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I lean back in my chair, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “You’ll be okay, Crystal. I know you will.”
She doesn’t respond; she just lifts her glass and takes a long sip.
I stand, pulling out my wallet and tossing a few bills on the table to cover the champagne. “Take care of yourself,” I say, my voice low.
As I turn toleave, she calls after me.
“Luke.”
I pause, glancing back.
Her expression is unreadable, her voice almost wistful. “The press will spin this however they want. But just remember—I won’t be the only one they crucify. No one ever gets out of this business clean. Especially once they figure out who you’re really with.”
I freeze. “What do you mean by that?”
Her smile is astute. “Please. I’ve seen how you look at that little chef of yours. Does she know what she’s getting into? The cameras, the speculation, the endless scrutiny?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Face it, Luke. The media has been given a scandal they’ll feast on for months. I hope she’s ready for it.”
“Don’t worry about Lila.” I nod once, then walk out of the restaurant, leaving Crystal and everything she represents behind.
All I can think about is Lila. Sweet, private Lila who deserves better than having her life turned into tabloid fodder. I need to get to the duplex and warn her.
My mind’s eye can picture her already. She’s probably stress baking right now—her way of keeping busy while waiting fornews. I can picture her in her kitchen, dusted with flour, her hair pulled up in that messy bun that makes me want to kiss her neck. The scent of something amazing filling her apartment. It’s what she does when she’s worried or excited or just needs to think.
Right now, she’s probably pulled out her stand mixer, whipping up a batch of chocolate chip cookies because she knows they’re my favorite. The thought makes me smile despite everything. Soon, I’ll tell her we won, that it’s all over, and I’ll get to watch her face light up with that beautiful smile of hers—before I warn her about the coming media storm.
Because Crystal was right about one thing—the paparazzi will have a field day with this. But if they think they can scare Lila away, they don’t know her like I do.
Still, as I drive away from the restaurant, I can’t help but wonder if I’m being selfish by pulling her into this circus.
Then again, when has Lila ever let anyone else decide what she can handle?
Twenty-Seven
Lila
The scent of vanilla and brown sugar fills my kitchen as I pull another batch of cookies from the oven. My hands shake slightly as I carefully transfer the hot cookies from the tray to the cooling rack. I’ve already finished a batch of chocolate chip cookies—Luke’s favorite—that I baked twenty minutes ago.
Stress baking. It’s what I do.
The kitchen in my half of the duplex is small but efficient, and right now, it’s working overtime. Flour dusts the counter, and there are at least three mixing bowls in the sink. My face feels flushed from the oven’s heat or maybe from the anticipation coursing through my veins.
I brush a strand of blonde hair from my face, leaving what’s probably a smear of flour on my nose. My oversized Wild Band t-shirt is spotted with vanilla extract, and my shorts fit just a bit too snugly, but I can’t focus enough to change.
The front door opens, and Luke fills the doorframe. All six-foot-two of him, broad shoulders, and that gorgeous face that makes my heart skip a beat. His blue eyes lock onto mine.
“It’s done,” he says simply.
I freeze the spatula halfway to the cooling rack. “Sterling Motors?”
“Safe. Dad’s in control. Marcus is in custody.” His eyes drift to the cookies. “And Crystal...”
“And Crystal?” My voice barely works.
“Is no longer my problem.”