“Aptly chosen code name, Calvin.” She held her glass out for a toast.
He was too stunned to mirror her. “How did they catch him?”
“You have Scarlet to thank for that.”
“The police program?”
“Extra officers were in the right place at the right time and caught Asher Morris,” she whispered to keep his name private, “red-handed in the middle of offering protection to a local business. The news is going to be rampant with this for weeks, making your little data scientist look very good. You’re seeing him later, right?”
This was amazing, everything Owen had hoped for, and it had inadvertently cleared more of Cal’s schedule. Cal wished The Godfather all the best, she was a good kid, but he understood if her focus needed to be elsewhere.
Owen was going to be buzzing with elation tonight.
“I think this might call for a celebration when I head over.” Finally Cal raised his glass to join Lara’s toast and took a solid swig.
He wouldn’t have another. He wanted to save his senses for Owen, especially since tonight was the perfect occasion to bring over an imported beer he’d been saving that would go well with what they planned to make for dinner.
“Now you only have Piper and Prince to pawn off and you can make a clean getaway.” Lara eyed him over the rim of her mug.
Cal glowered. He should have known she’d start fishing if she was picking up the tab. “And why would I want to do that?”
“You know my sister called me last night, right?”
Of course she did. “I know how nosy sisters can be. Care to keep your nose out of my business?”
“Not if you’re going to start having dinner parties with my family members.” Lara downed almost all her remaining beer in one gulp, then smacked her lips when she slammed it down. “Lorelei had quite a few things to say about you two.”
“Doesn’t Lorelei have any sense of patient confidentiality?”
“She’s a personal trainer.”
“Who doubles as a therapist by Scarlet’s description.”
Lara pursed her lips to concede the point. “She didn’t give any specifics, so Scarlet’s secrets are safe, but in her words, you seemed like an entirely different man than the one she remembered meeting.”
“That’s what I do, Lara”—Cal spread his arms to encompass himself—“become the man my clients need me to be.”
“Only you weren’t on the clock last night.”
Dammit. She had him, as easily as she could have hooked him into a headlock. “Look, if you’re concerned about my work ethic—”
“I’m not here as your handler, Calvin.” She dropped the sly smile. “I’m here as your friend. We’ve worked together a long time. I know how you handle clients. I know what normal looks like for you. And Lorelei’s right. Lately you’ve been a different man, and anyone with eyes could see that it’s because of Owen Quinn.” Her voice dropped just as softly as it had when she said Morris, but Cal still tensed to hear Owen mentioned anywhere other than between them and their circle of public events.
He was supposed to be a master of personas, playing the right role to fit the right situation, even when that meant pulling on a mask to fool his friends, but Lara wasn’t someone he could con. Lorelei wasn’t either, apparently, not that Cal had tried conning anyone last night.
“It might not even matter,” he said. “Maybe he doesn’t think of me like—”
“Please,” Lara interrupted. “Excuses don’t become you. You can’t do this forever. Even a man aging as gracefully as you are can’t turn tricks in his sixties.”
Cal frowned. A jab at his age was always a sore spot, because it had been grating on him lately, that sense of something missing while the years passed by and nothing changed. “You want to put money on that?”
Lara gave a low chuckle. “Okay, you probably could. But is that really what you want?”
It had been a long time since Cal had thought about what he wanted beyond a satisfying night and a job well done. Owen made him question everything.
“Just promise you’ll give me a heads-up before making some big scene in front of Richard when you quit.”
Now Cal had to chuckle. “Why, so you can keep the peace?”
“So I can record it.”
He laughed outright. “I’m not going anywhere yet. And besides, Dick’s an asshole… but he’s a good man.” Cal didn’t need to make any scenes when he left, and was he seriously considering quitting? For Owen?
“Too bad all assholes aren’t nice like us.” She raised her glass for one more clink.
Cal obliged her, but his own swallow of beer was enjoyed slowly, because he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just admitted.
