Kohl and Taylor were going to be oil and water. Or maybe oil and firewater. Maybe it was just as well Taylor was missing this meeting.
It was clear there would be plenty of other interminable meetings ahead.
Will’s phone vibrated on the wooden conference table like a knock-knock-Fate-calling! moment, and ten pairs of disapproving eyes turned their laser beams his way. Thinking—hoping—it might be Taylor, Will reached for his cell and saw David’s contact profile photo flash up.
His gut twisted in nervous response, which just the thought of David gave him after Paris. Not David’s fault, but the memory of what Taylor had suffered during those forty-eight hours half killed Will. Remembering Taylor’s mocking smile at dinner the night before—and the sight of that Christmas card strategically positioned against the coffee maker…oh, hell no.
He did not have the energy for that.
He rose, nodding apologetically to Reid, and stepped into the hallway. The truth was this meeting was for Webster Fidelity employees, to give them a chance to vent their frustrations and fears. He probably shouldn’t have been present anyway.
On the elevator ride to the lobby, he checked his messages, but other than the now two messages from David, there was nothing of interest. Meaning no word from Taylor yet.
What part of keep me posted did Taylor not understand?
Will reached the lobby, nodded at the portly security guard, who promptly sucked in his belly, and went out through the revolving glass door—which, by the way, needed to be changed out for a ballistic-resistant high-security revolving door.
It was a gray day. The air felt dull and heavy, tainted with smog and car exhaust. A couple of strands of wan white Christmas lights spanned the width of the street, and that was about it for striking a festive note. Spring Street, in the heart of Los Angeles’s financial district, was known as the Wall Street of the West with good reason. It was also a historic district with over ten buildings designated Historic-Cultural Monuments by the Los Angeles Cultural Heritage Commission. A lot of the original Beaux Arts facades remained virtually intact, making the district a popular shooting location for production companies filming period pieces. There were no film crews present that day, but a number of Asian tourists with cameras and a walking tour led by a guy in a fedora passed him as he phoned David back.
David picked up within two rings. “Will, good to hear from you.” David greeted him in that deep, sexy growl of a voice. “How are you?”
“Good,” Will said. “Actually, great. Sorry it took so long to get back to you, David.”
“It’s a busy time of year. How’s your better half?”
That was David having a little joke because he did not consider Taylor to be Will’s better half. Not in any way, shape, or form. They all knew he believed Will had made a serious mistake in choosing Taylor over him. And as much as Will liked David, that made it hard to stay friends.
It was a shame too, because Will shared interests with David that he didn’t share with Taylor—and since when was there a law that a gay man couldn’t have a close same-sex friend?
“Taylor’s fine.” Will remembered Taylor was currently in Carpinteria with his college boyfriend, and suddenly couldn’t think of anything to add.
David chuckled, a warm, friendly sound. “That’s a little terse. I won’t ask. How’s the new business venture?”
David was a perceptive guy. Maybe too perceptive. Will admitted, “Things are different in the private sector, but we’re figuring it out.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute. We should catch up one of these days. In fact, that’s why I called. I’m having a little Christmas party this weekend—just a few good friends, nothing extravagant—and if you and MacAllister don’t have any plans, I’d love you to come. You could spend the night. The guest room is ready and waiting.”
Uh, yeah. That room was going to have a long wait, because this get-together was never going to happen. Will could imagine Taylor’s reaction to learning of David’s invitation. His ears rang just thinking about it.
“It sounds like fun,” he said regretfully. “Unfortunately—well, no, actually, fortunately—we just landed a huge contract, and we’re going to be working right through the holidays.”
David responded, and Will heard the disappointment but not the words because all at once he registered a silver Honda Accord parked across the street. The driver held a pair of binoculars, and the binoculars were trained in Will’s direction.
His first thought was this might be some security threat to Webster Fidelity, but even as the possibility formed, he remembered noting a silver Honda Accord following him off the freeway and onto Spring Street.
Granted, Honda Accords were one of the most popular cars in LA County, but Will was trained to recognize potential vehicle surveillance, and while he was a few months out of practice, he wasn’t that much out of practice.
Nor was it the first time he’d been tailed in the past month, though it was definitely not Stuart Schwierskott behind those field glasses. It might be another operative from Schwierskott & Associate.
“If you ever need to talk,” David was saying.
“Thanks, David.” Will was no longer listening. “Have a Merry Christmas.” He disconnected, turned, and went back inside Webster Fidelity.
Through the tinted glass windows, he observed the driver of the Honda Accord for a few seconds. There was too much traffic and street activity to get a good look, but he had the impression the driver was male, middle-aged, and probably Caucasian. Frankly, not much of a guess given that middle-aged
