“Bitch, please. The guy was using me as his sidepiece and gaslighting me into thinking it was my fault you were hurt.” He waved a hand. “That’s narcissistic at best, and definitely in the ballpark of a psychopath even before you factor in, like, literally everything Marcus ever says or does.”
Cole stared at him for a second. He’d also spent a lot of time blaming Will for destroying his relationship with Marcus.
“Cole.” Will’s tone was suddenly very serious. “Whatever you’re thinking, it can wait. Right now, we need to make a plan for Campeau. Focus.”
The words were like a slap to the face. Not a brutal one—the kind that snapped him out of his thoughts and brought him back into the moment.
“Yeah. Yeah. Good idea.” He rolled his tense shoulders. “We need to make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces. In particular, that Campeau doesn’t decide to cover his own ass by running to Marcus and telling him we’re on to him.”
Will’s eyes lost focus. After a moment, he grinned, and for once, that didn’t set Cole’s teeth on edge. “I think I have an idea.”
Campeau
On my way up.
Cole exhaled and put his phone face-down on the coffee table. “Campeau’s in the hotel.”
Will nodded. He was lounging in one of the armchairs, turning his own phone between his hands. A gold chain dipped tantalizingly beneath his half-buttoned white dress shirt, and his jeans fit a little too perfectly for Cole’s liking. The fucker was annoyingly attractive right now, and he’d spent most of the afternoon being too focused, too serious, and too smart for Cole to hate him as much as he wanted to.
Well, except for when he’d flirted with the man who’d brought their room service dinners. Cole had gritted his teeth through the entire exchange, wondering if it was too much to ask for the chandelier to come crashing down on Will’s head. He’d nearly thrown his steak knife into the back of Will’s skull whenthe two men had exchanged numbers, and he’d fumed while they’d shared flirty little smiles before the man finally fucking left. And then the fish Will had ordered had had the audacity tonotchoke the son of a bitch with a bone or at least give him a newsworthy case of food poisoning.
Life really wasn’t fair sometimes.
At least someone else had come to retrieve their dinner dishes, and now he and Will were just waiting for the man they’d come to see.
A knock at the door had them both on their feet. Cole hung back, staying well clear of anyone’s line of sight from the hallway, and Will answered the door.
When the door opened, that familiar French Canadian voice asked, “Brian Tate?”
“That would be me,” Will cheerfully confirmed. “Ooh, that’s exactly the licorice I had in mind. Did you have any trouble finding hockey gloves?”
“Trouble finding hockey gloves?” Campeau asked incredulously. “In Montreal?”
“Ooh, fair point. Come on in.” The door clicked shut. “Would you like a drink first? I usually like to have one or two before the clothes come off.” There was some quiet movement. “Ooh, you brought wine? Perfect. Let me get the glasses and a corkscrew.”
They came into the suite’s sitting room. Campeau trailed behind Will, not even noticing Cole standing off to the side. Unnoticed and without making a sound, Cole stepped in front of the doorway, blocking the exit just in case the man got cute.
Campeau had lost some weight since they’d last crossed paths. He was in his mid-fifties, maybe early sixties, and his tailored suit sat nicely on his fit frame. Though his hair had long since turned white, it was thick and full; possibly genes, possibly medical intervention. Cole was again struck by what a shame it was that he was such an insufferable douchecanoe; between hisphysique and his adventurousness, sex with him would probably be fun.
He flicked his eyes toward Will.
Same goes for him, doesn’t it? Shame someone so hot is such a taint barnacle.
Oh God, I’m thinking like him now. Fuck me.
Cole quickly shook those thoughts away. Time to focus.
“Please, have a seat,” Will invited, patting the armchair he’d been occupying a moment ago.”
Campeau took the seat, which faced the doorway. He was halfway down when his eyes locked on Cole, and he froze.
Cole smiled. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Campeau. It’s been a while.”
Campeau exhaled sharply and dropped into the chair. “Tabarnak. What the fuck are you doing here?”
Cole tutted. “Such language in front of…” He waved a hand at Will. “Him.”
Campeau’s expression turned to one of confusion as he glanced at Will, but the anger returned when he shifted his glare back to Cole. There wasn’t a trace of fear in his eyes. He threw the licorice ropes and hockey gloves onto the coffee table. “What do you want?”
