by Jaime Samms
Lee sneered. “And it’s your dime, and you get to treat me like you expect me to run off with the silver paperweights or the company budget.”
Vince put a hand on his arm, and Lee’s gut twisted at the proprietary implication. He snapped his arm away, stepped back, and cursed inwardly when his back waffled and almost betrayed him.
“Lee.” Vince tried to follow.
“No.” Lee turned his anger on Vince. “I don’t need this. Looking after.” He glared at Blaire. “Supervision. Just let me do my job and leave me alone!”
“This is about you taking care of yourself. I want you taking more time off. Work from home.” Blaire clamped a hand over Lee’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself. It’s important. You’re important—not your job or what you can do. You.”
“Fine.” Lee clacked his teeth. “Fine.” He sounded like a jerk, but he couldn’t stop the hard-edged words. Because he hurt. He was in pain still. He hated feeling so helpless. And he needed so badly to pull away, but if he moved too fast, he’d be right back where he’d was when he woke up in the hotel bed in Vancouver.
“Good.” Blaire nodded at him. “Good. We’ll talk more about all of this next week.” He finally took his hand back re-adjusted this grip on his case. “Get some rest. I need you strong.”
The silence in the office thickened. Lee steadfastly did not look at either of them. He’d acted like a child, and yet he had a legitimate beef.
Vince let out a little sigh. “Come on. Let’s go home,” he said quietly.
Lee shot a look at Blaire, who was hovering, watching them from the open door.
“He’s right,” Blaire said. “Let him take you home and take care of you. There’s no need for you to fight this.”
“You don’t know what I’m fighting,” Lee shot back, swatting Vince’s hand away when he slipped it under Lee’s elbow.
Blaire shrugged. “I suppose I don’t. I just wonder if you do.”
The drive happened in silence. Vince expected, at any moment, for Lee to insist Vince take him back to his apartment. He didn’t, but he didn’t talk, either.
At the house, he moved slowly, carefully, getting from car to porch, then inside, and stopping in the kitchen as though he had gone as far as he was going to get.
“Just tell me what you need,” Vince said after he’d hung up his coat and deposited his laptop bag on the table in the living room.
“Nothing from you.” Lee wouldn’t look at him. He shimmied one arm out of his coat, then the other. The garment slipped from his arm to his hand and off the end of his fingertips to the floor. He glared at it, like he could incinerate the damn thing and not have to pick it up.
The petty part of Vince wanted to make Lee ask. Or watch him struggle to pick it up himself. The practical side of him knew Lee would never ask, and he wasn’t so irritated he wanted to see him get hurt.
Pursing his lips, he moved to pick up the coat.
“Leave it,” Lee barked.
“Lee, don’t be—”
“I said, ‘Leave it’!”
Vince froze, mid-reach, half bent, to stare at Lee. “Excuse me?” He straightened.
“Not like it’s going anywhere,” Lee muttered.
“How much pain are you actually in right now?” Vince asked, fearing he might have not been paying enough attention. Had they asked too much of him? Had he pushed too far and not seen Lee was in trouble?
“I’m not in pain. I’m just an asshole.” Lee curled a lip at him, daring him to say something.
“Well.” Vince crossed his arms, leaned on the counter. “That is certainly true some of the time.” He watched as Lee picked up the coat, sweeping it off the floor with a flourish.
He said nothing as Lee went to the closet, hung it, and almost sauntered out of the room. “I’m also a jerk,” Lee said as he made it to the hallway. “Don’t know why you expect a few blowjobs to change that.”
Vince let him go. He counted to ten in his head, heard the guest room door’s hinges squeal as it swung shut, though it didn’t latch, and then he counted again.
Nothing.
“You are an asshole,” he muttered. “And a jerk. But you forgot fucking stubborn as hell.” Pushing himself away from the counter, he went to the bedroom door. “Lee?”
