Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
No. Not that.
I couldn’t be that needy. I was a grown-ass man, and I could manage one night on my own. I’d see him soon enough. Well, maybe not as soon as my fickle heart wanted. But I knew better than to cling. Ambrose had way more important things to worry about. I didn’t need to be one more thing.
You can wait, I lectured myself, but my stern chief voice didn’t work one bit on that disobedient heart of mine.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ambrose
I greeted Harley with two cups of coffee in to-go mugs. I’d slept like crap without him next to me, but, of course, I couldn’t let him know that, so I forced a chipper tone.
“If I invite you in, I’m going to want to kiss you, and if I kiss you, I’ll want to touch you…”
He chuckled and shook his head. “If you give a mouse a cookie…”
“Since when are you up on kids’ literature?” I joined his laughter, which felt damn good after being twisted up like a pretzel all night over missing him and worrying I was screwing up this thing between us.
“What? I have niblings too.”
“Oh wow. You said niblings.” His use of the term made me grin even wider. “I’ve converted you.”
“It’s a good word.” Deftly removing one coffee and pulling me close, he gave me a quick kiss. “And there’s your kiss. Don’t worry, boss. I won’t make you late.”
Make me late. I almost said it but didn’t. Damn the need to be a responsible adult, something he seemed better at, especially this morning. Perversely, I wanted him desperate to kiss and touch me and to drag me back to bed rather than seeming perfectly happy to return to our old roles, congenial colleagues. Like nothing had changed. Except everything had.
“We…uh…still on for later?” Good lord, I sounded all of sixteen.
“Yup.” He nodded at me as he led the way to his truck. “I’m taking Hercules to a farmers’ market while you have your meeting.”
I blinked. “You’re taking my dog vegetable shopping?”
“Well, I can’t serve you only steak, now can I? I’ll see if I can find something suitably exotic for your tastes.”
“You do that.” My tone was far happier now. Clearly, I had changed Chief Meat and Potatoes, or at the very least, he’d remembered my love of unusual produce. Maybe things between us were still okay. Normal, like we were back at the cabin, eating every meal together, instead of back here in LA trying to figure out how to make this work in the real world. I leaned in for another fast kiss before he could unlock the truck, but when I went for a third, he steered me toward the passenger side.
“Don’t make me threaten you with ghost pepper sauce on your steak.” His voice held way more affection than menace. “I don’t want to mess up your fancy clothes, and I can’t be the reason Mr. Bigshot Showrunner is late.”
I loved the suit and tie I’d picked for the meeting, a lovely gray pinstripe number I’d picked up on a trip to New York several years prior. My teal tie added the perfect pop of color, but now I worried that I’d made myself untouchable somehow, underscoring our class differences, which I truly didn’t give a fig about. He was hot as heck in his black T-shirt and tactical pants, even if I missed the jeans and faded shirts he’d worn at the cabin.
“I’m still me.” Mouth quirking, I tried to voice my concerns, but his confused frown said I wasn’t doing a great job. “I mean, I am a writer and a producer, and I can’t change my last name, but I’m also the guy who helped you fix a roof.”
“You are.” His smile was so tender a lot of my unease melted away. “You’re still you. And I like you, boss. Don’t worry about that.”
“All right.” I’d try to believe him. “If you feel like driving one of my cars, I’ve got the keys for the Vette and beamer on me.”
“Much as I love your taste in cars, we’re taking my truck because your sister was right about protesters. I scouted it out earlier. Your beamer is too recognizable. No one’s going to notice my old truck, which is what we want.”
“This early?” I wasn’t at all surprised that he’d done recognizance. He was nothing if not thorough. While he might be off the payroll at this point, he took his security responsibilities seriously.
“The protesters are camping out.” Scowling, he climbed into the driver’s side of the truck. “Practically a little village at this point.”
“Wow.” I slumped into the passenger seat, impressed and on edge by the intensity of the fan responses. I’d done some internet surfing the night before, and social media was full of posts about the show, long debates and discussion threads with passionate fans on all sides.