“Why would she leave?” Kurt demanded angrily.
“Because she has billions behind her now, Kurt,” he explained patiently—the man wasn’t an idiot. Couldn’t he see that? “She can do whatever she wants. Be whatever she wants. Go whenever and wherever she wants. Why wouldn’t she when the alternative is staying here, cooking for us, and washing our clothes?” He blinked. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Sean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you haven’t spoken about this with Sascha?”
Devon scoffed. “As if I would. She might not want to leave—if I talk about it, it might put the idea in her head.”
“Your logic astounds me,” Kurt said with a grunt.
“My logic is logical,” Devon argued, making the other man shake his head.
“You knock some sense into him,” Kurt directed at Sean. “I need coffee.”
Devon watched the tension in Kurt’s back as he headed out the door. In a white Henley, the muscles in his shoulders were bunched up visibly.
“Why is he so mad?” Devon asked, scowling at Kurt.
“Because you’re talking about something none of us want to discuss.”
“Even you?” Devon asked, eyes round.
Sean sighed. “Even me. But, at the same time, there’s no point in even thinking about this, Devon, never mind discussing it.”
“That’s only because you don’t have an answer,” he retorted crossly, folding his arms across his chest as he did. “You and I both know she has the world at her feet now. What’s to keep her here?”
“Love.”
Devon pursed his lips. “I don’t trust love.”
“No. And I know you have good reason not to either. But, the way you feel for Sascha… do you have faith in it?”
Devon thought about that. “I don’t know that she feels the same way I do.”
“That’s where the faith part comes in,” Sean said with a small smile. “But, the way you feel… let’s imagine she feels the same. Would you leave her?”
Technically, Devon had the world at his feet already. But he didn’t want to go anywhere other than up to his office or down to the kitchen to sneak whatever it was Sascha had been baking today. The entire house smelled like cinnamon.
She’d introduced him to the spice, and ever since, was fulfilling his new addiction with baked treats.
“We need to be more exciting,” he said, instead of directly answering Sean’s question.
“That isn’t what she wants, Devon. She fell for us even though we’re all wed to our work.”
“Doesn’t matter. If we stick with the status quo, then that just gives her the impression we’re settling. I don’t want her to feel like that. No one should feel like they’re not valued.”
Sean grunted. “You do realize that the last two months have been ‘boring’ because of Sascha, right? There’s never not a week where one of us doesn’t have some engagement… she can always go with us.”
“What do you mean?”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Last month, I had a seminar in Amsterdam. I cancelled it because she was still having those bad migraines. Andrei had that gala. I know you avoid your stockholder meetings, but you could always take her to LA and New York and attend in person.
“Then, we both know Sawyer hasn’t gone to visit his family in a while. I’m sure she’d love to see Glasgow, Aberdeen, Edinburgh… and he’d take her. Then Andrei wants to take her to visit his grandfather in Moscow. Kurt has so many PR stunts he can’t keep up with them… there’s plenty for her to dive into if she wants.”
“But does she know that?” Devon demanded, stubbornly holding onto the topic. The idea of going to those stockholder meetings of the corporations Sawyer had made him start up was abhorrent. Why wouldn’t it be to her? But hell, if she wanted to go, then go they would.
“Does she know what?”
The sound of Sascha’s voice had Devon’s head whipping around to look at her.
“You look beautiful,” he blurted out, not to distract her, but because with the light coming in from the hall at her back, she looked like an angel.
Well, a sexy angel. And really, angels had no business being sexy.
She had fitted trousers on that made him want to check out her ass, and a simple cotton blouse that floated as she walked. Her hair was tucked into a kind of rolled under ponytail, and red paint slicked along her lips. He wondered what it would look like with that red smeared on his cock.
“Thank you, Devon,” she told him sweetly, sending a smile his way that had his heart thudding. She stepped aside and he saw Kurt was there with a tray in his hand.
Eying her cast, he asked instead, “When’s the pot due to come off?”
“A few days.”
He nodded. “I’ll go to the hospital with you.”
Her lips twitched. “Thank you. But don’t think you can distract me.” The warmth in her eyes, however, told him exactly how much the offer meant to her.
“You can’t,” Kurt said gruffly. “Sascha’s appointment is on Wednesday at twelve, and you have that online conference. Sawyer and I arranged it already.” After Kurt placed the tray on Sean’s table, he turned to Sascha. “I’m taking you.”
Her grin, when it came, was wicked. “So many kind invitations to go to the doctors. I’ll have to be terrified of the grocery store… would that make you come with me too?”
Sean chuckled. “We already told you to go online and have them deliver it here.”
She winked. “Only teasing. Anyway, I got another call from them. There’s been an opening on Monday. They said they can see me then.” She gestured at the tray. “Sawyer doesn’t want you having coffee for the next few days, Devon. You’re to have chamomile tea. But I’ve sweetened it with honey and I made your favorite banana bread as a consolation prize.”
Devon heaved out a breath. “Jesus H Christ. Chamomile or coffee, I won’t sleep.”
“He wants you rested for that online meeting,” Kurt told him as he poured out a coffee for himself, Sean, and Sascha.
