Evan

by Allie K. Adams

  Clint rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing. The men I’m used to aren’t with me for conversation. They tend to only want one thing. My money. My power. My body. In that order.”

  “That’s three things.” Evan recognized that look in the other man’s eyes. Several looks, actually. Exhaustion. Sadness. Regret.

  “I assure you, it all comes down to one thing.” He snuck a sideways glance Evan’s way. “Let’s have that drink. Go upstairs and save us a couple of stools at the bar. I’ll be up after returning a few calls.”

  As much as Evan didn’t want to think about it, he couldn’t stop himself from jumping to conclusions. Was walking into the bar separately yet another one of Clint’s attempts to hide his sexuality? Why hide being gay?

  He didn’t do himself any favors with the playboy billionaire image, false or not. If he thought convincing the world of this lie he called his public life somehow put him above the gossip or put Duke Enterprises in a stronger position with a straight guy at the helm, he’d be wrong. It just made him an easy target.

  When his secret got out—and secrets always got out, this Evan knew from experience—it would destroy Clint’s credibility. That, in turn, would destroy Duke Enterprises. Evan didn’t care much for the goliath company that had taken over, but he did care about the store. And, damn it, he cared for Clint Duke. He didn’t want to see anything happen to him or to Kelley’s.

  That started with Evan having a little self-control. One of them had to show some, and God only knew Clint hadn’t shown an ounce since he’d walked into the private fitting room. It pained him to turn down the opportunity to have drinks with a gorgeous man he’d obsessed over for years, but he had no choice. Reluctantly, he made up his mind.

  “I’m going to have to pass.” He nodded at the outfit still displayed perfectly on Clint’s fine, fine frame. “Your tux needs to be cleaned and pressed if you’re going to wear it Friday.”

  “I can wear one of the others I already have,” Clint protested, even as he slipped out of the jacket.

  “None of them fit you like this one, I’m sure. Besides, unless you have last year’s Prada shoes to go with last year’s Prada jacket, I need to do a bit of shopping.”

  “I have people for that.”

  “You have me for that,” he corrected. When Clint narrowed his gaze, Evan forced a smile. “You hired me as your personal shopper, Mr. Duke. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to prove to you why Kelley’s is the best place—the only place—to go for the ultimate personal shopping experience.”

  “Fine,” he growled. “You win. I could use the night off, anyway. I’m exhausted after that red-eye to make today’s meetings. I have a full inbox to empty and at least a dozen calls to return.”

  “I’ll call you a car.”

  “No, I can have Donald meet me out front.” He changed into the clothes he had on when he came in and handed Evan the rest of the tux. “That is, unless you want to take me home.”

  He nearly dropped everything in his hands and covered it with a quick shake of his head. If they were alone in Evan’s teeny tiny little two-seater for more than thirty seconds, he’d never survive. “I ride the bus.”

  “Not in Armani, you don’t.”

  Busted. Smiling to cover up his guilt, he nodded at his new boss. “Good night, Mr. Duke.”

  “Good night, Mr. McKoy.” He snuck in a quick kiss before opening the door and walking out, leaving Evan standing there, stunned at the direction the night went.

  Did he really turn down a night of what would have been mind-numbing pleasure with none other than Clint Duke? He needed his head examined. Running his fingers along his lower lip, imagining Clint’s mouth on his, he sighed and smiled. And then he giggled like a little girl as he hugged himself.

  “Oh, and Evan?”

  “Yes?” He dropped his hand to his side when Clint popped his head back into the room. Hopefully he didn’t see that.

  “Drinks. This week. I won’t take no for an answer.” He grinned as he added, “And I saw that.”

  6

  Clint stared at the scotch in his hands, debating throwing back the contents of the entire glass to dull the irritation throbbing at the base of his skull. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Evan since the personal fitting last night. The man had somehow managed to successfully avoid Clint the entire day today, which only added to his allure. As soon as he finished here, he’d have Donald swing by Evan’s place. He’d have Angela dig up Evan’s address on the way.

