In Love with Lewis Prescott, page 7
Her black-brown curls bounce as she shakes her head, a few strands of silver shining through.
“As a former angsty teenager, I apologize on behalf of your daughters. They’ll grow out of it and appreciate how patient and loving you were with them.”
“Oh, I know.” She waves a hand, the gold bangles on her wrist lightly clanking. “I was like that too at that age. This is payback for what a little witch I was to my mom and dad.”
I chuckle. “Still covering the front desk on Lupe’s days off, I see?”
She nods. “I’d love to hire an additional person, but that’s just not in the budget, unfortunately.”
I nod my understanding as she leads me to one of the offices in the back, where I’ll be helping clients fill out job and apartment applications today. As a former social worker, helping others is Diana’s passion. Her dad is from El Salvador, and starting this nonprofit to help other immigrants establish themselves in the US is something she’s always dreamed of doing. But I’ve seen just how much of a struggle it is to keep Glad You’re Here running over the years. They receive grants and other government money, but a good chunk of what keeps them operating are donations. When I was working at my old job, I donated a percentage of my income, but now that I’m taking time off, I have to temporarily pause on giving money.
Even thinking about it now sends a wave of guilt through me. That’s part of the reason I want to volunteer more now—if I can’t give monetarily, I want to give in some other way, and I figured my time was the next most valuable thing I can offer.
“Are donations down again?” I ask reluctantly.
She nods. “Times are tough for people. It seems like every year, the cost of living goes up and up. Most people’s incomes can’t sustain that, so donating to charity isn’t something a lot of people can do. I get it. I really do. It just makes things hard for us.”
As I follow her into a small room in the back and she gets me set up on a laptop, I think of the money Lewis promised to donate and know I made the right ultimatum. I wish I could tell Diana that relief is on the way, in the form of one million dollars, but I have to wait until my bargain with Lewis has been fulfilled.
* * *
Once I’m set up on the computer, Diana tells me that the first person I’m helping is due to arrive in ten minutes.
After that, it’s a busy few hours of helping people fill out forms online, printing documents, and answering questions. I’m finishing up with someone when I hear Diana’s voice boom from down the hall.
“Oh my god!”
I pop up out of my chair. “Just one sec,” I say to the person sitting next to me.
When I walk out to reception, Diana is standing up, covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide as saucers as she looks at the screen of her computer.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I rush over to her.
A beat later, her hands fall to her sides and she beams at me. “We just got a one-million-dollar donation! From an anonymous donor! Can you believe it?”
She jumps up and down while squealing. I run over to hug her, stunned. Holy shit. It was like Lewis read my mind.
Diana’s speaking so quickly in her shock and excitement that I can barely understand her. Something about updating some of the computers and hiring another employee and using a chunk of the money to help with things like apartment security deposits, down payments for cars, school supplies, and so much more to benefit the clients of the organization.
When she pauses, I notice her eyes are teary.
“Oh, Diana.” I grab her hands in mine, my own eyes burning with tears at just how overcome with joy she is.
“I just... I can’t believe it. We needed this so bad. And it actually happened.”
“Sometimes stuff works out when you need it to.” I fight a wince at how ridiculously cheesy and generic that sounds.
“I wish I knew who the donor was so I could thank them,” she says. “They’re helping us so much.”
I give her hands a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure they have their reasons for wanting to stay private.”
Part of me is curious too, though. I know Lewis is intensely private, so it makes sense that he didn’t publicize his donation, but if he had, that would have gone a long way to restoring his Hollywood image. It probably wouldn’t fix everything that’s gone wrong for him, but the public goes wild when a celebrity does something kind and giving. A lot of people would think highly of him if they knew he gave such a large sum of money to a relatively unknown charity that’s doing incredibly important work.
Diana smiles and says she’s going to call Frank, the other founder of the charity, to tell him the good news so they can start planning what to do with the money.
When I head back to finish my meeting, I’m smiling to myself. Turns out that badass “I don’t give a fuck” Lewis has a heart of gold, after all.
* * *
When I walk into the house, I don’t see Lewis in the kitchen or the living room. He must be resting in his room.
I open one of the cabinets to grab a glass for wine and still my hand. The door easily swings back and forth. It’s not wobbly, and it doesn’t creak. I open and close all the cabinets, smiling when I hear silence. As I head to the refrigerator for the white wine, the French doors whoosh open.
“So? What do you think?” Lewis grins as he stands in the doorway and juts his chin at the cupboards.
“Amazing. You’re a freaking magician, Lewis. Thank you so much for fixing these cabinets.”
I open the fridge and am stunned at the sight of what appears to be three dozen bottles of organic pressed juices taking up the entire middle shelf.
“Wow. So you’re really into juice, then?” I twist around to look at him.
