Page 68 of Animal Instincts
“Yes, I’ve heard of you. And him.” Joss jerked his head towards Spencer. “I’m surprised you’re here. Why are you?”
Donald pulled his shoulders back in an effort to recapture some dignity, nullified by his stomach sticking out and stretching his shirt around his middle. He threw a nervous glance at Spencer.
“Yes, what’s the real reason, Donald?” Oliver said. “Engineers build bridges, not second rate vets.”
The barb caught and embedded itself in Donald’s flab. It was a cheap shot, but Oliver revelled in the indignant flush that flooded Donald’s cheeks.
“We’ve been in Bath. We’re looking at setting up a practice in the city centre there as we’re expanding the business. We’ve already opened another practice in London, and are looking at a couple of other places, in Mayfair—”
“The snake oil business is clearly booming.” Oliver laughed, but none of what was happening was remotely funny. “What have you added to your offer? Canine mindfulness? Clairvoyance for cats?”
“Really, Oliver, there’s no shame in having a successful and thriving business,” Spencer murmured, as he looked around the practice. “You should think about doing the same.”
“We prefer to concentrate on looking after sick and injured animals,” Joss said.
“We?”
“Yes, that’s right. We. I work with Oliver a couple of days a week.”
“You do? I see.”
“You see what, exactly?” Oliver pushed the words out through clenched teeth.
Spencer waved an arm between himself, Oliver and Joss.
“A workplace relationship. The basic situation’s the same, but that’s all. As far as I can see.” Spencer smirked.
Oliver had had enough, it was time Spencer and Donald, nothing more than a limp bystander, were gone — forcibly if needed. Oliver opened his mouth, but Joss cut across him.
“Yes, Spencer. You’re absolutely, one hundred percent right. The basic situation is the same, but that’s all.”
Joss smiled, shattering his impassive expression. Oliver’s stomach clenched, and turned to ice. The smile was a baring of teeth; if Joss were a dog he’d be growling long and low. Oliver recognised an animal about to attack.
“You see, Spencer, there’s one fundamental and very, very important difference between us. I don’t fuck my boyfriend’s business partner and best friend behind his back. On the kitchen table. Isn’t that how you were found out? Not very hygienic, is it? I hope there weren’t crumbs, because they’d be sore if they got up your—”
“Joss, let it go, just—”
But Joss ignored him. Pulling his hand free of Oliver’s Joss moved in close to Spencer, forcing him to take a step back.
“I think it’s time you both went, don’t you? You’re not wanted here.”
Silence descended, as hard and brittle as Joss’ teeth baring smile.
“I see.”
Spencer’s voice was calm, seemingly unconcerned, but as Oliver watched him, studied him, he saw the tick in his jaw, the quick blink of his eyes.
Rattled.
The word exploded in Oliver’s brain. When was Spencer ever rattled? The man liked to stay cool and calm, in complete control, but he’d lost it in the face of Joss’ fall frontal assault.
“However, I’m sorry to say you’ll be disappointed, as Donald and I are staying for a couple of nights in this very charming, little village. No doubt we’ll see you again before we go.”
THIRTY-SIX
“Shit.”
Joss stared down at the cake, a broken sticky mess on the floor. By some miracle the plate hadn’t smashed into a million pieces, unlike the cup of tea he’d knocked off the counter, splattering Vincent’s ridiculous poncho. The man had made a big fuss, until Declan had soothed his feathers with flattery and a free toasted tea cake.
