Page 62 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

LINCOLN: Has there been any movement on your referral?

No.

LINCOLN: Have you checked in?

Am I supposed to chase them down too?

LINCOLN: It’s not uncommon to have to follow up.

That’s fucking stupid.

LINCOLN: I’m aware, but it still needs to be done.

Fine.

LINCOLN: Are you nervous about your job interview?

No.

LINCOLN: Good luck, Lucky.

Ineeded all the luck I could get and then some. I hadn’t held a “real job” since I was in the military. No amount of dressing it up could make my resume look good. You couldn’t fill in an empty space with nothing. And that was me. I had nothing to offer someone who ran a business.

Hell, I didn’t even want to be here. I had no desire to conform to the prison society had built for us.

A society run by money and framed by expectations.

I also couldn’t understand why everyone considered that so wrong.

So wild. I’d existed in the world long enough to see how money and expectations ruined people and made them miserable.

I may not have interacted much with the world, but I observed a lot.

Was it so wrong that I didn’t want to be saddled with that burden?

I fussed with my tie. The damn thing was uncomfortable. Why did people wear these things? What was the point?

“Sorry about that!” Owen Masters: owner, loud talker, and sweated so goddamn bad it had to be a medical condition.

Granted, considering the luck I was having with the system, I couldn’t imagine it was any better for him.

Still, the guy seemed nice enough. “If it’s not one thing, it’s the other, am I right? ”

“Yeah,” I agreed, forcing a chuckle—performing like the goddamn monkey I was in the situation.

It still won’t impress him, the voice commented.

I did my best to ignore it because I could only focus on so much at once.

“We talked about the job, right?” he asked as he shuffled papers around his overly cluttered desk. I just nodded. We’d talked about it twice, but at least he asked this time. “Okay… and we talked about training and compensation…”

“Yes, Sir, we did,” I replied.

“Oh, none of that sir stuff here,” he said. “Just Owen will do just fine. I like to treat my boys like family. If you’re going to keep my business going, you deserve my respect.”

“That’s a nice policy.” A rare one.

“I also believe in second chances,” he continued, “and sometimes third chances. There aren’t a lot of people I won’t give a second or third chance on. You have to really mess up for me to look the other way and give up.”

“Good to know.”

”Now, that being said,” Owen tapped the paper in front of him—my resume, “there is a hell of a gap in your resume, Mr. Calhoun.”

“Just Nash, please,” I interrupted. “I go by my middle name.”

“Good to know.” He made a quick note of it on the resume. “Can you explain the time gap? It’s almost… well, it’s almost ten years.”

“I had some trouble adjusting to coming home,” I admitted, the words bitter on my tongue.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied.

No, he’s not, the voice chimed in.

“I’ve heard a lot of stories,” Owen murmured.

He drummed his fingers on the desk as he considered me.

I just deadpanned, staring back at him. There was very little that he could do to make me uncomfortable.

The tie was winning in that department. At this point, I was just waiting for him to dismiss me.

“If I drug test you today, would you pass?”

“I don’t do drugs,” I said.

“Alcohol?”

“Occasionally.” I lied. “Who doesn’t have a drink from time to time?”

“Very true.” He laughed. “Well, your military record is stellar. Have you been arrested? Is there anything on your record that I should be aware of?”

“I was arrested for punching a college kid in the face,” I told him. “But it was self-defense, and the charges were dropped.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d been put in handcuffs, but I was fairly certain the other times had been just to cool me down until they were comfortable releasing me. I didn’t think there was a record of those, so I wasn’t bringing them up.

“Okay,” Owen said as he nodded slowly. “Like I said, I believe in second chances. I got a whole assortment of guys on my crew that needed someone to give them a second chance. You take care of my business, and I take care of you, got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t we get some paperwork done? After, we’ll set up your training, and then I’ll take you to one of the sites to introduce you to some of the guys you’ll be working with?” he continued as he got to his feet.

I followed suit, realizing this was it.

This was me getting a job.

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.”