To his right, Sascha was hacking into a banana loaf. She placed a very thick slice on a plate and brought it over to him.
With his legs sprawled, she had room to step between them. Before he knew what she was about, she’d perched on his lap. “Time to eat,” she murmured, a twinkle in her eye.
“I know how to eat,” he said with a huff.
“You looked like you were going to be mutinous.”
“Mutiny and stupidity aren’t the same thing, Sascha,” he informed her. “I’m mutinous about the coffee, not about the cake.”
She snickered. “I stand corrected.”
He huffed, but grabbed her as he resituated himself in the armchair and hauled her against his chest. She settled down again, this time more comfortably.
It astonished him how perfectly she fit there. It was right. Everything was when they were together. He pressed his head to her throat, and closing his eyes, murmured, “You smell good again.”
“Again?” she asked after a moment’s pause. “Did I stink before?”
“No. Well, you did when you were vegging. But you stopped wearing that stuff I like.”
“Perfume?” She shook her head. “You’re charming in the most bizarre way, Devon. It’s a good thing. Otherwise you’d end up with more black eyes than a boxer.”
He huffed. “Don’t remind me.”
“Of what?”
“Of my days pre-Sawyer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was beaten up. All the time.”
She pulled back. “You?” Sascha eyed him. “Don’t bullshit.”
He scowled. “Why would I bullshit about that? I didn’t always have a bruiser for a best friend. Before, I was little and loved math and said stuff people didn’t like. I was in more fights than Mike Tyson.”
“Oh my God! That’s terrible!”
He winced at the shriek. Americans really knew how to shriek. Rubbing his ear, he murmured, “
It’s a fact of life. I’m sure it’s the same where you’re from.”
She gnawed at her bottom lip. “I guess.”
He rolled his eyes. “You guess? I’ll bet you were popular.”
More gnawing. “Maybe.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you. Our kids will have some cool genes in them, otherwise there’s no hope for them at all.”
She froze in his lap. “Kids?”
He stared at her. “Yeah. Kids.”
Kurt snorted. “You look like a deer in the headlights, Sascha.”
“I feel like one,” she said hoarsely, and before Devon could say another word, grabbed the banana bread and shoved it in his mouth.
Whole.
It was either chew or choke.
But it silenced him.
For the moment.
* * *
“What’s all this bullshit about you thinking Sascha’s going to leave now she’s rich?”
Devon peered over his shoulder and grimaced when he saw Sawyer looming in the doorway.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Because you know if she hears, she’ll be angry?”
“Maybe,” he said with a grunt. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m just…” He rubbed his chest. “I like her, Sawyer.”
Though the scowl on his friend’s face didn’t disappear, it softened. His red hair was a tousled mess around his equally red face. From the skintight tee and shorts, it didn’t take much to figure out Sawyer had been running.
“I know you do,” Sawyer said quietly as he stepped deeper into the room, bringing with him the scent of fresh air and sweat. “But saying shit like that is one way of making sure she stops liking you.”
“Sascha won’t stop liking me,” he argued. “She loves me.” Sean had said so, and she’d told him too. Neither of them were prone to lying.
“Well, then. What’s the problem?”
“Money. It changes people.”
“Not Sascha. She isn’t people. She’s ours.”
He grunted, and bored with the topic, shoved a file across his desk. “Here. You need to look through this.”
“What is it?”
“My solution for P vs NP.”
Sawyer’s nostrils flared. “You’re fucking with me,” he said hoarsely, staggering back. He went to sit down, but there was no chair behind him so instead, he toppled to the ground.
Devon jerked upright. “Sawyer? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he dismissed, gawking up at him from the floor amid piles of loose paper Devon had flung there as he worked. “You haven’t solved it. You couldn't have done it.” He gaped at the sheets in his hands.
A little pissed at his friend’s lack of faith, he grumbled, “It was easy in the end.”
“In the end?” Sawyer bit off. “Jesus Christ, man.”
Shrugging, Devon sat back down and reached for a piece of paper which he began to fold.
Wondering if Sascha would like a bouquet of paper roses, he murmured, “It’s been easier to think about that than anything else lately.”
Sawyer rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. “I-I can’t believe it, Devon. You’re like… You’re going to be as rich as Sascha.”
He immediately sniffed. “We are.”
Sawyer shook his head. “I’ve barely worked on P vs NP. Aside from checking your workings out.”
“We’re partners.” Devon shot his best friend a look. “You know that.”
“But this is…”
“You shared the Nobel prize with me, and we both know that was more yours than mine.”
“Because your input was pivotal! My input on this wasn’t.”
As he folded the paper, he stuck his tongue between his teeth as he worked on getting the lines as straight as possible.
Origami was one of the tools he’d learned as a child to maintain a calmness he rarely felt.
Inside, he was a roiling mess of confusion. Nothing made sense outside of the math, not even Sascha. But she didn’t add to the melee, she was like the origami—she calmed him. Brought a peace to his world that otherwise was noisy and messy and disturbing.
“Devon, you’re a legend, man.”
