The Music of Love

by Sandine Tomas

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By Sandine Tomas

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  The Music of Love

  By Sandine Tomas

  Sometimes the music of love skips a beat….

  Paralegal by day, musician by night, Julian has an expiration date stamped on his forehead when it comes to love. No relationship has made it past a year, so Julian avoids romance like the plague and concentrates on his music instead.

  Which works fine until gorgeous, smart, and funny Zachary joins Julian’s firm. One look at the man and Julian knows he’s dangerous. No matter what, he can’t fall for Zachary. He has to spare Zachary the pain of dumping Julian at the one-year mark. His brilliant plan? Ask a straight friend to pose as his significant other to keep Zachary away. Not surprisingly, his scheme does little to dampen the attraction—on either side.

  When Zachary gives Julian a second chance despite his deception, Julian thinks his curse might be broken. But then he’s faced with the impossible choice between a life with Zachary and living his dream of touring with the band….

  To Betty, my friend, muse, and champion. Your ongoing creative input and fervent support made this book possible. To my amazing mom, who thought of me as a writer since second grade. And to my wonderful husband, whom I’ll dedicate my next book to.

  Chapter 1

  THE FIRST time Julian met Zachary, he was hungover. Julian was. Not Zachary. Zachary stood at Julian’s door, holding a box of legal files, beaming like the sun itself.

  Julian had been hungover before, but this was different. Well, okay, it was the same, just… a whole lot worse. He felt like poop on whole wheat. No, worse than that. Like microwaved poop on stale sourdough. Road-kill skunk lined his mouth, and he wrinkled his nose, refusing to experience what he smelled like. Julian’s brain was booting up slowly. The man on his front step kept staring. More than that, his gold, brown, blue—whatever-the-fuck-color eyes—looked Julian over with a raised brow.

  Retreating from the bright light pouring through the doorway, Julian ran a hand raggedly through his hair. Something crusty embedded under his nail and he lowered his hand in disgust. Julian grabbed the doorframe as the world spun, and he struggled to focus on the box in the man’s hands with the law firm’s imprint on the side. Must be a messenger. Although why he was standing at the door to Julian’s apartment at fuck all too early on a Sunday to drop off files was beyond him.

  He took a step back and mumbled, “Okay. Bring ’em in.”

  The man walked up the last two stairs with a lively step. Julian rubbed the inches of crud covering his eyes.

  Oh. The guy was as tall as an oak tree. Built like one too. Julian took in the wide shoulders, thick biceps, muscled torso narrowing down to slim hips. And miles of legs swishing past him.

  Instinctively, Julian pulled his T-shirt down straighter. He wished he could surreptitiously poke his nose under his arm to see how horrid he smelled, but there likely wasn’t a smooth way to do that. Instead, he closed his eyes with a sigh. Maybe if he didn’t see the other man, the other man wouldn’t see him?

  A very loud thump made his eardrums vibrate. The messenger had placed the box on his kitchen counter. Why couldn’t absurdly toned strangers deliver things on days Julian was part of the human race? Another boom pulsated throughout the room. Was the guy practicing marching?

  That’s when Julian noticed that the messenger had pushed the counter stool out of the way to make room for the large box. Note to self: buy those felt pads to put under the chair feet so they skim across the hardwood. Gliding was a lovely sound.

  “This okay?” Julian flinched at the sudden deep voice. It sounded way too loud and was competing with the jackhammer currently crushing his skull. Dark, floppy, too long bangs framed a chiseled gold-bronze face. Julian fought a grimace and nodded that the placement of the box was fine.

  The returning smile was even shinier than the one he’d gotten at the door.

  And, fuck. Dimples.

  After walking toward the admittedly quite lovely human tree in his living room, Julian opened the box to see what the hell couldn’t wait until tomorrow. The Peterson case. Dammit, he should have guessed this was Brian Fowler’s prized class action suit. The senior partner was obsessed with winning, and days of the week meant nothing in pursuit of his goal.

