The Right Words (12 page)

We both started at the sound of loud banging at the front door, announcing the arrival of the first of the appointments I’d set for estimates. I gave Michael a weak smile as I walked over to the sink to rinse my cup before answering the door.

I was screwed. I adjusted my cock, grateful my jeans weren’t too snug a fit, and took a quick peek through the peephole to be sure there wasn’t a wacky ex on the other side. It was going to take a Herculean effort for me to keep my mind on the job over the next few months.

W
HEN
M
ICHAEL
claimed he wanted to play a starring role in design
decisions, he’d obviously failed to take into account preexisting constraints on his time with physical therapy and doctor appointments along with regular meetings with his manager and agent. He ended up bowing out of the majority of appointments I’d set as a result. I was relieved. It made things simple, and it was definitely easier to concentrate on the job while he was absent. However, by the end of the week I realized I was going to need a portion of his time to finalize some decisions and get the job started.

When I walked down the studio’s stairs Friday morning, I spotted Michael leaning on his crutches chatting on his cell in Spanish at the end of the driveway. I waved a hello in greeting, not wanting to disturb him. His handsome face lit up when he spotted me. He held up a finger, asking me wordlessly to wait. My breath caught, and a rush of heat stung my cheeks though the marine layer was thick and the morning air was cool. I was in big trouble if all he had to do was toss a smile my way before I swooned. I silently reprimanded myself as I waited nearby for him to finish his call. Friendly and professional, amiable and competent. I could do this.

Michael’s eyes were twinkling with mirth as he made his way cautiously up the drive to meet me.

“Sí, Mamá. Sí. Volveré pronto. Prometo. Sí. Hasta luego.”

“Your mom?” I asked as he put his phone in his pocket.

“¿Hablas español?”

He chuckled at my blank stare and shook his head in that familiar gesture of mock despair. I smiled good-naturedly and let him poke fun at me. I’d missed his teasing banter this past week.

“Uh, no?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“I don’t
hablas español
.”

Michael broke out in musical laughter, his expressive eyes sparkling with merriment. I could have sworn he gave me a furtive once-over from head to toe, but I quickly decided that had to be wishful thinking.

“No high school Spanish?”

“I took French.”

“So you speak French?” His lopsided grin told me he very much doubted it.

“Not a bit.” I smiled unapologetically. “I just figured
mamá
meant
mom
. It was kind of a safe guess. I know enough to be dangerous.”

“Clever deduction, Watson. Very clever.”

I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t seen much of you. Are you around today? I want to go over the estimates and materials so we can get started.”

“Yes. I was in LA off and on. I saw my family a couple days ago, and my mother is already asking when I’m coming back. I was hoping that visit would give me at least a two-week reprieve.”

“You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

Michael’s eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement. “I like living, so… no. I told her I missed her and would see everyone soon. Or something like that.” His face fell a little.

He reached into his pocket and came up with a pair of sunglasses, which he donned like a shield.

“I totally understand. I’m still feeling the aftereffects of my guilt-induced run-in with my mom last weekend.”

He smiled politely.

“So I was wond
—
”

“Maybe we should—” We started at the same time.

“You first,” Michael insisted.

“Are you free later to go over the estimates? I was hoping to get going next week with the demo, but I want to go over materials and….”

“How about later this afternoon? Five o’clock?”

“Okay, I don’t want to interfere with your plans, though.”

“My plans?”

“Well, it’s Friday night. If your boyfri
—
”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Luke. No one is coming over tonight. It’ll just be me and you.”

I gulped audibly. That sounded a lot sexier than it should have.

W
HEN
FIVE
o’clock neared, I was a bundle of nerves. I took a deep breath when I stepped outside on the terrace to find him busily working on his laptop with an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses beside him on the round teak table. His snug navy T-shirt lovingly showcased his broad shoulders and impressive biceps. And his hair was damp as though he’d just showered. I could smell the slightest hint of cologne as I approached him. I curbed my desire to sniff the air around him, thinking that might be a bit off-putting. But man, he was delicious.

“Hi there,” I said cheerfully, pulling out the chair across the table from him.

“Hi. Move closer. I made a few spreadsheets I want to show you. We can use them to keep track of how we’re paying the various contractors. Feel free to open the wine too. I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested, but I figured why not? It’s Friday.” He stopped typing long enough to flash a bright smile at me.

I returned the gesture with a weaker version, thinking this was a wild kind of torture. A superior vintage cabernet, a gorgeous California sunset, and an extremely hot athlete at my side who actually knew how to create spreadsheets. Brawn and brains. I was impressed. This might not be the norm, but I wasn’t stupid enough not to enjoy the perks while they were available.

We spent an hour going through materials we liked best and the contractor’s estimates. Michael’s home posed a design challenge. It was a traditional house built over sixty years ago but his personal tastes leaned toward a contemporary style. The obvious solution was to go with a modern-retro feel. Once we were on the same page regarding the overall concept, we were able to narrow our choices. Michael didn’t seem overly concerned with cost. He told me quality was his priority.

“Look, I always intended to fix this place up. We’re doing it now, and I don’t want tacky new crap replacing tacky old crap. I want it done right.” His expression was resolute and sincere.

“Don’t worry. I don’t do tacky.”

