Chapter Nine
Spencer
Normally, my office felt spacious—with my ergonomic chair behind my large desk, two chairs across from it, as well as the sofa I spent far too much time laying on because of the fucking migraines.
With Malik in my space, however, it felt claustrophobic. Like I could barely breathe without inhaling his scent. Sandalwood? Maybe? Not something that appeared to trigger my fucking head—so I’d take that for a win. “Would you like to take a seat?”
“How’s your head?”
My gaze shot to his.
“Kind of obvious the last time I was here that something was happening. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t have a seizure or something—that would’ve been scary. But you went all white and kept pressing your hand to your temple.”
Had I? I’d no memory of any of that. Not entirely surprising, however. Often, once the aura—and then the pain—struck, everything became fuzzy. Sometimes just around the edges and sometimes, like that day, every fucking thing. “I’m okay, thank you for asking.”
“But you need to keep your stress level down, right? Blood pressure and all that?”
My eyebrows shot up.
“My best friend’s baby sister. Creed’s taught me how to read the signs. I mean, when there are signs. Sometimes it just hits her hard and nothing helps. She’s on this new drug. The damn thing’s amazing—”
“I’m allergic to an ingredient.”
“Aw shit, that sucks.” He cocked his head—as if trying to get a read on me.
“Anyway, I recognized some of the symptoms. I kind of figured you didn’t want me to see you like that, so I told Bonnie you needed help and then I left.
I admit to feeling a little guilty.” He scrunched his nose.
“Okay, like, a lot. But I was also still mad about the interview you did with CNC.”
I let out a long exhalation. “I could have been…more diplomatic.”
“Yeah? Because I’m not all about the clicks and likes.
I mean, those are nice, and I get a bit of a hit, but I’m more interested in the comments.
Do people understand why I’m doing what I’m doing?
Do they listen to the lyrics and get the message?
I’m really good at lyrics, by the way. Creed sucks, although if he gives me a good story, then I can tell it.
” He rolled his eyes. “My point—and I do have one—is that I’m good at composing lyrics.
Freddie, our keyboardist, and Reese, our bassist, do most of the scoring.
Between the four of us, we make a good team. ”
“I’ve heard your stuff, and I won’t disagree. Just not clear why you’re here today.” He scrunched his nose.
“Mrs. Murthi said I had to come and apologize.”
Again, his eyebrows shot up. “Mrs. Murthi is related to Creed?”
“Yeah, his mom. And she sort of considers herself my mom, and since pissing off my mom is the last thing I’d ever want to do, I’m here to apologize to you as well.”
“That’s…big of you.”
“Mama Murthi is a force to be reckoned with. If I want to continue eating samosas and French fries at her table, then I do what I’m told.”
The image of samosas with French fries slammed into my mind, and my stomach rumbled.
Malik cocked his head.
“Skipped breakfast. I had a conference call with some donors back east. Crazy early for me, but midmorning for them. They’re making the contributions, so they get to set the meeting times.”
“Not if that means you’re skipping meals.”
“Truly, I meant to get up earlier to make myself some food. But I was queasy and hadn’t slept well last night—”
“Because of me?”
I squinted.
“Because I ruined the council meeting for you? I mean, they voted for the development you went to support, so I don’t think you should be entirely pissed.”
I glared.
He stood taller. Still a few inches shorter than me, but from this distance, our gazes were almost level.
“Your behavior—” Then, “Hey!.”
He had my arm and was propelling me through the door to the outer offices. “We can call for delivery, or we can go out. I know this great café around the corner.”
“The Garden Strathcona?”
“Yep. Let’s go.”
“I’ll go voluntarily if you’ll release me.”
He met my gaze. “I think you like when I touch you.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Memories from last night—which I’d conveniently forgotten—raced back to my mind. My cock, previously uninterested, perked up at his somewhat domineering tone. This isn’t like you—you don’t like to be bossed around.
Depends who’s doing the bossing.
Well…that was possibly true. I’d never met someone so…magnetic as Malik. Part of me was willing to submit to anything just to see how far he’d take things. “The Garden Strathcona’s a bit on the expensive side.”
“I can afford it. Let’s go.” He released my arm, then gestured me to head out.
I dropped my messenger bag—full of papers, but nothing else—onto my desk. Then I followed him.
Malik was smiling at Bonnie. “What can I get you?”
