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“Son of a bitch!” Rowe stood and stomped into the kitchen. The sound of his plate clattering into the sink was loud.
“What’d I miss?” Hollis drawled, still half-asleep as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Lucas throwing down a gauntlet,” Ian murmured.
Rowe stormed back into the living room, his cell phone in hand, and met Ian’s eyes. “He just fucking called out Jagger! Dared the bastard to show up and kill him!” Pressing the phone to his ear, he paced into the kitchen, his cursing continuing at a fevered pitch as he demanded if Snow had been aware of Lucas’s plan and if so, why he had been left out of it.
Hollis sat up on the sofa but kept Ian pulled tight against him. “Snow has a clipped wing, right?”
Ian nodded. “I talked to Jude. He says it’s not bad, but Snow is being very careful.”
A low whistle cut through the living room from Hollis. “What a fucking pair he has.”
That definitely described Lucas. And Snow…and Rowe…
Ian muted the TV as he heard Rowe hang up from his brief call with Snow. At the same time, Noah returned, letting the dogs charge back into the house. Rowe quickly brought him up to date in a flurry of F-bombs and waving hands.
“Were they not going to invite us at all?” Noah asked, sounding genuinely hurt.
“Fuck that!” Rowe turned back to look at Ian, cell phone still tightly clutched in his fist. Green eyes narrowed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Ian nodded. “It’s time to go home.”Chapter 17Hollis did not like being in the penthouse. It was a massive reminder of how much he didn’t fit in with these people, how he didn’t truly fit into Ian’s life. The only reason he’d agreed was Ian and those big brown eyes of his. He was going to have to work on his resistance to them because…damn. He was turning into a fucking sap. He’d never been a pushover in his life and here he was agreeing to be in this crazy-expensive mini-mansion high above Cincinnati.
He sat at the dinner table and eyed Lucas, who was staring right back. He really did make Hollis think of Odin high above the world looking down on the masses. The guy was dressed in some kind of black sweater that looked sinfully soft and probably cost a small fortune. He hadn’t even left the house today, but he was outfitted like he’d attended a wine tasting or something. Personally, Hollis thought the guy was an asshole, but Ian loved him and he’d used his considerable influence to get Ian away from Jagger, so he couldn’t hate the man. Plus, Lucas was coming around where he was concerned.
Not that he might have to deal with him for long. Hollis’s superiors were pretty pissed about the White Rock thing.
He swirled his ice in his glass of bourbon. The alcohol here was primo, however. He could get spoiled enough to indulge when he got home. Or found a job—whichever came first.
“Ever thought about doing private investigative work?” Rowe asked as he set his elbows on the table and eyed Hollis. “Jude introduced me to a guy with a business and they’re growing pretty fast.”
“I haven’t said I was fired.”
“You’re fired and you know it.” Snow snorted, curling up one side of his lip. A bandage wrapped his left arm and he had on a sleeveless shirt to compensate. The surgeon’s other arm showed nice muscles—more than he’d expected from a doctor. But then, his doctor looked nothing like Ashton Frost and more like the frosty Snow Miser from that old Christmas show he watched as a kid.
He did know he was probably fired, but he wasn’t going to give these guys the satisfaction of admitting it aloud. Not yet. He’d find his own damn job. Although, being a PI had occurred to him before. It was one career he would be suited for, trained in, all that jazz.
Glancing around for Ian, he spotted him near the stairs, his phone plastered to his ear. He tuned out the guys around the table and zeroed in on his…boyfriend. He liked the sound of that.
“I’ll come in tomorrow and look over the paperwork from that new vendor as well as the resumes. Did any of the waiters look promising?” Ian smoothed a hand down his gray vest. He wore it over a blue button-down and it perfectly matched the dark jeans that had the entire fronts faded gray—like he’d bleached them in strips or something. Hollis had no idea what kind of style, what brand names he wore—all he knew was that Ian looked hot as hell and he loved the sexy fat belt settled low on his narrow hips. He knew he’d be able to feel those hipbones if he slipped his fingers over the top of those jeans, just under the shirt and vest.
