Page 80 of Just Business
In the afternoon, the property management company finally called Justin back. They’d come over first thing the following morning to take a look at the situation.
Justin swallowed a string of curses. “You realize I have no heat and there’s water damage everywhere?”
Yes, they did, but there were other emergencies that took precedence. When Justin finally hung up, he looked ruefully at his smartphone and longed for the past, when he could physically slam something down to end the call. He shoved the phone into his backpack.
He had a space heater, but those tripped the breaker. So it would be bundles of blankets and layers of sweats tonight after a run to the Laundromat to finish washing the clothing that he’d carelessly left on the floor. A bunch of books were lost and he’d need to replace all the furniture eventually. But... he’d survive.
Without Eli’s “help.” A part of Justin cringed at the memory of how Eli had looked that morning—so lost, soyoung. Then he’d woken his computer and ignored the rest of the office for hours.
After lunch, Justin had found a note with two phone numbers written in Eli’s elegant hand. The first was labeled “Sam’s cell.” The second said “Sam and Michael Home” and underneath there was a note.
If you need anything, let Michael know. He can provide.
No signature.
A kind gesture. He nearly crumpled the note and tossed it, but having Sam’s cell was useful, as was a contact number for another person that wasn’t Kelly or Don.
He wouldn’t be calling Eli for anything.
Everything they’d done together had been with consent. But hadn’t that been the way with Francis? Until the day where it hadn’t been and the day after that, and the weeks and months. Justin slipped the note into his backpack. He sent a quick e-mail to everyone in the office.
I’ll be out tomorrow. Hope to be back Wednesday.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eli shift and go still. A few heartbeats later, he went back to his spreadsheet.
Justin hefted the backpack and his helmet and walked out of the office. He didn’t bother to say good-bye to Eli. The man didn’t care.
If Justin repeated that enough times, he might believe it.
Chapter Sixteen
If this had been any company other than Sam’s, Eli would have skipped the so-called holiday party. He loathed them, down to every shiny green and red ball. Sure, there were the requisite blue and silver decorations to beinclusive, but they were over in the corner, tucked away. They’d stuck a menorah out, even though Chanukah had passed.
Sam’s trying. Stop it.He sighed and took a sip of water.Nine weeks.
No one came anywhere near him, which was good, because he wasn’t in the mood. Too many couples, too much happiness, and too much goddamned Christmas cheer.
“Eli.”
His heart skipped a beat and he nearly dropped the water. He knew the voice, but how someone so big could walk silently, he’d never known.
“Michael.” He turned and forgot his anger. Michael looked resplendent in a way Eli rarely saw. His tux was a silvery gray, matched with a ruby red tie and cummerbund. The only thing marring the perfection was a missing cuff link.
A hint of pain in his gut at what couldn’t ever have been, but that faded. “Sam’s a lucky man.”
Michael chuckled. “Other way around, but I do appreciate the compliment.” His smile vanished. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replied.
“Funny, because it looked like you were contemplating where to pour the gasoline before you threw the match.”
Ouch.“That bad?”
“You’re a bit of an open book, E.”
Well, fuck.He tried schooling his expression. “I’m not into the holiday spirit this year.” He took another sip of water and caught sight of Sam. His tux was darker than Michael’s, and the accents a deep green. A matched set. Another pang. This one lingered, settling into the lump in his throat. He wanted that. Thought maybe he’d found it with—
There he was. Justin. In the same suit he’d worn to his interview all those months ago. Crisp white shirt. Gold tie. No makeup, which made his messy haircut and wide blue eyes all the more lovely with the sharp cut of his clothes.
