“It looks professional for the owner to look his best.”
“Hey, Rowan?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“No one fucking cares about what you wear. They just want to get paid.” He laces his fingers together and stares up at the ceiling, sighing.
I know that sigh.
He did something he wasn’t supposed to, and now he dreads telling me. I’ve learned over the years that business partners are kind of like married couples. We know everything about each other. When we are annoyed, tired, lying, frustrated, or guilty. Or all the above.
And he seems guilty.
“What did you do?”
He slides his eyes over to me and taps his fingers against his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your legs are shaking, causing my pens to rattle in their holder. You don’t do that unless you are dreading to tell me something.”
He bites his lips, staring at me again as he darts his eyes from the ceiling back to me, back to the ceiling. “Okay, you aren’t going to be happy about it…”
I fold my arms on my desk and lean forward. The desk creaks from my weight. “What did you do?”
He taps his finger on the indent of his chin. “I didn’t do anything bad, but you might frown upon it.”
“Did you gamble our money away?” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. I knew this day would happen.
“What? No, of course not. What the hell, man? You know me better than that.”
“I know you’re impulsive. And your mouth tends to run away from you and gets you into trouble.”
He snaps his fingers. “I’ll keep that in mind, but no that’s not what I did.”
“Did you pay for sex?”
“How dare you. I never pay for sex.”
“Kill somebody? Do I need to call a lawyer?” I ask.
“No.”
“Invest in something you didn’t talk to me about?”
He groans, “No. Shut up and let me finish.”
“Did you get roofied again? Stop leaving your drinks around.”
“Rowan?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Shut up.”
I zip my lips closed and throw the key away.
He puts his feet down on the floor and exhales, “I talked to Everly.”
The pencil I’m using to write in my calendar snaps in half.
“What?” My voice is deep and a bit accusatory. I almost would have rather heard he killed somebody.
“Yeah, she reached out to me.”
I take a deep breath, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me. I want her to reach out to me, but that’s selfish because, at the same time, I don’t want to speak to her. The idea of her counting on another man bothers me still.
Those pesky little unresolved feelings.
“Oh yeah? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Kind of.”
“What do you mean, kind of?” I flex my fingers against the table and stand, towering over him.
“Her identity got stolen. They drained all of her accounts, charged her credit cards, and now she can’t qualify for anything. She has to start over, and she didn’t know where to go.”
“Is this the first time you’ve talked to her?”
“No,” he admits with guilt.
“How long?” I ask, my temper rising by the second.
“Since we saw her last.”
I shouldn’t care. But I do. My best friend is going behind my back to talk to the woman that controls every part of my being. I grab the holder for my pens and throw them against the wall. The black ceramic shatters, slamming on the floor in a million pieces.
“Four fucking years? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking her, Gray? Is that it? Do you love her?”
He stands this time and steps directly in front of me, taking my anger, but not backing down. “Don’t be mad at me for something that you can’t do. I’ve been giving her financial advice. No, I’m not fucking her, idiot. And I love her. Like a friend, nothing more. And maybe you wouldn’t be so mad if you were the one helping her, but instead you’re letting your pride get in the way.”
“I don’t see her reaching out to me, either.”
“She’s scared to reach out to you. After the last few interactions, she thinks you hate her, and she understands why.”
I run my fingers through my hair, screwing up the style. I probably look crazy now. “Why not tell me sooner?”
“Because of this reaction. You don’t ever react well when her name is mentioned. You get angry. Doesn’t matter how her name is mentioned, you act like this. I figured you don’t care what’s going on with her, so I took it upon myself to help her.”
“I care,” I growl, trying to calm my raging breaths.
“I know, or you wouldn’t act like this, but you balance on the line of hate and love. I should have told you. It’s only every few months we talk. I promise. Nothing more.”
“Nothing?”
“Not even a wink.”
“Damn it.” I spin on my heel and look out the floor to ceiling windows. Bitterness starts to drown me. Right when I think I’m on the mend of getting over her, something happens that brings me back down again, and I have to start my Everly sobriety all over again.
“I hate that I care,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“No, you don’t. Don’t be an asshole, man. Aside from whatever happened between you two, she’s had a tough time. The person that stole her identity has ruined her life. She can’t even find a job because when they look into her background, all they see is a criminal record, something she doesn’t have. She’s been working as a secretary at a tattoo shop, and they pay her under the table.”
I snort when I think of her working around tattoos and piercings. I bet she feels so out of place. “Let me guess; you hired her a lawyer?”
“Only the best.”
“You should have talked to me about this.”
“Why? So, you can refuse to help someone over your own pride and stubbornness? No thanks. She is a good person. I don’t know why she did what she did. It was for a reason, maybe not a good one,
