All That Glitters
Page 2
“Do you have a flatbed? And why do we need one?”
“Towing’s bad for cars. If you have a shitty car, it doesn’t matter. But this one? You need a flatbed. And, yeah, we’ve got one.” He shrugged. “It’s got Marv Archart’s stock car on it, though. In pieces.”
“Okay,” Liam said, and he raised his hands. Not in surrender, just in dismissal. He could feel the tears threatening again, just as bewildering and foreign as they’d been earlier, and he would absolutely not break down crying in front of Seth Gilbert. “Thanks for your time. I’ll call for a car to come pick me up, I’ll have my garage arrange a flatbed, and everything will be solved. It won’t hurt me to spend a few hours in the car waiting. I promise not to walk into town.”
Seth’s scowl made it clear he wasn’t pleased with the plan, but also that he had no better option in mind. “You need to—” he started, but he was distracted by something over Liam’s shoulder. “Shit. Shit, shit—”
Liam turned.
Shit.
It was Ben himself, only fifty or sixty feet away, and closing fast.
Chapter Two
BEING A teacher in a small town meant that Ben Harding’s life was community property. He’d booked the afternoon off work and now he was going for a run, and even though he’d taken a compassionate leave, not a sick day, he knew that any parents who saw him would notice. Couldn’t stay at work with their precious darlings, but had no problem jogging around all over the place. Oh, they wouldn’t say anything. But they’d notice.
So he’d taken the route out into the country rather than going along the river through town as he usually did. He could relax and enjoy nature without fretting about who was watching.
At least he should have been able to, but as he jogged past the cemetery he saw two vehicles off on the far side of the road. Seth would be driving the tow truck, and, yup, there he was, his bushy red beard clear even at a distance. But the other guy… shit, was he a parent? Damn, nice car, and the guy was kind of—
Ben stopped running so suddenly he almost fell over, too stunned to have properly balanced himself through the deceleration. The other guy. Oh.
He wished he’d kept running. Was it too late? If he just started again, if he powered right past them, ignored them both and apologized to Seth later? Could he do that? Or he could turn around—that was more his style, really. He could turn around and run away, and, yeah, that was pathetic but there was no one on the road right then who didn’t already know how pathetic he was.
No, he told himself. How pathetic you were. Totally different. You’re older and wiser now.
He forced himself to walk on, and they stared at him like they were the ones freaking out. Okay, good. He could be the calm one for a change.
He should ignore Liam entirely. That’d be the cool thing to do. Say something casual to Seth, something about a new kind of beer or some sport or some other manly topic, and not even acknowledge that Liam existed. That’d be good.
But he was Ben the Chronically Uncool, so before he knew it he’d staggered halfway across the road and was staring at Liam like he was Bigfoot. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Liam said. The last words Ben had heard from him all those years ago, and the first ones now. “My car broke down. Sorry.”
Liam’s car had broken down just outside North Falls, not in the city where he and the car belonged. But Ben wasn’t ready for a deeper conversation, not when he was still in shock just from looking at Liam. “Okay,” he managed. “Okay. I, uh—I’ve got to go.”
“You’re sweaty from the run. You don’t want to get chilled,” Seth said helpfully.
“Right,” Ben agreed. He took two steps, then three, and realized he was walking almost sideways, his gaze still locked on Liam’s face. Looking for—what?
“You’re an asshole,” he said. Not planned, but not a lie.
Liam just stood there. Seth nodded in sage agreement with Ben’s words.
“And what the fuck are you doing here?” Ben demanded, stepping back closer to Liam. “This is—I mean, obviously I don’t own the town, but you have no reason to be here, do you? You were so damn happy to leave this place behind, so what are you doing back?”
Liam still didn’t answer, and Ben fought the urge to push him, grab him, shake him, kick his cheating, lying ass all over the damn road. “Fuck you,” he spat.
