by Jaime Samms
Not to mention that Vince and Pete had each other. What did either of them even want with him?
“Lee.” Vince laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to shake that hand off, but then he’d be standing alone between these two guys who were together. And Vince’s hand was steadying, grounding as he began to feel the quicksand under his feet. Pete undermined Lee’s footing. His unsolicited kindness ate away at Lee’s foundation of isolation and independence, and Lee wasn’t sure he liked it. At least Vince was familiar and the calm radiating off him soothing. The control should have had Lee sprinting for the door, but no. He settled into the stillness surrounding Vince and took a breath. A shaking one, but a breath nonetheless.
Lee turned when Vince gave his arm a tug, and followed him to the front door. Pete pecked Vince on the cheek, told him to have a good day, and he patted Lee’s arm. “Don’t work too hard, kay?”
“Sure.” He almost got caught in Pete’s gaze again, but Vince touched his wrist, and he turned back to the task of getting out the door.
In the car, he set his mug in the holder and focused on his food. It didn’t take long to polish off the rest of his breakfast, and he was wiping his fingers with a napkin when Vince spoke.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Pete can be . . . a force of nature. You know, mist that soaks right into you when you didn’t know you were in the rain.”
“He doesn’t leave you cold, though,” Lee mused.
“No. That he does not.” Vince chuckled.
“More like standing in the baking sun and only realizing you’re burnt long after you’ve found shade. Too late.” Only, if Pete wasn’t chilling, like a cold drizzle, he wasn’t a scorching sun, either. “Or. I don’t know. A perfect summer day like we only get once a year, you know?”
“And you never want it to end.”
Lee tugged his jacket straight but didn’t say anything.
“I did try to warn you about him.”
“I didn’t mean to flirt. It . . . happened.” You idiot, Lee. Just ask him to punch your lights out, why don’t you?
“Do I look mad?” Vince glanced over at him, that amused grin back in place.
He didn’t look the least bit put out. Lee couldn’t imagine why. He’d have been furious if his partner flirted with another guy. But then, he didn’t have a partner. He never really had. Lots of one-night stands. Lots of guys who’d wanted to keep him, cling, and strangle him with attention. And one guy whose keeping had been a form of captivity. Who never would have allowed such a thing as flirting, or even glancing at another guy, forget almost accidentally kissing one.
Pete should be suffocating him. But he wasn’t. He was solicitous and kind, but he didn’t hover and he didn’t demand a damn thing.
And Vince. He should make Lee want to run, shouldn’t he?
“Lee?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted.
“That’s okay.” Another glance and another sly grin. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
What was he supposed to say to that?
As he stood in line at Frederic’s shop, Vince tried hard to feel bad about putting Lee off-balance. He’d seen Lee’s distress and confusion in the car on the way into the office. He knew Lee, more than most, disliked being unsure of anything. Maybe he should have tried, at least a little bit, to reassure him. Maybe he should have been less cryptic, but he still had to have a conversation with Pete. He thought they were on the same page, but he wasn’t about to offer Lee something he wasn’t absolutely positive Pete wanted too.
Besides, Lee didn’t strike him as the type to just accept at face value the options Pete and Vince might offer. He would look for the double cross, the curve, the thing that would mean they were playing him.
So maybe Vince should have felt worse about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but excited and enthused by Lee’s interest. He didn’t want to rush this, though. No. It was a better idea to keep things low-key and let them develop at their own pace. Lee wasn’t stupid. He would figure this out. But he had to get there on his own if he was going to accept it. Of that, Vince was certain.
And to prove the point, Lee had grasped for the upper hand before lunch. He hadn’t even been subtle about sending Vince out for coffee only an hour after they had arrived. They’d had a quick catch-up meeting with Blaire and dispersed to their desks to do their individual tasks for the day when Lee had decided to assert some office pecking order.
