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“They ought to know better. Nothing is ever free. Maybe Home can lure them back, although if I were the town manager, I’d refuse to take them. Disloyalty must be punished.” He swept Casey with the same proprietary gaze he used on his Lexus. “Something you’ll have to learn.”
“But then the vendors lose sales, and Home is out a revenue stream. That doesn’t benefit anyone.”
“On the contrary. It benefits me.” Another up and down sweep of his cold blue eyes. “And once I’ve schooled you, you’ll be begging me to close the deal. Among other things.” He ran a finger back and forth along his leather belt. “It’s time, Casey. Time to face reality. Compared to what I can offer, there’s nothing for you here.” He tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. “And if you don’t fall in line, I’ll make sure there’s nothing here for anybody else either.”
Casey swallowed thickly. “Fuck you, Bradley.” He brushed past Bradley and flung open the door. “There’s everything for me here, and I refuse to let you destroy it.”
Bradley laughed. “That’s so… precious.” Ugh, he sounds worse than Gollum. “You actually believe you can stop me. You’re even more naive than I thought.”
“Maybe I am. But you’ve forgotten one important thing.”
“Is that so? What might that be?”
Casey forced a smile. “I’m not alone.”
Dev checked his phone for the tenth time since he’d awoken to an empty bed. Casey’s text—especially the promise that he’d see Dev later and the heart emoji—had eased Dev’s disappointment a little. Still, he had to admit this morning was the first time he’d woken refreshed since the accident.
Therapeutic cuddling for the win.
When he’d gotten to his office, though, his mood had crashed and burned spectacularly. Every single vendor had canceled except Curiosity, Home’s own antique store, but they were never charged registration or commission fees anyway because they were part of the town. Now Dev would be put in the position of telling Fabiola that one of her regular income streams had completely dried up. That would definitely be a hardship for her. Would it be bad enough for the business to fold? For yet another longtime resident of Home to move away because what was once a haven was now a financial sinkhole?
The longer Dev looked at the numbers, the lower his heart sank. He’d have no choice but to sell to that Pillsbury prick unless he could pull a rabbit out of his ass in the next six weeks to cover the negative cash flow.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping his head into his hands. “Maybe I’ll set the Port-a-Potties in the front yard and call it an art installation.”
“Let’s not go quite that far.”
At the sound of that voice, its tone fond, Dev shot upright, a smile cracking his face. “Casey.”
Casey walked around the desk and stood behind Dev’s chair, wrapped his arms around Dev’s neck, and planted a kiss under Dev’s ear. “Hello, there.”
“Mmmm,” Dev hummed. “I missed you this morning.”
Casey let go and spun the chair. He cradled Dev’s face between his hands. “You saw my text, didn’t you? You didn’t think I’d just run out on you?”
“Yes, I saw it. I wouldn’t have thought the worst of you, but I appreciate that you took the time to let me know why you’d gone.” He drew Casey down into his lap, sighing contentedly when Casey nestled closer, tucking his head under Dev’s chin. More therapeutic cuddling. I could get used to this.
Dev reached toward the monitor. He didn’t want the bad news staring him in the face, not with Casey in his arms. But Casey caught his wrist gently.
“You were stressing about finances again, weren’t you?”
“How could you tell?”
“For one thing, when I walked in, you were muttering about Port-a-Potties. For another, your monitor is littered with cancellation emails.”
Dev rested his cheek against Casey’s soft curls. “It’s done, Casey. Our major town fundraiser is dead in the water.”
“I’m so sorry, Dev.” He pulled back. “This is all my fault.”
Dev drew him back against his chest again. “Since you’ve only been here since the end of May and Home’s finances have been teetering on the brink ever since I got back to town, this isn’t on you. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me, for not staying more engaged with things. I was so caught up with the band, with music, that I left everything to Garlan and Grandfather. If I’d come back to Home more regularly, responded to their invitations more often, maybe I wouldn’t be so fucking clueless.”
Casey planted his palms against Dev’s chest and pushed far enough away to glare. “Stop that. Stop that right this instant. You aren’t the only Harrison in Home.” When Dev opened his mouth to protest, Casey held up an admonitory finger. “Ah! Nope. I don’t want to hear about how Ty isn’t in the line of succession, or whatever stupidly archaic patriarchal tradition you’ve got bouncing around in your head. Saving Home is not solely your responsibility.” He sighed and laid his head on Dev’s shoulder. “However, the issue with the antique fair is really and truly my fault.”
“How do you figure?”
“Bradley,” Casey said darkly. “He’s a controlling, manipulative, vindictive shithead. He’s the one who arranged the rival fair at the resort expressly to get me to toe the line and come back to Manhattan and marry him.” Casey shuddered. “Ugh. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a BDSM dungeon in his penthouse, and that is not my scene.” His brow wrinkled in thought. “If it’s on the top floor of a thirty-seven-story building, would it qualify as a dungeon?”
Heat pulsed behind Dev’s eyes. “Did he threaten you?”
