Page 20 of Snow Storm

“Why do you always take it so far? You’re lucky I don’t have a cat, or I might be actually offended,” Claude told him.

He pushed up from his chair and kissed Dorsey on each cheek before easing back down. The massage he’d given Mr. James had taken all the strength out of his legs for the day. Not that he minded. For all that the man was suffering, he was very easy on the eyes, and Claude really liked the sound of his voice. It had been easy in ways he hadn’t felt in years, and he had no idea what to make of it.

The afternoon had been a simple case of mistaken identity, but now he felt like a moron because he had promised the poor bastard crying on the table that he’d see him tomorrow. He’d come down to the spa with the intention of canceling all the appointments because Daniel was going to be out for the next two weeks. He’d slipped on ice and fractured his elbow and given himself a nice, mild concussion.

He’d gone back into town to stay for the duration of his recovery, and Claude was pretty sure they wouldn’t see him again until after Christmas, at least, if the predicted weather was anything to go by.

And canceling should have been a simple task. Claude was good at telling people no. He was good at being the bad guy and dashing people’s hopes for the day. His employees called him to be firm with guests all the time. So canceling Mr. James’s massage should have been the easiest thing on his to-do list that afternoon.

But he’d taken one look at the man on the table, and his resolve had shattered in ways it never had before.

He’d crumbled and then made a pathetic attempt to mimic what Daniel did for him on the overly tense man who had been so touch starved he thought Claude was doing a good job. Now, he felt like a jackass because he couldn’t keep pretending to be a masseur. Could he? No. That was ridiculous.

“Seriously. Did someone die?”

“No,” Claude said tiredly. He pushed his wheels back and jerked his head for Dorsey to follow him into the office. “It’s been a weird day.”

“How weird? The kitchen is changing all the seasoning in the pancakes weird, or hooker clowns kind of weird?”

“I don’t know what that even means,” Claude said, but his heart kicked up a notch at the mention of hooker, thanks to Mr. James—Harley—and the book he’d described. He held the door for his cousin, then closed it behind him and wheeled to his desk as Dorsey flopped in his comfy leather chair. “Weird like my only massage therapist I had for the holidays fell, fractured his elbow, and got a concussion, and we also have a client here that’s dealing with some public image crisis.”

He felt wrong describing Harley like that. He knew the details. Harley’s brother had been painstakingly specific about what had happened when he called to make the reservation, and Aminah had taken detailed notes. The brother made Harley sound like some loose cannon about to go off.

But Claude hadn’t seen that. He’d only seen a man who had been tragically emotionally neglected. And he recognized it because he knew personally how it felt.

“What kind of public image crisis? Like Tom Cruise and the couch?” Dorsey said.

“It’s like we’re speaking different languages,” Claude complained. “Whatever that means, it’s probably a no. He had a public meltdown. He’s an author, and something went wrong at a book signing.” He didn’t tell Dorsey about the video. Hiscousin would immediately look it up, and while Claude had seen some of it, now that he knew Harley personally, it felt wrong to watch it again.

“Ooh! Do I know him? Is it Stephen King?”

“It’s definitely not Stephen King,” Claude said flatly. He wiggled his mouse and pulled up Harley’s file and the notes Aminah had taken on him. He squinted at the name. It fit—and it didn’t. “You would know if Stephen King were staying here, and you’d be canceling your trip back to see your mum. This man goes by R.J.…something.”

“Ruiz?” Dorsey asked, his voice taking on a high, tight quality.

Claude lifted a brow at him. “You know him?”

“Holy fuck, yes,” Dorsey breathed. He pressed his hands to the desk. “And I totally know what happened. I watched it on Instagram.”

Claude felt a sudden and powerful wave of protectiveness. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.”

Dorsey threw his head back and laughed. “It wasworse. The fuck stick he hit had it coming. Several people were taking videos, and in one of them, you can hear Ruiz’s agent being an absolute dickhead. Did you watch it?”

Claude grimaced. “Lyric showed me some of it before I knew he was a guest, but there was no volume on it, and I’m not about to watch it again.”

Dorsey grimaced. “Well shitting Christ, I knew it was going to be bad for him after the whole thing hit the internet. I can’t believe he came here of all places.”

“You have to leave him alone,” Claude snapped, then took a deep breath when Dorsey flinched back and held up his hands.

“Mate, you know I would never?—”

“No, I know,” Claude interrupted quickly. “I do know. It’s just…he seems like he’s been through more than just that oneincident, and I want to make sure he’s able to recover as much as he can.”

Dorsey nodded sagely. “Well, rumor has it his ex left him for someone they were close to. He wasn’t online much, but his ex was, and he posted something about Ruiz’s temper and how this was bound to happen. Luckily, I don’t think most people believe him. He seems like a real shitehawk.”

Claude winced. He knew Harley’s ex had cheated. He hadn’t realized it was with someone they knew. God, a massage wasn’t enough for this man. “He’s in a bad emotional way, and I want him to get the peace he came here for.”

Dorsey’s eyes suddenly focused on him, and Claude felt a rush of anxiety running up his spine. “You’ve been talking to him, haven’t you? You don’t usually do that with guests.”

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