Vince was okay with playing the part of coffee boy. This was a position he was well suited to at work. It wouldn’t make him any less dominant romantically, nor Lee any more dominant. Vince just had to be patient. Guys like Lee sometimes weren’t immediately on board with the kinds of power dynamics that let one partner take the lead at work but surrender at home. He hoped he wasn’t reading Lee wrong, and that, eventually, Lee would surrender.
“Hey.” Frederic was manning the counter today, and he offered Vince a brilliant smile. “You here for the whole office?”
Vince grinned at him. “Yes, sir, I am. The usual.” He glanced into the case and noticed there were a few of Jim’s lemon specialties left after the morning rush. “Can I have one of those, as well, please?” He pointed and Frederic nodded.
“Sure. Though Blaire prefers Danishes. Here.” He placed a small paper plate with a bite-sized sample of a date square on the top of the glass display. “You’re my resident expert on these. What do you think?”
“Thanks.” Vince popped it into his mouth and savored the morsel. “God that is good, Frederic.” He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed down the delicious treat. “So good.”
Frederic’s face was a study in pleasure. “Thank you. Experimenting with some dairy- and gluten-free options.”
“Well done. I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Perfect!” He flashed a delighted smile. “Now. Are you fetching for my man?”
“Actually, the lemon thingy is for Lee.”
“I didn’t know he liked these. He doesn’t usually order treats when he comes in.”
“We had them at that first fundraiser. He ate about a dozen of them. I thought he was going to puke from sweet overload, rather than drink.”
“You pay an awful lot of attention to details, don’t you?”
Vince nodded. “I do. It has served me well.”
Frederic nodded. “Blaire told me all about your stint in office espionage.”
Vince laughed. “Yeah. Well. I never said I was good at subtlety. And, anyway, that was a lapse in judgment. Oscar Caruthers was my first boss, right out of school. When I worked for him and hardly ever left his office, I thought he had more power and influence out in the world than he actually does. He liked that, I think. His power is in keeping his employees scared of him. That worked on me at first, but I learned eventually. Sending me here was the worst thing he could have done if he wanted me to be his sycophant forever. Blaire is not his father’s son. He showed me what I could be doing with my skills.”
“Yeah. He’s good like that. Being generous, I mean.” Frederic set the box with Lee’s treat on the counter and handed over Lee’s fancy, sweet drink and Blaire’s towering cup of black, dark coffee. “You still on your midmorning-peppermint-tea kick?”
Vince shrugged. “Pete claims it clears the solar chakra? Solar plexus? I forget what it’s called. He tells me to drink it to keep my energy flowing, so I drink.”
“He takes good care of you.”
“It’s what he does.” Vince grinned again. “He’s very good at it.”
“All I can say is that if it’s his influence that has you shedding the office-schlep image, then I agree. He’s good for you.” Frederic handed over his tea, and Vince handed over the cash for the drinks and Lee’s treat.
“Thanks, Frederic.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Frederic waved and turned to th
e next person in line. “Hi, Buck. What can I get you?”
Vince slid his tea into a tray with the coffees and took it and the box out to his car. The trip down Main to Second was quick in the middle of a Monday morning. With production of Wolf’s Landing on hiatus, the town was eerily still. That wouldn’t last long. There would be an influx of tourists for the warm weather, festivals, and boating tours. People liked a lazy, out-of-the-way spot to spend a few days when they visited Seattle, and Bluewater Bay had hit the map with Wolf’s Landing gaining so much attention.
It wasn’t exactly quiet anymore, but since the old marina was being fixed up and the downtown businesses had begun to spruce up their storefronts, the town was pretty. It had just enough of a small-town feel mixed with a growing selection of amenities to be attractive to the traveling rich and the star gawkers alike.
Vince smiled to himself. No way had Forks ever gotten this much traffic from sparkly vampires. Even as he thought about how the show had saved this little rinky-dink town, an old-timer, who could have been a shoe-in for Captain Highliner, shook a fist at him as he pulled to a stop at the corner of Main and Fourth. Vince could see his lips move. No doubt he was uttering some variation on the local vindictive against those “newcomers” or “big city fairies” or, his personal favorite, “wolf buggers.”