  As Julian inhaled, his own intake of air roared like a wind machine to his poor ears. A pad with scribbled notes sat atop the stacks of paperwork, and he poked at it, dreading how many hours of his precious Sunday he’d have to give up.

  Being a paralegal was causing a serious crimp in Julian’s real life. Yeah, the goddamn sixty hours a week he gave the bastards didn’t leave a whole lot of time for his music.

  Same old bitch. Day job and eating or writing songs and starving…. Food and shelter coming out on top for a while now. So let’s face it, Julian. This. Is your real life.

  “I’m Zachary Fierro.” The beanstalk held out a hand, startling Julian away from his inner monologue. “Brian Fowler wants us to work together on this case.”

  Fuck. What? The messenger was assigned to the firm’s largest case?

  “I thought… you were just delivering the files? You’re a messenger?”

  Zachary tilted his head, looking Julian over lazily before smirking bemusedly. “Yes. I am delivering files, but I’m not a messenger.” He spoke slowly, like he wanted to ensure he was understood. Worse, like he was very aware of Julian’s mentally compromised state. “I’m Brian’s new paralegal.”

  What?

  When did that happen? Julian was Brian’s paralegal. Well, most of the time because the other senior partners would also pull him into their cases. Truth was, Julian wasn’t even really certified as a paralegal. His incredible organization skills, elephant-scale memory and, oddly, the way you think, made the senior lawyers appreciate him. Whatever. It didn’t really matter to Julian; it was just a job. It wasn’t like his music. His songs were his life.

  Yes, the law firm job was necessary to pay the bills. So what did it mean that Brian had hired this new guy? Now he had to worry about keeping a job he didn’t even really want but had to have. Zachary coughed, the sound bouncing around the living room until Julian’s head felt like it was crushed between two stones.

  Fuck, my life sucks so very much right now.

  Zachary chose that moment to smile again, showing off straight white teeth. Julian ran his tongue across his own furry-feeling teeth and fought nausea at the taste again. Crap, he was such a muddled mess. Imagine the impression he was making. No, best not to think on that at all. It would lead down a very bad rabbit hole of mind-crushing despair. Best to find out if the tall guy was replacing him at Harrison, Kim, and Fowler. Get the bad news over with.

  But before Julian could ask anything further, Zachary took a short step toward Julian and extended his hand. “We were never introduced. I started last week. Zachary Fierro.”

  Julian blinked. Hadn’t Zachary already said his name? It took yet another few seconds of standing stock-still, fighting back the queasiness, and realizing that when someone put their hand out, it usually meant something.

  Christ, could I get any more pathetic? He shook Zachary’s hand, saying lamely, “Julian Wallace.”

  “Julian,” Zachary said slowly, like he was
twirling Julian’s name around his tongue.

  Zachary’s grip was firm, but not obnoxiously so. And given how huge his hand was, Julian had no doubt crushing was not beyond his ability.

  Zachary flexed his hand, and Julian realized he’d forgotten to let go of Zachary’s palm, but then thought maybe it was just not to fall flat on his face because, really, his legs were starting to get wobbly all over again.

  “You look like you could use an aspirin. Or four. Rough night?”

  “I guess. Don’t remember all that—” Something hit his slipper. Fuck. Was that dried vomit on his T-shirt? Christ, he was an abysmal disaster. Looking down he confirmed that, yes, he was wearing pajama bottoms. Although, they, too, were… well, it was too vile to contemplate. This wasn’t his usual style. Not that he had a particular style of pajamas. Although he did own one lovely pair in dove-gray silk. But no. He was digressing again. If he ever spoke with Gabe again, he was going to tear him a new one for getting him in this state.

  Brief interlude of semicoherency passing, Julian wondered what he was supposed to do with the handsome coworker standing in his living room.

  “Dude, maybe you should go grab a shower. I can get us some breakfast in the interim?”

  “I stink.”

  Zachary laughed at the profoundness of Julian’s statement. “Yeah. You really do.”

