Grief-stricken and unwilling to face more loving gestures between his friends, Jordan turned his back on them and reentered his house. He picked up the certified letter and opened it, scanning the brief paragraph.
Dear Dr. Peterson:
I have tried, unsuccessfully these past few months, to contact you regarding the foundation the late Keith Hart created. As you have failed to respond, I will take this as your decision not to participate in this worthwhile endeavor. Please consider this as formal notice I will be asking the other members of the board to remove you from this position, and we will begin the process of acquiring a new president of the board.
Very truly yours,
Lucas Conover, Platinum Account Services
Lambert & North, LLC
Jordan’s eyes narrowed as the burn of anger rose in his face. Fucking snotty bastard. Who the hell was this Conover to talk to him like that? Jordan stormed into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. The bottle of pills sat there, mocking him. Jordan grabbed it, wrenched the top open, and swallowed the last two. If one was good, two were better. Antidepressant? Shit, make it more like anti-feel anything at all. The way Jordan liked it. He slammed the door and faced himself in the mirror, wincing at his too-pale skin and bloodshot, sunken eyes. Once the pills kicked in and he took a shower, he’d be good as new. The languid sense of well-being from the drugs seeped into his body. He couldn’t wait until Monday morning, when he’d come face-to-face with that little prick, Lucas Conover.
Chapter Two
Monday mornings suck. At the alarm’s incessant blaring, Lucas Conover rolled out of bed with a grunt and shuffled into the bathroom. He relieved himself, brushed his teeth, and started the shower, all without pausing to glance in the mirror.
The heated spill of water pouring over his face and body revived him somewhat. To save time, he shaved in the shower and, as an afterthought, stroked himself to a quick release that rushed through him, leaving him less tense but feeling no better off than before. Sad that sex had become an afterthought, merely a shower-time ritual for a thirty-year-old man, but considering his hand had been the only thing giving him any pleasure in his life for years, he wasn’t surprised. Better safe than sorry. And being safe was the only thing he wanted from life.
That’s what happened when you grew up eating fear for breakfast, hoping the man who pretended to be your father was still so drunk from the night before, he’d sleep like the dead so you could grab your little brother and run to school before the drunken bastard woke up. And then there were days Luke and Brandon didn’t bother to wait for their milk and cereal, choosing to get to school early rather than hang around their house, hearing their father bellow in anger. Luke shook off those unpleasant memories as he squeezed the water from his hair and stepped out of the shower.
After drying off, he ran a comb through his wet curls and then returned to the bedroom to dress. Barely looking in his closet, he pulled out a pale blue shirt along with a navy-blue suit. He picked out a tie but didn’t put it on. Bad enough he had to wear the damn thing all day long, he could at least enjoy his coffee without choking. Slinging the tie around his neck, he left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen.
It had been a typical New York City galley kitchen when he purchased the apartment, but hating that feeling of being cramped, he’d knocked down the wall separating it from the living room to open it up, creating a wide counter space. Doing that allowed the light from the living room to reach all the way through the apartment. His white cabinets and black granite countertops gleamed where the sunlight struck them. But right now, only the shining stainless coffeepot drew his attention. He took his giant-sized mug out of the dish drain and poured himself a large, bracing cup.
Occasionally he wondered what it might be like to share his life with someone, to not wake up alone every single day, but the idea was too farfetched to last for long. He sipped his coffee, thankful for all he did have now. Remembering what he’d been through to get to this point. The mug’s surface warmed his hands, yet the coldness within him remained. It had been something he’d learned to live with after the long, hard years alone. Since Ash—the foster brother he’d worshipped—ran out on him and their younger brother. Since his last night at home with his foster father, Munson. Since he woke up in a hospital and discovered he’d been abandoned by his family. A decade, in fact, of him with only his wits, learning to survive.
His hand tightened around his coffee cup. Not again and not today. Mondays were bad enough without the thoughts of those two ruining his day before it even started. It had taken him years to come to terms with Munson’s actions. Ash’s betrayal, however, still wasn’t something he’d been able to forget.
He threw the cold dregs from his cup into the sink and filled up his stainless-steel travel mug with more coffee. After placing the mug on the table in the hallway, Luke faced the gilt-edged mirror and tied his tie. A brief grin flickered over his lips as he smoothed his hands over the small Winnie-the-Pooh faces on the dark blue silk.
