Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
JEREMY
Istare at my small suitcase, then check the weather app for Cannon Beach for the tenth time.
I add another hoodie.
It’s Thanksgiving break, and Aunt Sophia is taking a cruise with her friends, so I decided this would be a good time to set up a meeting with my next potential client, Flash Montgomery.
The guy is a B-list actor, often starring in campy horror movies, but he agreed to talk to me after I sent him my résumé and told him I was working with Martin Conner’s son on my current job.
Skynet owns properties all over the country, including Cannon Beach, and the space Flash purchased was one of theirs, originally a quaint seaside motel.
He bought it for the oceanfront land, leveled it, and built an over-the-top beach house, but now he needs a decorator.
I really want to be that decorator.
Fingers crossed.
I was surprised he had time over the holiday weekend, but he assured me that his family aren’t big Thanksgiving people, a sentiment I understand well.
My aunt and I didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving much when I was growing up.
My parents died on Black Friday when I was seven.
I lost my mom and dad, and Aunt Sophia lost her sister, so not exactly our favorite time of year.
This trip is a bit last-minute, but after the encounter with Marcus at my apartment, followed by the weekend overthinking, and then three awkward days in the office with him afterward, I need space.
I just need to stop by the pub to grab my work portfolio, which I left on Wednesday afternoon in my haste to avoid Marcus for the hundredth time.
I blow out a breath. I shouldn’t be avoiding my boss.
Well, my client, whatever—the person who hired me.
Honestly, I shouldn’t have spoken to him the way I did that night.
I don’t know what came over me. Not that Marcus didn’t ask for it, but I could have just told him to get his hand off my throat and act like a fucking professional.
I cringe when I think about my hand necklace comment.
I see a lot of my personal struggle in Marcus, fear and uncertainty in his eyes when he panics are painfully familiar.
The first time Trey and I fooled around right after we started high school, I had a complete panic attack when his best friend, Lincoln, interrupted us, and if not for their kindness and understanding, I would have been permanently scarred after the incident.
Link was a popular guy. He could have outed the queer kid and turned a lot of people against me, but he didn’t.
When I finally came out a few months later, Trey and Link’s support meant everything.
What if that’s what Marcus needs to come to terms with his sexuality? Support. A friend.
But can I just be his friend?
I sigh as I zip up my suitcase and haul it out of my bedroom, checking the bus schedule. It’s two buses and about eight hours to get to the Oregon coast, but it’s not like I don’t have time. I could borrow Tris’s car and drive, but I hate traveling all that way by myself.
I stop in the kitchen to refill my water bottle just as T jumps onto the top of my suitcase and meows loudly.
“I’m sorry, bud.” I scratch under his chin. “I’ll just be gone for a few days.” He meows again, louder this time. I roll my eyes. “Don’t start. Marion will be over to feed you and clean the litter box. You love Marion.”
He cocks his head, unimpressed.
I pick him up and press my face into his soft fur. I feel some of my anxiety ease as he wiggles indignantly against my embrace. I set him on the floor and pick up my water bottle. Then I grab my teal messenger bag, sling it over my shoulder, and walk out the door.
“Bye, T!” I call, letting it close behind me.
I maneuver my suitcase down the narrow hallway.
The wheel catches on the stupid hot dog rug, and I yank it free with an annoyed huff.
Because I always feel stupid lugging a big suitcase down the street, I call an Uber.
The inside smells like Pine-Sol and mint, and it makes me queazy, but thankfully, it’s not long before the guy pulls up to the curb in the back of the pub.
The three-story red brick building is perched on a steep hill, so the front door is actually on the street below, and patrons will have to climb a staircase after entering to reach the dining room.
I stare at the back door for a long minute, thinking about the past few days.
Marcus and I definitely need to talk about where we stand if I’m going to keep working on this job.
Our tension is so obvious that Tris keeps tiptoeing around us like “mommy and daddy are fighting,” as he puts it.
I’m not sure if I’m the mom or the dad in his scenario.
I thank the driver as I get out and walk to the pub entrance to unlock the door.
“Hello.”
