Tucker patted the seat next to him. “Take a break.” He put half his sandwich on a paper towel and pushed it to the spot he wanted me to fill.
“That’s very nice, but I have things to do.”
“Come on.” He patted the table again. “Just five minutes.”
I didn’t want to blow him off if he would be a tenant for the next week, so I sank into the chair but didn’t touch the sandwich. “How’s the move going? Probably overwhelming, right? California and Manhattan couldn’t be more different.”
He shrugged. “I worked in LA before this, so I’m used to the people, the traffic, all that good stuff. But you’re right, it definitely has a different feel to it.”
“Where are you working?”
“The Four Seasons.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I’m one of the managers there. They transferred me from California, and I thought it would be nice to have a change of scenery. Besides, Deacon is here. It’s weird living on the other side of the country from him.”
“I didn’t know you guys were so close.”
“Not really,” he said. “But I’m his only friend. I worry about him a lot.”
“Well…he’s very capable of taking care of himself.” I didn’t mean to be defensive at the comment, but Deacon wasn’t some dumbass who didn’t know his face from his ass. He was damn brilliant and could do a lot more than people realized if he was in the right mood.
“Take care of himself?” he asked playfully. “Looks like you’re the one who takes care of him.”
“I deliver his groceries and pick up his dry cleaning…but that’s not much.”
“Give yourself more credit. You do a lot for him. You know what he told me the other day?” He took a bite and finished chewing. “That you were his friend. I know you don’t know him very well, but Deacon doesn’t say that, like, ever.” He was different from Deacon, far more outspoken, far more normal. He spoke his mind and knew how to participate in a conversation. Because of that and his job, it seemed like he hadn’t inherited his brother’s brilliance.
It meant a lot to me that Deacon had said that because that was how I felt. It didn’t feel like I was just his assistant and he was just my boss. There was a connection between us, something deep under the skin. At the dinner last week, he told people I was his friend. Now I knew he meant that literally. “That was nice of him to say.”
“And I didn’t mean Deacon is helpless. I just meant…he’s different.”
“Yes, he is.”
“I’m used to it, but most people aren’t, so I worry that he becomes even more reclusive when he’s not around his family.”
He wasn’t that reclusive…judging by all his sleepovers.
When Tucker finished his sandwich, he sat with his arms on the table, watching me. He was a lot more muscular than his brother, possessing brute strength. Deacon was leaner, like his goal was to be muscular and athletic, whereas his brother just wanted to be big. They were both handsome men, both very easy on the eyes. “How long have you been doing this?”
“About seven years.”
“Wow. You like it?”
As if I could ever complain. “A lot.”
“You seem good at it too. But it must be hard to take care of assholes like my brother all the time.”
“Deacon isn’t an asshole,” I said automatically, coming to his defense when he wasn’t around.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Just making a joke.”
“Oh…of course.” I continued to sit there even though I wanted to leave. It felt rude to take off when he clearly wanted to talk to me. He’d just moved to the city, and he was clearly an extrovert, so he probably felt lonely. “What was he like growing up?”
Tucker shrugged. “He liked to be alone most of the time. He was usually in his room, either reading or building something. By the time he was five, he skipped kindergarten, and kept skipping grades until he graduated high school five years early.”
“Wow…”
“My mom and dad always had a hard time connecting with him, but they were still proud. Now that we’re older, it’s a little easier for me, but sometimes I have to be patient with him, take the time to understand what he’s saying when he doesn’t say anything at all.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
He shrugged. “He’s brilliant and just operates on a different wavelength.”
“He does.”
“But he’s still my brother. We still have fun.”
“I’m sure.” My phone started to vibrate in my pocket. “I should get going. I’ve got a lot of clients to take care of today.”
“Well, thanks for dropping off that stuff.” He rose from the chair and walked with me to the door, his sweatpants low on his hips. “I’ll tell Deacon you were here, checking me out in my sweatpants.” He winked as he held the door open for me, telling me he was kidding.
I chuckled then walked out.
When I heard the door shut behind me, I knew he was gone. I pulled out my phone and checked the text messages from Matt, telling me to head to a different unit because a client needed something.
I got into the elevator and stared at the steel doors, thinking about how different Deacon was from his brother. Tucker was talkative, playful, knew how to take a joke and when to make one. Deacon was rigid like a concrete slab, taking everything everyone said literally, and still being confused by it. It was fascinating to me that one brother had been born gifted while the other was average.
It made me realize how different Deacon would be if he weren’t brilliant. He would be undeniably handsome, but also average. He wouldn’t be special, wouldn’t be deep and complicated, wouldn’t be the extraordinary man he was. He didn’t feel much, didn’t connect to people often, if at all, but when he did feel something, it was more potent than what everyone else felt. When he broke down over Derek, I knew he felt normal emotions a million times harder, felt them in a more intense way, breaking down in tears in front of someone he barely knew.
Even if Deacon was cold at times, difficult to read, and just more work than the average client, I wouldn’t change anything about him.
