When Marcus asked Liam if he could leave, and quite possibly take the next few days off, Liam took one look at him and practically shoved him out the door.
“Whatever it is, I know it’s important. Go.” Then he’d turned to Julien. “How’d you like to learn to tend bar for a night?”
Julien’s eyes got huge.
Marcus didn’t stay to find out if he took Liam up on the offer—he headed out the front door and jogged across the parking lot to his car.
I could just call, he told himself as he turned onto Broadway.
But he drove anyway, heading from Capitol Hill toward the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle. Something like this needed to be done face-to-face, no matter how much pride he’d have to swallow to do it.
He parked in the parking garage at the base of the building. It was expensive, but hopefully worth it. With his stomach roiling and his heart pounding in his ears, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to go to the penthouse.
All the way up, floor after floor, he prayed this would work. Every step of it, from this point to begging Timur’s forgiveness. It was a long shot, that was for sure.
The elevator stopped.
Marcus gulped.
The doors slid open, and the scent of garlic, shallots and celeriac met his nose. He didn’t let himself look at the glowing blue sign above the entryway, and walked inside.
He didn’t recognize the hostess. She smiled at him over the podium. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Le Chien Bleu. How many?”
“Actually…” he cleared his throat, “…I need to speak to Ray.”
The smile didn’t falter. “What name should I give him?”
“Marcus.”
She nodded. “I’ll be right back. Excuse me for one second.”
“Take your time.” Please hurry.
It was probably less than two minutes, but felt like an eternity, before the hostess returned with Marcus’s ex-husband on her heels.
He stopped, staring wide-eyed at Marcus, the overhead lights picking out sparks of gray hair along the sides of Ray’s head. His eyes flicked toward the hostess, and he gestured for Marcus to come with him.
Without a word, Marcus followed. They’d had more than a few fights here but were always careful to keep it behind closed doors. Amazing how much a man could rein in his temper when business was on the line.
A few of the servers and all the cooks noticed Marcus’s presence. He didn’t make eye contact, but he could feel their double takes and hear the falter in their wine presentations and food preparation. It had been a few months since he’d been here, and even though the arguments had been kept hidden, it had been impossible not to feel the tension.
Ray closed the office door, cutting off the familiar sounds of a busy restaurant, and studied Marcus. “This is…unexpected.” His tone was guarded. “What, uh, brings you in?”
Pulse still thundering, Marcus swallowed hard. “I need your help.”
Ray’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um. Okay. What do you need?”
“It’s a long story.” Marcus folded his arms and shifted his weight, but then realized how defensive he looked, so he lowered his arms. And didn’t know what to do with them. Shit, when had it become so difficult to just stand in the same room as Ray?
“Marcus?” Ray stepped closer, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, nothing like that.” Marcus could not look him in the eye, no matter how hard he tried. “I need to get to France. As soon as possible.”
Ray straightened. “France?”
“Yeah. It’s…” Marcus waved a hand. “It’s really complicated and hard to explain. But I need to get there. Fast. And I…” He took a deep breath. Here goes. “I can’t afford it on my own.”
“I see.” Ray stepped around behind his desk and opened his laptop. “How soon?”
“As soon as I can.”
“Okay.” Ray’s brow furrowed as he punched in his login password. Then he brought up his browser and went to a travel website. “France, you said? As in, Paris?”
Marcus shifted. “Charles de Gaulle Airport.”
Ray glanced at him, the question written all over the creases in his forehead, but he didn’t ask. “Okay, let’s see…” He started typing again. Clicked a button. Then he whistled. “Wow. A flight out tomorrow night is twenty-eight hundred.”
Marcus’s heart dropped. “Shit.”
“That’ll get you there on Sunday, though. Late evening.”
“But it’s…” Marcus pushed out a breath. “Shit, that’s a lot of money.”
“Money’s not the issue.” Ray met his eyes. “You really need to get there, don’t you?”
There was no way in hell Marcus was falling apart again. Not here, not in front of Ray. Without speaking, he nodded.
Fingers clattered across keys. “There is a flight out early tomorrow morning.”
“How much?”
“Do you want to be on it?”
More than you can imagine. “How much is it?”
“Marcus.” Ray shook his head. “I can tell this is important to you.” He paused. “I can tell he’s important to you.”
Marcus jumped. “Who said anything about ‘he’?”
Ray smiled, a combination of sadness, nostalgia and genuine affection in his eyes. “I was married to you for a long time. I know you.” He gestured at the computer. “Do you want to be on the flight tomorrow morning or not?”
Avoiding his eyes, Marcus nodded. “Yes.”
Ray tapped a key. He entered a few details and then pulled out a debit card and entered the numbers. One more click and… “Done. Go home and pack. You need to be at the airport by two fifteen.”
Marcus didn’t move. “How much do I owe you?”
“We’ll work that out when you get back.” Ray slid his card back into his wallet and stood. As he came around the desk, he added, “Whoever he is and whatever is going on is more important than the money.”
“Thank you, Ray. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” Ray hugged him. “Good luck. And let me know when you land safely, all right?”
“I will.”
“Now go home and pack.”
“I’m on it.” As they released each other, Marcus smiled. “I really appreciate this.”
“I know you do.” Ray squeezed his arm. “And I hope whoever’s in France knows how lucky he is.”
Lucky—after he’d let him go, even pushed him away. The thought almost turned Marcus’s stomach. Even though he had a lot of time to pack and get ready, nervous tension was settling in his neck. He wanted to be going, doing something. In that mood, he’d drive to the airport many hours too early. “I think the record so far is mixed in terms of luck.” Marcus shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets. “I just have to fix a mistake.”
“Good luck. And if it works out and you want to introduce him…”
“Yeah, maybe. I think he’d appreciate the food.” He searched Ray’s face, but Ray seemed quite mellow—wistful rather than jealous. He wouldn’t rush it, introducing them, but considering Ray lent him the money, keeping Ray at arm’s length would be strange. They were over each other, and Marcus felt like he was over the resentment. Bottom line, they’d had some good years. Quite a few of them. They’d built this place together from a third-rate eatery, had gutted the whole thing, had worked so hard that one of their running jokes was to torch it, take the insurance money and run—and more than once, they’d been actually just another minor disaster away from doing exactly that. And now, just looking around, he saw that the waitstaff were perfectly poised, the decor was tasteful, everything flawless, working like clockwork. Above all, the patrons seemed to be enjoying the food and having a good time. They’d built this, and even if Ray owned it all now, he was also still running it, still tied into all this, and it looked good on him. This place was very much Ray, but Marcus remembered fondly how hard he himself had worked. He’d bet if he walked into the kitchen, things were still pretty much run the exact same way he’d set them up there.
They’d done good.
Ray touched his arm. “Marcus, get out of here. Pack your things and go catch your flight.”
“I know. I will.” Marcus took a half step toward the door, but hesitated. Then he turned and wrapped his arms around his ex-husband, hugging him tight. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.” Ray hugged him back. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
Marcus nodded against Ray’s shoulder. In spite of all the bitterness and drama between them, he knew that was true.
“Go,” Ray whispered, nudging him back. “I don’t want you missing whatever’s at the end of that flight.”
Marcus’s heart sped up. What was waiting on the other end? Rejection? Reconciliation?
Only one way to find out.