I startle at the deep voice behind me, and I drop my phone, which lands face down on the concrete.
I grab it and wipe it on my jeans, then turn around to come face-to-face with an older man.
He has slicked-back blond hair and is wearing a perfectly tailored, very expensive-looking suit and dark sunglasses.
He looks familiar, but I can’t immediately place him.
“H-hi.” I take a step back toward the pub and position my suitcase between us. His whole demeanor makes my skin crawl. Behind him is a black SUV with tinted windows. The whole combination is giving murdery Men in Black vibes.
“Do you work here?”
“I, uh, yes, I do. The owner hired me.” I lick my dry lips. “Can I help you with something?”
He studies me like he’s trying to figure something out.
“I’m actually looking for someone. He hasn’t been returning my calls, and his father is worried, what with it being Thanksgiving and all, so I wanted to make sure he’s okay.
” He gives me a reptilian smile. “But it sounds like you work for him. Marcus Conner?”
My gut is still telling me this guy is bad news. “Yes, I know Marcus. But I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry.”
“Do you think you could let me in? I’m just so worried.”
I give a confused squint and resist the urge to drop my hand to my waist. “Who are you?”
“Oh, how rude of me.” The man extends his hand. “I’m Ryan Michaels. I’m a close personal friend of the family.”
I stare at his hand and give him a wary look. “Sorry, I need to pass on the handshake.” I shrug apologetically. “Germaphobe.”
He lowers his hand, a hint of a sneer on his face.
“Have you tried his condo?” I ask, inching backward toward the door.
“No, I haven’t. Do you have his address?” His eyebrows raise like he’s hopeful.
“You’re a close personal family friend and you don’t know where Marcus lives?”
He shakes his head again, staring at me intently.
Alarm bells start going off in my head. I creep slowly backward until my back hits the door.
I hope he can’t sense my unease while I hurriedly unlock it.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” I give him a small wave over my shoulder.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Michaels.”
“Are you sure I can’t just—”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not my building, so I can’t let you in. You understand.” I grab my suitcase and close the door firmly behind me, locking it.
What the fuck was that all about? And where’s Marcus?
I take a deep breath and start down the hallway, typing a quick text to Marcus. But as I walk past the storage room, someone grabs my collar and hauls me into the darkened space.
I manage to let out half of an undignified squeal before a strong hand clamps down over my mouth. I start to struggle, kicking my feet and throwing elbows.
I am not dying today!
“Ow, fuck, Jeremy, it’s me! Will you shut up and be still?” I freeze at the sound of Marcus’s voice. He gives me a critical look and slowly removes his hand. “Are you good?”
“I thought I was about to be some serial killer’s bitch!”
“Shhh!” Marcus is so close to my face that I see a bead of sweat drip down his temple. I want to lick it, and the thought makes me shake with laughter as I try not to make noise.
I nod.
He creeps out of the room and over the window and uses one finger to raise the blinds, peeking out to the street. I glance around the room, noting a half-open duffel bag and a mussed blanket on the couch.
Marcus lets out a breath and turns back to me, his eyes glistening.
Is he scared?
“Looks like he left, but we should check the security cameras and wait a few minutes before we leave.”
“Marcus, what’s going on?” I ask quietly. “Have you been living here? Is that why this door is always closed?”
Instead of answering my questions, he pulls me by the wrist and into the dining area. The bay is shrouded in a fuzzy gray wall of marine fog this morning. Marcus drops my hand and paces in front of the large window, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.
“Who was that Ryan guy? He said he’s a family friend.”
Marcus snorts. “He’s my father’s business partner and a pain in my ass.” Marcus stops, giving me a serious look. “What did he say to you?”
“He asked if I worked here and if I knew where you lived. He wanted to be let in . . . Marcus, please tell me what’s going on.”
He stops moving and gives me an uncertain look. “Did you tell him? Where I live, I mean?”
“What?” I scoff. “No.”
He narrows his eyes and steps closer. “Do you know where I live, Jeremy Hart?” The authority in his voice and his use of my full name send a shiver through my body.