From the other side of the wood, he could hear Lee’s harsh breathing. He gave the door a gentle shove. Its hinges squawked.
Lee was leaning on the dresser, his face an unflattering shade of gray. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the dresser’s top.
“Are you done?” Vince asked, crossing his arms once more, stopping in the doorway because this was Lee’s space for now. He couldn’t walk in uninvited.
“Fuck off.”
“It doesn’t have to be this hard.”
“Leave me alone. Please.”
Lee never said please. But he was in so much pain he was sweating and shivering and tense.
Vince closed his eyes, searching for patience. “I’ll run you a bath,” he said finally. “Fifteen minutes. If you need help undressing, just ask.” He waited, watching Lee in the mirror.
Eventually, Lee met his gaze. “Everything about me is this hard, Vince. It always has been. I don’t know why it would ever change.”
“When you have to do it all alone, it would be hard.” Vince ventured a softer expression, but Lee only frowned. “Thing is, you’re not alone now. Get that into your thick skull and accept it.”
“‘Not alone.’” Lee snorted. “Like you even know what alone is.”
“We’re trying to show you—”
“I didn’t ask you to!”
“We’re asking you, you dipshit!” Vince sucked in a breath. “Shit.” That had not come out well at all. He pushed a hand through his hair and grimaced.
“Asking . . . what . . . exactly?” Lee glared through the mirror at him. “You can’t just say there’s a relationship, and then there is one.”
“Fuck, Lee.” Vince snorted. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s not nothing.” He took a few steps forward, remembered himself, and stopped.
“It’ll never be what you think you want it to be.”
“I see potential. So does Pete or he would never have let you stay in his home.”
“You keep calling it his home, but you live here too.”
“It is his home. He bought it. He pays the bills. He asked me to move in, and I said yes.”
“But you haven’t been in Bluewater Bay that long. How do you know this is the guy you want? For that matter, if he’s the guy you want, why me? Why am I here at all?”
He still didn’t get it? Vince tried hard not to growl. He didn’t succeed. “Sometimes I think you pretend to be dense on purpose. Get undressed. I’m going to run you a hot bath. You need to loosen up or you’ll be flat on your back.” He turned to leave.
“Vince.”
“What?”
Lee didn’t say anything else, and Vince didn’t turn around. After nearly a minute had passed, Vince made himself move again, going into the bathroom to start the water. Lee didn’t call for help getting undressed, though it did take him quite a while to finally make his way into the water. He remained in the bath until Vince fetched him to eat something, then he retreated to his room and closed the door.
Vince settled in the living room with his computer to do research, but found himself staring blankly at the screen more often than not. When Pete finally arrived home, Vince was drowsy and too soft, too done to be of much use to him. He left the living room to Pete so he could meditate for a while, and then wrapped him up tight in his arms when Pete came to bed.
“You’re quiet,” Pete said as he settled into the hollow Vince’s body made for him.
“Long day. Tons of reading. Research.”
“How’s Lee?”
“He overdid it. Made him bitchy. He had a bath and ate some of that stew you left out for us. He didn’t talk much.”
&n
bsp; “You two fight?” Pete ran fingers up and down Vince’s arm, and the smooth, repetitive motion was oddly soothing.
“No. Yes. Maybe. Sort of.” Vince sighed. “I don’t know.” Scrubbing a hand through his hair and over his eyes, Vince grimaced. “I fucked up at the office I think. I can’t get the balance right, and he—it’s like he doesn’t want it to work.”
Pete rolled, squirming to his back to try to peer at him in the dark. “Give him time.”
“To what? Maybe this just isn’t going to happen.”
“It will. He wants this, or this morning would have been very different. Just let him process.”
“God.” Vince hugged Pete tight to his body. He was warm and loose and perfect in Vince’s arms. He smelled so good. Everything about him was soft and welcoming. “I could never hold him like this,” he realized. “He’s all angles and hard edges. He would never let me.”