My assistant beamed. “I’d love a kale Caesar salad. How lovely of you to offer.”
I rolled my eyes, but ensured no one saw me. For Malik’s wallet’s sake, I was glad Bonnie was the only one in the office today.
He caught sight of me and gestured for me to follow.
I waved to Bonnie and hustled to keep up.
Thank God I hadn’t removed my coat, because the cold wind coming in off Coal Harbor was pretty brutal.
The gray clouds overhead promised rain, and my head was giving off the super-early warning signals that, if I wasn’t careful, I might get hit with a migraine.
“Are we eating at the restaurant or back at the office?”
Malik, who’d been striding down East Pender Street toward Hawkes Avenue, slowed his pace.
“I figured we could do takeout and eat in your office. You seem to like to be in control—of some things—and your office gives you that power.” With those simple words, he continued the trek—turning north on Hawkes and heading toward Hastings Street.
My mind stuttered. Is he right? Do I derive a power trip by having people in my office? That feels a little farfetched. But also perhaps true? “How do you know about the café?”
“The recording studio where I work is just a few blocks from here. When we’re not ordering cheap delivery pizza, we’re often ordering something completely healthy. The café food hits the spot.” He eyed me. “I can be an adult.”
“You take your samosas with a side of French fries.” Said somewhat dryly.
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, Mama Murthi used to have the same opinion. I often include a side of steamed vegetables, so she’s willing to overlook the fries.”
We hit Hastings Street and headed east the half block until we arrived at the café.
Heavenly scents assailed me as I stepped inside.
Again, because the store favored organics and natural flavors, the scents didn’t trigger me.
Certainly if it’d been a risk, I wouldn’t have ventured near here.
Other places around here were on a hard no list. If I wanted something, I either had it delivered or had Bonnie run out—with me paying for her meal, of course.
“We can eat here, but it’s almost lunchtime. We might not want to make Bonnie wait.” Better than admitting that yes, I did feel more in control in my office.
“I vote for not making the lady wait.” He gestured for me to place my order first.
As I approached the counter, he pressed against my back. “My treat.”
A shiver ran up and down my spine. “I prefer—”
“Next time, you can pay.”
Which, of course, implied there would be a next time.
“What can I get for you?” A lovely woman with shining dark-brown eyes met my gaze.
“Uh…” Sheesh. I’d eaten here dozens of times. Did I feel adventurous or…? Nope. Better to go safe. “I’ll have the simple grilled cheese. To go. And a kale Caesar salad to go.” See? I could remember Bonnie’s order.
I advanced even as Malik kept his hand on my lower back. I didn’t need steadying…but I also didn’t try to move away.
“I’ll have the coconut curry bowl.”
“Great. Right away.” She rang up our order.
My companion entered a tip, then tapped his card.
“Malik, lovely to see you.” Together we turned to see a gentleman in a white shirt and crisp khaki pants.
We turned, and Malik offered a wide grin. “Hey Ty, how are you?”
“I’m doing well.” The men shook hands. “You don’t happen to have more of your CDs, do you? I think we’re down to our last one.”
“Oh, wow. Yeah, I have some in my SUV. I can drop them off in a couple of hours?”
“Great. I’ll e-transfer you the money for the ones we’ve sold. Almost as popular as Grindstone.” He winced. “I wasn’t supposed to say that, was I?”
I considered it a little rude, but Malik’s grin widened. “To have my name uttered in the same sentence as Grindstone is a big deal. Oh, Ty, this is Spencer.”
No explanation. Just…Spencer.
Ty held out his hand. “I’ve seen you here before. I wondered if you lived in the neighborhood.”
“My office is in a house on East Pender.”
“Spencer runs This Land is Ours.” Malik stood a little taller. “We’re discussing whether or not Razor Made will write an anthem for the group.”
Ty nodded, clearly approving of the idea.
Maybe you should let me have my say before you go announcing it to the world? Alas, I was learning that wasn’t how Malik operated. He spoke first and only later reflected on the potential consequences.
“That sounds like it would be a good fit.” Ty turned his attention to me. “We don’t advertise that we sell Malik’s CDs, but we like to support local artisans. Local artistes.”
I wasn’t certain what to make of the man. He was medium-height, slender, with a lovely face, luminescent blue eyes, and high cheekbones. His midnight-black hair flopped in just that way. Something I could never manage and therefore kept mine short. “That’s good of you.”
