Page 3 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

Patrick is Zeb’s partner of six years. He’s a beautiful man and quite a bit younger than Zeb, but from the photos I’ve seen of them together they seem to be happy. I consider that. Maybe. Patrick looks like he’d be bloody hard work, but luckily that’s Zeb’s problem and not mine.

Felix stares at me. “Didn’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“They split up.”

“Get away. When?”

He smiles. “Last year sometime.”

I sit up straight. “Why didn’t I know this?”

“Didn’t know the subject interested you,” Felix says casually as he rifles through the paperwork. He shoots me a quick glance and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Well, obviously I like to know these things,” I say robustly. “His mood directly impacts my job security situation.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, overdoing the nodding. “Of course.”

“Does everyone know?”

He shrugs. “Probably. Zeb hasn’t advertised it, but he hasn’t exactly hidden it. Plus, Patrick came into the office shouting a few times which sort of gave the game away, as did the furniture removal. ”

Zeb lives in a three-storey flat over the agency offices. I’ve heard it’s lovely. Heard, because I’ve never been invited up.

“I’m surprised I didn’t cotton on,” I say slowly.

He laughs. “Well, usually your meetings with Zeb don’t run to the format of a cosy chat.”

“No,” I say morosely. “They’re more hurricanes, earthquakes, and a fucking great tsunami.”

“The earth moved though.”

I laugh, but it’s thoughtful, and the news about Zeb is still on my mind as I let myself into my flat later on.

“That you, Jesse?” comes the call.

“Is there anyone else who has a key?”

My flatmate Charlie appears in the door. “Eli’s got a key.”

I smile at the thought of my best friend who now lives in Cornwall in domestic bliss. “Eli is shacked up with a famous actor. Don’t think he needs a key to this shithole anymore.”

He smiles. He has the widest grin that seems to light his whole face up, and with that and his long blond hair, sometimes he fairly glows.

That smile led to him being nicknamed Charlie Sunshine.

It suits him because he’s the prettiest and most angelic-looking man I’ve ever met, with a head full of blond waves and blue eyes.

He’d have made a fantastic model but instead chose to be a librarian. His beauty is almost startling.

“Aww, they’re so happy together,” he says.

I’m sorry. I forgot that. His smile and his outlook on life led to him being called Charlie Sunshine.

He sees the good in everyone. When Eli and I set up interviews for a flatmate, we took one look at Charlie and crossed everyone else off the list. We’ve never regretted it.

He’s funny and calm and like my baby brother.

I look a bit closer at him and then frown. “You’re very pale. Are you okay?”

He waves his hand airily. “I’m fine.”

I narrow my eyes. “You don’t look it. Did you have a turn?”

He turns and wanders back into the lounge. “A small one.” He catches my eyes. “Only a little one. I was only out for a bit. I’m fine. Just feel like I’ve got a hangover now. ”

“Are you out with Vic tonight?” I frown at the thought.

It’s almost like a reflex now when I think of his arsehole boyfriend.

Born with a golden spoon in his mouth, it’s always seemed a shame that he didn’t choke on it.

He’s been with Charlie for a year and while he’s ecstatic to have such a good-looking man on his arm, he doesn’t treat Charlie right at all.

He talks to him like he’s shit most of the time and Charlie waves it off, making excuses for him like “he’s tired” and “he works so hard.”

I sigh. Who am I to judge anyway? I haven’t exactly done well in the boyfriend stakes. Three of them cheated and one stole my wallet. Not to mention the charmer who took out a credit card in my name.

Charlie sneaks a glance at me and shakes his head, lowering himself to the sofa with a weary sigh. I hover slightly because he looks fragile. “No, Misha is coming over tonight,” he says, closing his eyes.

Unseen, I sag with relief. Misha is Charlie’s best friend. They’re closer than two peas in a pod but as different as broccoli and a nuclear bomb. But it seems to make their friendship stronger, and Misha has always been very protective of Charlie. If he’s here, nothing will happen.

“Good,” I say. I settle down onto the sofa next to him, raising his legs so they rest on my lap. I massage the calves while he makes happy sounds. “I like Misha,” I say slowly. “Good-looking bloke.” I pinch his knee. “And your best friend.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Stop matchmaking, you’re shit at it. Misha and I are friends. I love him and he loves me, but that’s it. It’ll never be anything else.”

“Why?” I ask curiously. We’ve spoken about this before, but it’s the first time we’ve done it sober. I’m sure he’s answered it before, but either it didn’t make sense, or I wasn’t listening, or I’d passed out.

