Page 92 of Carry On

This was me letting myself integrate into a system where the tradeoff to normality and fitting into Lincoln’s world was becoming something I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t want to be this.

I didn’t want to fit a mold.

I didn’t want to play this game.

Lincoln’s office was in a building that was nothing short of a gorgeous masterpiece of architecture. I’d seen it a few times, but never played in front of it. Someone like me was easily dismissed from this area.

I took my time in the foyer, admiring the high ceilings, marble, and pillars. I liked architecture. After years of wandering and living on the streets, I had developed a deep appreciation for how buildings were put together. I liked older buildings—the ones preserved in time. Their lines and intricacies weathered so much, and yet their beauty never faded. If anything, their scars complemented it. Modern architecture just didn’t hit the same way.

Navigating through the building, I found the firm Lincoln worked for on the fifth floor. The office was insufferably quiet, and the loud click of the door announced my arrival. A few heads turned while I offered an apologetic smile.

Sitting at the closest desk was a woman with dark curls and a tightly drawn expression. She appeared worked up and stressed out, but she also looked like the fucking gatekeeper.

“I’m looking for Lincoln Cassidy,” I said, leaning slightly to read the nameplate on her desk, “Ms. Hartwell. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Mr. Cassidy isn’t taking any clients at the moment,” she told me. Damn. She couldn’t even be bothered to look at me.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine seeing me,” I replied. That made her stop. She scrutinized me closely.

She knows you don’t belong here,the voice commented.

I bit back a sound of frustration. With my tie hung loose around my neck and the paper bag I carried, I wasn’t making a good impression on this woman.

“And why is that?”

”Because I’m his husband.”

“His—oh.” Her lips formed a little circle as it registered. Her gaze swept over me from head to toe. Judging. Yeah, I expected that. “You’re his—”

“Nash.” Lincoln’s voice interrupted her. I rotated to see him down a side hall of offices, and the flood of relief was instant. The smile he gave me helped, but nothing eased the guilt of seeing him in a turtle neck instead of his suit. “I’ll take him from here, Christina.”

I took the invitation to follow him to his office. It was simple and understated with some law books, no nonsense on his desk, and orderly. There was that whole control issue thing for him.

“Lively bunch of co-workers you’ve got,” I said as he closed the door.

“They have… opinions,” he replied tightly. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. The sentiment made me frown. However, before I could push him to elaborate, he asked, “How did your interview go?”

“Fine,” I told him. “I got the job.”

“Good!” His handsome face lit up, and that expression of his painfully wrapped around my heart. I hated how easily he was nestled in that part of me. He didn’t belong there. His excitement faded quickly, and his head tipped slightly as he watched me. “Is it not good?”

Fuck, I hated how good he was at reading me.

“Are you able to leave?” I asked instead, changing the subject. I lifted the bag slightly, saying, “I brought you dinner. There’s a park nearby… I thought maybe we could go and eat together?”

He faltered as I took him by surprise. Not that I blamed him. It was an unusual suggestion, especially coming from me. His silence was unnerving.

He thinks you’re crazy,the voice commented, ebbing its way right back to the surface.

“I thought you…” My voice trailed off. This was a stupid fucking idea. What the hell had I been thinking? “You know what? Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“No, no,” Lincoln interjected quickly.

“Just forget about it—”

“Yes,” he said over me. “I’d like to have dinner with you.”