Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
MARCUS
Istare at the color swatches, my eyes unfocused because all I can think about is a pair of blue-green eyes staring up at me, his hair and body glittering like starlight in the dim hallway.
Starlight.
I dreamed about him all weekend and woke up horny every morning, hardly rested at all.
He’s stuck in my head, his warm mouth shoving me into pleasurable oblivion.
I thought it was the booze that gave me all those unwanted feelings, but they still linger in the sober light of day.
Obviously, my brain and my dick are really fucking confused. It’s making me extra grumpy.
My phone buzzes on my desk, startling me.
Sebastian’s face flashes on my phone screen. I stare at it for a moment, wondering— irrationally, of course—if he’ll be able to read my thoughts.
Why am I acting so guilty?
I take a breath and answer his FaceTime. “Hey,” I say, going for nonchalant and probably failing.
Sebastian gives me an appraising look. “What’s wrong?”
Yup, I failed.
I give him a faint smile. “I’m looking at paint swatches. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Wow, your life is so hard,” Seb quips. “You’re making me do fucking payroll over here. Payroll, Marcus. I’m a chef. I wasn’t built for this shit. It takes me forever. I’m too dumb.”
I frown. “You’re not dumb.”
“I barely graduated high school,” he deadpans.
“You’re not dumb,” I say tolerantly. “That’s Dad talking.”
Sebastian scoffs. “Like I care what that asshole thinks.”
“We both do, and you know it.”
After every shitty thing our father has done, he’s still in our heads: Seb thinks he’ll never be good enough, and I feel like I have to be Dad’s version of perfect.
My gut twists. What would Martin Conner think about you now that you let a man suck you off?
Sebastian purses his lips in annoyance. “Tell me more about the paint.”
“I have a meeting today with the interior decorator Tristan recommended. The guy designed Tris’s apartment, and it’s the most beautiful space I’ve ever seen.
” I look down at the swatches again. “The fuck is the difference between stormy gray and gray storm?” I squint between the two and hold them under my lamp.
“They’re literally the same color.” I blow out a breath.
My eyes ache, and my head feels fuzzy. “Did you FaceTime for a reason?”
“I just . . .” Seb’s body seems to deflate. “I might need to hire help.”
I scratch the stubble on my chin. “I told you that I didn’t care if you hired an admin, Seb.”
“I know. I thought I could do it, and I know I joke around, but all this manager bullshit is really getting to me.” He gives me a pointed look. “Sometimes, I dream about spreadsheets, and it’s terrifying.”
I study him, noting the dark smudges under his eyes. “Find someone. It’s not worth your mental health. You’re not a machine, Sebastian.”
He grins. “A machine like you?”
“Obviously,” I say with a smug smirk.
“Whatever, Marcus. You need a break sometimes, too. You don’t have to be so fucking perfect all the time.”
Except I do. For you and for Charlie.
I can handle it.
I always handle it.
I glare at the swatches again. “Definitely stormy gray.”
“Like your soul,” Seb snickers.
“I’m hanging up now. Let me know when you hire someone. Maybe then we can talk more about the menu down here.”
Sebastian nods. “I’d like that.”
“Cool. Later, little brother.”
I end the call, push my phone away, and look at the swatches doubtfully. Maybe Tristan’s designer will have a firm stance on shades of gray.
I’m sitting in the dining room this morning because I thought I’d enjoy the view of Elliott Bay, but it’s unusually sunny for this time of year, and the sky is a brilliant shade of blue that reminds me of Peter’s eyes.
I fucking hate it.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him. I hate that he has all this power over me.
It’s because he’s pretty, I rationalize. Because he’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. I’ve always thought so.
I sip my tea and try to quiet the voices in my head, but the disorder and uncertainty of the pub set my teeth on edge.
I despise this part of the process because I have to rely on other people to get shit done.
I want all the control. But until this location of Brothers’ Beer & Bourbon is up and running, I don’t have it.
While we didn’t need any help with the Vancouver location, the start-up costs for the Seattle location were too high for me to juggle alone, so I got some investors, one of them being our father—and Skynet.
It was before I knew our dad was a piece of shit.
But didn’t you always know?
I shake my head, my jaw ticking. I’ve been dealing with the fallout of his involvement ever since, but it’s gotten worse lately because I’m realizing that I never had a true passion for this line of work in the first place.
The longer I do this, the clearer it becomes that being good at something doesn’t automatically make it your life’s passion.