“Now, we playing darts or pool?” Lara rubbed her hands together as she glanced behind them, where both options waited. “Coz I’m having at least one more beer, and I owe you for that last poker match.”
They had a mild rivalry with anything competitive, which came out in friendly games of cards or whatever else might be available. Lara was easy to be around in that sense, even when they weren’t talking, something Cal had always appreciated about his friendship with Rhys too.
Which reminded him. “As long as you’re being meddlesome, what’s going on with Rhys? Dick said he’s been clearing his schedule. You know anything about that?”
Lara smirked like she had a secret—and she always did. “Better ask him.”
OWEN had to look on the bright side. Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Plus, he had this insane text from Wesley—it still floored him that the mayor of Atlas City texted him on occasion—about a mob boss the police program had helped shut down, which was a huge win. He should have been overjoyed.
Harrison wasn’t even in the building anymore, and still Owen jumped at shadows, expecting him around every corner. Maybe he was just being paranoid. He believed in predictability, because that’s how models worked, and if analyzed correctly, they were almost never wrong. That didn’t mean there weren’t exceptions. The same was true of everyday life, like with Harrison showing up in his office. Sure, Owen had certain expectations based on past events, but Harrison could still prove to be an outlier and surprise him.
Maybe he really meant what he’d said, and at the end of it all, Owen would be able to put this behind him without any disasters.
“He slept with Marsh, ya know.”
Jerking to a halt, Owen held back from continuing toward the vending machines as fear pumped through his veins. What?
“Seriously? He did?”
“Bet he’s bangin’ Walker too.”
Those were two of the R&D guys, ones who’d been in the room with Owen and Harrison during the meeting. Were they talking about him?
“I don’t think Adam’s like that. He worships his wife.”
“Fine, maybe Nye then. Hell, maybe the mayor!”
“Now you’re reaching. Quinn’s too sweet and reserved for that sort of thing.”
They were talking about him.
“Please, the quiet ones are always freaks in private. You know that really good-looking guy he brings to all the events?”
“His publicist?”
“I heard he pays the guy for more than just managing his public persona, if you know what I mean.”
Oh God. Was this what everyone had been whispering about?
“Really? Wow, guess you never know with some people.”
Owen was going to throw up. A second ago, all he’d wanted was to devour the unhealthiest snack he could find to stifle his anxiety with calories, but now his stomach twisted like a sailor’s knot.
The voices faded as the two developers walked on past the vending machines, but their words and implications remained. Owen didn’t care what people thought about him, but rumors could still hurt his work, and if it got back to Cal or hurt him in any way, Owen would never forgive himself. Who had even started these rumors? Was it inevitable or made worse because
Harrison was here?
They’d kept things quiet while they were together, at least at work, but some people had still whispered back in Middleton, and some knew. How else had Frank known when Owen started at Nye Industries? Owen hadn’t cared about the whispers when he was with Harrison because he thought he was happy, kept trying to convince himself he was happy and that any scandal would be worth it.
Now he was happy, but the whispers were far more dangerous with much more at stake.
Owen needed to get ahead of this. He needed help to know how to handle shutting it down. But the first person he wanted to call, he couldn’t, because all he felt like now was a burden.
CAL had taken out his contacts before leaving home, knowing how much Owen enjoyed the way he looked in glasses. He loved tying Owen’s tongue with the right entrance. His outfit tonight was a tad dressy for the evening’s plans, with slacks, a collared shirt and tie covered by a striped sweater he imagined fitting in well with Owen’s new wardrobe—not that he wanted to distract himself with thoughts of Owen in his clothing—topped off with a smart gray blazer.
He wasn’t quitting being an escort, certainly not tonight anyway, but if his schedule remained more open for a while and things between him and Owen shifted course, Cal wasn’t going to hold back. Sometimes sticking to best-laid plans was overrated.
Expensive bottle of beer in hand, Cal knocked on Owen’s door right on schedule.
An immediate answer didn’t come.
