Besides, men didn’t stay. Overnight, maybe, but not long-term. Her dad hadn’t stayed when her mom fell pregnant. Uncle Archie hadn’t stayed when Grandma got sick. Those men had had more obligation to Cami than Des ever would, and it hadn’t been enough to warrant a little loyalty. The problem was either with men in general or with Cami. Either way, she was the one getting shafted.
Archie had played the doting uncle, the devoted son caring for his ailing mother, right up until he drained Grandma’s bank accounts, disconnected his phone, and disappeared off the face of the planet. At least Des had never lied to her. He may not have stuck around to bask in the afterglow, but he’d never promised he would. He’d been honest. What more could she ask for?
At the counter, Tristan was ringing up Audrey Hepburn, a curious little smile on his face as she leaned over the counter and whispered to him, like they were alone in the world. She laughed, throaty and warm. Tristan’s eyes twinkled with delight. The woman straightened the corner of his collar, her fingers resting on his chest for a moment. Then she swept out of the store, her discreet paper bag swinging from her dainty fingertips. When the bell on the door dinged her departure, he slumped against the wall, exhaling a besotted sigh.
“What a woman,” he exclaimed. Cami thought of the comment he’d made about finding his own wealthy customer to flirt with, and wondered if this was heading in a similar direction to her and Des.
At least, she wouldn’t be the only one punching above her weight.
When Desfinally dragged himself out of his fitful sleep that morning, it was well past his normal start time. He was an early riser, typically in the office before 8:30 plugging away at the administrative side of his job, but after he’d slunk home in the early hours, it had taken him ages to fall asleep. First, it had been because his body smelled of Cami, then after he’d showered, he’d been plagued by thoughts of what a giant asshole he was. When he’d fallen asleep, his alarm had gone off twenty minutes later, and he’d bashed it into quiet submission before rolling over and going back to sleep. That was one thing he’d never miss about being a doctor—having to stick to a strict schedule.
He made it into the Calogistics office around eleven, and was shocked to find Gabriel present. He was in his office, feet propped up on his shiny desk, eyeing the computer screen while he tossed a stress ball into the air and caught it. He glanced over as Des passed the doorway. Des gave him a quick wave with plans to head for his office, until he took a stress ball to the shoulder blade.
“Don’t throw shit in the office!” he scolded, scooping up the ball and winging it at Gabriel’s head.
Gabriel ducked and it bounced off the wall behind him, then ricocheted to knock over his trash can.
“Well, well, well!” Gabriel said as though Des hadn’t spoken. “Look who finally dragged his ass into work.”
He scoffed. “You’re one to talk. I didn’t think you knew we even had an office.”
“Of course I knew. It’s where I bring ladies when I’m trying to impress them.” Gabriel rocked out of his chair and stepped around his desk, intent on following Des into his office.
Des kept walking, planning to make himself busy and useful. Maybe then he’d be able to stop stressing about Cami and imagining the expression on her face when she woke up alone.
“That’s sad and confusing.” He ducked through the door to his office and dumped his satchel full of files onto one of the cushy chairs they reserved for clients. “So who are you trying to impress today, then? Or were you just coming in to work on your pitching arm?”
“I figured I should make an appearance so the landlord knows I’m still alive. I was working on the LA Times crossword. What’s a three-letter word that means ‘mid-body joint,’ Doc?”
“Hip? It’s three letters, Gabriel. How can you not figure that one out?”
“I’m not a cerebral man, my friend.” Gabriel flopped into the client chair not occupied by Des’s bag, and kicked his feet up onto Des’s desk. Des shoved them off.
Gabriel looked as put-together as ever, his hair slicked stylishly without looking greasy, his suit tailored and the color of pencil lead. Des dressed and styled himself and normally could hold up against Gabriel any day of the week, but today, he felt like smashed shit. He couldn’t help but wonder if he looked like it, too. Was it possible for his mood to cause his clothes to rumple?
“What’s with the late entry? You have a meeting this morning?” Though Gabriel’s tone was mildly curious, it didn’t conceal his hope that this morning had held a meeting with Lenny. As if Des wouldn’t have phoned him the moment he had a signed agreement, or even a nod and a handshake. The creamer from his hastily drunk coffee curdled in his stomach at the thought.
“No. Just slept in, that’s all.” He aimed for neutral, boring even, but his performance must not have been convincing because Gabriel’s eyes narrowed on him.
“Uh huh. What’s the problem?”
Des sighed, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m an idiot,” he groaned.
“Oh.” A pause. “Do you have a new problem, or..?”
Des flipped him off.
“Ohhh,” Gabriel said, and when Des squinted at him, he wore the look of a man who’d come to a realization. “You’re having girl problems.” At Des’s response—or lack thereof—he put his feet on the floor and propped his elbows on his knees. “What’s up? You’re not banging Seaver, are you?”
“What the hell,” Des blurted. “She’s like eighty.”
“Hey, I don’t judge.” Gabriel leaned back to spread his palms in acceptance.
“It’s not Lenny.” Des’s exasperation leaked through his voice, and he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Maybe he should have stayed home today. “It’s one of her employees.”
“Oof.”
He was expecting something else, a piece of advice or a comment about propriety. When none came, he glanced at Gabriel who watched Des expectantly.
