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Grant slammed his office door shut and stared at the text from Dare for what was probably the thousandth time that week. It didn’t tell him anything much. Very notably, there was no thank you for the evening they’d spent together. The evening when Grant had given him something he never thought he’d ever be ready to give. He could still feel a slight twinge in his arse days later, which just went to show the man was a liar. He’d promised it wouldn’t be a problem, and it was bloody well distracting Grant from his work.
Where the hell was Dare, and why wasn’t he answering his phone? Grant wanted to see him. And not just for sex either. Sure, that itch was there, waiting to be scratched, but he wanted to share more than an orgasm. He wanted to share that kind of closeness that he’d had with Harriet, years ago.
They’d had hints of it too. Okay, so Dare was never going to act like Harriet did, all solicitous and mothering, but Dare knew how to chivvy or argue Grant out of a bad mood. They’d also had some moments that spoke of a potential for something deeper, and not just Grant trusting Dare either. What about Grant shaving his head? You didn’t let a man near your skull with a razor if there wasn’t any trust there, that was for sure.
Well, Grant wouldn’t, anyway. He supposed Dare might look on it differently, seeing as how he’d let various people stick inky needles into his skin. Perhaps he was just reckless.
What Grant really needed was to find someone who could give him the low-down on Dare, but without them sharing any mutual friends, that was near impossible.
Unless you counted Mas...
Could he do it? The last time he’d seen Mas, he’d not only been drunk and said some stupid things, but he’d also challenged his skinny boyfriend to a fight. And since they hadn’t seen each other since then—almost a year, by Grant’s reckoning—his welcome was likely to be frosty at best.
Grant would need to do some crawling. And a makeup gift wouldn’t go amiss either. He fired up his laptop and got surfing.
Half an hour later, having secured the perfect gift, Grant was getting up to leave his office when Cecil strode in.
“I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” Cecil began, without preamble. “How are things progressing with the Hotwells scrap yard?”
Uh oh.
“I’ve visited Mr. Nelson a couple more times in the last few weeks,” Grant began, wondering how much he could safely reveal.
“Good, good. And is he budging?”
“Not yet, but perhaps he might be tempted. He’s going through some family issues at the moment, so that might help him make his mind up.”
“Excellent. And what about the angles you were looking at regarding giving him a nudge?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Grant. How’s the investigation into his living quarters going? I haven’t seen any invoices for a private investigator go through yet.”
“Uh, no. Sorry, I paid a cash deposit up front. The balance will be due when he finds something, and I’ll get a full invoice then.”
“Make sure you do. And you’ve heard nothing back yet?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping for a report in the next few days.”
Cecil harrumphed. “Yes, well, see to it that you get one in writing. I want something we can use on my desk, first thing on Monday.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grant breathed deeply when Cecil left the office, trying to calm his racing heart. He’d just lied to his boss. And not just a little white lie, but a whopper if you counted everything he’d omitted to say.
He was going to need to hire a private investigator straight away.
He had to hire someone to spy on Dare.
Dare was going to kill him if he found out. He’d have to tell even more lies.
Grant sank back into his chair and ground his fists into his eyes. This week really wasn’t going well so far.
Half an hour later, Grant had made an appointment to visit one Gareth Peters, a private investigator who came highly recommended, but who wasn’t on Cecil’s approved list. Well, screw Cecil. He didn’t want to hire one of the man’s cronies who might report back to Cecil informally on the golf course or wherever it was Cecil did most of his networking. No, Grant needed to be able to filter his findings before passing them up to the boss.
He had two hours till his appointment. Time enough to drive down to Stokes Croft and do some grovelling.
Twenty minutes later, Grant stood outside Cabbages and Kinks—stupid name, if ever he’d heard one—and stared through the plate glass. He wasn’t going to go in if Mas’s ginger boyfriend was there. It would be bad enough dealing with Mas himself. He really didn’t want to have to face the man who’d humiliated him by throwing a glass of wine in his face.
Fortunately, the only person he could spot inside had a mop of loose, dark curls.
Mas.
Grant girded his loins and pushed open the door. Mas stood behind the counter, absorbed in a magazine, and Grant had a moment to study him unobserved. He looked smaller than Grant remembered, although perhaps his memory was playing tricks on him. However, he couldn’t help comparing Mas’s slight frame to Dare’s and finding it wanting. His clothing had definitely improved, though. Gone were the skintight club-rat threads, and in their place was a dapper, if somewhat old-fashioned, chocolate-brown suit.
“Morning, sir,” Mas piped up, then lifted his eyes from the magazine he was perusing and gasped. “You.”
“Me,” Grant agreed.
