He immediately regretted the words. Why would Grayson bother to help him—
But Grayson was already leaning in. “Eyes on me, then. Come on. Deep breath.”
Being face-to-face with the Dead Man should have sent Reece spiraling deeper. But Grayson had pitched his voice low enough to soften the lack of emotions, and this close, there were other things to notice besides the blankness of his face. Like the scent of some stereotypically masculine cologne or aftershave, because of course that was what Grayson wore, or the way he was big enough to block out everything else.
“Breathe for me, Reece.”
Grayson was close enough Reece could feel his body heat, not actually dead at all but as warm and alive as any other person. Close enough Reece could have touched him—if he was even more nuts than he already was.
“That’s right. Keep breathing.” As if reading his mind, Grayson reached out—but just to tap Reece’s hand over the glove. “You staying with me, Care Bear?”
Reece sort of was. His chest still hurt, but the pain echoes were fading and Grayson was becoming more solid. Even the ridiculous nickname helped. He wiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his glove. “Is all of Stone Solutions’ security watching me have a panic attack?”
Grayson pulled back. “There are no cameras in here and it’s soundproofed.”
“Oh, good.” Reece scrubbed the glove over his hot face. “I was wondering where we were going to have angry hate-sex.”
Oh no, his stupid fuckingmouth—
“What kind of man do you take me for,” Grayson said, deadpan. “We only just met. I save hate-sex for second dates.”
That startled a laugh out of Reece, maybe lowered his blood pressure a point or two. He leaned heavily against the bookshelf. “You’re taking this well. Me falling to pieces over a box of books, I mean.”
“You being your empath self is not gonna rattle me. Not ever.”
Was that really true? Could Reece tell him about hearing lies, about his nightmares, and Grayson would know what to do?
Reece let his head rest against the shelf. He took a slow breath, held it, then blew it out even slower. His heart rate was still too high, his skin clammy, and the books still lurking on the edge of his thoughts. Maybe he couldn’t hear emotions in Grayson’s voice, but the sound of that deep, rumbling drawl wasn’t all bad. “You don’t make me feelworse,” he admitted. “And the accent’s good.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”
That got another surprised smile from Reece. He drew his knees to his chest. “You talk. About something distracting. Tell me what’s wrong with Whitman.”
It was a long shot, expecting the Dead Man to talk to him, but to Reece’s surprise, Grayson obliged. “Dr. Whitman had put on fresh perfume,” he said, moving to mirror Reece’s position, his own back against the bookshelves, side by side with only about a foot between them. “I don’t think she was going for a good impression, I think she was trying to hide her own sweat, ’cause I could smell that too. Office services should’ve been handling her move, but it seems like Dr. Whitman was doing her own physical labor, and my money’s on scrambling to move books an empath has no business seeing.”
He looked sideways at Reece, and together on the floor, their faces were much closer to level. “’Course, even if she should have been expecting a visit from me today, she shouldn’t have known you were coming too. It’s interesting.”
“Very interesting,” Reece said slowly, “but I was talking about her weird blank face.”
“Oh.” Grayson shrugged. “That’s training.”
“Training?”
“Meditation techniques, method acting, that sort of thing. It’s mandatory for all high-level Stone Solutions employees.”
“To hide their true emotions from empaths,” Reece said, in realization. “It’s another anti-empathy defense.” He frowned. “I don’t like it.”
“Not so fun when the books close their covers?”
Reece wasn’t going to answer that. “What’s your problem, then? Are you the product of some kind of extra-extreme training?”
“Does it seem like it?”
Reece sighed. He was still closed into the office, but with only Grayson now, and the stifling sensation from earlier had vanished with Whitman. “No,” he admitted grudgingly. “You’re nothing like Whitman. If anything, you remind me of Jamey, except—” He clamped his teeth down on his tongue.
“Except what?”
Except Jamey has a heart, he’d been going to say. But he didn’t. “Nothing,” he said instead, firmly. Maybe he couldn’t read any feelings from Grayson, but that didn’t give him the right to throw it in his face as if Grayson didn’t have them at all. “How did you know to ask Whitman about Stone and Hathaway going out together last night?”
