Page 27 of Newly Tied

Talia was not kidding when she said her brother and his date would not be going on a second outing. Even her body language, her crossed arms as she regarded him, told me she was less than interested.

“Well,” I said, “since we eat together every day during the week, lunch and dinner, and usually on the weekends too, I’m sure he’s got me covered.”

“You work a lot, don’t you?”

I didn’t want to kill her joy if I had somehow misread her and she was hopeful over seeing Lang again. No matter what Talia thought she saw or knew, her brother was a catch, and honestly, so was Nicolette. I could see them as a couple. “No, we⁠—”

“Yes,” Lang confirmed. “We do. I mean, when you spend more time with your partner than anyone else on the planet, you can see where our priorities lie.”

“I do, and I’m busy too,” she declared, sounding more than a bit defensive. “But I always make time for the important people in my life.”

So did Lang, especially for his mother and sister.

But then he went ahead and was snide, which was never a good look on him. “Well, we’re not actually doing the same kind of job now, are we? I can’t imagine a life-and-death design emergency, am I right?” And he scoffed, adding insult to injury.

“That was rude,” Ashton rebuked him, leaning sideways so he could see Lang around me. “You owe her an apology.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I felt myself bristle anyway because he was reproaching my partner. It was automatic. I was always the first to defend him from anyone outside of his family. Because when his mother or sister were criticizing him, they were doing it out of love or teasing. This wasn’t that, and so I took a breath to make sure I said nothing.

Lang met my gaze, and I smiled at him. “Just think,” I told him, “Monday we have to fly to Vegas and pick up that nineteen-year-old hacker. Did you read the report from the last team? They stated they didn’t necessarily think savin’ her from the Serbian mob was the best choice on our part.”

He smiled slightly and I knew that by talking to him, that he was able to process and not instantly attack. It was what Becker had meant earlier in the day when he said our strengths complemented each other. They did. I kept him from blowing up, he kept me grounded. The two of us always worked.

Exhaling sharply, he turned to Nicolette. “I apologize. That was stupid. I’m working through something at the moment, and I vented that frustration on you for no good reason. I really am very sorry.”

It was sincere—it was easy to hear in his thick, gravelly voice. It didn’t hurt that his deep brown gaze was locked with hers.

“Of course,” she whispered, and I saw her searching his face. He was a beautiful man, and having every drop of his attention, I knew from experience, was exhilarating.

Lifting his head, he looked down the table to Ashton. “I apologize to you too.”

“That’s unnecessary,” he rushed out, staring at Lang, whom, I was betting, he hadn’t really seen until that exact moment. Sometimes—and I had no idea how, and it didn’t happen often, but every now and then—people missed that he was everything on first glance. “But thank you.”

Lang nodded and turned to me, sliding his drink over. “Tell me if you taste anything but rum in that.”

I took a sip, watching him as he took off his suit jacket and, without a word, slipped it around Talia’s shoulders.

She mumbled a quick thank-you as she shivered.

“Nope,” I croaked out, because the rum nearly burned through the back of my throat. “There ain’t nothin’ else in that.”

He chuckled and slid his chair even closer. “Let’s go outside. I want to talk to you first, then Talia.”

“It’s too hot,” I said firmly. “I refuse to sweat to death for no good reason.”

Quick exhale from him. “Fine, then tell me what happened. You and Talia never hang out, just the two of you.”

“Because you’re normally with us. Are you sure you want everyone listenin’ in?” I motioned at the rest of the table.

He shook his head. “It’s loud in here, plus they’re all talking to each other. They don’t give a crap.”

“We could wait and discuss this⁠—”

“You’re stalling,” he muttered, then cleared his throat, sliding his elbow closer, resting his cheek on his palm. “Speak.”

“Okay, but you can’t be mad that neither of us called you—you were supposed to be on a double date.”

“I can always be mad,” he corrected me. “And usually am.”