty of where we are now: the freedom to be both professionals and lovers, colleagues and partners, without choosing between them.

And tomorrow night at the gala, we’ll have our first public test of balancing those roles.

Heaven help us both.

Chapter Seventeen

Lucas

“Istill don’t understand why we need to practice dancing.” Emma’s voice drifts from behind Sophie’s bedroom door. “I know how to dance.”

“The Great String Quartet Catastrophe of last year’s Chamber of Commerce dinner suggests otherwise,” my sister retorts with the familiarity of someone who’s been witnessing Emma’s disasters since high school.

“That violin was clearly out to get me,” Emma protests. “And besides, tonight isn’t about dancing. It’s about convincing the Johnsons to trust our implementation strategy instead of Brighton’s ‘immediate integration’ nonsense.”

“Which you can do while looking fabulous and not tripping over musical instruments,” Sophie counters. “Besides,” her voiceshifts to a teasing lilt, “now that you’re officially dating my brother, you need to uphold certain standards.”

I lean against the wall outside Sophie’s room, fighting a smile. When Sophie insisted I come help with “emergency gala preparations,” I’d expected spreadsheets and client profiles. Instead, I’m listening to my sister fuss over my girlfriend like she’s been waiting for this moment since high school. Knowing Sophie, she probably has.

The scent of Sophie’s apartment—vanilla candles and fresh flowers—reminds me of countless family gatherings. How many times had Emma been here as Sophie’s friend while I orbited on the periphery, both of us pretending there was nothing more than friendship between us? And now we are preparing for our first public appearance as a couple.

“Ow! Sophie, that pin was nowhere near my dress!”

“Stop squirming then. And Lucas, if you’re done lurking in the hallway like a creeper, I need your opinion about something.”

I push open the door and freeze, momentarily breathless. Emma stands on a small platform in front of Sophie’s full-length mirror, wrapped in a midnight blue gown that steals the air from my lungs. The silk flows like water around her curves; the color reminds me of summer nights by the lake. Her hair is partially pinned up, soft tendrils framing her face. She looks nervous but radiant—a combination that reminds me of countless presentations where she’d fidget with her notes right before dazzling everyone with her brilliance.

“You look...” I clear my throat, searching for words that might do her justice. “That’s definitely fountain-resistant.”

Sophie throws her hands up, pins clutched between her fingers. “You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company, and that’s the best compliment you can give your girlfriend?”

Emma’s smile, when it meets my eyes in the mirror, is pure sunshine. “High praise from someone who once described a sunset as ‘pretty okay, I guess.’”

“That was one time!”

“You were trying to be poetic.”