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Ishould have left my phone off. I should have called out sick tonight and convinced Olivier to propose to Elodie another day. I should have gotten my own place when I moved to New York. I should have gone to community college and become a cop like my dad. I should have never listened to my mother when I was eight and she told me, “You’re so handsome, Andrew. You should be in pictures.”
I should have known better.
I am not where I want to be right now. I want to be wrestling The Heir’s tongue into submission. I want to be coming on Egyptian cotton. I want to take a shower and wash myself in French soaps. I do not want to be sitting on this beat-up sleeper sofa trying to talk Silas out of making the biggest mistake of his life.
“You met him when?”
Silas looks exhausted, dark circles under his already deep-set eyes. He worked all night, too, and from what he’s just told me and Chris, he hasn’t been getting much sleep in his downtime either.
“New Year’s.”
“So…you’ve known him six weeks, and you’re moving in?”
“I’m not a fucking kid, Drew. I know what I’m doing. Besides, we can’t afford this place, the three of us. Not if we expect to be able to eat, too.”
“So, he’s just letting you move in, no rent, no strings.”
“He’s got money.”
I drop my head in frustration and helplessness. “What does he do?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Why don’t you want to tell us?” Chris asks.
Silas looks cagey. Something is not right here. I knew it the second I walked in. He’s overwrought and agitated, and I don’t think the whole reason is because he’s stiffing me and Chris with the apartment. “He’s just—he asked me not to, okay?”
“Do you know what he does?” I ask.
“Of course I do,” he snaps at me.
“Then tell us, Silas. Stop fucking around,” Chris says, just as snarky and annoyed as I am.
“He’s a politician.”
Christian’s eyes narrow. “From here?”
Silas gives a quick nod. Chris is opening his phone immediately, but I don’t have time to play guess who. New York has hundreds of politicians. “Who is it?”
“Graham Lawther,” Silas quietly replies.
Chris nearly drops his phone. “The Republican?”
Silas shoots him a dark glare.
To me Chris says, “He’s the fucking Republican asshole who got elected to the US Senate last year. He’s anti-vax, anti-trans, anti-immigrant?—”
“He’s not like that,” Silas says.
“He’s fucking married, Sy.” Chris cuts in.
I hiss in my next breath and sit back. “What the fuck are you doing, dude?”
Silas’s dark gaze meets mine. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Did he promise you something?” I ask. “Are you gonna be a kept man? His side piece? You quitting your job, too?”
“No, I’m not fucking stupid. I’m not quitting my job. I’ll save my money for a while, and if it doesn’t work out?—”
