If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(17)

“I can get a taxi.”

“It won’t get you back any faster. I need to pick up something anyway.”

Nick arched an eyebrow. The gentle insistence wasn’t just politeness. “I’ll check with Mister . . .” No idea what the john’s name was. “With your employer.”

“He’s fine. He’ll sleep until noon.”

Nick thought he saw a hint of concern, but he himself was off the hook. Paid and dismissed. If the game hadn’t gone on ’til five or so, he wouldn’t have hung around, but Red Tie had insisted, arguing he’d paid to have Nick at his disposal for the entire night. Smart-arse.

“All right.”

“Breakfast?”

“Just a coffee, please,” Nick said.

“Follow me.”

Nick arched his eyebrow again, but followed the man into a large kitchen. Here, the reason for the john’s insistence that It doesn’t fit into my life became painfully obvious. There were kids’ wellies lined up near the sliding door into the garden. One pair was pink, a larger one blue.

“Filter? Italian? Cappuccino, latte?” The driver stood next to a fully automated Italian coffee machine.

“Latte.” Nick spotted a couple photos on a corkboard, and saw the john and a smiling woman, cheek to cheek, in what was likely a tropical location, considering the light and the reddened skin on the verge of sunburn.

He turned to look at the driver, half expecting that the man had shown him these for a reason. But yeah, a wife and kids were three good reasons not to enter into another relationship. Nick couldn’t even imagine what it took to keep those things separate enough to function.

“Sugar?”

“No, thanks.”

The driver placed a mug down on the table between them.

“Cheers.” Nick took it and had a sip. “Do you know what’s going on here?”

The driver shrugged. “I know what your purpose is.”

“Well, that one’s easy to guess. I hardly look like an investment adviser.”

The driver nodded. “Thank you for helping him deal with the pressure. He doesn’t have many . . . friends or allies. It’s very difficult at the top.”

Nick frowned. Odd thing to say, but if the driver was grateful for Nick looking after his boss in that way, that was a good reason for the offered ride. Anything beyond that was none of Nick’s business.

He drank the coffee, which revived him, though the anticipation of getting back home was an even bigger jolt than the caffeine. He wanted to be gone. Normally, he’d have tried to get the john to book another appointment, but considering he hadn’t done a great job—competent, but not great—taking the money and leaving was the best thing he could do.

He set the mug down. “Ready when you are.”

It was weird, going back into the city in the same car he’d arrived in last night. The seat seemed abnormally spacious and quiet without Red Tie and his frustration.

The driver left the privacy screen up. Hard to tell if that was to give Nick space to collect his thoughts, or if he just didn’t want to run the risk of further conversation with his employer’s prostitute.

Either way, the drive was silent, and the silence very nearly lulled Nick to sleep. Good thing he’d given the driver the address beforehand. When the car slowed to a gentle stop in Angel, Nick snapped out of a half-dreaming state, wondering how the hell they’d gotten here already.

He slipped out of the car and exchanged brief, strictly business pleasantries with the driver, and then waited for the man to depart before he started home. Not that the driver would be interested in where he lived, but it was a habit on the rare occasion when a client—or a client’s employee—drove him back to his own neighbourhood.

While he walked, he sent a brief text to the powers-that-be at Market Garden, letting them know he’d made it home and had been paid properly. When he returned to work on Tuesday, he’d give the boss the required cut; Nick had been with the Garden long enough and earned them enough money that Frank was willing to let him slide on the whole “we get paid before you go home” rule.

He keyed himself into his flat and went straight into the bathroom for another shower. He’d just taken one at Red Tie’s house, in a shower three times the size of his entire bathroom, but that had just been to wake himself up. He always had to take another when he got home. He didn’t take his work to bed with him, and he wanted every last molecule off his skin before he crashed for the next few hours. It wasn’t that his job disgusted him; he just wanted it as far removed from his private life and his home as it could be.

Except now my private life is creeping into my work life.

He exhaled and let his head fall forward as the hot water rushed over him. This was just a temporary thing. Part of settling into the closest thing he’d had to a relationship since well before he’d started stripping, never mind topping, for a living.

Spencer was on his mind a lot these days. When he was trying to sleep. When he did chores around the house or was supposed to be studying for uni. When he was on his way to and from work. During the lulls when he was waiting for someone like Red Tie to come strolling in through Market Garden’s front door.

So was it really that surprising to have Spencer on his mind while he was working?

Probably not. But it did make his job more difficult, that was for sure. A mate of his with an office job had told Nick that when he’d first started dating his now-fiancée, he’d get so distracted he couldn’t get a thing done. He’d even admitted he’d sometimes locked himself in the stationery room and jerked off just so he could relieve the tension in order to focus on his work.