“Because Misha is a complete tart and I’m not,” he says, smiling at me. I’m relieved to see the colour coming back into his face. “And we don’t see each other like that. We were friends too long for that.”

“Oh, okay.” I was right. It doesn’t make sense.

“Do you want to get Chinese?” he asks.

I shrug. “Sounds good. You need an early night then and so do I. My eye is killing me. ”

He smiles kindly at me. “Do you want me to get you an ice pack?”

I shake my head. “No.” My phone starts to ring and I raise a finger and answer it, surprised to hear Felix.

“Jesse, are you settled in for the night?”

“Not really.” I tug at my tie. “It’s only seven o’clock. I’m not sixty and Midsomer Murders is a repeat.”

He chuckles. “Can you come back in?” he says apologetically.

“Now? Why?”

“Zeb needs to see you.”

“Oh, has he forgotten a misdemeanour he needs to bollock me about?” I say sourly. “What a tragedy.”

He laughs. “Can you come in or not?”

“I notice you’re not denying it.” I look at Charlie and sigh. “Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.”

I click End and Charlie grins at me. “Going to pay a late-night visit to Mr Super Sexy?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

He nudges me with his foot. “You wish I wouldn’t, or that you didn’t call him it in your head?” I groan and he laughs. “You’re in denial, Vivian.”

He likes to call me this, and no matter how much I tell him that I’m not a prostitute with thigh-high boots, he keeps at it.

“I didn’t kiss him on the mouth, Daddy,” I say in a high voice.

“You’re my boy now,” he growls, and I snort.

“Okay, enough. It’s making me uneasy. I’m going to have a shower.”

“Make sure you clean all your crevices,” he says and chuckles to himself.

Half an hour later, showered and dressed in Levis and a black shirt, I push my hand through my still-wet hair. “Right, I’m off. I’ll be back later. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says firmly. The doorbell rings and his face brightens. “That’ll be Misha.”

“I’ll get the door on my way out.” Kissing him on the head, I walk into the hall and open the front door.

I grin at Misha. He’s dressed in a grey suit and with his black hair, olive skin, and bright blue eyes, he looks as good-looking as normal.

And as irritable. Surly and handsome looks great on him.

“You scrub up nicely.” I laugh, and he grins at me.

“Not half as nicely as you. Look at you with the whole matching-your-eye-to-your-shirt-thing you’ve got going on.”

I snort. “Baby, I wrote the fashion bible.”

“I’d be slightly more reassured if you’d written the actual Bible.”

As I step back to let him through the door, I grab his arm. “He had a turn,” I whisper.

Worry flares in his eyes. “Is he okay?”

“Bit fragile. But it wasn’t a bad one.”

“I hate them,” he says slowly but fiercely. He gives me a half-hearted smile. “You on your way out?”

“Been called back in.”

“What have you done now?”

I shake my head sadly. “So predictable. You staying with him?”

He instantly nods. “I’ll kip on the sofa if you’re not back.” He eyes the lounge. “I might kip here anyway.”

I nod and wave goodbye before clattering down the stairs.

An hour later I knock on the front door of the office. All the windows are dark, and I frown and knock again. Then a light switches on and I see the fuzzy form of Zeb appear.

When he opens the door, I nearly swallow my tongue.

In the three years I’ve known him I’ve never seen him in anything other than his very expensive suits.

Tonight he’s barefoot and wearing a grey T-shirt and an ancient pair of jeans.

Worn white in places, they hang on him, perfectly cupping his package like an overeager man at kicking-out time in a night club.

His hair is slightly dishevelled, as if he’s being running his hand through it, and he has thick stubble on his chin.

“Hello,” he says and then pauses. “You okay? You look a bit shell-shocked.”

I recover myself. “Just getting my expression perfectly right for the bollocking you’re surely going to give me.”

He shakes his head. “You have such a pessimistic outlook for someone so young. ”

“I’d say realistic,” I mutter, following him in as he gestures. I look around the dark office. “Is this going to be one of those events where they torture people so that the office bonds as a group? Or like that SAS programme where they blindfold people and bang wooden spoons?”

He blinks. “Why on earth would I want to bang wooden spoons around you? And since when is torture associated with office bonding?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to take up with all those companies that offer team-building exercises. All I’ll say is that if you want your workplace to bond, take them to the pub and pay the bar bill.”

He shakes his head and moves forward, gesturing for me to follow him. “I’d be bankrupt within twenty minutes.”

I laugh and then stop as he opens the door next to his office. “Oh my God,” I breathe. “Are we going up to your flat?”

He pauses, looking worried. “We were, but we can stay down here if you want. I was cooking dinner, so I thought we could talk while I do that.”