Vince snickered. The locals had their opinions, but Wolf’s Landing had brought more to town than just the filming crew and actors. It brought life and vitality, and more important, new business. Frederic’s bakery was a hit, for one thing. So much so that he could barely keep the loaves on the shelves and had hired a new baker just to knead dough and braid it into his signature loaf. And it wasn’t the actors and LA crowd snapping up all those carbs.
It didn’t matter how long the show lasted for Blaire’s business, either. He was not pulling stakes anytime soon, and as long as he stayed, Vince stayed, and hopefully, so would Lee and Pete. That last worried him some. Pete was ambitious and talented. He wouldn’t stay an assistant director forever, and when he had enough experience, what was there to hold him in Bluewater Bay? No television show—not even ones as highly successful as Wolf’s Landing—lasted forever.
“Don’t go borrowing trouble, Vince.” He’d pulled into the lot outside their building by then, so he put the car in park and got out. His trip up to their second-floor offices was uneventful. Blaire accepted his coffee with a nod of thanks, but his attention remained on the phone call he was engaged in. Vince backed away from his corner of the space and headed to where his and Lee’s desks sat facing one another in the front alcove of the huge bank of windows.
They could look out over Second Avenue, with the window on Vince’s left, and Lee’s right, when they were working, as well as into the main office proper. A round conference table took center stage in the middle of the room, and Blaire’s desk was set into a cozy alcove against the back wall opposite the windows. There were two small meeting rooms across from the office entrance with a bathroom between and in a far corner, a sink, microwave, apartment fridge, and a few feet of counter space. The other front corner near the door held a small, comfortable lounge area for anyone awaiting a meeting. There was no one in the office but the three of them at the moment, and the phone on Vince’s desk was ringing.
“We need a secretary,” he muttered as he dropped the treat box and coffee tray on his desk and reached for the receiver. “Good morning, Three Player Game Productions. Vince Ascott. How can I help you?”
“Put my worthless son on the phone. Now.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Vince said pleasantly. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here by that name. You must have a wrong number.”
“Vincent Ascott, I’m warning you—”
“Good day to you too, sir. Thank you for calling.” Vince hung up.
“Aren’t you the least bit annoyed you keep getting wrong numbers?” Lee asked. “You must have a one-digit difference in your number to, like, the most popular man in Bluewater Bay.”
Vince sighed, eased Lee’s coffee from the tray and picked up the box. He brought both over to Lee’s desk, perched on the corner so his back was to the room, and glanced at Blaire. He also had his back mostly to them as he spoke to whoever was on the other end of the conversation. He was animated and resolute about something, but Vince couldn’t hear what he was saying.
“It isn’t a wrong number,” he confided, handing over the coffee to Lee.
“Who is it?”
“Oscar.”
Lee’s eyes widened. “What the hell does he want with you?”
“He wants to speak with Blaire. I assume Blaire is screening him, because he calls about every other day.”
“Maybe you should put him through.”
“If Blaire isn’t even answering his calls, he obviously doesn’t want to talk to him.”
“How do you know he’s not answering?”
“Why else would Oscar be trying to do an end run through me?”
“Because Blaire’s not taking his calls.” Lee nodded his agreement.
“And Oscar thinks I’m still scared of him.”
Lee smirked. “Which you clearly are not. That was quite a performance.”
“Oscar cut us both loose in about two seconds flat. Blaire didn’t have to take us on after everything. So I know where my loyalty lies. I know who has my back.” He pushed his slipping glasses up his nose. “I’m just returning the favor. Here.” He held out the box. The Cookie Crumbles logo was a bright, rainbow filigree of letters across the top. “Got you this.”
Lee stared at the box without opening it. “What is it?”
