“That’s because you’re carrying shopping bags while mister personality walks around glaring at the world.”
“Your niece is stubborn,” Ray mutters. “She wouldn’t let me take them.”
“A gentleman wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Lucy fires back.
I close my eyes briefly. “Lucy,” I warn.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m only saying what he already knows.” Ray lets out a humourless laugh as Lucy turns back to me. “And I’d rather it was just us for lunch so we can talk.”
The words land exactly how she intends them to. A beat of silence follows. Then Ray nods once. “Fine.”
He passes the bags to one of the staff members before turning to the bar manager. “Get them the best table in the restaurant,” he says calmly. “And everything goes on the house.”
“Of course, sir.”
Lucy looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Oh good,” she says flatly. “Free food. That totally makes up for everything.”
“Lucy,” I hiss.
“What? I’m still deciding whether I hate him or just strongly dislike him.”
Ray drags a hand over his jaw. “I’ll be in my office,” he says, his eyes settling on me. “Come find me when you’re done eating.” There’s something restrained in his voice now. Like he’s still angry, or maybe he’s tired of this struggle we seem to keep finding ourselves in too.
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Lucy waits until he disappears towards the private elevators before muttering, “Well. He somehow became even grumpier.”
And despite myself, I laugh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RAY
I give the office a miss and head straight upstairs to the apartment with Lucy’s voice is still ringing in my ears.
Jesus Christ.The woman acts like I’m some kind of villain for trying to provide for my family.
I shove open the apartment door harder than necessary and loosen my tie as I step inside, irritation simmering beneath my skin.
Laughter drifts from the kitchen. I follow the sound, slowing slightly when I step through the doorway.
Sebastian stands at the island, stirring something in a large mixing bowl while Jessica measures flour into smaller bowls beside him. Music hums quietly from her phone on the counter, and the entire kitchen smells like melted chocolate.
It’s tidy. Spotless, actually.
There are no flour explosions, no cracked eggs dripping down cupboards.
No chaos.
A sharp memory flashes through my mind of Wynter trying to bake with Seb a few months ago. Batter somehow on every surface. Flour in her hair. Sebastian laughing so hard, he nearly fell off his chair while Wynter accused the recipe book of “setting her up for failure.”
The kitchen had looked like a war zone afterwards.
And yet, something twists uncomfortably in my chest.
Jessica glances up first. “Well, you look murderous.”
“I’m always murderous,” I mutter.