Page 5 of The Allure of Ruins

“Oh God,” he moaned.

“This is why we don’t touch people, ever, without consent, sir.”

“Call me Jonah.”

“This is why we don’t touch people, ever, without consent, Jonah .”

“No, I—I would never. I just?—”

“You were trying to show her you were interested. I get it.”

“I’m normally so careful, I never—you have to believe me.”

“At least Mr. Somerset didn’t see.”

His head snapped up. “You were talking to him. What did you?—”

“Not a word,” I affirmed, meeting his gaze. “Don’t make me regret that decision.”

“No, I—God,” he muttered under his breath, clearly disgusted by even the implication that he was interested in a seventeen-year-old. “I would never—could never—I?—”

“Okay,” I soothed him. “Take a breath. My interference came purely from seeing her body language, and maybe her discomfort was because she’s never been in a situation where she had to assert herself and say no to a grown-up before.”

He shot me a look, and I snorted out a laugh. I couldn’t help it. I felt so much better talking to him instead of Mr. Somerset. It was probably his height and leaner build.

“She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there,” I told him.

“I missed all that,” he said miserably. “You saw it, but it was lost on me.”

“I get uncomfortable a lot myself,” I replied honestly, “so I know what that looks like.”

“This is so—I want to apologize to her.”

“If you want,” I said, taking in the picture of Janelle and her friends, all on their phones. “I can ask her over or you can go with me.”

He was quiet a moment. “How would that go? Between the makeup and how short the dress was, I thought you were twenty-three?”

I scoffed.

“Yeah, you see? It sounds like crap.”

It did.

His eyes searched mine. “Thank you again for running interference. That could have been infinitely worse than being laughed at by toddlers.”

“Be more careful,” I cautioned him. “And stay sober so you can read cues.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quickly. “I want you to know that I’m not a bad?—”

“Oh,” I said with a long, happy exhale. “Look who it is.”

The door had opened, and now, standing there, looking around, ignoring people who called out greetings to him, was my boss, Colton Gates.

It was impossible to miss him, at any time, in any place, for the simple reason that when he entered a room, it was hard to look away.

He had been blessed genetically, and there was no doubt about that.

Thick dirty-blond hair and gold eyes, which no one could see at the moment, were only two of his many gifts.

Even standing there, with his aviators on, in the same clothes he’d worn all day at the shelter—a long-sleeve T-shirt under a flannel one, khakis, and a pair of thick-soled hiking boots that had to be at least a hundred years old—he had everyone riveted.

I wondered how they’d feel about him if they knew it was quite possible that his boots were, in fact, ancient.

The only things he didn’t buy at consignment stores were his underwear, sweats, sleep shorts, and T-shirts.

All the rest was secondhand. He liked knowing that the shoes would be comfortable because someone else had broken them in.

I found that horrifying. The few times I’d gone with him, I didn’t want to touch anything.

I had a deathly fear of crabs and lice and bedbugs, and no amount of reassurance from him that everything in the store was freshly laundered made me worry any less.

I lifted my hand so he’d see me, and he immediately started across the room. And yes, I had felt better with Jonah than with Mr. Somerset, but seeing Colton, every drop of insecurity and fear ran off me like water.

When he reached me, I sighed again, deeply, so pleased to see him, but had to shake my head at the same time. Really? He couldn’t have changed?

“What?” he snarled the instant he was in front of me, seemingly furious to the untrained listener. I noted Jonah taking a step back in response, unmistakably intimidated by my boss.

“This is a catered dinner to thank everyone,” I explained, sounding tired, and pained, gesturing at Jonah in his black dress pants, black cashmere turtleneck, and black cap-toe Oxfords. “This is how we’re supposed to look in our boss’s home.”

“Thank you,” Jonah said softly, smiling at me. “You know, I’m losing my assistant to Drummond Bur?—”

“No,” Colton snapped at him. “And you’ve got a lotta balls trying to poach my assistant.”

Jonah appeared startled and a bit scared. “I was kidding, Colton. I would nev?—”

“Let’s go,” he barked at me.

“It’s Saturday night, Colton,” Jonah advised him, his gaze on me for a moment and then back on my boss. I got the feeling he thought he was saving me. “Whatever this is can probably wait until?—”

“No,” he said again, his tone icy, grabbing my arm and turning toward the door.

“Where are we going?” I asked, speeding up so I was right beside him.

