CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Asher’s brain might start bleeding if Natalie didn’t stop talking about accent pieces and throw pillows. Even then, Asher doubted it would dissuade her.
“Oh, this would be perfect in the den.” She held up the ugliest bronze lamp Asher had ever seen. “It’ll go really well with the end tables we saw at Mint Julep.”
Asher had been excited when she’d suggested they visit the place, mostly because he’d assumed there would be alcohol involved. The Mint Julep turned out to be a boring furniture store where everything looked a hundred years old and like it came out of a plantation house in Louisiana.
If that hadn’t been bad enough, she’d convinced him to accompany her to a flea market. Asher had never been to one before, and while he didn’t want to come off as pretentious or condescending, he sort of felt like the entire place was bad-touching him.
Needing some sanity in his life, he pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up Cameron’s number.
Going back to his house after spending the weekend with Cameron and getting to know the people he cared about had been beyond depressing.
With the place being practically empty after his purge, his footsteps echoed throughout the rooms, which only intensified his feelings of loneliness.
By noon, he’d sequestered himself in the library, the only room left that didn’t feel as if it had been gutted.
By dinner, he knew he needed to replace everything he’d sold or donated.
Upon waking that morning, he’d realized he didn’t want to go shopping alone.
His first choice had been Cameron, but since his boyfriend had an important meeting with some fancy suits, he’d settled for the next best thing.
It really had been a brilliant plan. Right up to the point where he wanted to punch himself in the face rather than look at another “interesting” bowl or “unique” sculpture.
“Oh, oh, oh.” Natalie clapped her hands together and bounced up on her toes. “We have to look at these handspun vases.”
Asher bared his teeth in what he hoped would pass as a smile. Now, he remembered why he’d hired an interior designer and a personal shopper when he’d first moved into his house. This shit made his head hurt.
Following her down the aisle to a table a few rows over, he sent off a quick text to Cameron before pretending to be interested in all the swirling colors and artistic patterns.
Asher: Kill me now.
He managed to look at and comment on six different vases before his phone vibrated with an incoming message .
Cameron: LOL! I did try to warn you. My sister is a force of nature.
Asher: Your sister is a goddamn menace.
Cameron: Just let her have her way. Trust me, it’s easier.
Asher wouldn’t mind so much if her way wasn’t so strange.
She had managed to find him a new headboard that matched the pirate trunk from her shop, which had been cool.
The writing desk for his office had also been amazing.
Mostly, it was all the little, decorative things that made him break out in hives when she started talking.
Asher: I don’t need six vases for the foyer.
Cameron: How much do you care about that stuff?
He didn’t even have to think about it before responding.
Asher: Not at all.
Cameron: Then let her do this for you. You’ll both be happier.
He read the text three times before deciding Cameron was probably onto something. Vases, sculptures, throw pillows, accent rugs, wall art—he neither knew nor cared about any of it. If it made Natalie happy, and it meant he didn’t have to pretend to understand anything she said, he was all for it.
“Nat,” he said, interrupting some long-winded sermon about the importance of colors and how they affected mood and atmosphere.
“I don’t care.” Damn, it felt good to say that.
“Whatever you think will be best.” Taking his wallet from his back pocket, he extracted his Visa card and handed it to her. “Go make it happen.”
The shock on her face lasted all of three seconds before she snatched the credit card from his fingers and grinned. “I’ll take care of everything.”
He cuffed her lightly on the ear and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I know you will.”
Asher: I gave her free rein. If this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.
Cameron: That’s not exactly what I meant.
He could practically hear Cameron’s eyes rolling from halfway across town. His nose would be scrunched a little, and his lips would be parted just slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or not.
Damn, he had it bad.
He couldn’t write. He’d barely slept without Cameron there to hog all the blankets and press his perpetually cold feet against him to try to warm them.
When he sighed sleepily and curled into him, pressing his face against the side of Asher’s neck, it was the best feeling in the whole fucking world.
Before he could think better of it or worry that it would come off as clingy, he typed out his next message and hit send.
Asher: I miss you. When can I see you?
~
Cameron must have stared at the text for longer than he thought, willing his heart rate to return to normal, because he jumped a little when his phone buzzed with another text.
Asher: Cam?
Taking a deep breath, he blew it out through grinning lips. If his hands shook a little as he typed his response, well, he couldn’t help that. Being with Asher was like having his first crush all over again, complete with highs and lows, butterflies in his stomach, and tremors in his heart.
Cameron: I miss you too. Umm…tonight ?
It had been less than forty-eight hours since he’d seen Asher, and already, he felt like a junkie in need of his next fix.
The most surprising thing was how hard it had been to fall asleep that first night after Asher had left.
It amazed him how quickly he’d become accustomed to having the man in his bed, curled around him like his own personal heating blanket.
Asher: Mr. Stone, sleeping over on a weekday. What will people think?
Cameron: No one said anything about sleeping over.
Asher: I just did. Stay with me tonight.
Cameron: Work tomorrow.
Asher: My place is the same distance to your office as yours.
Well, he had a point, and he made a compelling argument. Damn, it was hard to say no when he really wanted to say yes. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who needed to work.
Cameron: Don’t you have a book to write?
