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“No, I’ve heard enough.”
***
Darius stared at the door for several moments after Marc walked out on him. This was exactly why he’d spent years fucking strangers and never looking back. He’d let himself care for Marc, and now all Darius wanted to do was curl up on the floor of their room and never move again.
No. Fuck that. He was going to sell the shop, go to some tropical island, and stay drunk for at least a month. Fuck if he would lie around pining for Marc. He never wanted to think about him again.
Go after him.
No.
He obviously didn’t understand what you were asking.
He didn’t give me a chance to explain.
Maybe you should’ve said what you wanted first.
His phone rang.
“Don’t bother—” As the words came out he realized it wasn’t Marc’s ring. “Um…hello?”
“Obviously I’m not who you were expecting.”
It was Gary. “Sorry. It’s been quite a day.”
“Damn, I’m not sure this news will help.”
Just what he needed. More shit to pile on what he’d thought would be a fucking great weekend.
“Mr. Marsden just contacted me. I have the name of the person who wants to buy you out.”
“And?”
“It’s Oscar Denton.”
Darius felt the words like a punch to the stomach. “What? Where the hell did he get that kind of money?”
“Apparently from his current lover, who has very deep pockets.”
“Fuck me.” Curling up in a ball and never moving now seemed his only choice.
“You were thinking about taking the offer?”
“I’ve had a recent change of mind.”
“Hmm. That sounds…ominous.”
Darius didn’t have the energy to cover up the bitterness in his voice.
“I take it you want to refuse now once and for all.”
He did, didn’t he?
Yes, you do! Don’t even think about taking that bastard’s money.
Right. Oscar wasn’t going to touch any of his hard work.
“Fuck, yes, I’m refusing the offer.”
“If you’d said otherwise, I wouldn’t have listened to you.”
The words actually made Darius smile. “Thank you.”
“Look, if you want to talk about other options for your shop, let me know.”
What the fuck was he going to do about the shop? Fire Marc and keep doing what he always did? That sounded as appealing as jabbing his eyes out. “I’ll get back to you.”
“Are you all right?”
“About Oscar? Yeah, I’ll get over it.”
“Something was bothering you when you answered.”
“It’s nothing you can help with.”
“I can listen.”
“For two hundred an hour?” Fuck, what was he doing? “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that. I’m being a right tosser.”
“I’ll forgive you this once, because I seriously enjoy working with you. I’ll even leave the offer to talk open.”
Damn. He’d promised Clarice he’d try to make some friends. “Maybe we could… I don’t know… Get a drink sometime.”
“You any good at trivia? I go to a pub with a few guys every Wednesday. We could use another teammate.”
It wasn’t like he’d have anything better to do. “I might be tempted.”
“I’ll call you next week, then. Enjoy your trip.”
He had been enjoying it, and then it had all gone to shit.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there feeling hollow when his phone rang again. This time it was Clarice.
“Don’t mention Marc to me.”
“What a way to answer the phone. I was planning to leave a message. I thought you’d still be at the reception.”
“No, it didn’t last long. The grooms needed to go fuck.”
“Darius Connelly. You watch your mouth.”
He sighed. “Sorry. I’m in a shi— I mean, a gosh darn crappy mood.”
She huffed. “What have you done now?”
“Me? I’ve not done anything. I never wanted a relationship because it would hurt too much when it ended. Turns out, what’s worse is when someone says they love you and then walks out.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Like I just said, he walked out.”
“And why would he do that?”
“Because—”
The memory hit him so hard he sat down, nearly missing the edge of the couch. One of Marc’s exes had convinced him to move. All the way to California. Thorne had mentioned it. That was how he’d met Riley. Darius had played right into Marc’s number one fear: that he’d repeat his pattern of falling for men who thought only of themselves. “Oh, fuck.”
“Now you listen to me.”
“I… I’ve got to go. I think I can fix this.”
“With Marc?” Clarice asked.
“Yes.”
“Do it.”
As soon as he ended the call, he texted Marc. Can we talk?
No response.
He paced the room, waiting. That lasted about ten seconds. He got dressed, grabbed the sketchbook where he’d drawn his vision for their larger shop, and left the room. Somehow or other he was going to find Marc and set things straight. Marc didn’t know his way around; maybe he’d asked at the concierge, or perhaps they’d called a cab for him. Lauren and Susan had mentioned going to the hotel bar; maybe they’d seen him.
Marc still hadn’t responded when he reached the concierge desk.
“How may I help you, sir?”
