Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Spencer
Blossom glared.
“What?” I met that glare with a confused look of my own.
I couldn’t fathom why she was pissed with me.
“I thought the interview went well.” The reporter had been fair, competent, and someone I’d dealt with before.
Kind of cute. And married—happily, as far as I knew—with children and, apparently, a grandchild.
He was yummy, in a silver fox kind of way, but I hadn’t been looking at him that way.
Much.
Nope.
I’d been obsessing over a certain too-handsome-for-his-own-good rock star who’d given me a migraine yesterday, even though we’d yet to meet in person.
Blossom crossed her arms across her abundant bosom. I didn’t normally notice these things—or tried not to—but she always wore clothes that emphasized her…ample cleavage. She also had long, flowing blonde hair that was always tousled in that way and big, beguiling, blue eyes.
When she recruited volunteers, we had scores of guys, and quite a few gals, lining up to follow her as if she were the pied piper.
She sighed. “You should’ve consulted me.”
“Blossom, you handle social media. Don’t get me wrong, you do a fantastic job.”
“Media, Spencer. You needed a media-relations person guiding you. Coaching you. Stopping you from making stupid mistakes.”
“Hey, I didn’t make any stupid mistakes.” Did I? “I was fine.”
“You weren’t fine. You didn’t even cope.”
“I did okay. I have some savvy, you know.”
“And how did your legal background prepare you for dealing with the media? Please give me the precise educational background—or work experience—that made you vaguely qualified to go up against a professional like him?”
We both knew who he was.
“I worked in the biomedical research field for years. They put out plenty of press releases and held media events.”
Blossom’s eyebrow arched. “Right. And how many of those press releases did you write? How many media events did you host?”
“Well—”
“Hell, Spencer. Did you even attend these vaunted events?”
I held in the wince.
Barely.
You’re the boss. “I did what I thought was best.”
Blossom slashed the air. “Razor Made is an up-and-coming band with a small, but very loyal fanbase. You pissed some of them off last night. They could make it difficult to recruit people to our cause in the future.”
Oh God, what if she has a point? I’d been focused on clearing the organization’s name—not about future recruitments. In fact, I’d convinced myself the inverse was true—if people thought we were only doing law-abiding work, then they’d be more likely to join. We didn’t want troublemakers. Guys like—
“I want to see him.” A firm voice came from the reception area. A very strong, masculine voice.
“He’s in a meeting right now.” Bonnie—just as strong and clear.
“Oh my God. He’s here.” Blossom squealed and then fanned herself.
Yep, fanned herself.
As much as I didn’t want to admit to knowing who he was, clearly the cause of all yesterday’s distress had shown up.
“You can’t go in there—” Bonnie, again putting up a good front. Except she was about five-five and a little on the slender side. To the best of my knowledge, she didn’t have martial arts training—and I didn’t want her engaging in physical combat for my sake anyway.
“It’s okay, Bonnie. You can let Mr. Forestal in.”
Blossom grinned.
My office door was thrust open, and he stepped into my inner sanctuary.
That invasion raised my hackles right away.
I didn’t want anyone in here whom I hadn’t specifically invited.
I needed this to be my place of peace. I even had a vanilla-scented candle and soft music playing in the background.
If incense didn’t give me a headache, I’d burn that as well.
I might be a logical lawyer, but I also believed in encouraging good juju.
The influence of my beatnik parents who were born a dozen years too late. They wanted to be hippies protesting war. Instead, they’d embraced the no nukes movement with great fervor.
But none of that calm helped now.
Malik stood before me.
He was a couple of inches shorter, but from the distance, our eyes met.
Ha, I was right. Dark brown. Stunning and luminous dark-brown eyes. His black hair curled wildly and I wondered about the texture.
Today he wore loose khaki shorts that exposed his knees and calves. That shouldn’t have been sexy—but it was. He wore a loose cotton shirt, with several buttons undone.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Right because that is the most important thing going on at the moment.
I wore jeans, a henley, and a cardigan.
Early October had been a slow end to summer, weather-wise. Around Thanksgiving, the weather had turned cold and wet. Yesterday might’ve had brilliant sunshine, but the temperature had hovered around sixty. Today, so far, it was even lower.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing sandals and shorts. The temperature is too low for such clothes.”
“Who do you think you are, my mother?”
The response of a good mother wouldn’t let her son go out in inappropriate clothes was on the tip of my tongue.
Before I could spit it out, though, I remembered his mother had died tragically.
That, unless he had other relatives, he was lacked parental figures.
“I just meant you should dress appropriately.”
He gave me a long perusal.
Long.
Slow.
Examination.
Don’t fidget. You still have the high ground. You were right. He was wrong.
Still, heat rose to my cheeks as his gaze met mine. I wanted to ask what he saw, but the dismissive flicker in his eyes assured me he wasn’t having positive thoughts about me. “Can I help you? I have work to do—”
“You’re an asshole.”
Blossom, blessed woman, giggled.
I glared.
She held up her phone.
Is she asking if she can record this? Is she suggesting she should leave and will make more social media posts? And while we’re asking inane questions…who exactly is the boss? “Can I help you?”