Cal knocked again, thinking Owen might be in the bathroom or hadn’t heard him, but a harried rush of footsteps soon followed, along with Owen’s voice sounding agitated.
“I talked to Alyssa for over an hour, Mario.” His voice carried through the door just before he wrenched it open. “I can’t even think—Cal. What are you…?” Awareness hit him, and he looked guilty just like last night. “Dinner. You’re scheduled tonight, and this time I really did forget. I’m sorry. Yes,” he said into his phone, gesturing for Cal to come in as he continued fielding questions. “No, not right now, okay, can we just… I promise. I will. I love you too. Bye. I’m sorry, Cal,” he said again, throwing his phone onto a crumpled pile of what Cal realized was Owen’s jacket in the middle of the floor.
He looked—not terrible, but like the mess of the man Cal thought he was moving on from. Cal had been disappointed to find Owen well-adjusted last night because it worried him he was no longer needed, but seeing Owen like this again shredded him. His simple button-down and slacks were rumpled, shirt untucked, hair a mess like he’d been pulling at it for hours, eyes red, face red, just frazzled and fidgeting as he paced back toward him.
“I haven’t even thought about dinner. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Owen.” Cal shut the door behind him and looked at Owen squarely. “It’s fine. Tell me what happened. I was ready to celebrate with you tonight after hearing about that crime boss the ACPD brought in, all because of your program.” He lifted the beer to prove it.
“You were? You heard about that?” Owen lit up as if that almost made up for whatever was plaguing him. “It is good news, and it should be all I’m thinking about right now, but something else happened and I just… urg.”
Taking the bottle from Cal and hurrying away again like he needed a moment to compose himself, Owen led Cal to the kitchen so he could put the bottle away, and Cal noted two normal-sized empty beer bottles on the counter.
Owen wasn’t drunk, but the alcohol he’d tried to drown his sorrows in obviously hadn’t helped soothe his nerves. After depositing the bottle in the fridge, instead of summoning a smile like Cal almost expected—not that he would have bought it—Owen plopped down on one of the island stools, elbows on the counter and head in his hands.
“Harrison’s here. In Atlas City. At Walker Tech,” he said before Cal could press him, and even though Cal’s blood ran cold at the mention of that name, he maintained a calm temper while Owen explained the events of earlier that day, all the way to the rumors he’d overheard and how sorry he was if any of it got back to Cal’s employer or got him into trouble.
Only Owen could have the devil at his back and snapping harpies all around him and worry about someone else.
“I called Alyssa, and Casey chimed in a couple times, then Mario called. All of them have different opinions about if I did the right thing agreeing to let Harry stay and work on the project. I don’t know if I made the right choice, but what was I supposed to do? I keep thinking about how I’ll have to see him again, who knows how soon or how many times, and I just….” His voice cracked, and he took a calming breath to slow down.
Cal had taken a stool next to Owen and used the pause in conversation to slide an arm around his shoulders. Owen accepted the embrace with a lean into his side. He’d been given enough advice for one night. What he needed now was a break.
“You hungry?” Cal asked.
“Starving.”
“Want to order a pizza?”
A helpless chuckle left him. “Not exactly the best pairing for that beer you brought.”
“Beer is always good with pizza, Owen, that’s Irresponsible Adolescence 101.”
Another chuckle, followed by Owen peering at Cal fondly for making him laugh after so much drama. “Okay. You order, I’ll open the beer.”
“You sure you want another?” Cal nodded at the empty bottles.
Weary as he was, Owen looked at Cal with clear eyes. “As long as I can share it with you.”
The bomber was only enough for a glass each anyway, but Cal still watched closely to be sure Owen didn’t dip into intoxicated or grab another beer afterward. People thought they wanted oblivion in situations like this, but it was rarely the right call.
To his surprise, while Owen seemed to hit a nice buzz from the combination of what he’d drunk previously and Cal’s offering, his eyes stayed focused, only his smile and posture proving he’d finally relaxed. The pizza arrived before they finished half their pours, and the last few sips paired perfectly with pepperoni, sausage, and sundried tomatoes.
