Page 45 of Lucas

He stands his ground, staring me down, his blue eyes wide and startled. For a split second, I think he’s going to let me hit him, but at the last moment, he dives to the side, landing hard on the gravel and rolling as I speed past.

Even with the windows up, I hear him shouting, aninarticulate roar of fury and disbelief. “Fuck, Ava! Are you trying to kill me?”

I glance in the rearview mirror and get a glimpse of him picking himself up off the ground, his immaculate suit dusty and disheveled. He waves his fists at my retreating car, his handsome face contorted with rage, and I laugh. Serves him right, the arrogant bastard.

When I pull into the parking garage of the Valeur building more than an hour later, I’m exhausted, my nerves frayed, and my temples throbbing. The long commute, coupled with the unexpected detour I had to take to avoid an accident, has me running late on my first day back. Not the stellar impression I was hoping to make.

I use my new access card to enter the underground lot, the barrier lifting with a soft beep, and start searching for my assigned parking spot. I cruise past the sections reserved for upper management, noting with a twinge of annoyance that Lucas’s sleek black Jaguar is already parked in its designated place.

I circle the lot, growing more frustrated by the minute. There’s no spot with my name on it. No reserved place for Ava Valeur or Ava Gant. I even drive to the very back of the garage, just to be sure I didn’t miss it, but it’s not there.

There isn’t a single open spot in the entire crowded lot.

Fighting the urge to scream, I pull out my phone and call my assistant. She picks up on the second ring, her voice bright and chipper. “Good morning, Mrs. Valeur! Welcome back. What can I do for you?”

I squint at my new name. “Bridget, I’m in the parking garage, and I can’t seem to find my assigned spot. Could youcheck with facilities and see what number I am? Maybe they forgot to put up my sign.”

“Oh, um...one moment, please.” I hear her tapping away at her keyboard, the clacking of the keys loud over the line. Then the typing stops, replaced by a muffled conversation I can’t quite make out.

My stomach sinks as the seconds drag on, a terrible suspicion taking root. Finally, she comes back on the line, her voice higher than usual, strained. “Mrs. Valeur? I’m so sorry, but it looks like... It looks like there’s no parking spot assigned to you in the system.”

My fingers tighten around the phone. “What do you mean, no spot assigned? That’s impossible. How could they forget to allocate a space for the CEO? Where am I supposed to park? Everything here is full.”

“I don’t know.” Bridget sounds as baffled as I feel. “It must be a mistake. Would you like me to contact HR and try to sort this out?”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and count to ten. “No, that’s alright. I’ll handle it. Thank you, Bridget.”

I end the call and lean my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to think past the red haze of anger clouding my mind. This is no mistake. This has Lucas Valeur’s fingerprints all over it. He must have excluded me from the parking allocations as some petty form of revenge.

Well, two can play that game.

I throw the Jeep into reverse, tires screeching as I peel out and speed back toward the executive section of the garage. When I reach Lucas’s parking space, I brake hard, jolting to a stop mere inches from the shining black bumper of his prized car.

Jumping out, I stalk to the back of my vehicle and yank open the rear door, rummaging through the mess of emergency supplies until my fingers close around the thick nylon coil of tow rope.

My lips curve into a vicious smile as I loop one end around my trailer hitch and march toward the Jag, the heavy rope trailing behind me like a vengeful snake. It’s probably wrong of me to take such visceral satisfaction in what I’m about to do, but I’m beyond caring.

He started this.

I crouch down and feed the rope under his rear axle, making quick work of the knot. The blue-collar skills I picked up from years of working on construction sites with my father are finally coming in handy, it seems. Straightening, I give the rope a hard tug, testing the strength of my handiwork.

Perfect.

With a last, almost fond pat to the Jaguar’s gleaming hood, I hop back into my Jeep and shift into drive.

Inch by inch, I drag the luxury sports car out of its spot and into the center of the garage.

Petty? Absolutely.

Satisfying as hell? Oh, you better believe it.

I grin like a madwoman as I untie the rope and coil it back into my trunk, surveying my handiwork with the air of a job well done. Let’s see what Mr. High and Mighty Lucas Valeur has to say about this.

Whistling cheerfully, I slide into his now-vacant spot, kill the engine, and gather my things.

With a renewed sense of energy, I walk to the elevator bank, gesturing to the car stuck in the middle of the garage with my middle finger.

Catch me if you can, asshole.