Page 16 of Finding Grey
NINE
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SEAN
“All rock stars are egotistical arseholes, and Dante Sinclair is the biggest rock-hole of them all.”
Gabi’s giggle sounded down the line, making me frown. She wasn’t taking this seriously, at all. “He’s been there less than twelve hours and he slept for most of those,” she pointed out. “How bad can it possibly be?”
“Bad.” I switched the phone from one hand to the other, so I could finish pulling on my work shirt. “Infuriating, actually. He’s all come hither eyes one minute andget the hell out of my bedroomthe next. He’s a nightmare.”
“Sean,” she squealed. “What were you doing in his bedroom?”
“Showing him the way. I couldn’t very well tell him to find it himself. And I had to deliver his great pile of luggage, which he didn’t lift a finger to help with by the way. That says a lot about a person, don’t you think?”
She made a vaguely ambivalent sound before demanding, “Can we please skip to the most important question? Did the man recognise you?”
“No,” I scoffed. “Well, he asked if we’d met before, but when I said we hadn’t he was all, okay then.” He’d asked the question right after looking into my eyes. As the one part of me that hadn’t changed in the past eight years, the colour of my eyes had presented the greatest risk for giving me away. When he’d gone all still like that, the blood draining from his face, I thought for sure I was busted. But the second I claimed not to have met him… boom! He’d dismissed the idea as easily as he’d dismissed my presence five years ago. With that, the danger of discovery had abated, and he’d gone straight back to being a prick.
“What a relief!” Gabi said with a sigh.
That’s exactly what I’d told myself over and over after I left Dante to storm back to my tiny flat, all shuddery breath and trembling limbs. In fact, I was so relieved I’d slammed the door closed behind me, fallen into bed and proceeded to spend the next few hours staring at the ceiling and refusing to touch my aching dick. “A huge relief,” I told Gabi. “Definitely.”
“And is he still gorgeous?”
“Do not get me started.” Irritation sliced through me at the question. Irritation, Sean? Is that what has your blood flowing southagain? I lowered my face into my upturned palm. I was so full of shit. “Even plane-rumpled and worn he’s disgustingly beautiful.” I went to grab my keys from the bowl on the coffee table, only to find it empty. Damn it. “I’ve figured out his secret, though,” I added, hunting around the room for the missing keys. “You see, Dante doesn’t just walk into a room, he infiltrates it with his super-charged pheromones.” I wandered back into the bedroom as I continued my search. “It’s like a superpower, loosening panties and tenting boxer shorts with a single glance. No one within breathing distance is immune.”
Gabi laughed her arse off. “That’s one way to justify your reaction to his electrifying presence,” she said in a mock sultry tone.
“Oh, come on, I said that five freaking years ago.” And had yet to live it down. “It’s bad form for you to use it against me, especially when I have to go be nice to him and act professional and all that bullshit.”
“It’ll be a struggle, but you’ll survive.” Muffled movement on her end of the line told me she was getting out of bed. “Remember, this is the last time you’ll have to play maid to the musical masses. After Dante’s gone you can go back to being a photographer again.”
And that was the only reason I’d agreed to put myself through this. “You’re right. Two more months and I’m out of here.” I breathed a deep sigh. “I miss my cameras.”
“I’m sure they miss you, too.” There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in her voice now and I smiled. As a fellow photographer, Gabi understood how hard it had been for me to give up my business in order to help out my dad. The fact I’d done it willingly hadn’t made it any easier.
I collapsed onto the bed, where a small but detectable lump under my left butt cheek announced the location of my keys. “Thanks for talking me down, Gabi. You always make me feel better.” No matter how many years passed or how much life skewed from what I thought it would be, my friendship with Gabi was the one thing I could always count on.
“That’s my superpower,” she replied with a chuckle.
After we said our goodbyes, I finished getting ready for work. It wasn’t until I was on my way out the door that my eyes were drawn like magnets to the small set of shelves lining one wall of the tiny living room. No, not to the shelves, to one bookonthe shelves. I hesitated, staring at the thin, black spine. Only an idiot would touch that book now.
I was an idiot, through and through.
The photo book had been printed in the weeks after I sent Dante the photo I’d chosen for him. It contained every one of the forty-three photographs I’d taken that night. The pages were worn from use, though I was the only one who’d ever turned them. After the debacle of five years ago, I’d forced myself to abandon the book on my shelf. Never looking at it, never even touching it unless absolutely necessary—until now.
Fucking idiot.
I slammed the book closed and jammed it back into its place on the shelf. When I walked out my back door to head for the main house, I slammed it too.
The house was pin-drop quiet when I came through the side entrance, indicating Dante had yet to emerge from his room. I took some deep breaths, willing myself to calm down as I headed into the kitchen and began prepping for breakfast. I’d managed to get a list of Dante’s food and drink preferences from his assistant, so the kitchen was stocked and ready to go with his favourites.
A few minutes later, the shuffling of feet alerted me to Dante’s presence at the hallway entrance. “’Morning,” he muttered as he dragged himself into the room and slumped on one of the kitchen stools. Apparently, he hadn’t slept well either.
“Good morning.” My most professional greeting was drenched in smile when I forced myself to look at him. The smile froze as I stared at his chest.
Dante wore a t-shirt he’d obviously slept in. Old and worn, it was at the point of being threadbare. It was a Nick Cave t-shirt. He’d owned it for four years and eleven months. I knew that because I’d bought it for him and packaged it up in a box for his twentieth birthday. The night I’d gone to see him and ended up leaving the present on the couch backstage at his concert. Over the years I’d considered the possibility Roger had lied, that he hadn’t told Dante I was there that night. The fact Dante wore the shirt I’d bought him proved otherwise.