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There was a knock on the office door. He pushed up to his feet, downing the beer and slam-dunking it into the trash.
“Pissed off with this town? Yeah,” I said.
“In love with every cell in her body.” He advanced toward the door.
“I’m not in love with her,” I murmured into my drink.
Rhyland stopped with his hand on the doorknob, cocking a brow. “Cut the bullshit. What are you, five?” Another, sterner knock. “Just remember she has ten tons of baggage. Her anxiety issues always stand in her way, and I doubt she can form any sort of serious relationship with anyone, even you.”
“What the hell does that mean, even me?”
“Even someone who’d accept her exactly as she is—flawed to the core—and won’t ask her to change.”
Damn straight. Her flaws were some of her best features. Protective anger simmered inside of me. I was about to give him a piece of my mind when he opened the door. Kieran stood on the other side.
The universe must’ve picked up on my good mood and decided to shit all over it. The bastard waltzed in, looking like a trillion bucks with his stupid peacoat and even stupider smile, and a nose that—unbelievably—did make him look more ruggedly handsome. Young Clint Eastwood looked like a dumpster fire next to Fuckface.
“Hey, man.” Rhy and Kieran exchanged a handshake and a bro hug. “I’ll leave you two to kill each other.” Rhy exited the office. I kicked the floor to turn around on my executive chair, narrowing my eyes at Rhy as he added, “Just watch the carpet. Been meaning to take it with me to New York when we close this place up.”
“Fuckface,” I said.
“Asshole,” Kieran replied.
“What heinous crime have I committed in a previous life to deserve this social call?” I picked up a cigarette, rolling it between my fingers.
“Don’t be so humble. I’m sure current-life you is on karma’s shit list too.” Kieran strode in, debonair and cocky—as a man who earned a hundred million pounds a year should be. “Apology accepted, by the way.”
“Apology not issued.” I tucked the cigarette behind my ear. “Do I need to call security, or do you want me to kick you out myself?”
He sauntered deeper into the room, over to the drink cart behind my desk, fixing himself a whiskey. I’d never seen Kieran Carmichael drink. He always struck me as a Patrick Bateman type. Someone who was too busy shoving decapitated heads into freezers to have a stiff one with a buddy. So this gave me pause.
“You should be thanking me, you know. My fake-kissing Cal snowballed into your hookup.” He poured himself two fingers of Hibiki, then raised the glass to his lips. “Had to give Lady Faith a little push. Neither of you had the balls to make the first move.”
“And you know Cal and I are together because…?” I tilted an eyebrow.
“She left me a three thousand–word text message relaying your entire night together, lip gloss flavor included.” He sipped his drink calmly.
“She didn’t,” I said, even though it sounded exactly like something Cal would do.
“Prime reading material, highly recommended,” he continued, picking up random shit on my desk, snooping in my stuff. “Probably wanted to send it to Dylan.”
Classic Cal move. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what life with her would be like. A ton of trips to the ER, foot-in-mouth scenarios, and spontaneous sex in exotic places. I’d sign on for this kind of life in a goddamn heartbeat.
“Now that you know she’s not up for grabs, stay the fuck away.” I itched to stand up and assert my power but also didn’t want him to see how territorial I was over Cal. She was a weakness, a blind side, a cruel reminder of my mortality.
“Trust me, Casablancas, there’s nothing I’d like more than to ignore your meaningless existence.” He finally propped against the doorjamb, looking bored with the entire situation. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that.”
“Because?” I rose up to my feet, treading toward him until we were face-to-face.
“First of all, I hear we’ll be neighbors next year. You’re moving to London.”
“London’s big, and my hate for you is even more infinite. Don’t worry, I won’t knock on your door asking for sugar.”
“Good. That shit’s toxic and I don’t consume it.” He plucked the cigarette from behind my ear, snapped it in two, and tossed it into the garbage. When Cal and Dylan weren’t around, he really let his real, asshole self come out. Strangely, I felt more comfortable with this version of him. The one that was mean to me growing up. At least I knew what I was dealing with.
“See, I needed to give you a good excuse to punch the daylights out of me yesterday,” he said, a grin spreading across his lips.
“Because of what happened when we were kids?”
