She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 75

Loyce checked the time. “You’re telling me this with thirty minutes left?”

Sybil sighed softly. “I’m really sorry. I was up all night arranging music, and I fell asleep at the salon. But I can still send the driver—”

A man’s voice cut in on Sybil’s side, sharp and contemptuous. “Why do you keep apologizing to her? So what if she’s a Lonsdale now? She comes back from nowhere and starts treating you like a servant. So spoiled and arrogant!”

Loyce lifted an eyebrow and hung up. So they wanted her to arrive late and look pathetic.

Fine.

Loyce dialed a number. It rang only a couple of times before a low voice answered, carrying a faint smile. “Ms. Lonsdale… or should I call you ‘doctor’?”

“Call me Loyce,” she said. “I need a favor. I’m borrowing your helicopter, and yes, count it against what you owe me for treatment.”

It was the first time she’d ever called him directly. Lucian looked down at the sand-table on his desk, fingers idly resting on a miniature formation. “Emergency?”

“Sort of,” Loyce said. “I need to get to the Morin Charity Gala. Can you?”

Lucian withdrew his hand, flicked his cuff, and when he looked up there was a rare hint of amusement in his eyes. “Funny coincidence. I’m invited too. We can go together.”

After he ended the call, Lucian raised his brows at Robert. “You said it’s a charity event. Skipping doesn’t look great. Arrange it, we’re leaving now.”

Robert blinked. Earlier it was “I’m recovering, decline everything.” One phone call from Loyce and the schedule magically changed?

“…Yes, sir.”

Inwardly, Robert thought, “So the old saying is true. Even the battlefield’s deadliest man is still, at heart, just a man.”

...

In a gown, Loyce strolled across her lawn as the helicopter circled overhead and descended, wind whipping her skirt and tossing her hair into her eyes. She narrowed them and lifted a hand to shield her face.

The cabin door opened. Lucian stepped out in a tailored black suit and extended his hand toward her. His features were striking in the rotor wash, his voice low and smooth. “Loyce, after you.”

Loyce met his gaze and placed her hand in his. His fingers tightened briefly, steadying her as he pulled her aboard, then he released her with practiced restraint.

Once seated, he asked, “If you’re going to a gala, why didn’t the staff remind you? And your brothers didn’t arrange a car?”

“There was a car,” Loyce said, eyes cooling. “Sybil said we’d go together, so I waited. Then she ‘fell asleep at the salon’ and suddenly couldn’t pick me up. Driving would only make me later.”

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