The 18th Floor

Chapter Nineteen

I wake up on a soft, beige sofa with a blanket thrown over me. When I open my eyes, I can see my chair next to me and hear the faint noise of typing somewhere. Reality sinks in. I'm in Lucien's house.

"Good morning", he says over his laptop from where seems to be the kitchen.

I prop myself on my elbows as I sit up and smile back, slightly embarrassed.

"It's 10:30, you've only been napping for around 40 minutes", he says casually.

I open my mouth, and somehow, he knows I'm about to apologise so cuts me off, "don't apologise for anything. All is fine, everyone is ok. The building is locked off for today, and potentially the rest of the week meaning they might have to cancel the Christmas party", he says summarising what I would have asked after I apologised. He's started to predict my actions quite well.

"Thank you", I say anyway, unsure of what else to say.

I just nod at him smiling, and can't help but smile back, feeling an unspoken discussion happen between us.

"I told you. I've always got you", he says. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks and take him in, in his hoodie and grey joggers.

"Never thought you owned anything other than a suit to be honest", I say trying to steer the conversation away.

He laughs, "did you think I just sat in meetings 24/7?"

"Potentially, yes."

His smile meets his eyes.

"Do you want anything to change into?", he asks, hesitantly. I look down as if I need to remember what I'm wearing today. Plain white shirt and cream trousers. I can see he has taken off the boots I put on this morning, but neither of us mention it.

"I think I'm ok, thank you."

"Would you like a coffee or anything to drink?"

"A coffee would be nice please", I say, as I go to sit up properly, shifting my weight so my back is against the sofa, folding the blanket away and then lifting my legs down onto the floor individually. He watches my every move, almost in awe and not in sympathy.

"I can finally show you my great coffee making skills", he says, as he goes to get a mug.

"Don't think they would be better than mine."

I watch him make the coffee, concentrating too hard on the simple task. "Voila", he says as he lifts up the cup and I can't help but laugh.

He starts to bring over the cup, to place on the little coffee table in front, but then I say, "can you actually put it over there, on your dining table? I can set up my laptop there to work today?"

"Of course, yes, work", he says swiftly turning around as if he forgot we still had projects to finish before we leave for Christmas. "You don't have to work if-"

"Lucien." I cut him off. "I'm fine. I'm going to work", I say maybe harsher than I intended to say. He nods.

"Of course, you're free to do what you like but I heard your boss he doesn't care", he smiles softly, trying to erase the etch of worry on his face.

"Unfortunately, I think he does care."

"Wouldn't be so unfortunate", he murmurs as he sets down our mugs of coffee on the dining table. I try not to react at the double meaning of the comment.

I pull my wheelchair close to the sofa and angle it so I can transfer. Pulling myself closer to the edge of the sofa, I place one hand on my chair and the other on the sofa as I lift myself from the sofa into my wheelchair. I can see Lucien, trying not to stare from the corner of my eye, but as if on standby to help. I adjust my hips and waist into the chair and then lift my legs onto each leg rest.

I look up at Lucien, "you probably have stronger arms than me" he blurts. I feel the redness creeping up my cheeks.

"One of the first things they teach you in rehab", I smile back under my breath, not knowing what he would say if he learnt about my twice a week session. Making my way over to the table, he has already moved one of the six dining chairs for me.

Lucien doesn't have much furniture, items even, in his house despite what is needed, making his place easy to navigate. He brings his laptop and mine over to the table and sits opposite me. Behind him is his garden, probably the size of my bedroom. Then, in the corner I spot a kennel.

"You have a dog? And you never told me?", I scream more than say.

"Yh, that's Atticus. I didn't want to bring him inside whilst you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you up and wasn't sure if you even liked dogs", he replies back.

"Of course, I like dogs! Bring him inside right now", I shoo him out.

He unlocks his garden door and slides it open, as a little black head pops out the kennel. Once the dog spots Lucien it starts racing towards him.

"Atticus, Cyrene, Cyrene, Atticus", he introduces, as he closes the door back to stop the place from getting cold. At least it isn't raining today. Atticus hesitantly starts sniffing around me, unsure if I'm a friend or foe. He's a small black pug, but definitely not a puppy anymore. I lower my hand down so he can sniff it and starts licking it.

"Will he mind if I take him on my lap?", I ask.

"Ah yes, spoil him some more why don't you", Lucien laughs. I pick Atticus up and place him on my thighs, as I pet him. He lies down my lap, "is he going to fall asleep again?", I ask.

Lucien smiles, as he says, "he potentially could, he's a bit old despite his small size."

"He's very cute."

"He is indeed."

A few moments later, a small snoring noise starts and I can't help but laugh, covering my hand over my mouth in a bid to not wake the dog up. Lucien smiles, his eyes lingering one second too long on mine as he returns back to his laptop. I almost feel my heart skip a small beat every time that small dimple of him resurfaces.

We fall into our regular pace of working, as if were in the office.