What the fuck?!
Jesus Christ, the term one-starring is a personal insult in our world.
“Fuck you,Client 1543,” Josh says with a sneer. “You got this session at a discount, remember?”
“How fucking generous of you,” our client says.
I don’t know what to do, so I don’t do a thing, other than keep on sucking Heath’s cock while the drama unfolds. I’m a good curva until Heath pulls away.
I scuttle backwards on the carpet as things play out, taking back up the De Chante for a welcome swig.
“Cargo ships?” Heath says to Josh. “Are you for fucking real? You were next door talking about fucking cargo ships before you came in here? I’m glad the evening means so much to you.”
Josh pulls his head back from our client’s dick, despite Heath’s grip.
“It was a tiny scrap of a conversation. Not that deep.”
“Too right it’s not that deep.” Heath’s eyes scorch mine, his hand still fisted in Josh’s hair. “Do you really think I give two tosses about how many containers a fucking boat can hold? I’ve been staring at the bastards for over forty-eight hours. I could have Googled it myself if I’d given a single bloody shit about it.”
He pushes Josh away and shoves his cock back in his pants.
“Fuck this shit.”
“That was my fault, about the ships,” I tell Heath. “Sorry, it wasn’t Josh, it was me.”
Heath holds out a soothing hand, like I’m the victim, not the perpetrator.
“No, no, curva. I know what’s going on here. You aren’t the one who needs to apologise. It’s the stubborn asshole next to you.”
Josh’s eyebrows crease, a flare in his eyes.
“You know what’s going on, do you,Heathy baby? Come on then, oh wise one. What’s going on here? And what’s your evidence for it? A cargo ship conversation? That would hardly hold up in court,Count.”
Heath takes the De Chante from me, necking back a swig before he replies.
“You want to play normal, which is fine. Do it. But by playing normal, I’m a fucking client, no matter how much I pay for it. Ten quid or ten million. It doesn’t matter shit.”
Heath is bristling. Fuming with a dark energy that has me wide eyed.
Holy shit, I didn’t see this coming.
He’d seemed so chill when we got here, so settled withnormalthat I’d been the one who was gut punched, and my brain spins. It whirs, trying to gain an understanding.
Until a lightbulb moment hits. A light that shines in the confusion like a beacon.
Heath is a bloody actor. One of the best in the business.
Fuck. Of course.
And just like that, his own walls come down, his dark energy exploding.
“I’ve been living through this whole week contemplating how the fuck we’re going to get through this new situation of ours. I’ve been counting down the days, the hours, the minutes, trying to find a route that feels feasible. I swear to the devil himself, I almostdidget a PowerPoint presentation going, for my own head since it was such a wreck. And then there’s you. Chatting away about your grandma and cargo containers through the wall.”
Josh gets to his feet, still suited. His eyes are as fierce as Heath’s, his finger angry in the air as it jabs in Heath’s direction.
“This is bullshit. You’re way off track here. So far off track, it’s bloody stupid.”
“Am I? I know you pretty fucking well, Josh.” Heath sits on the edge of the bed, holding his hands out sarcastically. “Enlighten me, then. Tell me your side of the master plan. The talking spoon is all yours.”