He aims a flustered smile at the floor as he leans against the door frame. “Kind of. Gotta stay healthy even while I’m away from LA.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” I should have known. Even though he’s hiding out, he’s still a celebrity, and downing celery and wheatgrass juice on the daily seems like a very celebrity thing to do.
“Sorry to take up so much fridge space.”
“Not at all. You live here now too. Stock it with whatever you want, but you don’t have to worry too much about me stealing one of your surely delicious concoctions.”
He nods at the glass of wine in my hand. “Rough day?”
“Not at all. Amazing day, actually.”
“Wanna toast to it on the veranda with me? Hope you don’t mind, but I cracked open a beer after I finished the cabinets and wanted to enjoy it with a view.”
“That sounds perfect.”
I follow him out to the veranda, glass of wine in hand. He shuts the doors, then gestures to the two lounge chairs at the far end. When we sit down, he raises his glass, but I stop him.
“This toast is to you. Thank you for the donation you made to Glad You’re Here.” I try to say more, but all I can do is stammer, I’m still so blown away.
Lewis’s eyes fall to his lap, the shiest smile tugging at his lips. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing? Lewis, it was everything. I’ve volunteered at Glad You’re Here off and on ever since college, and I know just how much every single dollar they get means to them. They’re going to be able to help so many more people because of you. You should have seen Diana’s face when your donation came through. She was crying tears of joy.”
“Who’s Diana?”
“One of the cofounders. She was inspired to start the organization after seeing all the struggles her dad went through after he immigrated to the US. Stuff like learning English, applying for jobs and apartments, buying a car and a house, enrolling kids in schools. Her and her cofounder’s mission is to offer as much support as possible to every person who requests their services. That’s why I started volunteering there. My grandparents were immigrants too, and I know they struggled a lot when they first moved to this country.”
I stop myself when I realize I’m rambling.
“Sorry, I got way off track there. We’re supposed to be toasting to you.”
“No way. I can see how passionate you are about this. It’s incredible.”
I go quiet when I notice the warmth shining through Lewis’s hazel eyes as he gazes at me.
“Back to your toast.” I raise my glass. “To you, Lewis. You are making a difference.”
I clink my glass against his, which makes him laugh. We sip our drinks, then gaze ahead at the rocky hillside that juts up against the sky, which is bathed in a periwinkle hue. For a few quiet moments, we stare at the scenery and sip our drinks. Because the house is situated at the end of a quiet road, the sound of the waves crashing along the coastline just a handful of miles away overrides the faint echo of traffic in the distance.
I close my eyes and savor it. It’s never this quiet in Nob Hill—or any part of San Francisco. As much as I love that city, and spending my twenties and the first few years of my thirties there, I adore being somewhere new, somewhere quiet, surrounded by the ocean. It’s the perfect way to recharge after living so many years as a workaholic in the city.
“I’m glad that the money will help,” Lewis says after a moment.
The question that popped in my head earlier today resurfaces. Part of me knows it’s none of my business to ask. But the other part of me is bold enough to forge ahead due to the nearly full glass of Riesling I’ve just downed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.” His gaze remains on the hillside, and I’m mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his drink. All that golden skin and stubble, all those thick veins gliding along that even thicker throat...
I blink.
Stop being such a creep, Harper.
“How come you made the donation anonymous?” I ask.
He turns his head to me, but his expression is unreadable.
“I mean, I totally get that you’re a private person, but if you had attached your name to your donation, people would have noticed,” I explain. “And I think it would have gone a long way in helping them forget about the bad press you’re enduring right now.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, only staring at his socked feet.
“I’m not really about that. Doing things for show, I mean.” His tone is low and soft, but there’s an edge to it. I notice he’s clenching his jaw too.
I instantly regret my question. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that...”
He shakes his head, his expression easing. He’s still not looking at me, though.
“Really, Lewis. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I say in a soft tone. “It’s just that the whole point of you hiding out here is to create some distance between you and what happened on your old show and at Chateau Marmont. I thought that publicizing the donation would help with that, but you’re right. I guess it could come off the wrong way to some people.”
My shoulders fall forward as I focus on the rim of my wineglass. When I face him again, I’m taken aback at the look on his face. He’s staring at me with wonder. Or shock maybe? And there’s an intensity I don’t remember seeing before.
“What is it?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth hooks up. I notice that happens almost every time he’s caught off guard. I decide right then and there it’s the most endearing physical quirk I’ve ever seen.
“It’s gonna sound ridiculous,” he says.
“Well, now you have to tell me.”
He chuckles. “It’s just that you were really quick to apologize for something that honestly wasn’t a big deal at all.”
“Okay...”
“I’m used to people saying ‘sorry’ like it’s a reflex but not really meaning it—more like to appease me because they want to get something out of me. It’s refreshing to be around someone who seems genuine down to the bone.”
