Page 37 of Business vs. Pleasure

It struck August like a sudden blow to the head that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to take off his own shoes. It was a stupid little thing, the sort of tiny physical chore that wouldn’t even register for most people, but Ricardo helped him do it every night. And it wasn’t even because it was a prelude to sex—nothing about August’s stupid broken feet were attractive, especially after being on them all day. It was just something Ricardo did now. A task he’d taken on, without asking, and made his own.

Did August do something like that for him? He couldn’t recall anything.

“Shit, I think you’re winning,” he murmured.

“Winning at what?”

“Husbanding. Being…husbandy. This.” He gestured at Ricardo. “And that pisses me off,” he added. “Because I want to win.”

“Marriage isn’t a competition, August.”

Feet freed, August flopped back flat on the bed. “Yes it is,” he insisted. “And I want to win at it.”

Ricardo toed off his own shoes, then headed for the shower. “Winners brush their teeth before bed.”

“Losers don’t use bedroom knives on their willing husbands!”

“I guess we both lose then.”

Mkay, he’d walked right into that one. August made a pathetic noise and thrust his arms in Ricardo’s general direction. “Carry me?”

“No.”

Ugh, fine.

CHAPTER 11

Staying with Elodie and Paschal was making Ricardo regret wanting to get back into the assassin game. This quiet time with family—well, as quiet as anything could be with August involved—had been a reminder of why they’d retired. Living on a knife’s edge and facing death every time they took a job—that took its toll. It was stressful. Ricardo wasn’t even sure he could cope with the idea of August doing a solo job. Sure, August could absolutely hold his own, and he had for years before they’d teamed up, but Ricardo would be a mess of anxiety and fear until August was home safe.

Now they had two disastrous jobs under their belts and some asshole was doing his level best to hurt their ratings and reputations.

For fuck’s sake. He should’ve just stayed retired. He should’ve never logged back into the app at all. Never been tempted by another job. Never noticed their ratings going haywire. Just continued with the quietest, most peaceful existence possible with August.

Sitting at a table beside Elodie’s enormous pool, cradling a cup of strong coffee while the sun rose, Ricardo swore into the peaceful morning. He should’ve left well enough alone.

But he hadn’t. And now they were here. Not returning to their quiet life, but waiting for Heidi to make contact so they could figure out who was trying to make a fool of them. And maybe take another job to salvage their hemorrhaging reputations.

He exhaled and sipped his coffee.

Footsteps on the flagstones behind him made the hair on his neck prickle, and he held his breath and listened. It was a response ingrained in him during his time in spec ops; he didn’t actually think the new arrival was a threat—not with Elodie’s security rivaling August’s—but it was instinctive now to zero in and analyze the person. By the time they were close enough to almost enter his peripheral vision, he already recognized the gait.

“Morning, Paschal,” he said without turning around.

The steps faltered for half a beat, then resumed. Elodie’s husband appeared, exhaustion radiating off him like the steam coming from the mug in his hand. “It will never stop creeping me out that you can do that.” He gestured at one of the empty chairs. “Mind if I sit?”

Ricardo mirrored the gesture; an unspoken, go ahead.

Paschal eased himself down, wincing with the movement. His back, Ricardo guessed. Maybe his knee.

“Long shift?” he asked.

His brother-in-law laughed dryly. “There’s no other kind in my line of work.”

Ricardo huffed a quiet chuckle. “I can relate.”

Paschal was usually quick to put people in their place if they tried to relate to the mental and physical toll of his job. He was proud to the point of arrogant, and he didn’t appreciate those attempts to relate.

“I’m sure they know exactly what it’s like,” he’d muttered after a few too many drinks at a party one night. “A long shift at a hardware store absolutely compares to spending eighteen hours trying to put human bodies back together when they’re desperately trying to catastrophically disassemble.”