Mas’s eyes turned flinty. “To what do I owe the extreme displeasure?”
Ouch. “The flowers haven’t arrived yet, then?” Grant had ordered the largest, most stylish bouquet he could find from a trendy, independent florist. He’d even dictated a personal note for Mas.
Mas’s gaze flicked behind Grant, and he turned to see the bouquet proudly displayed on an antique dressing table. “I should have known they was from you. That cryptic note is just your style. Well, luckily Perry hasn’t seen them yet, so I can throw them out with all the other rubbish later on.”
“Keep them,” Grant implored. “They look just right on display in here.” The stems of contorted hazel and giant calla lilies were architectural enough to hold their own against the racks of vintage clothing and the strange clockwork geckos climbing the wall above.
Mas sniffed. “I don’t see any reason why I should keep a gift from you, considering the way you acted the last time I saw you. You do realise you almost spoilt the entire party?”
“About that...” Grant searched Mas’s face for any sign of sympathy, but couldn’t see a scrap there. And yet he knew there was a soft heart lurking under the guarded veneer. He’d just have to take his chances, and if he got thrown out again, then maybe he deserved it after all. “Look, Mas, I’m sorry. I’d been drinking, and I shouldn’t have come anywhere near your party. I just wasn’t thinking straight.”
Mas’s arms were still folded tight, his lips clenched. “And what about the rest of it?”
“The rest of what?”
“Your apology. If you think that’s enough, you’re more of a twat than I thought. Although calling you a twat is probably an insult to women, and I reckon you’ve insulted them enough what with your cheating on your wife and all. You’re more of a rat. Or a toad. Something slimy and unpleasant.”
Grant fought down his temper and put it on a lead. Mas had every right to feel hurt, he supposed. He could apologise more, but where to begin?
“Okay, then, I’m sorry I didn’t leave Harriet sooner. It wasn’t right for me to expect you to be there at my beck and call. And it wasn’t right for me to lie. But I’ve confessed everything now, and we’re getting divorced, so at least that should be some kind of reparation.”
Mas cocked his head to one side, and his mouth seemed to soften slightly. Not a smile yet, but perhaps approaching one. “Go on.”
There was more? Grant’s brain seemed to have gone blank. “I, uh, I’m sorry for...”
“For some of those nasty things you said about me in front of Perry?” Mas prompted, and under the acid in his tone, the hurt came through loud and clear.
Shit. He’d never meant to hurt Mas, not really. “I’m sorry about saying those things. I don’t remember exactly what I said—I’d had too much to drink—but I’m sure it was horrible and uncalled for.”
“You called me a dirty slapper with no morals and a common tramp!”
“I did?” Grant’s mind raced. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I was jealous, and it made me want to lash out and hurt you. You and your new man. Mas, I...I never really told you in as many words, but I really did care for you. You were my first male lover. When you left me like that, it hurt. I suppose I rather threw all my toys out of the pram.”
“You bloody well did. You know you challenged Perry to a fight, don’t you?”
Grant covered his face with his hands. “I kind of remember that. God, Mas, I’m really sorry. I was a total arsehole. The only thing I can say in my defence was that I was going through a really rough time.”
“You were going through a rough time? Oh, my heart bleeds. What about me? I’d just lost my house and my job.”
“You should have told me. I’d have helped you out.”
“Yeah, but your kind of help comes with strings attached. And you weren’t around anyway. You’d buggered off to the other side of the Atlantic, remember?”
“It was only a temporary assignment. I told you I’d be back in a month or so. I thought you were waiting for me.”
Just then the shop doorbell tinkled, and a young, nervous-looking woman entered the shop. Mas gave her a polite greeting, but she must have sensed the atmosphere between them was thick enough to slice and butter, because after sifting through one rail of clothes, she scurried out of the shop.
Her interruption had given Grant time to think, though. Mas was going to need more than flowers and sweet-talking, he could see that. And there was only one kind of action he could think of that might break through Mas’s hostility. He dropped to his knees and hung his head.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m trying again. Listen, Mas, you’re under no obligation to forgive me after the way I took you for granted and then insulted you and your boyfriend. But I’m really hoping you will find it in your heart to do just that. I’m... I’m trying to do things right at last. I’ve come clean to Harriet, and I’ve even come out to my girls. But I’ve spent so long living a lie that I’m not sure how to come out of the closet at work. It would mean a lot to me to have some gay friends I could talk to about this kind of thing. No one else really understands what it’s like. But I think you could help me. And I’d be so grateful if you could.” He looked up into Mas’s eyes and whispered, “Please?”
Mas’s lower lip wobbled. “Fuck.” He whirled around and walked to the shop door, locked it and flipped the sign around.