Cass took the case and laid it on the huge wooden table. Lenny cringed and turned away. Late last night while Nero had smoked alone on the fire escape, the concept of the wandering wild cat had made perfect sense, but in the cold light of day, faced with the three men who commanded London’s hottest restaurant company, he had to wonder if it was the daftest idea he’d ever conceived.
No, dying your hair rose gold is the stupidest thing you’ve done recently, dickhead. Lenny moved across the buzzing restaurant, running his fingers self-consciously through his freshly tinted hair. Would Nero even notice? Given the brutal way he was digging pizzas out of the giant wood-fired oven, probably not.
Lenny chanced a hand on Nero’s arm, sliding his fingers around his wrist. “Hey.”
Nero spun around, pizza shovel raised, his beard dusty with flour, and the relief in his eyes unmistakable. “You made it.”
“I did. Were you worried?”
“Yes.”
God, I love him and his bluntness. “So was I, if I’m honest. It was weird being outside without you.”
“Managed just fine, though, eh? Don’t need me at all.”
There was humour in Nero’s eyes as he spoke, but it felt hollow. Lenny frowned, his fingers digging of their own accord into Nero’s arm. “I do need you. I want you.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
Nero turned slightly and scraped a pizza out of the oven. “Don’t ask me shit like that. I ain’t got a clue why someone like you would want a bastard like me.”
“You’re not a bastard.”
“Uh-huh.” Nero dumped the pizza at the mouth of the oven. “Feel like one when you stare holes in my soul.”
Lenny glanced around. No one was looking their way, not that Nero seemed to care. “I only stare because I want to see.”
“I know.”
Another dead end. Lenny suppressed a sigh. Part of him wanted to shake Nero into a submission of a different kind than the one that made his bones burn, but aside from the fact that Nero could subdue him with both hands tied behind his back, this was a conversation best had, or not, at home.
Lenny let it go and studied the pizza still sizzling at the mouth of the oven. “That smells amazing. Which one is it?”
“The asparagus and feta. I did the meat ones this morning.”
“Good.” Lenny wrinkled his nose. “I hate the smell of that sausage one.”
Nero snorted. “If you say so.”
“Fuck you.”
“Later.”
Lenny’s pulse quickened as Nero’s eyes smouldered, then he remembered that later was a long time away. It was the Urban Soul staff party that evening—a BBQ and bar crawl in Farringdon—and it would likely be arse o’clock in the morning before they stumbled home together. And before the party even started, Lenny needed to meet Debs in Angel to help her with her hair extensions.
Reluctantly, he released his death grip on Nero’s arm. “I’d better get back to the bosses.”
“Yeah? Cass said you’ve designed the frontage.”
“I’ve tried. I’ll find out soon enough if they liked it.”
“They will. Cass loves that tiger.”
“So do I, mate. So do I.”
Lenny left Nero to his pizzas and drifted back to the big round table. Only Tom was there, Lenny’s scribbles and designs spread out in front of him, his unreadable frown one Nero would be proud of. Lenny bit his lip. “Um . . . hi.”