Liam actually nodded. But, sure, he’d been pretty damn agreeable all those years ago, too, once he got busted. Sneak around and make a fool of Ben behind his back, but to his face? Oh, he was so, so sorry to Ben’s face.
“Fuck you.”
“This is going much better than I expected,” Seth said with a happy smile.
That reaction made sense, because Liam had betrayed Seth too. They hadn’t been lovers, but they’d been friends, all three of them, and Liam had lied to Seth and destroyed that relationship just as surely as he’d destroyed the one with Ben.
“Nice that he’s got a pretty car,” Ben told Seth. “Nice that the things in his life are valuable.”
And Liam turned away.
He’d been quick, but not quick enough, and Ben felt as if all the hot anger that had been running through his body froze. Not all the way to hard, solid ice, but into slush, slippery and useless. Because Liam had been—
“Can you give me a minute?” Ben asked Seth, and he waited as Seth heard the words, absorbed them, questioned them, and didn’t care for them.
“You sure?” Seth asked, and when Ben nodded, he reluctantly turned and walked toward the far end of the tow truck.
Ben stepped to the side and Liam turned away again, but there was nowhere for him to look, not with Seth off to the left and Ben angling in from the right. He stood still, then lifted his hands quickly to his face, brushed at his eyes, and muttered, “Sorry. That’s—I have no idea what’s going on with that. Allergies or something, hopefully. But it’s not you. That is, it’s not for you to feel bad about.”
“Oh, that’s really generous of you,” Ben sniped, but his heart wasn’t in it. Liam had been crying—was still crying, because the initial scrubbing had removed the first set of tears but there were more coming now, fat and rounded on his golden skin. “What the fuck, Liam?” Suddenly, Ben realized where they were parked. Liam hadn’t—he hadn’t known Terry well enough to care about his death, not this deeply. But there were other people buried in the cemetery, obviously, and one of them must have meant something to Liam. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then, quickly, “For your loss. Not for thinking you’re a fucking asshole. I’m not sorry about that.”
Liam took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. But to be honest—I don’t have a loss.” Another shaky breath. “Shit, I guess I should have just left that alone, huh? No point dragging you into whatever the hell this is. Sorry. Let’s start again. I just—thank you. For your condolences.”
Condolences he hadn’t needed.
“Dragging me into… what? Seriously, Liam, is there—”
“Everything’s fine,” Liam said, standing up straighter and talking louder. “Just having a weird—I don’t know, let’s call it an artistic moment, okay? Just a weird day. Nothing to worry about, and just a bad set of coincidences that you even found out about it.”
“Well, it’d be a coincidence if we ran into each other in the city, yeah. But, fuck, Liam, when you drive a couple hours away from your house and park just down the street from mine, you’re giving ‘coincidence’ a pretty big helping hand, aren’t you?”
“You never saw me any of the other times.”
“The other—” Ben needed to sit down. Or have a drink. He probably needed to sit down and have a drink. “You’ve been up here before?” It made no sense. Unless…. “Do you want to talk to Uncle Calvin?” It was a fairly random possibility, but the best he could do. And then, unlikely but not impossible, because Uncle Calvin could play his cards pretty close to his chest when he wanted to, “Have you been talking to him before?”
Well, that was true. Mostly. “Right. So—yeah. You’re an asshole, fuck you, and go away.” That was all he needed to say. Except… damn it. “But are you okay? Is there something—not me, but somebody—is there something somebody should do?”
“No, I’m fine.” Even forced, Liam’s smile was still a thing of beauty, and Ben had to make himself look away. “Sorry about whatever that was. Just a strange blip. Everything’s good with me. I’m doing great.”
“Okay.” And Ben was suddenly almost dizzy from it all. Liam Marshall. How many hours had he wasted agonizing about this asshole over the past fifteen years? And now he just showed up out of nowhere, totally unexpected. And totally unwelcome. Ben turned and took a few jogging steps away. “So we’re back to ‘fuck you.’” He took another few steps until he was beside Seth. “See you at Matty’s.”
