Page 20 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

Chapter Fourteen

LUCAS

I ’m just about to head out of my office, my mind already on the stack of reports waiting for me at home when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, my brow furrowing at the sight of my father’s name on the screen.

I swipe to accept the call, lifting the phone to my ear. “Dad. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Lucas.” His voice is tight, clipped. “I just got off the phone with Michael Gant. He’s clueless. Doesn’t have the faintest idea what’s about to hit him.”

I lean back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Good. That’s exactly how we want him.”

“When you take down his company, Son, the victory will be especially sweet. After what that bastard did to our family, it’s about time he paid up.”

“And he will,” I promise, my voice hardening with resolve. “I’ll make sure of it. ”

We exchange a few more words, hammering out details and contingencies, before ending the call. I slip the phone back into my pocket and stand, snagging my suit jacket from the back of my chair.

At this hour, the halls of Valeur Real Estate are mostly deserted, as the majority of my employees have already left for the day. I nod to the few stragglers still hunched over their desks, murmuring goodnights as I make my way to the elevators.

As I descend to the parking garage, I let my mind wander, puzzling over the strange turns my life has taken.

Returning to the office as a married man has been a change, to say the least. The knowing looks, the sly congratulations, the barely concealed curiosity in everyone’s eyes as they watch me pass. .. It’s enough to make my skin crawl.

And the flowers. The fucking flowers. Dozens of them. Bouquets and arrangements clutter every surface of my once-sterile office, each one a reminder of the farce I’m now a participant in.

Part of me wants to sweep them all to the floor, to grind the delicate petals beneath my heel until there’s nothing left but dust and broken stems. But I resist the urge. Instead, I smile and nod and act the part of the happy newlywed, all the while screaming inside that it’s fake, it’s all fake.

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal the dim, cavernous expanse of the parking garage. I stride out, my footsteps echoing in the eerie stillness, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting stuttering shadows across the concrete.

I’m halfway to my usual spot when I pull up short, a frown creasing my brow.

My car, my sleek black Jaguar, parked in the middle of the driving lane, almost blocking traffic. Someone had deliberately repositioned it, not caring about the chaos it would cause. And in its place sits a hulking red Jeep.

Ava’s Jeep .

For a moment, I simply stare, my tired mind struggling to make sense of the sight.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut as the realization hits.

Ava. Of course. As if nearly running me down this morning wasn’t enough, now she’s fucking with my car. My space. Encroaching on my territory like she has any right, any claim to it.

I go over all the clauses of our contract in my head, but there’s nothing that addresses cases like these. Who would even think of something like this?

I glance at her Jeep again.

No problem. If she wants to start a war, she’ll get a war.

I arrive home and head straight to her room. She’s still at the office, which means her room is empty.

I open the door and step inside, my gaze drawn to the various pieces of lingerie scattered across her bed. I pick up a lacy bra, running my thumb over the delicate fabric, the intricate patterns of the lace rough against my skin.

God, I’d kill to see her wearing this.

My cock hardens at the thought of her standing almost naked before me in the sunroom, all smooth skin and dangerous curves. I put the bra back where it was and pick up a pair of panties.

Fuck.

They smell like her, all warm and feminine and intoxicating, and now I’m hard as a rock, my body responding to even this small piece of her.

But that’s not why I’m here.

I survey the room, my eyes roaming over the personal touches that mark this space as hers until I find what I’m looking for.

I grasp the birdcage in both hands, meeting the gaze of the parrot inside, who’s bobbing his head in circular motions. He doesn’t look too pleased with the situation, but I don’t have time to deal with that. I need to make him disappear before she gets back.

I head back to my room but pause halfway there. My room will be the first place she looks. Better to hide him in my office. She’s never been in there, doesn’t know where it is, and I’m the only one with the key.

I turn on my heel and stride to my office, slipping inside and placing the cage on my desk, the metal bars clinking against the polished wood.

“Dick face,” Cartman squawks.

“Yeah, I gathered you like to swear,” I mutter, eyeing the bird.

“Like to swear, like to swear,” he mimics.

Maybe I should teach him something a little less...crass. “Lucas the king,” I enunciate clearly.

“Shit ass,” Cartman replies.

“No, say ‘Lucas the king’,” I try to coax him .

“Ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhhh,” the parrot imitates the sounds of sex moans.

“Fuck.” I shake my head, fighting back a laugh despite myself.

“Fuck! Fuck!” he repeats after me.

“I need a drink.” I walk over to the bar cart and pour myself two fingers of whiskey, holding the glass up and swirling the amber liquid, watching it catch the light. “She’s going to drive me insane.”

“She’s going to drive me insane,” Cartman echoes.