I shake my head, and he relaxes a little.
“I need to get out of here.” He raises his head, looking back down the hallway where I left my suitcase. “Where are you off to?”
“Business trip to Cannon Beach in Oregon.”
His brown eyes snap to mine, and his gaze is so intense, it makes my heart stutter. “Cannon Beach?”
“Y–yes.”
“What business?”
His commanding tone, as hot as it is, is starting to irritate me because despite what I call him in my head sometimes, he’s not my boss and has no control over me. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Flash Montgomery agreed to meet with me to help him design his vacation house.”
“Flash who?”
“Flash Montgomery. He’s a movie star.”
Marcus grunts. “Never heard of him.” He gives me a shrewd look. “Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your family? It’s a holiday.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you? From where I’m standing, you literally just hid from your father by lying to his business partner.”
“Yeah, well, my father is a grade-A asshole, and Ryan is a psychopath.”
“Like a legit, diagnosed psycho?”
Marcus barks a laugh. “Fuck if I know.”
“What about Sebastian and your sister? You don’t spend Thanksgiving with them?”
“We celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving in October,” he replies with a shrug. “And before you ask, my siblings are estranged from our dad.”
“Jesus,” I murmur. “Well, whatever, I’m not here to get caught up in your family drama.” I walk past him to the stairs and up to his office, where I grab my design portfolio off his desk. When I return to the dining room, Marcus emerges from the hallway, zipping up his duffel bag.
“How are you getting to Oregon?” Marcus asks, dropping it onto the floor at his feet.
“Bus.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That will take hours. And tons of transfers.”
“Only one transfer from Portland, actually. But, yeah, it takes about eight to ten hours.”
“Jeremy, that’s crazy. Why don’t you just drive?”
I frown. “I don’t like driving by myself. At least on the bus I can read or work on design stuff.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and his eyes soften. “Do you have plans with your aunt? Is she meeting you down there?”
“My—how do you know I have an aunt?” I ask pointedly.
Something flashes across his features before he waves his hand dismissively. “You mentioned her in one of the articles attached to your résumé.”
I nod. “Right. No, I’m not meeting her. We don’t really celebrate this holiday.” I really hope he doesn’t ask why because I’d rather not go into detail about my parents’ accident.
“Well, since I want to get out of town for a bit, and you’re leaving town, I can drive you.”
Marcus rolls up his flannel sleeves, and I’m momentarily distracted by the veins spiraling up his tanned forearms.
Then his words register.
“What? You can’t drive me to the Oregon coast. It’s, like, four hours!”
“So?”
“So? You’ll be stuck there with me. Where will you stay? Though I think the beach house has a big enough couch . . .” I shake my head vehemently. “What am I even saying? You can’t go with me. That’s—that’s crazy.”
Marcus gives me an annoyed look. “Do you hate me that much?”
The question halts my spiraling thoughts. “What? Why would I hate you?”
“I mean, I know our last interaction wasn’t great,” Marcus says with a grimace, “but I’m doing you a favor so you don’t have to take the bus.”
“I don’t actually mind taking the bus, Marcus.”
“Isn’t it kind of dangerous?”
I stare at him incredulously. “How out of touch are you? It’s a Greyhound, not a city bus to Third Avenue.
It literally has Wi-Fi and a bathroom.” I take a step closer until we’re inches apart and feel a hint of satisfaction when he steps back.
“I’m not a helpless child, Marcus Conner,” I say with a scowl. “I don’t need a big man to save me.”
His eyes lose some of their heat. “Fine. You don’t need me,” he says quietly. “But I need you. Give me a place to go. I can’t stay here right now. I need to lie low for a few days.”
My mouth drops open at his admission because he looks more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him, even when he came apart for me in that dirty hallway.
His voice is low and throaty, like he’s holding back emotion.
Maybe fear? Uncertainty? And from what I’ve learned about Marcus Conner is that he’s hardly ever uncertain about anything.
Even when he’s wrong, he’s certain he’s right.
“Please,” Marcus begs, and my chest gives a weird ache when I stare into his whisky eyes.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”