He was perfect the way he was.
I was the last one in the office, putting together a picture frame one of my clients asked for. It was a birthday gift for her husband, a picture of them dancing around at some old church in Greece. Once it was put together, I’d wrap it and slap a pretty bow on it.
When her husband opened it, it would be the first time she got to see it too.
“Hey, Cleo.”
I looked up at the sound of Tucker’s voice, which was similar to Deacon’s. “Hey, Tucker. How can I help you?” I clipped the back of the frame in place before I set it facedown on the table; that way, Tucker wouldn’t recognize their faces and know they lived in the building.
“I think I left my keys on the coffee table like an idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “I tried to get a hold of Deacon, but he’s not answering. He’s still at work.”
“Well, I can help you with that, so you don’t need him at all.” I got to my feet and locked the office door behind me since I was the last one there in the evening. “So, how was work?” He was dressed in a black suit, ditching the sweatpants and nudity, so I assumed he’d started his new position.
“It was good. Much different pace from California, but I like it.”
I hit the button on the elevator, and we both waited for it to reach the lobby. I stood with my hands together at my waist, looking at the lights brighten up the numbers at the top, indicating the elevator was somewhere at the top of the building. “Deacon said your mother is moving here as well?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He must have shaved that morning before work because his jawline was smooth. He had the same masculine features as his brother, and he probably didn’t struggle to get women to leave their red panties on his bedroom floor after a long night. “She’s going to crash with me before she gets settled.”
“Oh, that�
�s sweet of you.”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been a momma’s boy.”
“Deacon told me about your father. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah…” He glanced out the windows in the entryway. “We all have to go sometime…but his departure was too soon. Life can be so shitty sometimes, you know?”
“Yeah.” I did know—all too well.
The doors finally opened and we stepped inside.
Tucker hit the button that said 32. “What are your plans after work?”
“Probably going to pop a frozen burrito into the microwave.” Since he wasn’t a permanent tenant, I didn’t see the harm in being candid. In less than a week, he would be gone from the building, and even if he told Deacon what I said, Deacon probably wouldn’t be listening anyway.
He chuckled. “Those aren’t bad, actually.”
“Taco Bell is better, but too far of a walk.”
“Ah, Taco Bell.” He sighed like that sounded like the best thing in the world. “God, I haven’t had that in so long.”
“I could always deliver it to you.”
He turned to me, his hands in his pockets. “Is that an excuse so you can get a burrito?”
“No…”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Okay, maybe.”
He chuckled then faced forward again. “I’ll see if Deacon is up for it. He’s weird about food.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, he doesn’t like to eat out, and he eats the same thing over and over.”
“That’s probably why he’s in such good shape.” He was the fittest person I’d ever seen, so cut that it didn’t seem like he had enough fat on his body to operate normally. He was all muscle with tight, tanned skin on top. His arms were sculpted in all these different ways, all the various muscled sectioned off and differentiated.
“He’s just a health nut. That’s fine, but I think he should live a little. He’s gonna die no matter how many vegetables he eats, he may as well enjoy himself once in a while.”
I noticed Deacon never asked me to pick him up dinner. He also cooked and didn’t request a private chef either—even though he could afford it. “He drinks beer.”
“Yeah, that’s surprising.”
The doors opened, and we stepped into the hallway.
“Did you spend a lot of time with Derek before you came out?”
“Not really. I tried arranging something with Valerie, but she was always busy. She wouldn’t even call me back sometimes.”
I suspected he had no idea about all the drama between his brother and ex-wife. Otherwise, he wouldn’t say that so casually.
“Have you met him?”
“Derek?” I asked.
“Yeah. When he visits.”
Yeah, he really had no idea. “No, I haven’t met him yet.” I would never betray Deacon’s secrets, not just because it was my job, but because he was my friend. I put the key in the door and unlocked it.
“You wanna see a picture?” He pulled out his phone and tapped his thumb against the screen.
I stepped to the side and let him enter first. “Sure.” I spotted the keys where he said they would be, on the coffee table next to an old mug of coffee.
He scrolled through his photos until he found one. He handed me the phone.
I held it between my thumb and forefinger and looked at the screen. Derek stood there in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt with a drawing of a globe on it. He was holding a toy rocket, like he and Deacon had built it together. He smiled with all his teeth, and he had the darkest hair, midnight black, and he had the same chocolate-colored eyes. My eyes softened. “He’s so cute…”
“Yeah, he is,” he said with pride. “Smart kid.”
I didn’t give the phone back because I wanted to continue to stare. “He looks just like him…I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, same hair, same eyes, same attitude…”
I smiled and struggled to give the phone back, to part with the little boy Deacon loved so much. All I saw was a picture and I loved him too.
Tucker pocketed the phone.
“Is he gifted the way Deacon is?”