  But first, Clint had to deal with the current situation. His uncle had been at it for over an hour, lecturing him for not following through with the original plan. The man’s face was redder than Clint had ever seen it. He sipped at the drink, wishing he’d emailed the news instead of delivering it personally.

  “Do you understand my point?” Grant Duke pulled his glasses to the end of his nose to glare at Clint over them, something Franklin Duke used to do. It didn’t work with his father. It sure as hell wouldn’t work with his uncle.

  “I’m waiting for you to make one.”

  “Goddamn it, Clinton. I’m serious.” He was sweating, too. A lot. The news of keeping Kelley’s open definitely didn’t settle well with him.

  “When aren’t you serious?” He took a longer drink and winced at the burn as the liquid seared his throat. He hated scotch, and his uncle knew it, which explained why it was the only thing readily on hand.

  “Is this some sort of joke to you? Are you so hell bent on defying your father that you’d risk tarnishing the good name of his company?”

  “My company,” he corrected and nailed his uncle with a glare he knew did work.

  Grant shrank back and wiped his brow. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s my company, Uncle. If the papers don’t remind you, the lawyer fees definitely should. I have no intention of tarnishing its name.”

  “You aren’t listening to reason.”

  “I’m not listening to you,” he corrected. “I have the chance to do something good here. Something my father never bothered to try.”

  “That is?”

  “Saving a company instead of destroying it.” He drained his glass and pushed it away as he stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.” He reached for his phone and scrolled through his messages. “As I’ve already told you, I’m giving Kelley’s a chance. If the store can make its numbers, I’m keeping it intact.”

  “Clinton, you can’t—”

  “This is not up for debate.” He buttoned his jacket and turned to leave. “Now that I’ve delivered the news, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

  “You’re going to cost us millions, boy.”

  God, how he hated when he called him that. It was worse than calling him by his full name. All the Dukes were named after political figures. Franklin Duke after Benjamin Franklin. Grant Duke after Ulysses S. Grant. Clinton Duke after George Clinton—fourth VP of the US. No one ever got that right on trivia night.

  He turned from his uncle. “We can afford it.”

  “Why’d you really come here tonight? You could have told me all this over the phone. What’s really on your mind?”

  His question caused Clint to stop and face him. They’d never been close. When Grant had gone after Clint for control of Duke Enterprises, that gap between them expanded wider than the Grand Canyon. “Don’t pretend to start caring now.”

  “Clinton…” He sighed and removed his glasses to pinch the skin between his eyes. “Despite what you think of me, I was only doing what I thought was right.”

  “What you thought was right?” He laughed in the older man’s face. It was better than spitting in it. “Was it right to serve me papers at the reading of my father’s will? Was it right to stand in front of that judge, denouncing my ability to run this company? Was it right to do what you did knowing it would destroy our family? How can you lecture me about taking down our
family when that’s exactly what you did!”

  Grant collapsed into the chair Clint had vacated. He rubbed his left arm and drew in several shallow breaths. “Try to understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand. You’re a greedy bastard. You and my father were two peas in a pod.”

  He blew out a breath and blinked several times. “My—”

  “I’m done listening.”

  “—pills.”

  Clint froze as he took in his uncle’s condition. The redness. The sweating. Shallow breaths. Shit. Shit! He lunged toward him. “Jesus, Grant. Please tell me you’re not having another heart attack.”

  He winced and grabbed his chest. “Get…my…pills.”

  “Where are they?” Panic laced his tone. He’d lost his father the same way. As much as he wanted to hate his uncle, the man was the only father figure he had left.

  “Jacket.”

  Clint sprang to the other chair and rifled through the pockets until he found the little metal canister holding the nitro pills. Goddamn thing wouldn’t open. He twisted, finally popping off the top. The pills flew in every direction. “Shit.”