“Down to the bone,” I repeat.
He shrugs as a laugh falls from his lips. “Maybe that was a weird way of putting it.”
“No, I love it.”
He points to my empty glass. “More?”
“Actually, I’d be up for something harder. You wanna switch to some vodka with me?”
“Absolutely.” He hops up and slips back inside, returning with two fresh glasses in one of his massive hands and a frosty bottle of vodka in the other.
“Apong Bernie—my grandpa—always told me that the most important thing you could ever be in life is honest and true,” I say as Lewis pours me a glass. “That’s always stuck with me. And I guess I just try to do my best to live that way.”
“Sounds like your grandpa was a stand-up guy.”
“Oh, he was. Pretty old-fashioned, but in a good way.”
“Old-fashioned how?”
“Like, he always opened doors for my grandma. If they were out walking, he insisted on taking the side closest to the road. If it rained, he’d hold an umbrella for her. He refused to curse around her too.”
Lewis grins wide. “Damn. He sounds like a class act.”
“In every sense of the word.” I glance around at the veranda and tap my sneakers against the sturdy wooden planks. “I miss him. He’d love how this place is shaping up.”
Just the thought of him sitting here next to me makes my throat go tight for a long second, but I quickly swallow it back.
“I think he’d be damn proud to see what his brilliant architect granddaughter did to his house.”
Lewis’s words send a wave of comfort through me. I smile a thanks.
“Are you close with your grandparents?” I ask.
“I was close to my grandpa before he passed away a handful of years ago. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about home renovation and repair. He was a contractor and handyman in the LA area, and as a kid I’d tag along with him to jobs. I started working for him when I was in high school.”
“That’s so cool.”
I try to picture kid Lewis wielding a hammer on a work site and smile to myself. “Did you wear a little tool belt?”
His right cheek scrunches as he smiles, and that dimple I adore appears. I swallow more vodka.
“Yup. When I was little, my grandpa took one of his old tool belts and fitted it down to my size so I could feel like a proper handyman, just like him.”
“That is adorable.”
I finish the rest of my drink and set the empty glass down by my feet. Lewis reaches up to turn on the tea lights I strung up along the top of the veranda.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Lewis says.
“What? Drink vodka on a veranda?”
“That too.” He rubs the back of his neck before pivoting to face me. “But it’s also been a while since I’ve sat around and talked about my grandpa. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
Something about the way he says that lands deep inside me. I can tell he’s sad and grateful at once.
“You don’t get to talk about him much with your family? Or friends?”
He shakes his head, his expression shifting from wistful to regretful.
I stop myself from asking him why. It feels like I’ve asked enough prying questions for one conversation.
“Well, you can talk to me about him whenever you feel like it. I’m happy to listen.”
And suddenly, right now as I gaze at Lewis, I don’t see a celebrity. I see a regular guy who’s harboring a good bit of pain behind those expressive hazel eyes. I’m not sure what’s causing it, and I know it’s too soon to ask him about it—we’ve only known each other for a few days, after all. But I’m certain in this moment that I want to get to know Lewis even more, more than just a pleasant chat while sharing a few drinks at the end of the day. I want him to someday feel comfortable enough to tell me exactly what’s on his mind—the good, the bad, and everything in between.
I go the slightest bit dizzy, thrown off by this realization. This is our first full day of sharing this house, but already I feel a pull toward him that I’m not sure I’ve felt for anyone before. Maybe it’s the random way we met or this strange-as-hell setup we’re in that’s making the situation feel more intense.
Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe it’s because I’m realizing just how much I genuinely like him.
I stand up too fast and wobble slightly, but Lewis’s muscled arm shoots up, gently grabbing me at the elbow and steadying me.
“You okay?” he asks as he stands up.
I nod. “I think so.”
“Too much vodka?”
The feel of his hand on my skin turns hot.
Nope. Definitely not the vodka.
“Something like that,” I mumble.
When his arm falls away, my skin tingles at the memory of his brief touch. I twist my head to glance up at him. “Thanks for...” I trail off when I see our faces are a mere two inches apart, because he’s leaning down to support me. “...saving me.”
All I can do is look between his cloudy stare and those perfectly plump lips of his.
“Um, any—any, uh, anytime.”
He clears his throat a half dozen times in that reply, his gaze on my lips. It all happens in a span of just seconds, but it feels like slow motion at the same time.
And that’s when it hits me. We’re going to kiss.
I lick my lips in anticipation, my breath hot and wet as it glides out of my mouth, my skin tingling, my body aching in anticipation of what Lewis Prescott’s lips and tongue are going to taste like.
When his mouth parts open, my mouth waters and my heartbeat kicks into a frenzied gear. And then he blinks. That dazed look fades, like he’s coming to his senses.