And. . .maybe there was a little bit of wanting to make my dad proud.
Plus, business school was easy.
Making the Vancouver pub successful was easy.
I’m a businessman to my core—just like my dad.
I should have stopped there, but Sebastian really wanted to expand, and I couldn’t say no to him. At the time, my father was enthusiastic about helping, and he had the money and connections I needed, so I took him up on it.
But that was before I knew he was a piece of shit and left Charlie to starve.
And now I have to deal with him on his terms. And with his shady business partner.
And I still haven’t told Sebastian about any of this.
“You look like shit.” Tris’s voice startles me out of my brooding.
I glance over at him. “Thanks,” I reply dryly.
Tris doesn’t look like shit. He never does. He’s dressed in ripped jeans and a cropped hoodie, his curly hair falling over his eyes. He approaches my table, sets down his laptop, and takes a seat across from me.
“That Instagram post I put up last night did pretty well,” Tris says with a wide smile. “And I’m going to check on our liquor license application today.”
I nod absently, my eyes focusing on the view again.
What I wouldn’t give to find a peaceful little place outside the city—maybe on Bainbridge Island or someplace in the mountains. I just don’t want to be here anymore.
“Marcus? Did you hear me?”
“What?” I ask, glancing at Tris.
“I said, do you feel like explaining why you ghosted me on Friday night?”
“Oh, uh, I started feeling sick and just went home. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
Tris studies me for a moment but finally dismisses me with a wave. “It’s fine, big guy.”
I scrunch my nose at the nickname because now all I hear is Peter Parker’s melodic voice whispering in my ear.
“When you just disappeared, I was worried that someone might have mugged you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m literally the guy who people think will mug them, Tris.”
“Okay, humble brag.” He gives me a thoughtful look. “But your big muscles and resting dick face do give you an alluring don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.”
“Resting dick face?”
“You’re not pretty enough for resting bitch face.” Tristan’s phone buzzes with a text. “That’s Jeremy.” Tris looks up and gives me a serious look. “Please be nice.”
“Who’s Jeremy?”
“Jesus, Marcus. My designer friend.”
“Oh, right. And ouch. I’m always nice.”
“That’s a damn lie. I swear to God, Marcus Conner, if you scare him away with your resting dick face, I will quit.”
“I really don’t think resting dick face is a thing,” I grouse.
“Whatever. Just try to be less . . . you.”
I give him a tolerant smile before he stands and walks toward the back door. I hear low voices, and then Tris reenters the dining room.
“Marcus, this is Jeremy.” Tristan gestures at the man to his right, and my fucking heart stops. “Jeremy, this is Marcus, the pub owner, and, hopefully, your new client.”
Jeremy—not Peter—pushes silver hair from his forehead and eyes me curiously. We pause, staring at each other, as if waiting for the other to show recognition first.
Fucking fuck.
Inside, I panic. Like, full-blown meltdown.
My body feels hot, and I’m pretty sure my palms have started sweating. My brain misfires completely, stuck on the fact that not only did I let this man, whom I’ve been obsessed with for years, blow me, but I left him on his knees in a dirty club hallway.
And now he’s here.
In front of me.
And I have to work with him like that didn’t happen.
Fucking fuck.
Tris eyes me aggressively, and I swallow my panic like a big boy. Externally, I’m as cool as an awkward cucumber as I stand and extend my hand. “Erm, hello, Jeremy.” Tris gives Jeremy an apologetic look. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Shit. It’s sweaty. Why did I do that?
But before I can pull it back, Jeremy walks forward, slides his smaller hand into mine, and shakes it with a warm smile that lights my insides on fire.
Get yourself under control.
“Hi, Marcus.” His voice is like fucking music. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
I nod mutely, distracted by the way his rolled-up shirt sleeves show off the creamy white skin of his forearm. A bracelet with a few teal stones dangles from his wrist, and his nails are painted dark purple.
Not silver like last time.
Jeremy clears his throat, and my gaze snaps back up to his face. He smirks.
You can do this. It’s just a business meeting. You’ve had plenty of those before.
Tris touches my wrist. “You okay?” he mutters, his eyebrows lowering in concern. I don’t miss the way Jeremy’s gaze drops to Tris’s hand.
“Fine,” I say a little too loudly. I yank my hand out of Jeremy’s gentle grip. “Uhm, I definitely could use the help around here.” I wave vaguely around the room.