  Was this funny? Ugh. Had Zachary mentioned food? Nononono. Food evil. Coffee good.

  “I’ll get us some coffee too.”

  Mind reading? Julian was open-minded about superpowers. After all, there were more things between heaven and earth than you can sneeze at or whatever it was Shakespeare penned.

  “Dude, you asked for coffee. Aloud. I’m not reading your mind. You really need a shower. Go. I’ll be back.”

  “Back where?”

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  Zachary’s lips curved. “Never mind, Julian. Get yourself together. I’ll see you soon.”

  The tree disappeared out the door with a small head shake.

  JULIAN DOWNED three aspirin on the way into the shower. The second the water touched his discombobulated body, he started to feel slightly less amphibian. By the time he’d finished lathering and rinsing his hair, he’d worked up the evolutionary scale all the way to small mammal.

  He remembered tequila. And his best friend, Gabe, vaguely. Nick had been there as well. They’d been playing music. Shit. He really hoped he hadn’t gotten vomit on his guitar. He might have to off himself if he did that and then hide the body because he’d be too ashamed to let anyone attend the funeral.

  It took two scrubbings, but eventually whatever had plastered to his skin peeled off. He brushed his teeth again because it seemed like a good idea. Mouthwash came next, and after swishing his tongue around his mouth and sensing only minty coolness, he arrived back to nearly human on the food chain—if you didn’t count the electric drill in his skull. An improvement from jackhammer, but still a pretty effective reminder of his idiocy.

  Slipping on sweats and an old but mercifully clean T-shirt, he eyed his disheveled bed with revulsion. It was rank, with regurgitated bits of yesterday’s meal making his stomach heave dangerously. Thankfully, the blanket seemed uncontaminated, and he shoved it to the floor. He pulled off the sheets and scrunched them up tight. Holding the bundle up by the tips of his fingers, he threw his clothes from last night into the pile. Weren’t worth washing. Too gross. He popped into the kitchen for a garbage bag, tied the mess up, then dumped everything into the garbage can outside.

  Donning thick plastic gloves, Julian got down to work, quickly wiping down the bathroom with his favorite homemade cleaning mixture of water and vinegar, then tackled the few speckles of brown on his white grout with an old toothbrush despite his having gone over it the day before during his weekly Saturday bathroom scouring. You couldn’t keep it gleaming without concerted effort.

  The doorbell rang, and Julian stopped halfway through fluffing the pillows on his newly made bed.

  Now what? Sundays were made for newspapers and coffee. Which he hadn’t even had a chance to make yet!

  Oh shit, he’d forgotten—Zachary stood holding another box of legal files upon which he balanced a large paper bag and two cardboard cups. A curious head tilt met Julian’s openmouthed stare. He was struggling to form a coherent sentence when his nose took over.

  “Coffee?”

  Grin widening, Zachary replied, “Guess you could still use some, eh?” He walked in, put the file box on the kitchen counter next to its twin, then held out a lidded coffee cup. “Didn’t know how you took it—got creamers and sugar in the bag.”

  “Black,” Julian said, grabbing it from Zachary’s hands.

  Zachary did the slow glance thing again. “You clean up good.”

  Julian’s face warmed. If his brain was totally operational, he might think that was a flirt.

  Coffee. It would all make sense postcaffeination. A long, slow sip later he heard some sort of moaning noise coming out of him. Didn’t care. Fuck, he needed this.

  Two more swallows later, he looked up as Zachary pulled his own cup away from his mouth, smirk in place. “Don’t think I ever pleased anyone as much without touching them.” Then as if realizing what he’d said, Zachary looked down bashfully.

  Okay. That was definitely a flirt, albeit a little awkward. His nose started twitching again. Now that his own stench wasn’t in the way, he realized the living room smelled good, like coffee and… whatever scent Zachary was wearing. Alarm bells rang because Julian definitely should not be noticing Zachary’s scent. He shook his head in a manner he hoped didn’t look like a dog coming out of the rain and uttered, “I, um, more files?”