“Yup,” Seth agreed, and he jerked his head in Liam’s direction. “You want me to do anything here, or not do anything? Maybe punching him, in terms of doing something, or helping him, in terms of not doing something?”
“No. He’s—he’s nothing. Nobody. Just treat him like any other loser trying to use a fancy car to fill a hole in his pathetic life.” Ben instantly felt guilty, remembering Liam’s tears, and then angry because how the hell had he let himself get twisted around so quickly, manipulated into feeling actual guilt because of a few harsh words, after what Liam had done?
“I need to go,” he said quickly, and he took off at a jog that was closer to a sprint, and as he ran he told himself to put it all out of his mind, to let it go, to be glad he’d had a chance at closure and the time to give Liam another “fuck you.”
He tried to forget the tears. No, he did forget them. He banished them from his memory. He’d just had an unexpected encounter with his first love, and that was mind-blowing enough. He wouldn’t let the situation get any stranger, any more complicated.
He’d seen Liam Marshall. What an asshole.
There. That was enough. That was all he’d let himself feel. Liam Marshall was part of the past, and that was where he would damn well stay.
Chapter Three
LIAM DIDN’T want to go to work the next morning. For the past decade he’d been hungry to be at the office, showing up before anyone else and usually staying until only a skeleton crew remained. The firm’s work space was designed to inspire the architects who spent time in it, and it was open, bright and airy, modern and sophisticated, and Liam had a place there. A place of honor. He’d worked hard, he’d been rewarded, and he belonged.
But now?
Maybe it was partly because of running into Ben. So many unresolved issues—but, no, they’d been resolved. Ben had dumped him. Liam had deserved it. There was nothing unresolved about that, other than Liam’s recurrent suspicion that he’d messed up the best relationship he was ever likely to have. But all that had been years ago.
No, he was upset about his job, now. His career.
He knew he was being melodramatic. He was healthy, he hadn’t been caught embezzling or anything; he was fine. He just hadn’t been chosen for a project. There were any number of reasons why that might have happened, and very few of them were anything to worry about. Liam would sit down with Tristan, get an explanation, and move on. Hell, maybe it was actually a good thing. Maybe there was an even bigger project, more prestigious, more challenging, right around the corner, and Tristan had wanted to make sure Liam was free to take it on.
But even that optimistic possibility wasn’t enough to put a bounce in his step as he approached the front doors of the office. He forced himself to smile, though—he’d be damned if he’d let them see him looking discouraged—and jogged up the stairs from the street. Purposeful, focused—that was the image he wanted to project.
And the first person he saw was Allison Sutcliffe, the bitch—no, don’t use that word, you’re not a caveman—the asshole who’d stolen the project from him. Her smile was bright and seemed totally genuine.
“Liam! Good to see you. I’m really looking forward to working together. I set a meeting for the team at ten this morning, but I’d like it if you and I could get together before that to—” She stopped, clearly reacting to the expression on his face. “Oh, shit. Tristan hasn’t talked to you yet. I thought he was going to—” She stopped again, and now her smile seemed more forced. “Sorry. I jumped the gun. Never mind.”
“Tristan wants us to work together?” Liam asked. It made sense, except that Allison had been announced as the project lead. Which would make Liam her fucking assistant? Hell, no, that was asking too much. “I’d better give him a call.”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, you should hear it from him, obviously.”
Obviously. Because it was bad news. Essentially a demotion. What the hell was going on? What had Liam done to deserve this?
“Oh, here he is,” Allison said, her gaze focused behind Liam, toward the front doors. “Wow, I didn’t know he was even capable of being conscious this early.”
The last was said in a lower voice, an almost conspiratorial whisper. It was the kind of comment that would have been totally appropriate, totally expected between them prior to the announcement, but now? The familiarity, the implication that they were somehow still on the same team? It made the muscles of Liam’s shoulders clench.
