“What a lovely idea. You two go ahead and do a little meet and greet with the folks. Luke, baby, I’m a little busy right now, you know?” She directed her wide-eyed, innocent gaze at him. “Why don’t you and Dr. Peterson have some lunch afterward and talk. You know you love that little seafood place across the street.” Her arm slipped into the crook of Jordan’s elbow as she whispered loudly in his ear, “If I don’t push Lukie, he’ll never eat.”
“Lukie?” Amusement lit Jordan’s eyes as they walked down the hall.
“Wanda loves to tease me.” It took the strength of Luke’s willpower to keep his face a study in grim determination. Why did this man, by his presence alone, get under Luke’s skin? His mood blackened, driving away the optimism and cheer he’d enjoyed earlier.
“How long have you known her? You two seem like long-standing friends.” Jordan sounded curious, as if he couldn’t understand how Luke and Wanda could know one another.
The devil on Luke’s shoulder won out, if nothing more than to see how Jordan would react to the truth. “I lived here for a few years when I first came to the city.” There. He’d said it, and he couldn’t take it back.
Luke slanted a quick, furtive glance to the side. Looking for something, anything that might give away Jordan’s reaction to that bit of startling news. But aside from a slight halt in his step—which admittedly Luke could be mistaken about—Jordan said nothing.
That irked him even more. Was Jordan so startled that he couldn’t speak? Or maybe he was looking for a way to back out of the project, or would he replace Luke? Luke knew his imagination was spinning out of control.
The silence festered between them, deepening like a thorn embedded in the skin, until with uncharacteristic emotion, Luke blurted out, “Well, aren’t you shocked or surprised by the news? If you don’t want me to work with you, let me know now.”
Jordan halted his steps and gave him a brief smile, its sweetness transforming his tired, too-pale face. ”Don’t be an idiot. Now come on. I want to meet everyone.” He continued walking down the hall, leaving Luke to scramble after him.
“Here, this is where everyone is.” Luke shouldered past Jordan into the room, where five nervous-looking men and women sat on metal folding chairs. A large desk, folders and binders stacked on its surface, took up the far side of the room, beneath a bank of tall, narrow windows, double plated, with chicken wire between the glass. No way in, no way out, Luke observed, his own memories playing havoc with his senses.
Get a grip. You made it out, and you’re helping them try to get out as well.
Jordan stepped aside, in obvious deference to Luke’s familiarity with the people and the place. “Go on. But don’t think I’ll always let you be the one in control.”
A rush of heat swept through Luke at the amused yet slightly mocking tone in Jordan’s voice. For a brief moment he wondered if Jordan was as cool and calm in the bedroom. A vision of that long, pale body spread out underneath him filled Luke’s mind, and he could almost taste the heat of Jordan’s mouth. Not in a million fucking years would that happen, and with his usual ruthless intensity, Luke slammed the iron door shut on his disturbing thoughts.
“We’ll see about that, Doctor.” Luke bit out his words, allowing no smile to soften the anger in his voice. He was determined to quash any sexual interest he might have for this man, knowing it would end in a disastrous blaze of fucking epic proportions.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” Luke granted a smile to these people whom Wanda had chosen. They were the ones who would make the program successful, since they’d be on the front lines, so to speak, dealing with the day-to-day issues that would crop up.
“My name is Lucas Conover, and I’m the chief financial officer and director of the Keith Hart Foundation. The man to my left is Dr. Jordan Peterson, the president. Keith Hart was a detective with the NYPD whose life mission, aside from protecting the people of New York City, was to rid the streets of drugs and illegal guns. Tragically, he was killed last year by one of those guns, trying to save the life of a friend of his.”
Luke thought he heard a sound next to him, but aside from a suspicious sheen in his eyes, Jordan remained silent. Luke knew how emotional Jordan still was, and after watching him a few moments, continued.
“Detective Hart dedicated his life to the people of New York City. He knew being a police officer meant risking his life every day, but to him it was worth it if he was helping his fellow man. He created this foundation to stop the never-ending spiral of violence and told me that even if something should happen to him, his desire to make New York City a safer place for all men and women but especially the children, the most vulnerable in our society, must continue. The funding he has provided, along with the corporate funding we’ve secured, has allowed us to set up an after-school center that we hope can be a model for other neighborhoods.”
The disinterested, dubious faces of the five people suddenly sparked to life. One bald, hulking man Luke knew as Troy spoke in a gruff tone. “So we’d be helping at the center? How, man? I’m no teacher.”
“And I ain’t no snitch, neither.” That came from a young, skinny man named Andre, sporting long dreads, with arms covered in tattoos. “Don’t ask me to tell on whose doing what with who.”
All legitimate points. “First, let me assure you, we aren’t asking you to snitch or tell the police anything. What we are asking is to help us with our project. Once a month we will be running a Grins Not Guns program, where for every gun brought into the precinct, no questions asked, the person will be given a twenty-five-dollar gift card from MasterCard or Visa. So, in addition to you helping the youth in the neighborhood stay out of trouble, we’d like you to help spread the word.”
A sense of interest and acceptance sparked a discussion. How could the people be sure they wouldn’t be arrested, and was there a limit on the number of guns brought in on one day, seemed to be the two main questions on everyone’s mind.
“Does he talk at all?” A young woman Luke knew as Juanita gestured toward Jordan. “If he’s the president, shouldn’t he have something to say, or is he one of those rich white do-gooders who wants to save the poor?”
Before Lucas had a chance to answer, Jordan stepped forward. “I’m not here to save your lives or make excuses for mine. You don’t even have to pretend to like me. I don’t care.” Jordan’s blue eyes flashed. “Detective Hart was my fiancé, and I loved him. His life was cut short, and that’s the only reason I’m here. To make sure that another person doesn’t lose his life to an illegal gun.”
Way to make friends, Jordan. Luke opened his mouth to try and soften Jordan’s harsh words, but was cut short by Juanita.
“Okay, man. And I’m sorry about your boyfriend. I heard he was a cool dude.” The other woman in the group as well as the three men expressed similar condolences to Jordan in friendly, almost warm tones.
Luke stood, mouth open. Had he heard right? Had Jordan been accepted by this group of people, who’d taken months to warm up to Luke?
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to stand with your mouth open? You’ll catch flies.” Jordan smirked and turned back to talk to Andre and Troy.
Anger pulsed within him in deep, thrusting jabs. Anger at himself and at Jordan for getting under his skin. “Shut up, asshole.”
He heard Jordan’s inelegant, derisive snort. “Screw you, Conover. These people want to talk to me. Then we can have lunch, like Wanda said.”
