“Can’t tell you.” Reed shrugged. “Maybe you should try asking Viv, since the two of you are so close. Oh wait, she can’t stand you, can she? That’s why you’re here harassing me instead of talking to her yourself.”
Thomas’s low-simmering temper rose to a boil. He fitted his fists into the pockets of his shorts and did what he could to douse the fire.
Walk away, said the calmer, more rational part of him.
Finish it, said the other, louder part.
He did. “I want you to stay away from her.”
“Who? Vivienne?”
“Yeah.” He had no business saying so. He knew it. Reed knew it. He doubled down, anyway. “Don’t take her calls. Don’t answer her texts.”
Reed laughed. “Fat chance of that, dickwad. If Vivienne contacts me, I’ll be there. I’m not about to ghost her just because you’ve got a crush.”
It felt as though Reed had reached into his chest and tugged something vital from beneath his ribs. Something small and raw and beating, not meant for the light of day.
“I won’t say it again,” he said mildly. “Stay the hell away from Vivienne.”
Reed looked amused. “Or what?”
“I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“Sure you will.” Reed ducked past him with a two-fingered salute, heading out into the sunlit lot. “I hate to break it to you, Walsh,” he called as he went, “but I’m above your pay grade.”
•••
By the time Thomas made it back to Greenwich, the sun was nearly at the midday point in the sky. He nodded to the landscapers as he made his way up the circular drive and then spent several minutes fending off the dogs in the Farrows’ cavernous foyer.
Philip’s car was gone, the office empty. Amelia was nowhere to be seen. Thomas toed off his shoes in the mudroom, listening for signs of Vivienne. The house was quiet, which wasn’t unusual. His phone sounded in his pocket and he slid it out, killing the ringtone as he made his way through the house’s mausoleum cold.
“Tess,” he said, answering on the second ring.
“God, Tommy,” said his sister, “I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“I was dealing with something at work. Is Mom okay?”
“Mom is fine. Why is it that I can only call if Mom is having an emergency?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said, pushing into his room. “Your texts made it sound like it was urgent.”
“Itisurgent.” He heard the rustle of snack packaging. “The first paycheck from your weird new boss dropped in the bank account.”
“Good.” He stood in the door and studied the sparse decor of his room, the hairs standing on the back of his neck. Something was off. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll call the collection company tomorrow and get a few of the bills paid off.”
“It’s a lot of money, Tommy.”
In the carpeted hush, there came a distinctivesnip. The quiet click of metal on metal. Thomas froze.
“Tommy? Hello?”
His sister had asked him a question, but it hadn’t registered. He was too busy staring at the closet. The door sat ajar, a sliver of dark visible from where he stood. He was certain he’d shut it before he left.
“To-ommy,” Tessa sang.
“Yeah, what?”
“I asked if you’re working as a male escort.”
