Chapter Three
Keston
My body still buzzing from that mind-blowing orgasm, I collected myself and forced an easy smile to my lips.
“What’re you doing here? I thought you had plans.”
Seeing Ambrose in the shop freaked me out a little. Frankly, the fact that I’d just had sex in my shop did as well, but this Bailey guy flipped my switch. I’d had to touch him, and when I did, it was as if I’d become possessed. The more I had of him, the more I wanted.
“Carly’s got a stomach bug, so we had to cancel our plans.
She’s moaning and groaning and told me to leave her alone, so I was heading to your place to see if you wanted to grab some dinner.
Then I saw the lights on. What the hell are you still doing here?
It’s, like, over half an hour after closing. ”
Thinking fast, I shrugged. “I had a late walk-in, and we got to talking after I did his work. I was cleaning up and decided to do some paper work.” That sounded plausible. I hoped. Meanwhile I could smell Bailey on me and wondered if Ambrose could as well.
“So what do you say? We could get some Italian or maybe Indian? I’m down for anything.”
What I was down for was dark-haired, blue-eyed, about six feet, one ninety, with a killer tongue and a dick I wanted in my mouth. But that wasn’t gonna happen now.
“Yeah. I was just in the middle of something I gotta finish. Get us a table, and I’ll be there in like ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
He settled against the front counter. “I can wait. It’s no big deal.”
Fuck.
“All right. I’ll be ready in a few.”
How the fuck was I gonna sneak Bailey out of here?
I couldn’t tell Ambrose I had a guy with me in the shop.
Not only was it unprofessional, but Ambrose hated lawyers with a passion, especially since his brother, Lucas, had gotten convicted in a drug possession case and was serving time.
I’d asked Grady to take a look at it, and he said criminal law wasn’t his specialty but from a cursory inspection of the file, the lawyer should’ve probably had Lucas plea to a lesser charge.
Ambrose didn’t like that answer, insisting his brother was innocent.
I returned to the room, where Bailey had gotten dressed and was waiting for me with an annoyed face. “Why am I hiding in here?”
I put a finger to my lips. “Shh. Listen. That’s Ambrose, my coworker. I-I can’t have him thinking I’m hooking up in the shop.” I left out the lawyer part.
He smirked but kept his voice to a murmur. “Glad to know you don’t make it a habit. So how do we do this? I’m assuming there’s no back door?” Bailey winked. “Except mine.”
Damn, I still wanted him, bad jokes and all. It was the only reason I came up with the craziest fucking idea. “I’m gonna trust you because you’re Grady’s friend. If I give you the keys to the shop, could you lock up after Ambrose and I leave? You can meet me here in like a couple of hours, okay?”
My heart sank when he narrowed his eyes.
“No. I don’t think so.” Surprising me, he put his hand on my nape and yanked me to him, whispering against my mouth.
“But you can come to my place, and I’ll give them to you.
Along with something else I know you want.
” He rocked his hips, and I had to stifle a groan.
I remembered what he felt like, which was why I agreed to his ridiculous plan.
“Yeah, okay. Give me your address.” Reluctantly, I pulled away from him, took the extra set of keys from the desk and handed them to him. “Better give me your number too, in case something gets fucked up.”
“The only thing getting fucked tonight is me.” He cupped the bulge in his pants.
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Got that right.” We exchanged numbers, and he texted me his info. “Okay. There are two locks on the front door.”
“What about an alarm? You don’t have one?”
“Yeah, but you can leave it off for one night.” As hot as he was, I wasn’t about to give Bailey the alarm code.
Frowning, he scanned the space. “Not a smart move. You’ve got valuable equipment here.”
The last thing I needed was some uptown guy telling me how to run my shop. “Listen, you take care of your fancy-ass clients, and I’ll handle my business.” But he did have a point. “Fine, set the alarm. Here’s the number.” I smirked. “In case you’re wondering, I’ll be changing it in the morning.”
Steady blue eyes met mine. “Got it.”
“I’ll see you later.” I hesitated, then kissed him. “Bye.”
I left him standing there with his brow furrowed.
“I’m ready, Ambrose. Let’s go.”
We walked out, I locked up, pretended to punch in the alarm to not raise suspicion with Ambrose and we headed down the block.
“What’re you thinking?” I asked him. “Indian?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
We walked to what was known as Curry Row—the block in the East Village where all the Indian restaurants were congregated.