“You don’t need two of me, babe. Let him be who he is. Don’t try and soften him. He doesn’t need to be soft. He needs to be himself.” Pete wiggled until he had a hand free of Vince’s hold. He stroked Vince’s cheek and lifted up to kiss his lips, a sweet, calming touch of his warmth to Vince’s uncertainty. “I know you’re not really up to fucking me right now. But you need some stress relief.”
“Part of me wants to throw him up against the wall and fuck him until he just gives in.” Vince loosened his grip on Pete enough to caress his face. “And part of me wants to . . . Maybe it’s too much. Too hard.”
“No.” Pete burst free of him and sat up, swung a leg over his hips, and sat on him. “No. You know that isn’t what you want. You don’t want to let him go. I don’t want you to let him go.”
“But if I constantly have to fight him . . .”
“Give him a chance to trust us before you write him off.”
Vince gazed up at his pretty, pliable lover. “What if he never does?”
Pete flopped down over him and arranged himself into a human blanket. “He will. He wants to. It’s a matter of finding the loose brick in his wall, pulling it out, and watching the rest tumble down. He’s in there, Vince. You were always right about that. This snappy, snarly Lee is just the outside.”
“Babe, you had better brace yourself for him not having a soft and squishy inside.”
“Oh, I don’t think he does. More like lava and titanium.” He shifted, pressed his lips to Vince’s neck. “But think how hot that could be once he learns how to control it?”
“I don’t want you getting burned in the process.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He kissed lower on Vince’s body, ghosting lips and tongue over his pecs. “I’m fireproof.”
Vince sighed as Pete settled back down, still mostly on top of him. Pete was very much not fireproof. But he was strong and resilient. No, this wasn’t about Pete. Vince had to admit, maybe only to himself, he was more worried about getting his own heart mangled. Lee was a risk Pete had not been for him. He’d been sure of Pete from day one. He thought he’d been sure of Lee too, but he hadn’t counted on Lee being quite so complicated.
“I just wish I knew where to start.”
Pete yawned. “He’s here. That’s where we start.”
The contract hadn’t changed because Pete read it over again. Nor would it, and he didn’t really want it to. They’d made a generous offer, even given him extra responsibilities by making him the most senior DA on the job. But it would eat up all the extra hiatus time he had eked out by keeping the filming crew hopping, always just a little bit ahead of schedule.
The chance to work with these actors, though: Carter Samuels, Levi Pritchard, Spencer Kepler-Constantine, and the list went on. He wasn’t going to be handed a chance like this again. Not that he would really be directing anything. It was a glorified shuttle service he would be running, making sure people got where they needed to be on time, prepared to do what they needed to do. It was what he did now, but with the added bonus of rubbing shoulders with more influential people. These actors didn’t need him to tell them how to read lines. He was simply required to keep everyone on track. Apparently, by coming in under budget and ahead of time on the game-footage filming, he’d proven himself.
Now they wanted him to do this thing that would keep him away from home for another week, at the very least. And not just out of the house, but out of Bluewater Bay altogether. The sound work was being done at a studio TPG had rented in Seattle.
“You going to sign it or what?” Bonnie held out a pen to him. “It’s a good deal.”
She was right. And no one got anywhere in his business by passing up opportunities that gave them more contacts, especially when that contract was earned on the back of a job they had just completed to such high standards. He was on a roll, and it would be foolish to stop his momentum now.
“Hey.” Kylee appeared at his side and clapped him on the back. “You going to do this voice-over gig too?”
He considered her. Her pigtails were shades of mermaid today, and she wore corduroy pants and a striped top that should have looked childish, but didn’t. Quite. There was no denying she had been a big part of the reason they had done so well on the last project.
“You know Seattle?” he asked.
“Grew up there.”
“So hotels, meals—”
“Already on it, boss. Rooms are reserved, caterers contacted, found a gym close to the studio with an Olympic-size pool, and a limo service is in contract talks as we speak.”
