If It Fornicates (Market Garden, #4)(28)

Nick might have taken offence from anyone else. After hearing time and again how he was selling himself, devaluing himself, damaging his own soul, and all of that bullshit, his knee-jerk reaction was to lash out at whoever offered that kind of self-righteous pity. Except it wasn’t self-righteous pity coming from Spencer. Just a matter-of-fact observation coupled with the acknowledgement that perhaps he’d misjudged sex workers, Nick included.

Nick hooked his finger in the handle of his coffee mug and idly turned the cup in circles on its saucer. “You ever think about changing careers?”

“What else would I do?” Spencer asked with a slight shrug. “I’ve known since I was a kid I wanted to go into law.”

“And was this what you saw when you were a kid?” Nick tilted his head. “Being a corporate lawyer for a firm that either walks on eggshells so they don’t get sued or walks all over you because they can?”

Spencer winced.

So did Nick. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right.” Spencer sighed. “And no, this wasn’t what I had in mind back then. Nothing like it at all.”

“Is it something you want to do for another ten, twenty, thirty years?”

Spencer looked downright exhausted by the thought.

“I didn’t think so.” Nick sipped his coffee. “So why not do something else? Something completely different?”

“Such as?”

“Massage therapy comes to mind.”

Spencer’s eyebrows jumped.

Nick laughed. “Did you think I was kidding last night? You have a natural talent for it. Might as well use it, and I guarantee people will appreciate that more than what you’re doing now.”

Spencer shifted his gaze to the table, but his eyes were unfocused. He tapped his thumb on the edge of his saucer.

Nick leaned forward, folding his arms behind his own coffee cup. “I’m serious, Spencer. You might not make as much money. Most likely not. I don’t know what massage therapists make these days. But you’re good at it. And you seem to enjoy it.”

“When it’s you, yes.” Spencer’s eyes flicked up and met Nick’s. “I’m not sure I want to do that for other people.”

“It would beat the hell out of what you’re doing for them now. Hell, join up with a chiropractor or something. Wellness stuff. You’re . . . such a sweet, gentle guy, Spencer. A people person. You make me feel better when I’m in the same room with you . . .” He nearly faltered, because wow, that somehow pierced him right through the heart, and he saw in Spencer’s face what it meant to him to hear it. “And I can’t imagine I’m the only one. And your hours would be flexible, too. No working weekends, no struggle to take time off.” He put a hand over Spencer’s wrist. “And you won’t have that place or those people sucking the life out of you.”

“I was telling myself it would get better once I make partner.” Spencer sighed. “But more and more, I’m not sure it will. I’m not even sure I care about making partner. You just end up getting more involved in the politics, representing the firm . . .”

“Pushing your career won’t solve the problem, Spencer.”

“I know.” Spencer shook his head. “I’ll think about it. It would be nice to downshift and get out at some point, while I’m still, you know, young enough to do something with my life.”

“I think that sounds eminently sane.” Nick finished his coffee, and cast a restless glance at Glenn and his family. “Much saner than hiding who and what you are and making do with some half-arsed compromise that kills you a little inside every day.”

“Point taken.” Spencer glanced in the same direction, then looked at Nick with his eyebrows up. “Any objections to getting out of here?”

“None.”

They both stood, chairs scraping loudly on the wooden floor, and Nick resisted the urge to glance at the client again. Then they left the café, walking a lot faster on the way out than they had on the way in.

Once they were away from the café, Nick released his breath, rolling his shoulder to ward off some of the stiffness trying to creep back in.

“So you, um . . .” Spencer glanced at Nick. “You know him too, then?”

“I do.” Nick didn’t elaborate. Spencer didn’t push. Maybe one day, after Spencer had cut ties with that firm and didn’t see the arsehole strutting around all the time, Nick would tell him a story or two. He wondered if Spencer would be surprised to hear that his happily married senior partner or whatever the f*ck he was called was just the kind of client who drove Nick out of his mind, and not in a good way. Glenn had been exhausting. Waltzed into a whorehouse, asked for the most dominating Dom on the payroll, and then tried to turn the tables every chance he got. He wasn’t a submissive. He was a douche bag alpha male who’d made it his goal in life to make sure everyone knew they were below him. The second night he was with Nick, he’d picked up the cat-o’-nine-tails and informed Nick he’d be swinging it this time. Fucker was lucky Nick hadn’t shoved that thing up his arse. Sideways.

In fact, he’d only serviced the guy twice. If the man showed up at Market Garden these days, Nick found a way to be busy, and when the guy had once had the balls to walk up and tell Nick he wanted him for a night, Nick had had no qualms about telling him off. He could only imagine how Glenn felt seeing the whore who wouldn’t give him the time of day walking around in public on Spencer’s arm. Or shaking his wife’s hand.