The moment he realized I was on my way to the door as well, he let go. He always did when I matched his stride or went ahead.

“I was contacted tonight by some FBI agents from California.”

I nearly stumbled, but his hand was there, faster than I could fall, and kept me on my feet.

“I informed them that we would meet them at that pub we like near my place.”

“That you like,” I corrected him without thinking, my brain on autopilot. The establishment in question was sticky. The floors, the booths, the varnish on the bar, never all the way clean. Plus, it smelled like cigarettes, stale air, and beer. Not a winning combination.

“That I like,” he amended.

“FBI agents?”

“Yeah.”

“Is someone dead?”

“No. Out of protective custody.”

“Really?” That was not something I’d ever considered. My ex—and I could only assume that’s who we were talking about—had been, I was certain, on his way to jail all those years ago. I hadn’t imagined, in my wildest nightmares, him ever getting out.

“Really,” he stated.

I started shaking.

“Listen,” he murmured, spinning me around to face him, hands on my biceps. “I don’t know shit about whatever the fuck this is because you haven’t told me, but I’m guessing this is where the panic attacks come from. Yeah?”

“Some of them, yes.”

“We’ll get it sorted.”

I had the urge to run. Not even to go home, but to hit an ATM, buy a plane ticket to Las Vegas, and get lost in the sea of people there.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said flatly.

He’d read that on me clear as day. Just looking at me, he knew. It was crazy. It had always been nuts, he and I, from the moment we met.

“I need you, yeah?”

I took a breath because yes, he did. I made him stop and notice things like the stars in the sky on deep blue summer nights, or the sunrise on cold, crisp winter mornings, or how good all the plants looked from the vantage point of his desk.

I made him appreciate the comfort of the furniture in our office, got him to savor coffee, not merely drink it for survival, and my crowning achievement was that I made him a better friend.

I prodded him to call people back, to show up when invited, and to ask the people he cared about to come over just to watch TV with him.

He was stunned when old friends and new showed up for no other reason than him suggesting beer and pizza on a random Thursday night.

He was more loved than he knew, but he also needed to be more accessible.

I did that. He gave me a chance, and I reciprocated by reminding him that his time was the most precious gift he could give.

Janelle walked by with all her friends in tow and smiled at me as she did.

I noted that she and the other girls, and one of the boys, all gave my boss longing looks as they passed.

It was to be expected. When you were built like he was, and your bone structure made you resemble a manga character or a superhero, people stopped and stared.

Mr. Somerset caught us at the door.

“You run in, grab your assistant, and go, Colton?” he teased my boss, closing in on us with his hand outstretched for him to shake.

There was a slight curl of his lip before Colton shook the offered hand. He never gave Burgess or Mayhew the time of day, but Mr. Somerset, he liked. Or at least didn’t hate. It was a fine line. “We had an emergency come up, so we have to go.”

“Well, I’m glad you at least put in an appearance.” He chuckled. “What’s with the sunglasses? Are you stoned?”

My boss was an occasional drinker, but narcotics, THC, or anything stronger than ibuprofen was never allowed in his system. To prove it to the man, he lifted the aviators and pushed them back into the mane that fell just above his shoulders. The black eye was wildly noticeable.

“Jesus, Colt, what happened?”

“One of the guys we talked to in lockup yesterday, Saul Blackburn, was suffering through a meth withdrawal, so he tagged me before I even noticed he was taking a swing.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s drying out at the hospital,” I replied, looking for my coat. I had always liked the row of hooks Mr. Somerset had on the wall in his foyer, but at the moment, with so many there, my jacket was hidden. “We got him the last bed at county around one in the morning.”

Mr. Somerset shook his head. “And why are we interested in this man?”

“Because he’s the witness who can prove that our client, Demarcus Young, did not, in fact, stab anyone at a bodega out in Pilsen a month ago. We paid Mr. Blackburn’s bail, so he’s out of jail, and once his system is clean, we can take his statement before we put him into rehab.”

“Are we paying for his rehab as well?”

Colton squinted at him. “Of course. That’s the deal we’re making.”

Mr. Somerset nodded. “Well, all the partners are more impressed with your efforts than any other’s. They suggested we expand your department and add two more lawyers on rotation. I told them we’d consider it come next quarter.”

“If nothing else, we can use more help,” Colton stated. “But third and fourth years only. If another first or second year comes down to the basement—I’m armed now.”