  Zachary nodded. “There’s more in my car.”

  “Crap.”

  “They finally sent the email records. Brian wants us to categorize, sort, and give him anything pertinent.”

  “Five years’ worth?” Julian asked, not quite comprehending Zachary’s perkiness at this request.

  “Yeah. I was hoping you could help me bring up the rest. Now that you seem able to stand, that is.” A twitch lifted Zachary’s cheek.

  Julian nodded but then noticed the bag Zachary had placed on the counter, and it stole his thoughts away from emails. Was it from his favorite bakery? Zachary saw where he was staring.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I bought one of each.” He held the bag open for Julian to peer inside.

  Wow. The sweet smell of still warm muffins assaulted him, and his mouth watered. He caught Zachary looking at him. The light had shifted in the room, and Zachary’s eyes appeared darker now yet still a soft shade. Teddy-bear brown. Okay, Julian was officially losing it. Lingering hangover insanity. What else could explain this? Stop staring, he told himself.

  Except it appeared his words weren’t as silent as Julian had imagined. “I’m sorry,” Zachary said earnestly.

  Shit.

  “I didn’t mean—” He yanked open a cupboard, pulled out some paper plates for the muffins, and handed one to Zachary. Nabbing an oversized cranberry muffin for himself, he plopped onto the sofa, normal decorum abandoned on account of yesterday’s tequila insanity. Zachary followed hesitantly, perched as primly as his large stature allowed.

  Julian took a bite, remembering to swallow before speaking. “I’m sorry, dude. I’m not running on all cylinders yet today. You weren’t staring. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Zachary laughed, but it sounded uncharacteristically nervous. Which was nuts because he didn’t know Zachary and couldn’t possibly know what characteristic meant for him. “I tend to do that sometimes. You’re not the only one to tell me to stop it.”

  “You stare at people?”

  Zachary broke eye contact. “Sometimes.”

  Julian sensed embarrassment. There wasn’t anything to say to that. “Thanks for breakfast,” he blurted, finally remembering his manners. “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. It�
��s on me. You can get it next time.” With the change in subject, the dimples reappeared. “So, how long have you been with Harrison, Kim, and Fowler?”

  “Almost a year. Work’s tedious, but the pay is steady. Was a great gig till they assigned me to the Peterson case. Brian’s the youngest person ever to become senior partner. Guy’s a machine. Never stops.”

  Zachary chuckled. “Yeah, I hear you. But I love his enthusiasm. All the folks I’ve met so far, for that matter, are just so dedicated. ’S what makes them good, y’know?”

  “I prefer their enthusiasm Monday through Friday and not Sunday morning.” He stopped and turned a puzzled glance toward Zachary, something about the way he’d slurred “you know” making his heart ache in familiarity. “Texas?”

  “San Antonio,” Zachary confirmed, voice rising in surprise. “Why?”

  “Dallas born and bred. Family’s still there.”

  “Mine’s still in Texas too, man. I couldn’t hear it in you. Usually I can. How long have you been in DC?”

  “A year. Lived in Los Angeles before that. And Portland before that. And Idaho before that. But that was a mistake.”

  “Idaho?”

  “Long story. Not even a funny story. Just long. How about yourself?”

  “I’m boring compared to you. I lived at home, and now I live here.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “Law school. Georgetown U.”

  Whoa. Top school. Dude must be crazy smart. Well, it explained his snappy attitude over having to work on a Sunday. Great, now aside from overzealous Brian and the rest of the partners, Julian would have to deal with this huge, overgrown puppy getting high over a bunch of stupid emails. Couldn’t he have been paired up with a schlub just doing a job like himself?

  Zachary frowned. “You seem disappointed.”

  “What? No. That’s great. It’s a great school. Good—good for you.” Dammit, was he always this fucking transparent with everyone? No wonder his only friends were semi-alcoholics.

  “Is it the legal profession in general, then, that you have issue with?”