“You’re fucking efficient,” Bonnie told her.
Kylee grinned.
“You make my job easy,” Pete admitted. In fact, if he wasn’t careful, she could make him obsolete.
That got him another, wider grin from Kylee.
“Sign on the dotted line, there, Prince Charming.” Bonnie poked his contract. “I’ve got work to do.”
Pete grunted at her, but he signed. Vince was not going to love this news. But with Kylee proving her worth right on his heels, and the connections this gig would get him, he couldn’t afford not to take it. Better to take the hit now and have the options even if he didn’t end up using them, than to pass them up and end up jobless some time down the line.
Lee stared at the lemon tart on his desk. It was on a plate this time instead of in a box. He loved them so much. But accepting it was the same as accepting that Vince was seriously trying to woo him. Accepting the treat meant accepting the overture, and that was a dangerous thing.
“You just going to stare at it?”
Lee looked up to see Blaire watching him from his desk across the room. Vince had gone out to shop for office supplies, so they were alone for the moment.
“I admit,” Blaire went on, “it is pretty. Frederic’s baking is more . . . practical. But the flavor’s there.”
“It is.” Lee glanced back to the dessert.
“So what’s the problem?”
“He keeps getting them. Making my coffee.”
“Dumbass, you are the one who established him as the office gofer. Now you’re complaining because he’s good at it? Because he doesn’t mind when you order him around like a lackey and then comes back with exactly what you need?”
“He shouldn’t let me do that.”
“No, he shouldn’t, but more to the point here, is that maybe you shouldn’t be such a prick to him.”
Lee glared at the lemon filling and sugar filigree and flaky pastry.
“Are you still living with them?” Blaire rose and carried his coffee over to Vince’s desk, where he sat and put his feet up.
“That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
Lee puckered his brow. “Is that meant to help?”
“I’m not getting involved with your personal life.”
“Then why do you keep butting in?”
“You know,” Blaire leaned forward, clunking his feet to the floor and propping his elbows on the desk, his to-go cup between his hands. “I had this assistant once. He was an acerbic, hard-ass
ed dipshit who I couldn’t stand. My father got to him when he was just starting out and managed to get into his head and twist him around to spew all the venom all over me. He was mean-spirited and miserable.”
Lee grunted. “I thought we were over that.”
“We are. Because when Father tried to do the same thing to Vince that he did to you, you made sure Vince knew what was really going on. You saved him years of learning the hard way. No, you are turning into a very important asset to this company. You should know that. I don’t say it enough, and I’m aware we’ve circled the concept of trust for a while, but I do trust you. Not only do you have the practical skills this company needs, but you have the backbone, the experience, and the insight to see the scam or the twist of politics Vince and I might overlook.”
Lee snorted. That was a backward compliment if he’d ever heard one. “And to think it only took being Oscar’s spy to accumulate all that valuable skill.”
“There’s no better way to get it, frankly. But we’re on the same side now. Aren’t we?”
Lee studied him. He was so much like Oscar with his broad shoulders, height, and classic good looks, but he was so different, as well. His eyes held warmth. There were smile lines around his mouth. He had jeans and a smart sweater on—had denim ever touched Oscar Caruthers’s skin? Lee used to think he himself had more in common with Oscar’s cold, calculating manner than he ever would with Blaire’s bleeding heart.
All it took was a single flash memory of Pete’s teeth biting into his lower lip, Pete gazing up through his lashes and holding out a Nightmare Before Christmas mug, and Lee knew he’d been so wrong.
“We’re on the same side,” he capitulated.
“You see? Not even hard.”
Lee curled a lip. “Whatever.”
“I haven’t been fair to you,” Blaire went on. “You were right about that, and I’m sorry. I’ve tied your hands over things you should have the freedom to do.”
Lee stared. Blaire had just apologized to him. And without any prompting. “Thank you?”
