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Zach managed to control his exasperation. “That’s generous. But no.”

“Two hundred dollars.”

Zach barely registered those husky words.

“Stop. It’s not about the money. I would find that—I find this—very…um…distracting. From the job I agreed to do.”

Alton frowned. “I didn’t imagine someone your age would be so closed-minded.”

“No? Well. Sorry.” Zach set the box on the seat between himself and Alton.

Alton leaned back in his seat and glared out the window.

Zach regarded him, his heart pounding in a mixture of disbelief and alarm. Alarm because two hundred dollars an hour on top of the five Alton was already paying him was one hell of a lot of money, which he could very much use, and the fact he was eventhinkingthis way was…alarming.

Not another word was spoken until they reached Zach’s house.

Alton continued to stare pointedly out the window. Zach hopped out of the car and waited for Chico to get his luggage from the trunk of the Bentley.

Chico, Zach’s bag in hand, nodded with his chin for Zach to proceed him up the little cement walk.

Was he fired? Zach had no idea. He did not want to lose this very lucrative job; however, things had definitely taken a turn for the weird, and he wasn’t sure what to do about that. There had probably been a more graceful, tactful way to decline Alton’s wishes, but he’d been caught off-guard and, well, maybe hewasclosed-minded. But no way.

No. Way.

Not least because he was starting to realize he didn’t trust Alton as far as he could throw him.

They reached Zach’s screen door, and Zach felt for his keys. Chico put down Zach’s suitcase and handed him the silver box, which he must have grabbed from Alton after Zach started for the house. Zach tried to hand the box back. Chico pushed the box back. Were they going to brawl over possession of the goddamned box?

Ignoring Zach’s scowl, Chico said, “Consider it a compliment, GQ.”

“That would be a backhanded compliment. At best.”

“Nah. He’s harmless. You don’t even have to wear ’em. Just let him think you’ve got them on.”

“I’m not going to lie.”

“Don’t worry. He loses interest fast.”

“Speaking from personal experience?”

“Fuck no.” Chico seemed genuinely amused. “I’m not his type.”

“And he’s not mine.”

He was talking to Chico’s uniformed back. But as Chico marched down the steps, he threw back, “Rich guys are everyone’s type.”

Chapter Six

“Morning!” Brooke called cheerily when she breezed into the office ten minutes after nine on Monday morning. “You’re here early.”

“Uh, no. You’re fifteen minutes late.” Zach finished pouring water into the coffee maker and flipped shut the lid. He turned on the machine.

Brooke cast a dismissing look at the clock on the wall, set Mr. Bigglesworth’s cat carrier on the reception desk, and slipped out of her rain-spotted trench coat. She dropped into the chair behind the reception desk and turned on her desktop. “How was your weekend?” Before Zach could respond, she added slyly, “How was your date?”

Zach, flipping open the door of the cat carrier, lifted Mr. B. out. Mr. B. meowed a tuna-breathed complaint about the weather. Zach bumped his nose against the cat’s suede-soft face. “It was a job. Not a date.”

“Awwww,” Brooke sympathized. “But you know, the course of true love ne’er did run true.”