Vince frowned. “What do you think it is?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Lee pushed his chair back from his desk. “I have to move. Cramping up.” He stood and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “I’ll be back. In a while.” He took three steps, stopped, came back for his coffee, then left the office.
Vince stared after him, at a loss. Lee had been thrilled about the lemon treats when Vince and Pete had brought them back from their foray the last time. Why today had he rejected the offer? Because it was from Vince?
A nasty thought invaded Vince’s heart. Lee was enamored of Pete. He’d flirted with him. Almost kissed him this morning, if Vince had been reading the signs correctly. But Vince—maybe that was another matter. Was it because they worked together? Because Lee thought of Vince as a lackey? No one important?
Vince had never subscribed to the idea that there was only one person at a time for anyone. He truly believed it often took more than one person to check all the boxes, and that there was no reason a person couldn’t be with all those people at once, as long as everyone was honest and knew the score.
But what if he was wrong? What if it only took one person and he’d been fooling himself all this time that he’d been Pete’s person—or one of them? What if he’d been good enough for Pete until now, but Lee was what Pete really wanted? What if they could check all of each others’ boxes and Vince wasn’t necessary?
“Give him time.”
Vince jumped. He hadn’t exactly forgotten Blaire was in the room, but he hadn’t noticed the end of the phone call or that Blaire had risen from his desk to come over to Lee’s.
Blaire put a hand on Vince’s shoulder. “Lee isn’t like us.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Vince hopped to his feet and turned to face Blaire. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I can see that.” Blaire chuckled. “I said, Lee isn’t like you and me. He doesn’t believe in gut feelings or the idea that when you know, you just know. And then there’s Pete. How does he fit in? Between you and Lee or . . .?” He winked. “Because I can see how that could be interesting, if everyone is on the same page.”
Vince managed to mitigate the frown that crossed his face. “Don’t worry, sir. I have no intention of messing up our agreement with Wolf’s Landing or muddying the waters there.”
“Oh, I trust you. I don’t for an instant t
hink that your relationship with Pete is going to interfere with our business. You’re too smart for that. But Pete is a nice guy, and I made the mistake of screwing over a nice guy once. It was very difficult to convince him I understood the error of my ways and that I wouldn’t make that same mistake again. I don’t want you to pass over something good for you in favor of something shinier. Lee has a lot of good qualities, but I’m not sure if he’s a one-man kind of guy.”
Vince straightened and fixed his tie, which wasn’t in the least bit askew. “No one is asking him to settle for just one. Not me. And not Pete.”
“Really?” Blaire studied him for a few minutes, but Vince refused to look away. His days of cowering and deferring were in the past. Blaire might lead their little company, but Vince was no lackey. Not anymore.
“All the more reason to give him time, then,” Blaire suggested. “In the meantime, let’s you and I head over to the Wolf’s Landing offices and make this crew hire official, shall we? You can catch me up on our latest investor plans on the way.”
“Of course.” Vince cast one more glance at Lee’s desk, then went to his own to retrieve his jacket and tea. Where once he would have followed Blaire directly out of the office, now he stopped to pen a note for Lee.
Gone to meets w/Blaire. Details in calendar if u need us. Go easy. Take breaks. Pick you up here for the ride home. —Vin~
He stuck the sticky strip of the paper to the top of the Cookie Crumbles box and then followed Blaire out the door. He just hoped Lee would read the note and be here when it was time to go home.
The radio played something eighties in the background as Pete swayed his hips to the beat and laid the last strip of pasta in the lasagna pan. He spread a thin coating of sauce over it, then covered the pan with tin foil.
“And done.” He stood back, wiping his hands on the towel hanging from his belt and surveying his handiwork. Two pans of lasagna—one to eat and one to freeze—a tub of garlic butter, and a crusty baguette he’d scored from Frederic’s just before he’d sold out. There was a salad in the fridge and dressing already mixed. “Go me.”