Page 30 of The Hang Up

“Don’t look. That guy who just came in was a friend of Victoria’s. We need to go.” But it was too late because they were escorting him and his party to their table, and he walked right by us. Joshua hid behind the wine menu.

“Sir?” The server wandered over. “Would you like a bottle of wine?”

“No. Thank you,” he said, lowering his menu and glancing at the retreating figures. “Can we get our desserts to go?”

“Of course, sir.”

“And there’s a big tip for you if you can get us out of here in the next five minutes.”

* * *

Joshua’s home was massive.Not compared to their family house. But big for one person. And staff. He probably had a whole bunch of people working for him.

“Where do the staff sleep?”

“Excuse me?”

There was no way he took care of this place by himself. The living room was obviously designed by a decorator. It gave off a masculine but warm vibe. I waved my hand around. “All the people taking care of your house. And you.”

Joshua ran his fingers through his short beard as he studied me. “You work hard. I’ve always admired that about you.”

“And you like avoiding questions.” I folded my arms and gave him a pointed stare.

He laughed and shook his head. “Would you like a drink?”

“A beer would be nice.” I waited in the living room, settling on the couch as I checked out the rest of the décor. I heard a thump near the shelves and noticed a picture frame on the floor. I picked it up. It was a group shot and included Joshua’s family and mine. Victoria had refused to be in the picture and as a kid, I hadn’t known why. Maybe she’d had a hair out of place or something. I returned it to the shelf, trying not to notice how young I looked as a teen.

Joshua retrieved our drinks. The beverage felt cool against my skin, and I needed the shock of it. I was still angry. And I had no idea why. Well, some ideas. “So, your staff?”

He stood next to a no doubt expensive chair and watched me. “Do you ever apologize for working so hard?”

“Of course not—” I stopped. Because I’d realized two things. One, I knew what Joshua was doing. And two, Sean often made me feel like I needed to apologize. “It’s not the same.”

“This isn’t your real question, but my staff doesn’t live here. I have a guy who lives in the carriage house over the garage.”

And why did an image flash through my mind of Joshua and thisguyfucking in that place. God, I was messing this up.

“Bos is seventy-five. Not that it would matter. I would never—”

My cheeks burned. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

“Yes, you were. I can see it in your face. In the way you’re gripping that bottle like you are afraid to let go or want to hurl it at me.”

Relaxing my grip, I took another swig.

I still couldn’t look at him as I picked at the label. “What’s my real question?”

“Why you?”

“I—” My throat felt tight. “Did you decorate this place yourself?”

“Brock, look at me.” I hated the smile on his face. As if he knew everything I was thinking and thought it was cute. And I hated that I didn’t hate that smile as much as I should. His dimples popped when he smiled like that. “You’re angry.”

I shook my head, but a verbal denial was beyond me. Every nerve vibrated with a need to smash something. The vase that probably cost more than my car. His gorgeous head. Our lips together. Instead, I focused on the bottle in my hands, absorbing the cold from the glass, but it only cooled as far as my fingers. The carpet was a luxurious gray that looked plush enough to lie on. To fuck on. When had I become so crude? I didn’t hear his footsteps on the soft carpet, but I heard the whoosh of his pants as he walked. The clock on his wall ticked, and I counted each tick as he came closer. His blue socks stood out, a splash of color against the gray.

As I waited breathlessly, his hand appeared palm up. I didn’t look at him as I accepted it, and he pulled me to my feet. I thought he was going to hug me, and I was ready for that fight, but instead, he led me into the hallway. Were we going to the bedroom? I wanted that. To have him, just him, and not all these stupid feelings. He didn’t speak as he took me through a large dining room. And then I knew our destination. My emotions twisted together. I wanted to hug him. Hold him. Kiss him. Punch him.How dare he?

The kitchen was amazing. High-end appliances I could never dream of owning. The island. The space. The cabinetry. “This is amazing.” And I didn’t ask why he needed such a kitchen when he didn’t cook. But he had a cook on staff. Was it still Esmy? Or someone new?

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