The Truce (London Suits 1)

“Luke, have you seen the time? We’ve been in here for two hours!”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “And your point is…?”

“We’ve spent two hours together, in the same room, without a disagreement,” I told him, impressed that we’d somehow managed to work productively together, despite the odds stacked against us.

Luke smirked. “That’s a record for you, isn’t it?”

“A record for us.” My tone was firm, daring him to disagree with me. “Don’t you remember the last time we worked on a project together? It was a complete disaster.”

“That’s for sure,” he muttered, frowning.

Quickly, I changed the subject before the mood could sour. “Come on, let’s toast this truce.”

I raised my water bottle in the air and stared at Luke expectantly. He rolled his eyes but lifted his own water bottle, and I knocked mine against his.

“To the truce!” I cried dramatically. Luke gave me a strange look, but I ignored it. As long as we weren’t arguing,

I’d take it as progress. Determination filled me. We could do this. We’d create an amazing website and social media for Delny, and blow them away with our creative genius. Fingers crossed.

“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a caffeine boost.” Luke stretched his arms above his head a little while later, yawning.

“Good idea.” I stood up.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll get them,” he said softly.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Luke?” I peered closely at him, narrowing my eyes. “Luke, if you’ve been taken over by aliens and you’re still in there somewhere, blink twice.”

“Crazy woman,” he muttered, shaking his head.

I caught the amusement on his face as he turned to leave.

“I saw you smiling, Mr. Davenport,” I called after him, feeling absurdly pleased with myself.

Engrossed in making notes, I jumped when Luke returned, sliding a mug of coffee in front of me.

“Thanks,” I murmured, distracted, still scribbling everything down before I lost my train of thought.

I took a sip of coffee and my eyes widened.

“Caramel latte. Oh, this is so good,” I breathed. “Thank you, Luke.”

I smiled appreciatively at him.

He lowered his eyes, long lashes dusting his cheekbones. “I knew it was your favourite.” He shrugged.

I was floored. How did the man who had been my self-professed rival know not only my favourite coffee, but exactly how I liked it? (Caramel latte, in my Better Latte Than Never mug, with an extra espresso shot added, in case anyone was wondering.)

“Um…thanks again.” Flustered, I reached for my pen, but I managed to send it rolling, and it dropped off the edge of the table with a soft clatter.

Luke immediately swung down and swiped the pen from the floor. As he handed it back to me, the tips of our fingers touched, and I flinched. It felt as if I’d been electrocuted.

I stared at Luke, wide-eyed, and he returned my gaze, my expression mirrored in his for a brief moment. So brief, it may have been my imagination.

Huskier than usual, his voice sent shivers racing through me. “Come on, let’s get back to work.”

“Okay,” I agreed shyly.

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