Liam shifted so he was looking at Tristan, and the older man glanced from one face to the other before he said, “I see I’m a bit late. Sorry, Liam, I was going to speak to you yesterday but you didn’t come back to the office. I thought I’d be able to catch you this morning.”
“Timing aside,” Liam said, “what’s going on?”
And one good thing about Tristan was that he didn’t mince words. “I want you to work on the project with Allison. She could use someone with your experience.”
Use someone. Liam was just there to be used. He was a tool in the workbox of the true artist. It was unthinkable, unbearable. “Oh. Actually—I was planning to speak to you today as well. About something different.” Hold it together, save face, don’t crack. “Obviously I want to be a team player. I remember the first time I was lead on a project—it was when you were”—going through that messy divorce, and I stepped in and saved your reputation, do you remember that?—“preoccupied elsewhere, and I definitely had to scramble a bit. It was a challenge.” He found himself relaxing a little. There was something kind of liberating about this feeling, like he was disconnected from his career, his emotions—his reality. But still able to get some jabs in. “I learned a lot, though, Allison. I think it would be really valuable for you to have that kind of experience, that sink-or-swim opportunity, if you’re up for it. As I said, I’m a team player. If you need the help, I’ll certainly put my own ideas aside. But for your own sake—oh. Unless Tristan—”
He turned to look at the older man. “Sorry. Possibly this is why you wanted to have the conversation in private. But—if you’re not sure Allison’s up to it? If you have some doubts?” Then you shouldn’t have put her in charge of the project when you’ve got someone totally competent standing right beside you! “Well. Sure, yeah. If help is needed, I can help. The most important thing is the project, obviously. We can’t betray a client’s faith in us just to manufacture an employee growth opportunity.” He smiled benignly.
“I don’t think I need the help,” Allison said. Her voice was icy now. Good. No more fake friendship, no more casual jokes. “Tristan was trying to find a way to keep you busy, I think.”
“Let’s not do this,” Tristan said firmly. “Liam, you said you had ideas of your own. Anything you’re ready to bring to the table?”
And the calm, floating sensation disappeared completely. He’d done a good job of bringing business to the firm in the past, and he was sure he’d bring more in the future, but right then he had not
hing more than a few vague hints and jovial, empty expressions of interest. Shit, shit, shit. “Actually,” he heard himself say, “I was looking at a few personal projects. You know how it is, the collection of smaller jobs that people want you to take on, the things that just get shoved aside and piled up?” The projects he reliably and repeatedly refused to adopt because he didn’t want to get bogged down in petty, trivial designs. “I was thinking about taking some time to work through that backlog. A sabbatical, maybe we could call it?”
Tristan’s expression was unreadable. “Come into my office,” he said. Sure, the humiliation with Allison could be played out in a public space, but now that Liam was trying to reclaim some power—even if he was doing it with totally imaginary projects—they needed to be in private.
But Tristan was the boss, so Liam trailed after him around the reception desk and into the glass-walled space that was the only private office in the whole firm. Tristan shrugged out of his light coat and tossed it casually on the back of the leather sofa, then perched on the stool by his drafting table. He wasn’t in the big leather chair behind his desk, so this was supposed to be a casual chat, not a major meeting.
Liam, of course, was left with the sofa, which put him at least a foot lower than Tristan. Supplicant and benefactor. Lovely.
Tristan looked down and smiled gently at Liam. “Do you want to know why I didn’t choose you to lead the Taybec Briggs project?”
And suddenly Liam didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to discuss Tristan’s view of his failings, didn’t want to be analyzed and poked apart. But that wasn’t the proper answer, of course. “If there’s something you think I should know,” he said, “I guess I should hear it.”
Tristan was quiet for a moment, then said, “What’s your passion, Liam?”
What a peculiar question. “I want to create practical art,” he started, but Tristan waved a hand impatiently.