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His back was strong, with a V shape that came down to a narrow waist and a spectacularly muscular ass. Quit staring. Get a grip. Focus. He’s your boss. I heard all the warnings in my mind, I just chose to ignore them and kept staring as he walked in front of me.
I felt a surging desire building in my groin region. I was surprised. I hadn’t felt anything resembling a sexual urge in the months since Clint left me. My body was sending me a clear message. Hello? We’re still here, Chad. Stuff works in here.
After carrying both medium-sized pieces of luggage up the stairs, I rolled them to the edge of the bed, assuming he’d want to unpack them. My eyes moved around the tastefully decorated room. Masculine colors in muted beige tones with a burgundy accent wall and modern art on the walls were perfect for a beach house.
The master suite was large, with a sitting area near French doors that led to the upper deck. A fireplace was on one wall. White brick and a white marble mantle stood out from the darker accent wall behind it. An abstract painting that resembled ocean waves hung above the fireplace.
I was drawn to a table on the opposite wall. The wooden sofa table had pictures of people, perfectly displayed in matching wall-colored frames. I stepped toward the table, my eyes drawn to an image of two men, arm in arm. They seemed happy, both smiling, one with his mouth open as if he’d been caught mid-laugh.
I picked the picture up and stared at them. One of the men was Mr. Hicks. The other was familiar. I knew this handsome man next to Mr. Hicks. I’d seen him in pictures somewhere else. How did I know him?
I turned when I heard someone step into the bedroom, catching me with the picture in hand. I had watery eyes after realizing who was staring back at me in the picture.
“Are you okay, Chad?” Mr. Hicks asked.
“You know this man?” I whispered, tapping the glass that was protecting the image before turning back to him.
Tears fell from my eyes, landing on the white-washed oak floors, forming tiny pools of memories of a special person from my past. A man I’d never met. A man I’d been thinking about lately, wishing we were still connected because I could use his guidance again.
“His name was Jack. He was my best friend.”
CHAPTER SIX: Cole
I grabbed the picture from my new employee and sat it back down on the table. He was visibly moved by the image, but I was never in the mood to reminisce about Jack, so I turned my back to him to hide my pain, hoping he would exit the room. I lifted my luggage onto the bed and began unpacking the small amount of clothes I’d traveled with. The majority of my clothes were already put away by Marla’s team.
Marla was the only friend who had remained by my side after Alan left me. She couldn’t forgive him for cheating, despite the fact Alan was the life of every party and everyone absolutely loved his personality. I’d depended on his likable disposition because, for some reason, I always felt like the stick-in-the-mud in that relationship.
Marla had a wildly successful interior design company and had insisted on handling my move and decorating my new home. She wasn’t happy about me relocating, despite me saying I needed a fresh start.
“You can move to Mars, Cole, but you’re still going to be miserable until you speak to someone about the hurt,” she’d advised.
Maybe she was right, but I couldn’t handle the loneliness I’d felt in a city that was so big that it would seem a person couldn’t possibly feel alone there. I’d miss her, my last close friend, but I stuck to my guns and here I was in my new home in Virginia Beach, about three hundred or so miles south of The Big Apple. I’d gone from a population of nine million in New York City to a city of less than half a million. Perhaps Marla was correct about me moving. I still felt lonely.
I kept my back to Chad while responding, not wanting him to see the pain in my eyes. “Yes, I knew him. Like I said, he was my best friend,” I stated. “But he’s been dead for more than two years, and I still I don’t like to speak about him.”
“He wishes you would,” he said from behind me.
I dropped the pile of jeans back into the luggage and turned to face him, my arms crossed. “What did you just say?”
“Jack likes being remembered,” he said, acting like we were discussing a buddy we both knew. “I’m sure he wishes you would talk about him again.”
“And who the fuck are you?” I asked, boiling blood rushing to my face. “What would you know about Jack?”
“We communicate.”
“You what?” I asked, thinking I must have misunderstood the musings of an idiot. “You knew Jack?”
“Not personally, but I know of him through Perry Jackson.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at him like I’d just realized he was an alien being. “You know Perry, but you never met Jack, yet you communicate with him? And you think all that sounds normal?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t sound normal,” he admitted. “But Jack isn’t normal.”
“And exactly who are you to make that statement?” I asked. “You know he’s dead, right?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” he stuttered, most likely realizing his attempt at first impressions with his new employer was suffering mightily. “Dead here,” he added. “Maybe not dead, well, you know, in the other place he might be.”
“The other place he might be?” I half choked out, wondering why I’d hired someone without checking references. “Forgive me if I disagree with you, young man. There is no other place.”