I tossed a careless, flirty smile his direction without thinking, only to find him staring at me with those intense, dark eyes. He seemed bewitched and a little smitten, which made no sense to my befuddled mind. My grin faltered, and I quickly turned my attention back to the design plans to hide my blush.

An hour later, we had covered most of the major decisions. I sat back in my chair and picked up my half-empty wineglass. I noticed Michael hadn’t touched his.

“I meant to bring out water too. I’m not drinking much right now. A sip or two is okay, but I’m on pain meds. Not a good idea to mix pharmaceuticals and alcohol.”

“Oh right. I should have realized that. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why should you have realized it? I brought out two glasses, it’s natural to assume both would be filled. I just misjudged how generously you pour.” He said the last part with a wink, inviting me to laugh at myself.

I smiled at his astute observation. “Yeah, I’m a little heavy-handed. Still, I should have—” I halted my second attempt at an apology when I saw his funny expression. “I shouldn’t worry about it, huh?”

“Not at all. I’m a big boy.”

“You are. Sorry. It’s a bad habit I need to work on.”

“What is? Overflowing poor unsuspecting wineglasses?”

I snorted at his silly attempt at humor. “No, apologizing for things I’m not responsible for. And for taking ownership of other people’s reactions or perceived reactions.” I spoke like I was memorizing a textbook in an effort to downplay a habit I was desperately trying to shake. “I’m working on it. It’s a byproduct of my own crazy ex.”

I raised my wineglass in a mock toast, but Michael did not appear amused at all by my spontaneous confession. I set it on the table, thinking a few sips of vino was getting me in trouble. Better slow down.

“You have a crazy ex too, eh? You don’t have to tell me a thing, but I’m happy to listen. I got nothing but time and a beautiful sunset to watch. Oh yeah, and I bet we’d both agree my ex is crazier than yours.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully, which made me giggle in spite of the fact the topic of conversation had turned unpleasant.

“I’m not so sure. I doubt Neil would sink to extortion, but that’s because he’s not big on direct communication.”

“How so?”

“He expected me to know things. What to do, how to make him happy…. At least Jamie laid it all out there on paper. Give me money or else. Neil was… he played mental hopscotch. My therapist—I see a therapist.” I couldn’t help the instant blush. I wasn’t ashamed I was seeing someone. Or was I?

“Good. That’s good.”

He struck the perfect note of sincerity. It didn’t feel like he pitied me. It felt like we were exchanging war stories. Why that helped, I wasn’t sure, but it gave me a push to keep talking.

“Yeah, it is good. She’s helped me see the bigger picture. The one that’s hard to see when you’re too close to a situation, you know?”

Michael nodded in agreement.

“Neil was charming and charismatic, but when he got angry or
whatever, he would scream and throw things and….” I took a deep breath and snuck a quick glance in Michael’s direction. His brow was knit in a deep frown, but his expression was kind. It encouraged me to continue. “I worked for his design firm. He hired me without knowing much about me when I was working at a little home boutique store in the Marina District in San Francisco. He’s one of those people who take up space wherever they go by force of personality. He would come into the store occasionally with a client or one of his assistants and charm us all. When he showed interest in me, which he claimed at first to be professional interest of course, I was blown away. I was a lowly sales clerk trying to save a few bucks while I figured out how to make a living as a writer. But Neil claimed to notice my eye for
color.”

I picked up my wineglass and swirled the burgundy liquid around lazily.

“His company, the Neil Gordon Group, is a prestigious design firm in the Bay Area. They’ve designed anything from the private residences of movie stars, professional athletes, and executives to commercial offices for some of the elite Silicon Valley companies. Hell, they actually have done the interiors for yachts and private jets as well. And yeah, Neil Gordon is the mastermind, the well-connected design genius with a knack for knowing exactly how to please his clients. The fact he showed any interest in me at all was….” I stopped and tried to think how to best express the magnitude of Neil’s overtures to a part-time assistant. “It would be like the greatest soccer player ever coming to one of your high school practices and asking to be your mentor. The only thing you say is… ‘When do I start?’ I was so caught up in my excitement that I failed to notice some key things. One of those was how he treated his employees. Not great. At first I figured I didn’t know the full story and no doubt they deserved whatever he was dishing out. Who knows? I was being wooed with the promise of being part of major design jobs, and I couldn’t be bothered with worrying about Neil’s ever-changing staff of personal assistants. Plus he had begun to take a somewhat personal interest in me, and I was too young, too stupid and… I fell head over heels. I couldn’t believe someone so suave and worldly could be attracted to me.” I gave a humorless half chuckle and twisted the stem of my empty wineglass nervously before glancing up at Michael’s patient expression. Part of me was shocked I was sharing this horrible episode in my life, but I couldn’t seem to stop talking now that I’d started.

“Brandon, my best friend, tried to warn me. He told me Neil was taking advantage of me and I got mad. Mad at him, mad at my mother for suggesting the same thing. Finally, I figured I was on my way to having a real life of my own. I wasn’t the quiet guy with a book in his hand, rolling his eyes at his fabulous and colorful best friend or his glamorous but wacky mother. I wasn’t trying to keep up with them. I was my own person. I had this fantastic, handsome, successful older man who wanted to mentor me… and sleep with me. I was in heaven, and for a while it was great. I was working with some of the best designers in the field during the day and sleeping with the boss at night. I loved it, and I was good at it, which surprised me because it wasn’t the career path I meant to follow.”