Sawyer’s outburst broke into his concentration, and he scowled at his friend. “You didn’t know that already?” Everyone always told him his name would outlive him, didn’t they? Wasn’t that the definition of a legend?
Laughter burst from his friend. “You’re a dick sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” Devon blinked. “I’m doing something wrong.”
Sawyer shook his head. “I’m still… I don’t even know what to say, Devon.”
“You’ve said plenty. Most of it repetitive and unnecessary.” He shot Sawyer a pointed look. “I’ll throw that on the fire before I take sole credit for it.”
Sawyer’s eyes widened in distress and he dragged the folder against his chest. “You dare, I’ll beat you senseless.”
Satisfied he’d made his point because Sawyer wouldn’t beat him, not after a lifetime of saving him from beatings, he said, “Fine. Then add your name to the credit page.”
Sawyer closed his eyes. “Devon, man, it’s not right.”
“You keep me fucking sane, Sawyer,” Devon bit off, suddenly furious at Sawyer’s obstinacy. “There would be no solution if it weren’t for you. Hell, for that matter, Andrei, Kurt, Sean, and Sascha should all be on there too.” His voice rippled with emotion. “I can’t do this without you. Any of you. It’s too much. The noise is…” He clenched his eyes, hating the moisture that had gathered there but was unable to stop it. “It deafens me. You bring the quiet.”
He blew out a breath as the melee of the real world clattered in his ears. It always did. It was there. Waiting to consume him. Except within these walls, he was safe. They kept him safe.
“I know, Dev, I know. But…” Sawyer sighed. “If you’re sure?”
“Deadly,” he retorted decisively.
Sawyer scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair. “I can’t believe you’ve done it. Jesus, Dev, I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Devon shot him a smile. “Thanks, bro.”
Silence fell as he returned his attention to the rose he was creating for Sascha, then, Sawyer asked, “Dev?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you remember when we first met?”
Devon huffed. “How could I forget? You didn’t like me. Called me an uptight prick.”
“You were,” Sawyer replied, but he was grinning.
“What about it?”
Though Sawyer would deny his own genius, would compare himself to Devon, he could more than hold his own.
The weekend they’d met had been a gathering where universities had pitched their math programs to a bunch of budding mathematicians who had made enough strides in their own right to garner attention.
Sawyer had won several prizes in America, Devon had already created an algorithm that had been used at CERN… universities had wanted them in their department.
Sawyer had been the archetypal belligerent teenager. Dressed in scruffy jeans and a sweater that had holes in it because, you know, fashion—Devon rolled his eyes at the memory—and bright white high tops, he’d looked his age and he’d also looked ill at ease. A kid from the wrong side of the Glaswegian tracks, he’d been among some of the greatest, and snootiest, mathematicians around.
Devon, on the other hand, had been disinterested by the universities courting him for the most part. Wearing dress pants and a shirt with shoes so shiny he could have used the leather as a writing surface for chalk, he’d been Sawyer’s direct opposite. Apathetic, vaguely curious as to what was happening, and only attending because his father had demanded he go. He’d listened without listening—a talent he’d picked up when his dad was berating him over not being able to run more than two miles.
Devon had known which department he was going to. Which university. The one that would challenge him the most; Oxford. Where Dr. Anderson, o
ne of the world’s most highly respected mathematicians, held tenure.
He and Sawyer had been shoved together by way of chance, and had gotten into a discussion over the Riemann hypothesis. That discussion had developed into a pen pal friendship, with them eagerly sending several letters a week as they worked together long distance.
Good times, Devon thought with a smile. The start of a friendship that was without end.
“What about the weekend we met?” Devon asked absentmindedly, his mind on the memory as well as the paper rose he was crafting, and the next challenge on his list: the Navier Stokes Problem.
He did like these Millennium Problems. They were his version of a to-do list.
“That was the best weekend of my life.”
Devon blinked, then scowled. “What about that weekend we went to Amsterdam?”
Sawyer scoffed. “That was a great weekend for all the wrong reasons, dick.” He grunted as he got to his feet, then stacked his hands on his hips. “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Why?” Devon asked, scowling at his friend. “Stop it. It’s weird.”
A blank look settled on Sawyer’s face, then he rolled his eyes. “Why do I bother?” he asked.
“Bother doing what?”
“Never mind.” His hands fell to his sides, the file in his left. “Amsterdam was good, wasn’t it?”
Devon grinned. “Do you remember when Sean ducked into that coffee shop that sold pot to escape the transvestite hooker who thought Sean was flirting with him?”
“That has to be one of the most politically incorrect things I’ve heard today,” Sawyer retorted, but his grin was just as wide.
“Best pot I’ve ever had,” Devon continued, tone reminiscent. “Sean said he was due to go to Amsterdam for a seminar. If I’d known, I’d have planned to go.”
Sawyer’s brows rose. “You’d have left London?”
Devon grimaced. “I’m not glued here, you know.”
“You have been before.” He shrugged. “I guess things change.”
“Sascha’s being here has changed me,” Devon admitted. “I feel...” Hell, what did he feel? At peace?
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 52