  One rolled across the carpet and stopped by Grant’s foot. Clint swept it up and stuck it under his uncle’s tongue while at the same time lifting his phone and dialing 9-1-1. When they answered, he interrupted. “My uncle is having a heart attack. I gave him a nitro pill, but I don’t know if it’s working.”

  After the dispatcher asked him questions he had to concentrate to answer, he fought the urge to tell them to hurry. They knew it was an emergency. People didn’t call 9-1-1 for casual conversation. “We have help on the way. Keep talking to me until they arrive so I know you’re okay.”

  He set his phone on the arm of the chair, set it to speaker, and grabbed his uncle’s hand. “Come on, Uncle Grant. Don’t you dare die on me.” Jesus, please don’t die on me. He wasn’t ready to say good-bye to his uncle. He still hadn’t recovered from saying good-bye to his father.

  “Clinton.”

  “Yes, Uncle?” He held his hand tighter. Sirens sounded in the distance. Thank God.

  “You’re my favorite nephew.”

  He laughed. “I’m your only nephew.”

  “Doesn’t change my answer.” Grant tipped his lips and opened his eyes to slits. His grin widened as he slid his eyes closed. And then his hand slipped, dropping to his side. His expression fell.

  No. No!

  A knock on the door caused Clint to race to the entrance. He didn’t have to say anything—hell, he couldn’t talk over the tightness in his throat—and stepped out of the way as four paramedics raced to his uncle’s side. One pushed Clint’s phone out of the way, so he moved in to grab it before stepping back.

  “Help has arrived.”

  He stared at his phone before it registered that the dispatcher was still on the line. Numbly, he took it off speaker and lifted the phone to his ear. The paramedics had Grant on the floor and his shirt cut up the middle. He’d lost his color. Clint closed his eyes and said a prayer. “Thank you.”

  The phone slipped from his hands. He opened his eyes when it didn’t hit the floor to see his driver Donald standing there, Clint’s phone in his hands. “The car is out front, sir.”

  He watched them load his uncle onto the gurney, something they wouldn’t bother with if he’d passed. It gave Clint hope. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s got a pulse,” one of the paramedics answered. “It’s weak, but it’s there. We’ll be taking him to Harborview. You can follow us there.”

  He didn’t want to ever go back to that hospital. The last time he visited Harborview, he lost his father. Trying not to panic, he asked in as strong a voice as he had at the moment, “Why not Virginia Mason?”

  “Harborview is closer,” Donald responded softly, placing his hand on Clint’s shoulder and squeezing. He’d been the one to drive Clint to the hospital following Franklin Duke’s fatal heart attack. He’d driven around the city for hours as Clint curled into a ball in the backseat and bawled like a baby after the doctors had told him his father was gone. This all felt far too familiar. Too goddamn painful.

  Clint nodded numbly, hoping this time would be different. “Let’s go.”

  Within minutes Donald tailgated the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Where were the lights? Sirens? Why weren’t they speeding? None of this made any sense. They actually drove the speed limit. If his uncle died due to them not making it in time, Clint would sue them, the hospital, the entire city, and maybe even the state.

  He couldn’t think like that. It wasn’t anyone’s fault his uncle preferred burgers over salad. Heart disease ran in his family, which was why he’d had a private gym installed in his penthouse. He refused to let himself fall into the same situation, in his sixties and already five stents in, strapped to a gurney in the back of an ambulance, well on his way to number six.

  Not Clint. He never missed his annual physical. He’d even thought of increasing the frequency to every six months. Which reminded him, he needed to be sure Angela scheduled a physical for Evan. If the man was going to enter into a contract with Clint, he needed to be checked out and issued a clean bill of health, first.

  He stared at the back of the ambulance as he thought about what it would mean if Evan agreed to his terms. No, not if. When. Clint had to believe the man wanted to explore the personal world of Clint Duke as much as Clint wanted to show him all the mutual gratification they’d experience together.

