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He looked up and froze.
There was nothing quite like having the worst moment of one’s life immortalised into the most popular, most listened to, most played song of the last decade and a half.
And there was nothing quite like seeing the man whose heart Elliot had broken listening to it being played, leaning against a doorframe, smiling like the lyrics meant nothing.
Bumblebee
Bumblebee
Bumblebee breakup
W. McAllister, “Bumblebee Breakup”
Elliot’s grip slackened on Honey’s lead and he dropped it.
The music was too loud. Or maybe Honey had sensed the way Elliot had tensed and it frightened him. Either way, Mary’s puppy was on the loose, racing past Wentworth.
There was no time to fret about it.
Elliot charged after him.
“Was that a puppy?” Louisa squealed excitedly from inside the same office.
Oh God, Wentworth would turn. He was already rocking on his heels, pivoting—
Elliot raced past him just in time—from this angle, he could be anyone. His hair had definitely darkened over the years.
Wentworth called out behind him. “You need help there, pal?”
That voice . . . deeper now, but he hadn’t completely lost that Scottish accent.
The sound of it washed Elliot with goosebumps.
“I’m fine.” He roughened his voice, a couple of shades lower than what felt natural.
He moved faster, around the corner of the balcony, turning his head to obscure his face. Honey’s lead dragged across the carpet into Brandon’s office. Shit. He wasn’t sure pets were allowed at work. He’d planned on keeping the whole thing on the downlow. A one-day-only thing with Honey on a cushion at his desk.
He hadn’t planned on playing chase through the studios. Certainly not in the boss’s office.
He lunged into the room after Honey, relieved to discover it empty. Honey jumped on the large mahogany desk, tail thumping on what Elliot hoped weren’t important documents.
He tutted gently and scooped him into his arms. “Naughty, Honey. You’ve got to stick with me.”
“Fairly sure I saw someone chase it into that office over there. Shall we see if they have the furry wee beast under control?”
Wentworth’s jolly voice sucked every reasonable response out of Elliot. Instead of exiting the office and confronting him—instead of having that moment of awkward recognition over with—he ducked behind the desk.
He shuffled under it. He and Honey should be concealed.
Kneeling under a desk, head bent at an unnatural angle, half-smothering a puppy . . . Definitely a low point in Elliot’s life.
Honey wriggled and cocked his head at him, ears flopping, and Elliot lifted a finger to his lips, praying desperately he’d understand.
Footsteps came into the room and stopped. “I could’ve sworn I saw someone dive in here.”
“Maybe it was the one next to this?” Louisa said.
“No. It was definitely this one. Wait, did you hear that?”
Elliot stilled.
“I can barely hear anything over the sound of my own heart!” Louisa chuckled, and Wentworth snorted with her.
“You’re not bashful, are you?”
“Should I be?”
“Most are.”
“I’m not most women.”
“I admire your pluck.”
“I’m yours for the plucking.”
“Is that right?”
He recalled Wentworth’s sexy, amused grin, the spark in his eye before he’d tackle Elliot to the bed, the piano stool . . . God, don’t.
“Anytime, anywhere,” she said sultrily.
Elliot bowed his head against Honey. He would literally die if his ex and his friend got raunchy on the desk above him. Hiding like this had been a terrible, terrible idea.
“Are you already panting, Mr McAllister?”
“No. I don’t tend to get so carried away. At work.”
“Well it isn’t me,” Louisa said.
No, it wasn’t. It was Honey.
Oh crap. It was Honey.
“So if neither of us are panting . . .” Wentworth said.
“Yet,” Louisa added teasingly.
“Then it follows” —footsteps churred over carpet, making a slow, inevitable course toward them— “something small and cute must be hiding behind the desk.”
He wasn’t even behind it. He was under it.
Elliot’s heart pounded and Honey must have felt it because he squirmed and yipped and Elliot wished he’d curled the lead around his wrist because once again the puppy was scampering away.
Elliot lunged for the leather cuff of the lead and just caught it under his palm.
On hands and knees, back half under the desk, he stopped before a pair of rugged and stylish brown boots with loose dark jeans tucked over at the ends. Honey jumped up on those calves yipping with glee, like he too was a big fan, and would Wentworth just reach out and put his gorgeous musical hands all over his body . . .
Mortified heat threatened to engulf him, and Elliot forced it to the base of his throat, where the collar of his Oxford might mask it.
There he was.
Wentworth.
As best he could, Elliot feigned nonchalance. Like the sight of him in the flesh, so perfectly sculpted, and even more stunning with age, didn’t affect him.
Wentworth was grinning at the puppy, indulging him with those large hands, the veins at the backs of them more pronounced now. More experienced.