“My phone is blowing up with notifications.” She pointed her phone toward Malik.
He offered a shy smile. Which morphed into amused. Which changed into predatory.
His ability to pivot so quickly—three solidly different looks in less than thirty seconds—took my breath away. Or perhaps that was because he turned that wolfish grin on me.
Our gazes clashed…then held.
Blossom slipped from the room and closed the door once she was in the reception area.
Since I still stood behind my desk, I gestured for him to sit on one of the two chairs facing me. At least I wasn’t sitting down—at least I still have some dignity. I needed to repeat this since my cock was becoming very interested in whatever Malik thought he was offering.
Maybe he’s not offering anything at all.
Maybe this is all in your imagination. Although Malik made no attempt to hide his gay liaisons—I’d spent way too much time with my search engine last night—I didn't share quite so freely. My staff knew I was gay. None of us, though, shared that information far and wide. That fact wasn’t necessary for anyone who dealt with me to know.
They should see me as the competent leader of this organization—not a queer man who lived in Vancouver.
Enough navel gazing. “How can I help you?”
Malik cocked his head. “Are you going to act like nothing happened?”
I put my hand on my hip—clearly we weren’t sitting. “What happened? You got taken away by the police yesterday after chaining yourself to a bridge. That wasn’t behavior this organization condones. Blocking traffic for a few minutes is one thing. Forcing police officers to put themselves at risk—”
“No one was at risk—”
“Nice try, Mr. Forestal. I saw the footage. Those two officers did have to imperil themselves to get you unchained. Things could have gone badly—for all three of you. This isn’t something we could ever support. I was just making that clear.”
“By going to CNC? The Canadian News Channel? That’s the only interview I caught. Were there more? You went to their studio—and met with the important anchor. That meant your discussion wasn’t an impromptu thing.”
So much to unpack in those words. I tried to sort out where his anger was coming from—but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Was it the choice of network, that anchor in particular, or the fact I made arrangements that bothers you the most?”
He glared. “Perhaps the words you said?”
“Oh.” I wracked my brains. I’d said a lot of things, but when I’d watched the interview later, it’d been edited. Was something out of context? Everything seemed pretty clear to me.
“Which words?”
“Likes and clicks.”
“Ah.” His retort brought things into sharp focus. “Well, if you don’t like being referred to as a want-to-be-celebrity, perhaps you shouldn’t act like one. Now, I have work to—”
“Where do you get off?” He spat out the words. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Well, considering much of your life is splashed across—”
“You checked me out?” In a heartbeat, his anger morphed back into predatory.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I checked you out. You’re claiming to represent this organization. This group means everything to me—”
“You mean it pays your bills.”
“What?” I frowned.
“You draw a salary.”
I pressed a hand to my temple. Fuck, not now.
Not fucking now. But migraines would wait for no one, and stress was a huge trigger.
So why did you take this job? “Yes, I am paid. This is my full-time employment. I don’t have enough money to live if I don’t pay myself.
I’m paid at parity with many others and less than still more.
I’m making far less in this job than I did in my last—”
“Why’d you leave?”
“What?” I fought not to squint.
“Your last job? Why did you leave such a lucrative position to take a cut in salary and a job you’re not even good at?”
“Hey, that’s rude. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I do around here. You waltz in with your attitude and your ignorance—”
“I am not ignorant.” He said the words with low menace. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
Because I’m not going to. You don’t deserve to know something so personal.
So intimate. That’s between me, Pike, and his God.
I didn’t have a God. I might’ve before my friend’s death, but I certainly didn’t have one now.
If pressed, I might’ve said Mother Nature.
That was about as good as it got. “I’m not answering your question, Mr. Forestal.
You can see yourself out and please do not do anything illegal in our name again.
The members of This Land is Ours will not be thanking you.
We don’t need unwarranted scrutiny. We just want to—”
“What are you hiding?”
Geometric patterns danced in the periphery of my vision. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. From this moment on, nothing good was going to happen. “I need you to leave.”
“I’m not finished. We’re going to hash this out, you’re going to apologize—”
“Fine. I’m sorry. I was wrong. You’re a good guy. Now please get out of my office.” You just need to hold it together for a little bit longer. You’ll be okay if—
“What’s wrong?”
His face swam as tears filled my eyes. Even through the physiological reactions my body was enduring, I could spot the concern. “Just go.” My voice broke. My knees wobbled as indescribable pain crashed through my temples. A screwdriver into my brain.
“Yeah. Okay.” He turned and stalked out.
I dropped heavily into my chair. I opened my drawer, but I couldn’t sort out which pill bottle I needed.
“I’ve got it. The strong ones?” Bonnie was there, placing each bottle on the desk and scanning the labels.
“Yeah.”
“Right.” She opened the bottle, dropped two pills on my hand, and pressed my water bottle into the other.
I downed the pills.
Then I let her guide me to my couch. I let her put an icepack on my forehead. I let her close the blinds, turn off the music, and quietly close the door as she let herself out.
I didn’t remember anything beyond that.