“It’s too early to tell, but he’s definitely smart. He picks up on things so quickly. Started walking at a really young age, start talking at a young age. But he knows how to communicate a lot better than his dad,” he said with a laugh. “Honestly, I’d rather talk to Derek instead of Deacon.” He walked to his keys on the coffee table and pocketed them. “I can’t wait to see him when he visits.”
“Yeah…”
He stood with his hands in his pockets, eyeing me by the door. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah…just thinking about all the stuff I have to do.” I pocketed my keys. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Goodnight, Cleo. Maybe we’ll get that Taco Bell together sometime.”
I smiled before I walked out. “Yeah, maybe.”
Twelve
Deacon
It was nine in the evening when my driver pulled up to the building.
My laptop was heavy in my satchel even though the weight hadn’t changed, but it felt like a mountain of paperwork hung on my shoulder. I stepped out of the car, slipped the driver a tip, and then walked into the building, the doorman greeting me the same way he did every day.
“Welcome home, Mr. Hamilton.”
The second the glass door shut behind me, the loud cacophony of the street subsided, the traffic, the honks, the people—all of it went quiet.
I liked it when it was quiet.
I headed to the elevator.
Cleo emerged from the hallway between the elevators, carrying a heavy bag over her shoulder that seemed to be stuffed with paperwork. She hadn’t seen me yet, so she allowed her expression to fall, to show signs of fatigue. Her eyes were dull like they needed a shine, and her lips fell from her usual smile.
I glanced behind me and saw that my driver was still there, blocked against the sidewalk because there was so much traffic on the road—even though it was so late in the evening. I thought LA had the worst traffic, but I was wrong. It was definitely Manhattan.
Instead of hitting the door to the elevator, I waited for her to notice me.
When she did, she almost jumped, as if she’d assumed the lobby would be abandoned at this time of night. “Deacon, you’ve must have had a long day if you’re just getting home.” Like she wasn’t tired at all, she perked up, hiding all the miles she’d put on her engine that day. Her eyes shone like new and her smile seemed genuine—or she just had a lot of practice.
She was easy to talk to, but I still struggled to form coherent sentences. So, I didn’t say anything, just staring at her as I gripped the strap to my satchel.
Like always, she didn’t seem put off by my silence. “Have a good night. I’ve got—”
“I had to stay in the lab for an experiment.” My answer was incredibly delayed, but I thought an answer was better than no answer. “I tried to start earlier in the day, but I had a meeting that went on longer than I planned.”
She nodded. “I hate it when that happens. Well, I hope you take it easy tomorrow.” She started to walk away.
I walked beside her and moved through the open door that the bellman grabbed. My car was still there, so I tapped my knuckles on the window.
The driver rolled it down. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Could you give Cleo a ride home on your way?” I placed my hand inside the car and casually slipped him a bigger bill.
“No problem at all, Mr. Hamilton.” He got out of the car and came around to open the door for her.
She looked flabbergasted by the offer. “Deacon, that’s very sweet of you, but please don’t worry about me.”
I nodded to the open door.
She seemed frustrated by the offer, as if she wasn’t allowed to accept generosity from her clients, but she also seemed touched, as if it meant a lot to her that someone wanted to help her out for once. And she still seemed tired, judging from the du
llness in her eyes.
“It’s late. You shouldn’t walk.”
She sighed as she held her bag, but then she gave in. “Well…thank you.” She walked up to the door, her face close to mine. She looked at me for a few seconds before she got into the car, putting the bag beside her. I stared at her for a moment, seeing the slight smile on her lips. Then I shut the door, the blacked-out windows obscuring her from my view. I moved a few steps back and watched the driver find a spot in traffic to emerge. Thirty seconds later, the car was gone from my sight, and then I finally turned around and went home.
I walked in the door and headed to the dining table, pulling my satchel over my shoulder and setting it on the wood.
Tucker came out of the kitchen, shirtless and in his sweatpants. “I’m making enchiladas. You want any?”
“No.” I pulled my laptop out of the leather bag and set it in front of my chair. “I’ll take a beer, though.”
He grabbed one from the fridge and placed it on the table, the cap twisted off. “Have you ever had enchiladas? They’re pretty good.”
“I don’t eat cheese.”
He rolled his eyes. “So, you’re a vegan or what?”
“No. I just don’t like processed foods.” I was in a shirt and jeans, not having to wear a suit this week because I was in the lab every day. I took a seat and downed the beer.
“Alright…” Tucker returned to the kitchen, finishing his dinner. Then he came out and took a seat with his plate of enchiladas and rice and beans.
I’d prefer if he didn’t eat right beside me when I tried to work, but it was the dining room, so I couldn’t berate him for that. Lately, I’d been drowning at work, unable to handle all my projects at the same time. The simple solution would be to hand them off to someone else, but I didn’t trust anyone besides myself.
“Found an apartment.” He pulled out his phone, opened the link, and placed the phone in front of me. “It’s no luxury residence, but it’s pretty nice.”
I ignored the phone. “When are you moving?”
He pulled the phone back. “Monday.”
The Man Who Has No Soul Page 11