“Oh, that’s what you choose to repeat?” I narrow my eyes and approach the parrot.

He bounces in his cage, up and down, flapping his wings.

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay.” I try to soothe him, but he continues to bounce, and the food dish tips over, scattering its contents all over the cage floor.

“Look what you did. Why are you freaking out? I’m not going to hurt you.” I move closer and open the cage door to flip the dish back over.

I don’t even get to say Mississippi before the parrot is out flying around my office.

“Fuck.” I follow his erratic path as he flaps around the room, colliding with various objects until he settles on the antique globe in the corner, perching on the surface.

I approach him, step by careful step, and then when I’m close enough, I spread my arms and try to grab him.

The parrot screeches and launches himself at me, attacking me with his claws and beak.

“Fuck! Damn it, get off me!” I yell as a sharp pain lances through my neck.

“Fuck! Damn it!” Cartman screams. “Fuck! Damn it! ”

I run my fingers over my neck.

Blood. The fucking bird scratched me deep enough to draw blood. I pull a mirror out of my desk drawer and look. Ugly, bleeding gashes mar the skin of my throat.

“You’re going to pay for that. Come here, you little shit.” I stalk back into the room, hands outstretched. I have to catch the bastard.

I find him perched on my liquor cart, his vicious talons gripping the handle of the ice bucket.

“Come to me, Cartman.” I inch closer.

The moment I get within two steps of him, he flaps wildly, sending several of my expensive crystal glasses to shatter on the floor with a tremendous crash.

Can this day get any worse?

Cartman flies away from me and lands on my desk, still flapping his wings.

“No! Not the whiskey glass!” I lunge, but it’s too late. He knocks over the tumbler, spilling the liquid all over the papers scattered across my desk.

The scent of whiskey permeates the room as it drips off the edge of the desk, pooling on the floor.

Yes. It can get worse.

I shake my head, surveying the chaos. The room looks like a disaster zone, and all because of one small parrot. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Shit ass,” Cartman says from his new perch on the lamp.

I raise my middle finger. “You really are a shit ass.”

I collapse into the brown leather armchair in the room's corner and lean my head back, closing my eyes for a moment before snapping them open again.

I can’t close my eyes with that little murderer on the loose. He might attack. He’s probably just waiting for me to let my guard down so he can kill me.

I glare at him as he swings on the lamp. I swear he’s smiling.

“Of course, you’re chaos and wildness personified, just like your owner. Two peas in a fucking pod.”

A knock at the door has me straightening in my chair.

“Yes?”

The door opens, and the owner in question steps inside. Her eyes widen as she takes in the destruction. “My parrot is missing, and I heard noises,” she starts, then bites her lip as she spots the cage on my desk. “You took him.”

I exhale. “You’re welcome to take your little monster back.”

“Where is he? What did you do to him?” She takes a few steps into the room, mouth agape as she stares at the shattered glass littering the floor. “What happened in here?”

“He’s there.” I point to the lamp. “And he happened.”

She stifles a snicker, covering her mouth with her hand. “Cartman did this?”

“Yes. He’s a menace.” I stand, and he flaps and starts squawking again. “Get him away from me.”

“Gladly,” she says. “I’m not the one who brought him here, if you’ll remember. What were you trying to do, anyway? Steal him?” She moves closer, her eyes narrowing. “And what happened to your neck? You’re bleeding.”

I tilt my head back, exposing the wounds. “Monster. I told you.”

She snorts again. “I guess you had it coming. Cartman is very attached to me.” She looks up at the parrot, who’s cocking his head from side to side. “Come here, baby.” She extends her arm, and he flutters down to land on it.

“That’s it? That’s all you had to do? Just hold out your arm? I’ve been trying to catch him for an hour.”

She just smiles and walks over to the cage to place him back inside.

“I guess you’ll learn not to mess with us.

” She picks up the cage and heads for the door.

“Get those scratches looked at. They could get infected.” She flashes me a smile, giving the room one last surveying glance and stifling another giggle before exiting.

I stare after her, my blood boiling and my cock throbbing in equal measure. Fucking infuriating woman. Fucking demon bird.

I run a hand over my face, wincing as my fingers brush the tender skin of my neck. I need a cold shower and a stiff drink. And possibly a tetanus shot.

But first, I need to clean up this mess. Erase the evidence of my humiliating defeat at the claws of Ava’s feathered bodyguard.

With a weary sigh, I gather up the larger shards of glass, careful not to slice my fingers on the jagged edges. It’s going to be a long night of cleaning and plotting, of ruthlessly suppressing any thoughts of lush curves and defiant eyes, of a razor-sharp tongue I’d like to put to better use.

Fuck. I am so screwed.