One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,17

then says, “Same here.”

It sounds like it costs him something to admit that, and that’s why I let my guard down a little more. “I was supposed to have coffee with a client this evening. To go over some of the designs I’m working on for him. But I pushed it to the morning to deal with this.”

He wiggles his brows. “Ah, so I did ruin your Friday night plans. Or wait, maybe this makes me your one night stand-in?”

I laugh. “Yes. That’s exactly what you are. My one night stand-in for work. Since that’s what I’m usually doing at night. I started my own design firm a few months ago. I went to a contract role at Bailey & Brooks. I’m working insane hours, but I love it,” I say, and right now I love this honest moment with him. It reminds me of how we used to talk to each other. When we were friends. When we shared our hopes and dreams.

And those dreams didn’t involve spying on the competition, so I let that notion go. As much as I want to win the award, I’m not a secret agent. I’m just a woman who loves her sister like crazy. That’s why I’m with Lucas tonight—for Luna.

So what if I let myself momentarily enjoy a conversation with the man who was once a confidante and a very kindred spirit?

Especially since he seems to be enjoying himself too, judging by the hint of a smile on his lips. “That’s great, Lola. I always imagined you’d do your own thing.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, you never seemed like the kind of woman who’d want to take orders. You want to give the orders.”

I laugh at his assessment—the truthfulness of it, and the reality, too, of running a business. “Mostly I’m giving orders to myself.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Yep. I know that well. Morning, noon, and night. It’s a never-ending list of things you need to do.”

“But you wouldn’t change it?” I ask, curious to know if he’s happy too. If the dreams of his twenty-one-year-old heart have come true nearly ten years later.

“Nah. I’m too opinionated to work effectively for someone else.”

I let my jaw hang open. “You? Opinionated? I had no idea.”

“Pretty shocking, isn’t it?” He drums his fingers along the shelf near a jar of silvery buttons. They seem to catch his gaze. “Speaking of opinions, the cover you did for Sex and Other Shiny Objects?”

I brace myself at the mention of a romantic comedy that Amy edited. It hit bookstores a month ago. And considering he told me my Fashion Roadkill cover looked like it was designed by a pigeon on meth, I’m betting he has nothing nice to say about the silvery buttons on the cover of the rom-com. “Yes, Lucas?”

His eyes meet mine again, and they’re softer this time, a little gentler. “Terrific cover. One of your best.”

My stupid heart glows. I shouldn’t like his praise so much. But I do, oh, how I do. Because he’s so damn talented, and because he rarely doles out praise. “Thank you. That one has a special place in my heart.”

“As it should,” he says.

“And while we’re at it, I should tell you that your If Found, Please Return cover was fantastic. It wasn’t derivative at all. It was great.”

“Thank you,” he says, a genuine smile playing on his lips.

“It’s going to be tough going up against you in the competition.” That admission hurts my professional soul the slightest bit, but it’s also freeing.

He takes a beat. “I can absolutely say the same about you.”

A voice cuts in. “Thank you so much for waiting. What can I do for you?”

The pink-haired woman flashes a happy-to-help grin, and I wish the other customer had taken all night. Because I was actually enjoying that moment of truth with Lucas. It felt like old times, when we spoke to each other from our hearts and souls.

But I have to set that moment aside, because I’m here for one reason, and it’s not to tease Lucas, or to glean intel. Nor is it to get to know him all over again.

“We’re here because we’re looking for a stash of acoustic guitars,” I begin, then dive into the story. When I finish, I add, “I know it sounds crazy, and I feel a little crazy asking. But I’m sure my sister and Rowan met here, so I figured this must be where the landlord left the guitars as part of his caper. Any chance you