Page 64 of The Boss

“Right, because your hulking linebacker ass was such a hot commodity. Who carried the team to victory more times, the guy throwing the passes, or the guy smashing into people like a deranged buffalo?”

“Buffalo? That’s rich, coming from a guy who spent half his career flat on his back after a bad tackle.”

Paul snickered. “Hey, I was delicate! A precision instrument. You were a goddamn battering ram.”

“Delicate, my ass.” I laughed. “And even so, I was still better with the ladies.”

“Bullshit. You just had that ‘brooding asshole’ thing going for you. Women with daddy issues are into that.”

“Okay, delicate little prima donna, was there a reason for this call, or did you just want to practice roasting me for your best man speech?”

Paul chuckled, but then his tone shifted, a little more serious. “Well, I have good news and bad news. Good news is, I survived a near-death experience. Bad news is… I can’t come to the wedding.”

I straightened, an edge of concern creeping in. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, then he sighed. “I fucked up. Went on a ski trip to Aspen last weekend—”

I rubbed my temple, irritation flaring to life beneath the surface. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. Took a nasty fall. Fractured my tibia and my fibula. Clean break, surgery, the whole shebang.”

A deep breath escaped me. “Shit, Paul.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Doc says no travel for the next couple of months.” Another pause. “I hate to bail on you, man, but there’s no way I can fly out.”

I dragged a hand down my face, absorbing that. Paul had been my best friend since college, the one guy I actually trusted, and now—he wasn’t going to be there. “Damn,” I muttered. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. I feel like shit about it, but unless you want me rolling down the aisle in a wheelchair and a full cast—”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Would’ve made for some interesting photos.”

“Right? Chantelle would’velovedthat.”

I sighed. Paul didn’t even have to say it outright—Chantelle would never tolerate anything less than perfection, and we both knew it. “Well, it is what it is. Just focus on healing. We’ll grab a drink when you’re back on your feet.”

“Damn right we will. Anyway, sorry, buddy. I know this puts you in a tight spot. You’ll figure something out, though, as usual. I’m sure you’ve got options.”

I made a noncommittal sound. I didn’t. Not really. Paul had been my one real friend, and without him, I was left with acquaintances, colleagues—people who knew me, but not in any way that mattered. I had work connections. Business partners. Associates who were more than happy to shake my hand at a gala and sip overpriced scotch while talking market projections. But I didn’t have close friends. Not the kind who stood next to you on your wedding day.

Then, almost immediately, an idea formed. A stupid, reckless idea. One I already hated myself for considering. My stomach twisted.

No. That was a mistake.

And yet, ten minutes later, I was in the elevator, knowing I shouldn’t, but doing it anyway.

* * *

I found Chris at his desk, laughing with his coworkers. The sound, warm and unguarded, sent something twisting in my gut. He looked at ease, his posture relaxed, his smile unrestrained—so different from the way he’d been with me lately. One of the other guys—Darren was his name, I think—was leaning in close, saying something that made Chris chuckle, their shoulders almost touching. I clenched my jaw, an ugly spark of irritation flaring before I could tamp it down.

The others noticed me first. The moment they did, the energy in the room shifted. Their laughter died, and they scattered like startled prey, mumbling excuses as they slunk back to their desks. Chris remained still, but the change in his demeanor was unmistakable. His smile faded, his shoulders tensed, and when he finally turned to face me, the light in his eyes dimmed.

Fuck, how I hated that. Hated knowing I was the reason.

“Can I have a word with you?” My voice came out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat.

For a second, I thought he might refuse. His hesitation was brief but telling. But he wasn’t the type to cause a scene, not in front of his team. So he pushed back his chair, his expression carefully blank. “Sure.”

I led him to the first empty conference room. He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind us, the soft click unnervingly loud. The air felt thick, charged with something I didn’t want to name.

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