Though most were good, our favorite spot was Veeray da Dhaba.
The waiter recognized us and brought us each a Kingfisher beer and our usual assortment of appetizers.
While I munched on a samosa, I listened to Ambrose talk about his brother’s continuing legal problems.
“Can you believe I’m still getting bills from that fucking lawyer? I swear they’re vultures, man. Bloodsuckers, all of them.” Ambrose had been in and out of the system throughout his teens and didn’t trust a lawyer as far as he could throw one.
“What’re they asking for?” I took a drink.
While no fan of the legal system, I didn’t hate all lawyers, considering my brother was one.
He and I had gone through a few tense years when we’d first connected, but we were okay now.
It wasn’t his fault he’d been the one to have gotten the more stable home life. Luck of the draw.
“He got billed for the parole hearing. Which was denied.”
The waiter took our order, and I waited for him to depart. “I mean, it’s not a guarantee, is it? And the lawyer did show up, didn’t he?”
Ambrose rested his chin in his hand. “It just sucks, man. I know Lucas was set up. The cops planted those drugs on him. And his shit-talking girlfriend? He never laid a hand on her. They’re all lying. You know how it is.”
I knew nothing of the sort. The times I’d met Lucas, I’d pegged him as a smooth-talking SOB.
It wasn’t hard to figure him out. When I was younger, I’d gotten in enough trouble with his kind to see through his bullshit.
A man who didn’t seem to work but always had money to burn—what the hell did he do?
That, along with the numerous complaints about domestic violence I’d heard over the years, was enough for me to know he was a piece of shit who used Ambrose’s blind devotion to get what he wanted.
“When is his next hearing?”
“Not until next year.”
I tuned out Ambrose’s bitching, wondering if Bailey was going to keep his promise or if I’d made a mistake by giving him my keys.
Then I laughed at myself. That guy would never dream of crossing the line.
He probably never even jaywalked. I could spot his type a mile away, someone who thought hooking up with a guy like me was walking on the wild side.
And God knew, I was happy to oblige and get as wild as he liked.
“Keston, hey.” Ambrose’s fingers snapped in front of my face. “What’s wrong? Did you hear me?”
“Huh?” I blinked and found him staring at me. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“Could you do me a favor and have your brother look at his case again? Maybe he missed something.”
Doubtful. “I could, but he was pretty sure there wasn’t anything problematic about Lucas’s arrest.”
“So you’re on the lawyer’s side? I should’ve known you’d change your tune because your brother’s one of them.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t be a fucking asshole. Grady’s the best, and if he says there’s nothing he can do, I believe him.”
Ambrose’s shoulders slumped. “I just wanna help him, you know? Like we wanted people to help us.”
“I know, but if Grady says there’s nothing you can do…” I shrugged, but Ambrose didn’t want to hear it.
“Maybe he’s wrong. I know he’s your brother, but that don’t mean he’s perfect.
” He thrust out his jaw, challenging me to react, but I kept quiet, letting him rant.
“Lucas said his public defender barely knew his case. You know these Legal Aid lawyers suck.” He checked his phone.
“Carly needs me to come home. I’d better go. ”
He left, and I gazed at my half-eaten plate. I wasn’t too worried about Ambrose. I never took offense at what he said—I didn’t blame him for not trusting authority. Neither did I. Yet here I was, getting it on with a corporate type. A lawyer, no less. The universe worked in fucking crazy ways.
I took out my phone, searched for Bailey’s address, and called for a car.
I’d expected it to be in Tribeca or Chelsea, but it was on the Upper West Side.
I didn’t know the area, and when the car pulled up on the tree-lined block of 85th Street between Amsterdam and Columbus, I had to admit it was…
charming. I’d figured a corporate type like Bailey would live in a huge, modern apartment building, but these were brownstones.
Mostly three or four stories, with bay windows and flowerpots on the windowsills.
I checked the number, found the building, and mounted the steps.
Bailey Marks lived on the second floor. There was one of those high-tech cameras like I had in my building, and I hit the buzzer.
A moment later the lock clicked, and I mounted the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.
A shirtless Bailey stood waiting for me in the doorway. I strolled up to him and held out my hand. “First things first. My keys?”
A smile curved his lips, and he held them out to me. “Come and get ’em.” And he took off running into the apartment.