Page 27

Chapter

Twenty

L ater that morning— much later than Miranda had planned—she and Lucas stepped into the elevator, hand in hand, their fingers loosely entwined.

Her skin still tingled from his touch, her body humming with the echo of their earlier intimacy.

It felt surreal, strolling into work like this, a visible, tangible connection between them. No more fantasy. No more what-ifs.

As the elevator glided upward, she leaned lightly against his arm. It felt easy. Natural.

Until the doors slid open with a mechanical chime.

Cole and Stacia stood just outside, mid-conversation, both of them freezing the moment they saw Lucas and Miranda—hands clasped, bodies close. The kind of closeness that said more than words ever could.

For a split second, no one moved. It was the stillness of a soap opera pause, thick with loaded silence, as if someone had hit “freeze frame” on a particularly juicy episode of soap opera television.

Stacia’s gaze immediately dropped to their joined hands. Her brows inched upward in slow, dramatic ascent. Cole’s expression turned blank with practiced precision, but his eyes—those sharp, perceptive eyes—darkened as they locked on Lucas.

Miranda instinctively straightened, shoulders back, spine tall, then gave Lucas’s hand a gentle tug. They stepped off the elevator together, unapologetic. She felt Lucas’s palm tighten around hers just before he released it.

Cole exchanged a long, unreadable glance with Lucas—something silent and weighty passing between them—then nodded once. The elevator doors began to close.

Only then did Stacia blink out of her surprise and dart inside, the doors whispering shut behind them.

Miranda exhaled hard, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath. She turned to Lucas, whose face was calm, but whose eyes studied her with a quiet intensity. His expression was unreadable, like a poker player waiting to see how the next card would fall.

Her hands shook slightly as she stepped into a nearby alcove, tucked just around the corner from the elevator bank. Lucas followed without hesitation, his presence crowding the small space, comforting and overwhelming all at once.

“Everything okay?” His voice was low, quiet, steadying.

She hesitated. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone yet.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, casual but not disengaged. “Does it matter that much?”

“We hadn’t really talked about... this. About the office. About being seen.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching her. “I’m not ashamed of us. I won’t hide from what this is.”

There was something more in the way he said us—not just physical, not just casual. Something real.

Then he looked at her, sideways and searching. “How do you feel about it?”

How did she feel? Well, she’d walked into a professional building, in daylight, hand in hand with a man she’d had mind-blowing sex with a few hours ago. That wasn’t nothing.

“Clearly, I was comfortable enough to be holding your hand in the elevator,” she said, voice low. “So part of me must’ve wanted someone to see.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Why should it matter? We’re adults. What we do on our own time doesn’t affect anyone else.”

Except…

“What if word gets back to my father?”

That stopped him. He didn’t flinch, but his expression cooled slightly. She bit her bottom lip, regretful but honest.

“Cole won’t say anything,” she said quickly. “And Stacia doesn’t talk to my dad. I think we’re okay.”

Lucas stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off his body, the subtle shift in the air between them. He looked down at her, eyes intense, voice softer—but no less resolute.

“Maybe I don’t give a damn what your father thinks. Maybe I want people to know.”

Her breath caught at the way he said it— want —like it was a need simmering beneath his skin.

She looked up at him, chin lifting in defiance and hope. “I’d prefer to tell my father in my own way. Not have him hear through gossip or whispers.”

Lucas pulled back half a step, his jaw tightening. “So... you want to keep this a secret?”

She paused for only a beat. “No,” she said, stepping forward again, into his space. “I want you to come to dinner.”

His eyes flared—surprise, interest, maybe even a flicker of satisfaction. And something else.

Something dangerously close to hope.

M iranda spent the morning pretending to focus on status reports.

Numbers blurred on the screen, charts went unread, and her brain ping-ponged between line items and Lucas.

The press of his lips, the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers in the elevator, the way he said us like it meant something solid. Something real.

She tried not to fixate on that moment at the elevator—on Cole’s stare, Stacia’s raised brows. She told herself Lucas hadn’t felt forced to acknowledge the relationship, that he hadn’t said what he did just because they’d been seen. But still… the doubt tugged at the edge of her thoughts.

It didn’t matter now. The truth was out. They were in it. All the way.

A quick knock on her office door jerked her from the spiral. She looked up, grateful for the distraction.

Stacia stood in the doorway, eyes wide and bright with unfiltered curiosity, like a gossip blogger who’d just uncovered a celebrity secret. She glanced down the hallway, then slipped inside, practically beelining for Miranda’s desk.

“So.” She plopped into a chair, elbows hitting the edge of the desk like she was settling in for tea. “When did that happen? Opening Day?” Her voice was a stage whisper, but excitement laced every syllable. “I had no idea you two had gotten so close.”

Miranda felt the flush rise instantly, burning a path from her neck to her cheeks. She reached for her water bottle just to buy time.

“I’m... not really sure how it happened,” she admitted, voice soft.

Stacia gave a knowing snort. “Oh please. Late nights. Long hours. Business travel. Proximity plus sexual tension equals fireworks. He’s hot. You’re gorgeous. What else do you need?”

“Respect.”

The word came out before Miranda could stop it—sharp, instinctual. But once spoken, she didn’t want to take it back.

Stacia’s eyes widened slightly, then she nodded, the grin softening. “Respect is critical.” She tilted her head, studying Miranda. “Do you have it?”

Miranda glanced past her, out the wall of windows overlooking the empty stadium. The stands sat silent now, a sharp contrast to the roar from the crowd yesterday. The peace of it helped her think.

“I think so,” she said finally. “He listens. He pushes back, but not in a way that undercuts me. And when he disagrees, it’s with suggestions, not orders. I didn’t expect that.”

Stacia smirked. “The brain is the sexiest organ. It’s like… executive foreplay.”

Miranda let out a surprised laugh, but the moment gave way to something quieter—something more vulnerable.

It felt good to talk about this with someone she trusted.

After she’d taken over as president, several of her old friends had quietly pulled away.

The job created distance—different priorities, different rhythms, and far less free time.

But Stacia had been there through the transition.

They’d grown up knowing each other, but only really reconnected last fall—when Stacia had helped, and ultimately fallen for, Jason Friar.

She’d figured it out.

Maybe she could help Miranda figure it out too.

“Is that how it happened with you and Jason?”

Stacia leaned back, crossing one leg over the other like she was settling in for a gossip session on the latest reality show.

“Honestly? I’m not sure how it happened.

The sex was great—don’t get me wrong—but what mattered more was how he supported me.

With work. With my dad. He showed up. Consistently. And that’s what stuck.”

Miranda propped her chin in her hand and leaned forward. “You only had a few months together.”

“That was just the beginning,” Stacia said. “We didn’t decide to get married right away. We’re building it every day. You and Lucas? You’re just getting started. Give yourselves space to figure it out.”

She paused, then cocked her head slightly. “What does your dad think?”

Miranda barked a laugh, short and dry. “Oh, I haven’t told him yet. But I’ll have to. Especially now that the office knows. I’d rather he hear it from me than through a back-channel whisper campaign.”

Stacia stood, smoothing her pants. “Well, stick to your instincts, Miranda. I like Lucas. I think he might actually be good for you. Just... don’t let anyone else into your relationship. It’s hard enough to navigate with two people. Add a third—or worse, a peanut gallery—and it all goes sideways.”

She winked, then walked out with the same stealthy confidence she’d come in with, leaving Miranda staring after her.

Alone again, Miranda turned toward the window. The sun caught the edges of the outfield bleachers, a slant of light making the grass shimmer.

Lucas hadn’t run.

And neither would she.