Asher: I’m writing it.
Cameron: Liar .
Asher: Fine. I’ll come to you.
Cameron chuckled, his voice ringing through his empty office. The man was relentless when he wanted something. It was an intoxicating sensation to be on the receiving end of it. He should say no, but fuck, he wanted to see Asher.
Cameron: Okay.
Asher: Okay? Is that a yes?
Cameron carded his fingers through his hair, and used the tips to massage his scalp, as if he could rub some sense into himself. It didn’t work. He still wanted Asher just as much as he had thirty seconds ago.
Cameron: Yes.
A heartbeat after he hit send, his phone rang. “Yes, you can stay,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Bring your laptop.”
A long pause, then, “Kinky.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “To write. Your agent is going to have my head if you don’t get this book finished.”
Asher grumbled. “Let me worry about Becca.”
“Asher.”
“Fine, fine,” he huffed. “I’ll bring my laptop. Happy? ”
“Immensely.” Despite the assurance, Cameron frowned. “What’s going on, Ash? You’ve been dragging your feet on this a lot more lately. Is there a problem with the book? Writer’s block?”
“Something like that.”
Cameron’s scowl deepened, and his brow creased. “Talk to me.”
A long, suffering sigh drifted over the line. “It’s just not what I want to be writing.”
He sounded so damn miserable Cameron wanted to reach through the phone, wrap him in his arms, and never let him go. “You said you had an idea for something new. Something different.”
“I do.” Some of the vibrancy returned to his voice.
“Write that.”
After having a taste of the newest—and possibly last—Marshall Kane novel, it would be torture to wait another year or more for the rest of the book.
He had no doubt he’d love anything Asher wrote, but it was hard to imagine him not writing the gun-wielding, whiskey drinking, bad-guy-chasing detective.
Asher chuckled humorlessly. “It’s not really that simple, sweetheart.”
Cameron went a little lightheaded from the endearment. After a few seconds too long, he cleared his throat to respond, but before he could speak, his door burst open, and none other than Kyle Anders shouldered his way into the office.
“Sir!” Amelia called, trailing right behind him.
“You can’t go in there!” The glare she leveled at Kyle held no small amount of venom, but she spoke calmly when she addressed Cameron.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stone. I told him he wasn’t allowed back here, and that he’d need to make an appointment to speak with you. Do you want me to call security?”
“Go ahead.” Kyle took another step into the room, his eyes fixed on Cameron. “Call security. What I have to say won’t take long.”
“Cam, who is that?” Asher asked. “Is that Kyle? What the fuck is going on?”
Ignoring him, Cameron nodded at his assistant. “It’s okay, Amelia. I’ll handle this.”
“Handle what?” Asher barked.
“I’m going to have to call you back.” Holding Kyle’s gaze, he rose to his feet, but remained safely out of reach behind his desk.
“Cameron.” Blatant warning bled into Asher’s tone.
“I’ll see you later.” He couldn’t be more specific than that, not with Kyle in the room. “I have to go.”
“Don’t you dare fucking hang—”
Cameron disconnected the call, but kept his phone in his hand, just in case. Asher was going to completely lose his shit, but he couldn’t worry about that just then. “Hello, Kyle. Please, sit.”
Kyle shook his head, his lank, brown strands swishing over his bony shoulders. “Like I said, this won’t take long.”
“Okay. What can I do for you?” It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he launched himself across his desk and punched the asshole in the face. Or so he kept telling himself.
Keep calm. Stay in control.
Kyle paced, short, jerky strides that had his baggy jeans sliding down his hips. “Tell your boyfriend things have changed.” His hands clenched and unfurled, and he continued shaking his head as he spoke. Dude was twitchy as fuck. “He has three days to get me the money.”
“You know you can’t tell anyone about him without revealing things about yourself. Is that what you really want?”
Kyle stopped pacing and pinned him with a heated glare. “No one gives a shit about what I did. No one cares who I am. Not yet anyway.”
“So, this really is all about the money.”
“This is about me!” Kyle exploded, thumping a fist against his chest. “Why does he get to have it all? What about me? While he was off selling a million books and getting rich, where do you think I was?”
Judging by his distress, Cameron would guess it had been no place good. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.” He truly did hate what had been done to all the boys Mitchell Faraday had used and manipulated. “That wasn’t Asher’s fault, though.”
“Ashley! His fucking name is Ashley!” Extending his index finger, he pointed it at Cameron. “You don’t just bury that shit and pretend like it never happened. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Some wounds ran too deep to ever fully heal.
In that moment, Cameron understood that no amount of money would ever erase the scars of Kyle’s past. Oh, he wanted the money, but more than that, he wanted the world to know his story.
He wanted everyone to understand how he’d suffered.
Like the other seven billion people on the planet, he wanted someone to see him, to love him, even for just a little while.
“I know,” Cameron said, his tone quiet, soothing. “The things that happened to you weren’t your fault. You don’t have to do this, Kyle.”
“You’re wrong.”
Cameron shook his head. “I can help you. Let me help you.”
“You can’t help me.” Piece by piece, Kyle put himself back together until he mostly resembled a confident, assertive man. “Three days. He knows how to reach me.”