Care to Command

6 Maraschino Cherries

"That's it, get the fuck out of here!" The bartender yells at me, gesturing towards the exit. People on nearby stools turn and stare my way, as I boil crimson, on the verge of tears.

Suddenly Lucas gets on his feet, causing the metal legs of his chair to scrape against the tile. He raises an eyebrow at the bartender, eyes cold and ruthless. "You want to say that again?" He asks, voice so calm, it sends a shiver down my spine.

The bartender darts his gaze downwards, rushed and flustered. "Get a hold of your girl, she's causing a scene."

"She can do whatever the fuck she wants," Lucas narrows a relentless glare, each word spoken deep and slow, "what are you going to do about it?"

The crowd murmurs their worries, and I put my hand on Lucas's arm. "Let's just go."

But he remains in a solid, immovable stance. "You have anything to say?"

The man looks at me, red with contempt and fear. "I apologize, I didn't mean to yell."

"It's alright..." I mumble, nudging Lucas away.

~

We walk to the elevators in silence, tension rolling off of us both. When the doors open and we get in, he punches the button to the top floor, with still no word.

On each level, the elevator stops, bringing strangers in, each with the same reaction when they see him - eyes wide then immediately away the second they catch his anger.

I sneak a peak through my lashes at his symmetrical, still posture, his broad shoulders, straight back, and hard features. But then, the red, gooey mess in his hair, the strings of syrup on his temples, and the drops trickling down his neck, around the collar of his shirt grab my attention and I stifle a giggle.

He looks down, as if to say 'are you seriously laughing at me', but the sternness while wearing a cherry crown only makes me fold over. And the crowd shifts uncomfortably, while I cover my mouth, and through the reflection of the doors, I see the corners of his lips curve up.

"I owe you a new shirt," I say when we step down the hallway.

"You're fine." He mutters.

"No, I feel bad."

"Good, you should feel bad."

"Hey! You called me a bitch, you asshole."

He sighs, looking down at the tan carpet beneath. "Sorry...that was uncalled for."

"It's fine...I am a bitch sometimes, especially to you."

"You're not a bitch, Layla. You're a lot of things, but not a bitch."

I narrow my eyes as we stop in front of my door. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Lucas glances away, "You already had a tough day with the meeting, I didn't mean to make it worse."

"Noted..." I drawl, waiting for the catch. "So, are we good?"

"I'll let you know once this shit is out of my hair."

I giggle. "Good luck."

~

It's only 8 p.m, why the hell am I in my hotel room?

When I knock on Lucas's door, he's changed into a black v-neck shirt with matching jeans. The darkness strikes a contrast against the rich warmth of his umber hair and chestnut eyes.

"I want to go to the bar, but I'm scared to go alone." I blurt.

"I'm not your bodyguard." He says flatly.

"Come on, please? Casey said that you'll look out for me. I'm trying to get some."

His eyebrows reach his forehead. "What?"

"I'm trying to get some, and I need a wingman, plus it'll help us hang out and stop being enemies. I mean, obviously, I'm still going to get the VP role and you're going to cry, but I figured, if you're going to hang out with Casey, I can't go on wishing for you to get hit by a bus."

"Wow."

I grin cheekily. "So, you in?"

He runs a hand through his hair, with strained contemplation, then looks at my outfit. "You're wearing that?"

I frown at my white button down and flare pants. "I guess...not..."

"Definitely not, unless you're going to a lesbian bar."

My eyes snap up like he just said the most brilliant thing, and his go wide in response.

~

~~A/N~~

Oh shooooot!!!! Are we...seeing...some development here?!

Lucas and Layla at a lesbian bar, let's go! Anyone scared?