Ah. Not artfully disarranged. Dalton’s inattention cost him.
“How come none of the phone lines are lit up?” the visitor asked.
“I’m sure he just ended the call. Why don’t you sit down and I can buzz him and see if he might have time for you, Mr. . . .?”
“Tierney.” The man tried to sidestep Dalton. “I don’t think he’s busy; it’s four thirty on a Friday, and his door isn’t shut.” He maneuvered the other way, forcing Dalton a little closer to Ian’s office.
Time for a pity gambit. “Mr. Tierney, I’m new and it would make me look incompetent if I let you just barge in on him when—”
“Tierney’s my first name, and I know you’re new. You weren’t here two weeks ago when I came in.” He stopped trying to make Dalton give more ground and checked him out instead. A furtive, quick up and down Dalton knew very, very well.
“Mr. Tierney—”
“Terrebonne.”
Dalton unleashed his shyest smile, cocking his hip just slightly and biting his lip in fake—yet suggestive—insecurity. “Mr. Terrebonne, I’d be grateful if you’d just let me buzz you in first.”
Tierney Terrebonne stopped for a couple of seconds, blinking, focused on Dalton’s mouth.
Gotcha. His deduction about their visitor’s orientation was correct.
But Mr. Terrebonne shook off the effects of Dalton’s display within a second. “Why don’t you just tell him I’m here? You’re practically in his doorway.”
Dammit.
He gave in. “Please, just wait right here and let me at least announce you.” He placed his palm on the man’s shoulder.
Mr. Terrebonne froze at his touch. Dalton took advantage, whirling around and taking the last step to Ian’s doorway just as his boss’s voice floated out. “Hey, Dalton, you’re fine driving yourself, right? I need to pick up Sam for dinner and—”
“Ian? There’s someone here to see you.” He couldn’t stop himself from shifting his weight. “He seems anxious.”
His boss stared at him a second. “I can’t see anyone now. Tell him he has to make an appointment.”
Dalton lowered his voice. He could hear Ian’s visitor pacing behind him—a couple quick steps to either side. Any second and he’d shove past. “I said that, but he keeps insisting.”
Mr. Terrebonne was now peering over Dalton’s shoulder. “Dude, I really need to talk to you. I’m, um, I’m sorry. For last weekend.”
Dalton stayed put, providing his boss with the small amount of shield he still could, but his ears perked up in spite of himself. Ian had come in with a black eye on Monday. Judging by his boss’s expression right now, Mr. Terrebonne had something to do with that. Ian glanced at his watch, all his jaw muscles flexing. “You have a half hour, dude. That’s it.”
A half hour? That would be cutting it really close for dinner with his boyfriend. Especially to meet with some guy who’d punched him. Had Ian given Tierney any injuries? Dalton had to steel himself against the urge to turn and search the man’s face for fading bruises. Hopefully not on that perfectly angled jaw.
Oh shut up.
While he’d been lost in his imagination, Mr. Terrebonne had made some kind of reply. Ian shook his head, obviously to himself. “Gimme a minute.” He glanced back up, and whatever he saw made his face go hard. “Just go sit out there and wait for me,” he barked.
After a second, Dalton felt their visitor move off, and Ian lost his tense, jaw-ticking expression.
“Can you go a little early and wait for them? Then if I’m a couple minutes late . . . Please?”
Dalton tried to stay out of his employer’s personal business. Really, he did. But that look and request confirmed the suspicion he’d developed today: Ian and Sam were having some kind of problem or fight, and Ian desperately wanted to make up.
Dalton smiled, hoping to reassure. “Of course. I’ll leave in five minutes.” He could wrap things up enough for the weekend in that amount of time. “Don’t worry,” he added when Ian’s face didn’t relax.
Finally, Ian’s shoulders eased down below his ears, so Dalton turned to go.
For midautumn, the weather was unexpectedly clear, with streaks of pink across in the sky as the sun set when Dalton arrived at the Monte Carlo club. A streetlight began to eke out a glow across the road from him, near the mouth of an alley. At the other end, he could see Simpson Avenue and the drugstore where he’d once bought condoms in an emergency.
Okay, twice. Or more. They had an impressive selection.
Being here, surrounded by all things LGBT, was comforting. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the essence of the neighborhood, then took a second to glance around, wondering if he could afford an apartment here, now that he had a job but no tuition anymore. Probably not, since having a roommate wasn’t an option, at least not if he could help it. He was currently still living with four guys who he’d been in college with, and he was sick of it. He’d never really lived alone, not when he was paying his own way. At twenty-seven, it was time for him to take full responsibility for himself. If that priced him out of this neighborhood, he was okay with that.
The streetlight had finally gotten strong enough to illuminate this end of the passage, and two guys walking toward him down the alley caught his eye. He didn’t know what either of the guys he waited for looked like, but he had a feeling he’d recognize Sam from his sister’s description. According to her, Sam didn’t measure up to Ian physically. Andrea had called him a “flaming geek” and then went on and on about how cute he and Ian were together.
One of the guys was very tall and thin, with light hair. The other was more of a traditional bear shape—barrel-chested and stocky. They could be the guys he was here to meet . . . or maybe they were on a date? As they got closer to the well-lit part of the alley, he caught himself holding his breath, waiting to see their faces. Just a couple more feet.
The stocky guy said something that made the tall one laugh so hard he had to lean against the brick wall for support. It was cute, but Dalton needed them to get it over with and keep moving toward him. He leaned a couple of inches closer, onto the balls of his feet, as if that would help.
It didn’t. The guys had twisted around, and were looking back at the other end of the alley. Dalton shifted to see what they were seeing.
Five men were advancing on them, one of the group carrying a bat. They weren’t here to play baseball, that was obvious from the way they walked.