“Well, I’m a huge Razor Made fan.” Ty offered a sheepish grin.
“They are unique.” I hadn’t gone through their entire catalogue, but I could see how this oasis of calm and paradise wasn’t a place to play hard rock music.
“Mr. Forestal? I have your order.”
We pivoted our attention back to the food counter where a canvas bag with what appeared to be our food containers rested.
“Thanks.” Malik grinned. “I’ll bring the bag back when I return with the CDs.”
“That would be appreciated.” The young woman beamed.
Is everyone enthralled with this guy? Sheesh.
Admit it…you find him sexy as well.
Yeah, but—
Didn’t you jerk off to his image while in the shower last night?
Heat raced to my face. Luckily, no one seemed interested in me. The entire focus was on Malik.
He snagged the canvas tote. “Thanks for this—I’ll be back before you close.”
“Can’t wait.” Ty gave a little wave.
“Looking forward to it.” Our server beamed.
Malik nodded, finally appeared to notice me, and came to stand by my side. “Shall we go?”
“Sure.” I was a forty-year-old man who wasn’t going to feel hurt because the guy I was with was super popular and, for a few moments, appeared to have forgotten my existence.
We headed back onto Hastings Street, this time heading west.
“Those are storm clouds.” Malik switched the bag to his right hand so he could place his left at the small of my back.
Admit it…you like this side of him.
We still hadn’t discussed the parameters of touch. Given I’d thrown myself at him last night—and he’d reciprocated, or at least returned, the affection—it seemed a safe bet that he wasn’t concerned about us getting up close and personal.
“How do you know they’re storm clouds?” For all my migraine-suffering days, I rarely gave the type of cloud any consideration. Clouds meant a change in weather. I gave forecasts far more weight—barometric pressure, humidity, and all that shit.
“I, uh, did really well in cloud class.”
I nearly stopped walking, but we had the light to cross Hawkes Avenue, so I kept moving. “There’s a cloud class? How did I miss that?”
“The benefits of a classical education.” He said the words even as he directed me to continue south on Hawkes toward Pender.
“What are you talking about? Did you go to some special school for violin prodigies?”
He snorted. “My father would’ve loved that. No, I went to a regular school—at least my mom supported me on that. Still, one of the most exclusive high schools in Vancouver, though. Excellent academic achievement was a requirement of my father’s. I was near the top in every class.”
I caught a glance of a wince.
Still, he continued on. “Clouds were in grade school and, I admit, I found them endlessly fascinating. For a kid like me, whose mind was always wandering, the ability to just lie quietly and watch the clouds roll by was a treat. Those moments calmed my mind. So yes, I got one hundred percent in our unit on clouds. I didn’t do as well in the dissection class in high school biology. ” He shivered.
I leaned a little closer, even as we turned onto Pender. “I hated that class as well.”
He chuckled. “Glad to hear you’re not perfect. I had wondered.”
Asking him to explain that comment was on the tip of my tongue when we arrived at the house which, of course, doubled as an office.
We’d had to obtain special bylaw permitting to allow this, and we had to make several upgrades, including a wheelchair ramp at the back of the building so we’d be accessible.
I had no issues with that, but the renovations had cost money. Everything cost money.
Breathe.
“I should probably take my migraine-prevention pills.” Admitting that level of frailty hurt, but the weather forecaster had predicted rain this afternoon. One of the reasons I hadn’t biked to work.
“Great. I’ll give Bonnie her salad, then join you. If that’s all right.”
Our gazes met as we walked up the short flight of stairs. “Uh, yeah, that would be fine.”
Seriously? Did you just use the word fine?
Still, I put on a brave smile and walked into the main office area.
I waved to Bonnie as I headed into my office.
I didn’t like Malik knowing about my migraines—but he’d have likely sussed out the information eventually—but I didn’t exactly keep them a secret.
I’d hoped leaving my high-powered, high-stress corporate job would’ve alleviated some of them.
Except working in the not-for-profit sector had proved to be equally as stressful. Just in a different way.
That, and my triggers hadn’t changed—weather, strong chemical scents, certain foods, as well as about half-a-dozen other things. Including stress.
I popped two pills, then washed them down with some lukewarm water. Hope that staves off the worst of it.
Now…
What the fuck was I going to do about Malik Fucking Forestal?