Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Another thunk, head impacting against the leather—and then again and again, until Brand couldn’t take it anymore and he reached across to gather Ash against him. Ash tumbled out of his chair, falling into Brand, clutching at him with a hitching breath and burying his face in his throat.
“I want to be mad at him,” Ash whispered. “I want to be so mad at him, because if I’d known I wouldn’t have…wouldn’t have…”
“Wouldn’t have what?” Brand prompted gently, stroking over Ash’s back.
“Wasted so much,” Ash breathed, trembling with the edges of tears. “Wasted so much time…on things that don’t even matter.”
BRAND HELD ASHTON UNTIL HIS tremors quieted. Until they were calm and quiet against each other, and the need to comfort simply became comfortable. The sky was gray outside, the rain a thing of small tiny mirrors making refractions all down the glass office walls, and its whispered sound was a soothing thing, cocooning them in gentle quiet.
And Brand was content to stay like this, so long as he had his young Master safe in his arms. He couldn’t protect him from what was to come, or shield him from the pain it would cause.
But he could at least give him shelter and solace, if nothing else.
Yet his troubled thoughts lingered with him, as he breathed in Ash’s quiet scent that made him think of rainfall on city streets, as if the day itself was shivering with Ash’s silent grief, his essence permeated throughout the city and its towering concrete palaces. A decision weighed heavy inside him, waiting to be made if only he would look at it head on.
And he refused to be a coward about this.
He drew back to look down at Ash, curling his knuckles against his young Master’s cheek. “I would ask something of you, young Master.”
Ash looked up at him. Still so trusting, so innocent, looking at Brand with such utter faith. He didn’t understand how a young man could grow to adulthood and still be so sweet in his own way, but Brand hoped…
He hoped he never broke that.
“Sure,” Ash murmured. “Anything.”
“My contract does allow for a set number of personal days, does it not?”
Ash’s brows knitted quizzically. “I mean…yeah, everybody gets days off.”
Brand smiled dryly. “Do you think you would fall apart in my absence tomorrow?”
“I’ll find a way to manage,” Ash retorted with an echo of his usual merry sarcasm, wan and tired. “Where are you going?”
“To attend to a personal matter,” Brand deflected, and pressed his lips to Ash’s brow. “I should return by noon, if you have need of me. But for now…” He stood, drawing Ash with him, diverting any questions with distractions. “…for today only, perhaps we could leave the office early. I’ll make you a proper dinner instead of something cobbled together after midnight.”
“Sure,” Ash said, the unspoken question in his eyes.
But Brand only turned away, beginning to pack up his young Master’s things, grateful when Ashton didn’t ask.
Because Brand didn’t know if he could answer, right now.
Not yet.
ASH HAD LIED. HE HADN’T meant to, but Ash had most definitely lied.
Because he was falling apart in the office without Brand, and cursing himself with every new thing he fucked up.
It had only been a few hours. Brand had woken him, dressed him, fed him, and dropped him off at the office with a promise to be back by noon. Ash had shut himself in his office at the Tower to handle some paperwork, review a few contracts, sort out an issue with a supplier in Norway.
And promptly made a half-dozen mistakes within the first half hour.
He could do this. He was figuring his shit out and he didn’t even need Brand to explain these things anymore, but he’d gotten so used to Brand being his heated, overwhelming shadow that his absence left a void that seemed to suck all of Ash’s attention and capacity into it.
And he was just about ready to throw in the towel and give up until he could get his fucking attention span under control—before he sank the company with a goddamned lawsuit over the use of the Harrington Steel trademark on third-party-crafted products in foreign countries—when a polite rap came at the door. His heart jumped, then sank an instant later. Brand wouldn’t knock.
Ms. Vernon would, however, and she leaned in with a polite smile. “Ashton? Your friend Mr. Newcomb is here to see y—”
“No need for the fanfare, luvvie, I’ll show myself in,” Vic interrupted with an easygoing laugh, then slipped around Ms. Vernon into the office.
Vic was as dapper as the last time he and Ash had met up for lunch before Ash’s life had fallen apart—tall and rangy in a neat white shirt and deep red waistcoat and black slacks, his dark brown hair slicked back; even if he and Ash were the same age, he had that air of presence about him that Ash envied, that came from growing up knowing how to handle things Ash was only just beginning to take in hand. Vic looked like someone ready to step in and take over his father’s company, far more than Ash ever could.