They’d moved to the table when the food arrived, each in their customary chairs. Music played in the background now to cover any silences, and Cal’s blazer hung over the chair behind him. He’d removed his tie as well, rolled up and shoved into his jacket pocket.
It was after Owen had downed his last swallow of beer and stared blankly at the empty glass, a little too far away and melancholic, that Cal asked a dangerous question.
“Do you still love him?”
Green eyes blinked at him in surprise. “No. I don’t… think I do. I don’t want to….” Then they clenched shut to stay the stubborn tears he’d been holding back. “Why do we ever love people we shouldn’t?”
Cal had asked himself that question too many times. “It’s not our choice who we love. Sometimes it’s automatic. Love. Loyalty. But nobody’s owed love, Owen, not even blood. Believe me, I know.”
“You do?” Owen looked at him curiously.
Maybe that question was the dangerous one, because it prompted a response from Cal he’d never told any client. Yet with Owen, it seemed natural to undo the next few buttons on his shirt and tug it and his sweater down to show the faint line of his most prominent scar.
“Harrison broke your arm. I knew a man like him once. Broken collarbone, courtesy of dear old Dad.”
The lingering haze of alcohol cleared from Owen’s gaze. “Is he…?”
“Alive. In jail, actually.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s where he belongs.”
“What about your mother?” Owen asked, loose enough now to have less of a filter and not realize it.
Tonight should be about Owen. The evening was paid—it should always be about Owen. Not that Owen hadn’t asked Cal personal questions before. Cal had told him plenty of stories about Claire, even Rhys, without going into anything about his friend’s clients, but he’d always managed to avoid talking about his parents. Now, he didn’t want to hold back, becau
se Owen hadn’t held back with him.
“I was about the age you were when your parents died… when my mother left. Claire was only a year then. She doesn’t remember Mom at all. Says that made it easier, because she never had someone to miss. Maybe that’s true, or maybe she’s just good at making me feel better. Between Mom leaving and Dad being in and out of prison all my life, I kept it together focusing on my sister. Once Claire could take care of herself, I got as far away from my father as possible.”
Cal wished he had another drink, even debated going to the fridge to get one, but that wasn’t how this evening should end. Still, he couldn’t help the way the expression on Owen’s face made old resentments curdle in his stomach, because he didn’t need anyone’s pity.
“I know what you’re thinking—ah, no wonder he sells himself with a messed-up background like that,” Cal huffed, too honest when Owen deserved better than his baggage.
“I’d never think that,” Owen said with a look that maybe wasn’t pity, but Cal wasn’t sure if he could trust what he read there. “I don’t think it’s wrong what you do. That’s not why I don’t want you to….” His cheeks flushed as he glanced away, obviously meaning Cal’s more common escort duties. “But it’s not something I’d ever shame you for. I know you stay safe. The agency makes sure of that. It’s just a livelihood like anything else. As long as you enjoy what you do. As long as you’re happy.”
Just like Claire kept saying, because Cal insisted he was happy. Owen wasn’t appeasing him, he meant those words, but Cal’s response should have been automatic—I am happy. I love what I do.
Those words didn’t come as easily anymore.
“I was never… good enough for my old man,” Cal said, raw and open like he was the one on beer three. “Never made him happy. Never got any praise. Never mattered. Doing what I do now, I give people what they need, and no one ever looks at me like I haven’t pleased them. I know that’s messed-up.” He looked toward Owen’s view of the city. “But I like being that for someone.”
“It’s not messed-up. It’s sweet,” Owen said. “Maybe a little sad, but sweet. You make me happier.” Flushing a darker scarlet, he glanced away as soon as Cal looked at him, sober enough to recognize his missing filter even if he was buzzed enough not to be able to control it. He seemed to come to terms with that, though, when his eyes flicked up. “You know, if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I ever really loved Harrison. I just thought I did, because I didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like yet.”
A Model Escort Page 13