His ties were always the talk of the secretaries. Never known for a having a sense of humor among his colleagues, Luke allowed himself a brief outlet for amusement in his ties. They were always cartoon characters—Bugs Bunny, Flintstone, or Pokémon figures.
He slipped on his suit jacket, shrugged on his wool-lined raincoat, and left his apartment. No one knew that those ties were a sort of homage to his young brother, Brandon, whom he so desperately missed. The Saturday mornings they’d all spent snuggled up on the couch, watching cartoons, were the happiest moments of his childhood. Brandon would always sit on Ash’s lap, doling out fistfuls of some disgusting sugary cereal until Munson woke up and stumbled into the living room where they’d congregated. Then Ash would find some excuse to leave, sliding Brandon next to Luke.
Even then, the bastard had run away from them.
On the way down the elevator, he checked his phone and saw a calendar entry for a new meeting his secretary had scheduled for him at eleven o’clock with the elusive Dr. Jordan Peterson. Well, well. Finally, he’d flushed the rat out of his hole. Jordan couldn’t help a small smile from breaking out across his face. After all these months, it figured threatening him would be the only way the man would answer his request.
Keith had been a good man, and Luke had been devastated to hear of his senseless death. He’d dealt with Keith’s money for years, even before Dr. Peterson came into the picture, and Luke and the detective had become friends. When Keith informed him he was going to marry Peterson, Luke tried to warn him about giving the man control over such a sizable estate.
In his good-natured way, Keith had laughed.“Luke, my man, I trust Jordan with my life. He already controls my heart. My money doesn’t really mean much to me if he isn’t there with me to share the ride.”
Luke’s chest tightened at the memory of the big blond detective, laughing without a care in the world. Not two months after that, he lay cold in his grave. Life was so fucking unfair. A piece of shit like Munson remained alive, while someone as good and decent as Keith…damn. Luke rubbed his suddenly damp eyes and then flagged down a cab on the corner of Nineteenth Street and Eighth Avenue.
“Fifty-Sixth and Lex.” The cabbie nodded and took off, jolting Luke back into the seat. A year or so ago, Keith had shown him a picture of his partner. Luke remembered Peterson as an incredibly attractive man, tall and lean, with sculpted features and a somewhat arrogant smirk. Waves of golden-blond hair fell over his brow but couldn’t hide the intensity of his pale blue eyes. When he’d teased Keith about his boyfriend’s elegant looks, Keith had chuckled.
“He has a big enough ego, Luke. Don’t ever tell him that. But in spite of what people may think of him, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Luke had laughed along but couldn’t relate to the obvious love in Keith’s voice for Peterson. He’d steered clear of most friendships and all relationships. There were a few guys in the office he’d go out with after work to grab a beer, but he never accepted their invitations to go to a club or play golf on the weekends. On the rare occasion when the nights got too lonely even for him to bear, he’d venture out to a bar and seek out a quick release. A hot mouth on his cock was all it took to obliterate the darkness in his mind, but it wouldn’t last past the night. Casual was the best he could do. Most weekends found him at home, holed up in his apartment, or volunteering at one of the homeless shelters on the Lower East Side. It killed him to see the families with young children, their eyes full of hopelessness and despair. No matter how many left the shelters, it always seemed the space was filled again immediately with another family looking for help.
It was no different than when he’d lived there, alone and afraid. Only the kindness and determination of Wanda, who ran the shelter, to see him get off the streets and back into school saved his life.
Shit. Reminiscing was one big fucking mistake. With a subtle brush of his fingers, he wiped away any trace of wetness in his eyes. Uttering a silent prayer of thanks for the quick ride uptown, he barely allowed the cab to stop before tossing a few bills to the driver. Luke jumped out of the cab, and with brisk strides he shook off the past and entered the glass-and-steel skyscraper, exchanging pleasantries with the guard. He still got a secret thrill knowing he belonged here.
Lambert and North was a top financial firm, and while it was newer than the old warhorses that had their names carved into the history of Wall Street, Luke never regretted his decision to work there. It had a younger, more modern vibe, and he knew that his being gay would’ve been looked down upon at the older, more established firms, no matter that it was the twenty-first century. Here, it was no big deal.
He nodded at several colleagues in the elevator, listening to them talk about their weekends. When the door opened on his floor, he spotted his secretary already working at her desk. He loved Valerie. She was efficient and organized, and never tried to become overly personal like some of the other secretaries did. From the first day, he’d made it clear his work and personal life were separate, and she controlled his professional life perfectly.