  What the hell was he doing? He could quite possibly have to bury his uncle by this time next week and here he contemplated an arrangement with Evan McKoy. Stress short-circuited his brain.

  He pulled out Evan’s business card. He could use a friendly voice right now and dialed the number. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Damn it. He ended the call without leaving a message.

  They followed the ambulance up 6th Ave and had just turned on James Street when his phone rang. He answered it without looking at the number. “Clint Duke.”

  “Oh.” And then silence.

  Annoyance tightened his already raw nerves. He didn’t have time for a reporter sniffing around for a story. “You have three seconds to say something before I hang up.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Duke. It’s Evan McKoy. I was away from my phone and saw I missed a call. I didn’t know it was you.”

  At once the tension that had Clint ready to snap eased. He released a deep breath. “Evan.”

  “Is everything okay? You sound upset.”

  “I’m on my way to Harborview.”

  “What? Why!”

  “My uncle had a heart attack. I’m following the ambulance to the ER now.” Just saying that aloud had Clint tensing from the potential replay of one year ago.

  The doctor would approach and pull off her surgical scrub cap, her face solemn, eyes misty. She’d start by apologizing and assuring him she’d done everything she could. She’d then apologize again, this time for his loss. By then, he’d be shaking, fighting the urge to collapse in his grief, as his insides shredded. He’d keep his head down, his pain hidden by a stony expression, as he struggled to process the death. Lastly, she’d ask if there was anyone she could call for him.

  And he’d be back in this car, alone, crying in the backseat while Donald drove around the city.

  “Oh, Clint.” Evan’s voice softened, warmed, and melted into Clint’s chest. It was exactly what he needed right now. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to meet you there? I’m not too far from the hospital. I can be there in no time.”

  “I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Evan, that’s not necessary.” Even as he said it, he didn’t believe it. It was necessary. It was so, so necessary. He needed to know someone else in this world gave a damn. He needed to know he wasn’t alone. Because, goddamn it, he sure as hell felt alone right now.

  “Please, Clint. Let me do this
for you. I insist.”

  “You insist,” he repeated. He didn’t want to argue the point, especially when it was exactly what he wanted. “In that case, I’ll see you there.”

  Evan rushed into the ER, searching for Clint. His large frame wasn’t hard to spot as he stood off to the side, his phone to his ear. As soon as their gazes locked, neither looked away. He nodded as Evan approached.

  “No, Mother.” He spoke into the phone. “He was actually talking and laughing when they wheeled him out of the ambulance. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be fine. No, I don’t know that for sure. Yes, I’ll call you as soon as I know.”

  Oh, thank God. Evan had assumed the worst and hurried here expecting to comfort Clint over the death of another family member within a year’s time. He’d read the cause of Franklin Duke’s death—sudden cardiac death due to a massive heart attack. No doubt that had to be Clint’s fear as his uncle was rushed to the hospital.

  “Give Hailey my love. I’ll see you both soon.” Clint ended the call and dropped the phone into his shirt pocket as he offered Evan a weary smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Should they hug? Would that be appropriate, employee to boss? Friend to friend? Were they even friends? If Evan hadn’t turned him down for that drink last night, they would have more than likely ended up lovers by now. The chemistry between them crackled, it was so intense.

  Even as lovers, would they be able to be seen together in public? Clint Duke had made it well-known he wanted the world to believe he was straight. Evan wanted to ask why, but now wasn’t the time. He’d take his cue from Clint. The man didn’t reach for him, so he simply smiled awkwardly.

  “I heard what you said to your mom.” He didn’t know what else to say to start the conversation. “Sounds like he’s going to be okay.”

  “He’s a stubborn bastard.”

  Evan had read about Grant Duke. He was even more coldblooded than his brother. When Clint inherited Duke Enterprises after his father’s death, Grant Duke had tried to take the company. Who did that? Who attacked his nephew for a higher position in the family’s company so soon after the death of the patriarch? Grant Duke, that’s who.