IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(17)
We locked eyes, and for a split second all traces of amusement disappeared and his eyes narrowed as if sizing me up and finding me somehow lacking.
He stepped forward, extending a hand. “Mr. Grange, I’m James Allen, attorney for Dr. Newell and a friend of Conor’s.”
I couldn’t help but eye him up and down. Typical Manhattan corporate attorney. The man dripped money, from his haircut to his wingtips to the Tom Ford briefcase he carried. How in the world had the Newell family from nowhere, North Carolina, managed to hire this guy?
I stood and took his hand. “Welcome. You’re late.”
He glanced around the empty conference room as if to silently say, Am I?
I scowled, inwardly cursing Deb for not getting everyone back in here sooner. Before I could explain we were taking a short break, I heard a soft squeal from the lobby. Next thing I knew, Conor came rushing into the room.
And straight into James Allen’s arms.
I inhaled sharply at the sight of the two men embracing.
“James!” Conor gushed, ending the hug and grabbing the other man’s upper arms. “Thank god. Everything okay?”
“Just a minor annoyance,” the attorney said. “It will be fine. How did the presentation go?”
Conor laughed and the sound of it did strange things to my insides. “I didn’t vomit, so I’m putting it in the win column.”
James chuckled. He looked at Conor with a familiar affection that had me wondering how the two knew each other. Clearly this was not a typical attorney–client relationship. Especially given the grin that brightened Conor’s eyes in a way I hadn’t seen all morning. Despite the uptick in my heart rate, I found myself grinding my teeth in irritation.
The lawyer turned his attention to me, his expression turning frosty. “I trust Mr. Grange didn’t try to take advantage of you without your attorney present?”
Conor’s eyes slid to mine before darting away, the slightest blush tinging the tips of his ears. “No, he uh… well, I mean… We have a date tonight. Dinner I mean. Hell, not a date, but dinner. That isn’t a date. Because sometimes dinner can be a date but not always. Like here. Tonight. The whole team will be there. You should come.” He then turned to me. “James is invited, right?”
I looked at the way Conor kept his arm wrapped around one of James’s, like he was holding on to the slightly older man as if he were a lifeline. I wanted to tell him no fucking way. But the way Conor looked at me, his chin tilted slightly down and his eyes wide and hopeful…
No one could say no to that.
“Of course,” I bit out.
Conor grinned widely, and for the first time I noticed the crinkle of laugh lines near the corners of his eyes. He looked like a man who laughed often. Just not around me.
Which was fine. I didn’t need him to laugh, I just needed to get this fucking meeting back underway so I could put an end to the damn lovefest in front of me.
“Deb!” I called. She appeared in an instant. “Get everyone back in here. And add one more to the reservation for dinner tonight.”
She gave me that look that meant she didn’t appreciate my tone of voice. Then her eyes slid to Conor and James with their linked arms, and her expression morphed into one of understanding. What she thought she understood, I didn’t know.
“No problem,” she said before ducking out of the room to gather the team.
I turned to James. “Now that you’re finally here, we can get started with the negotiations,” I said in a clipped tone. “Have a seat.”
Conor’s smile dropped in an instant, and the loss of it was like a frigid wind blowing up my pants leg. I was an ass. But I was an ass ready to spend millions of dollars, and it was time to make it happen.
James shot me a look that was more calculated than surprised. There was something familiar about the way he looked at me, as if he somehow knew me. I wondered if we’d met before somewhere, if for some reason I should know him. But had that been the case, I would have remembered. James was the kind of man who stood out—tall, handsome, and charming with a sharp jaw, salt-and-pepper hair, and a smooth smile full of perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth.
He was the kind of man I would have given a second, and perhaps even a third, look at in the past. Now I just found his presence annoying, a feeling that only intensified when James cupped Conor’s elbow and led him toward one of the chairs.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured in a gentle voice, taking the seat next to him and rolling it closer. “I’m here now, I’ll take over. You can relax.”
The look of gratitude and relief that crossed Conor’s face set my chest on fire.
As the rest of the team began filtering in, Conor leaned over the arm of his chair, his face inches from James as they huddled, discussing something I couldn’t hear over the grinding of my teeth. James laughed and Conor’s grin deepened. I’d had enough.
I slipped my phone from my pocket and called up my text convo with NotSam. I typed out a quick message and hit Send before I could think better of it.
Wells: I’ve been thinking about you and how gorgeous your cock looks when it’s glistening with precum, desperate to be stroked. Don’t drink too much at dinner. You’ll need your stamina for what I have planned for you tonight.
Conor practically leaped out of his chair at the new message alert. He apologized to James before scrambling in his pocket. The minute he saw the message, his eyes widened and his cheeks ignited. I now knew what he would be imagining all afternoon, and it wouldn’t be James Allen.