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  Lindsay slapped his arm. “Alex, do not try to set me up with your friend. That’s—” she wrinkled her nose “—icky.”

  “Hey, he’s a great guy. Sure, he’s not a silver-spoon baby—”

  “You know I don’t care about that. I just don’t have time or energy to spend on a guy, any more than you do.”

  “No energy required. He’ll only be downstairs.”

  “Alex, please don’t push.”

  “Lin.” Alex waited until she met his gaze. “Will is not coming back.”

  “I know.” She shook back her hair, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Will has nothing to do with my decision. In fact, it’s a good thing he left, because significant others always expect to be . . . well . . . significant. Right now, the only significant person in our lives should be Daddy.”

  “Okay, okay. But I think you deserve a life, that’s all.”

  She traced one of the photographs with her fingertip—a picture of the two of them on a camping trip with their dad, when Lindsay had caught her first fish and then refused to touch it. “There’ll be time for that. Later.”

  Alex’s heart squeezed as it did whenever he thought about later. “Maybe so. But if something comes up, don’t let it go because you think we need you.”

  “You don’t need me?” She sounded hurt. Jesus, he’d have thought she’d be relieved to catch a break.

  “We need you, but you shouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself on the altar of family obligation.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted. “Heaven forbid. That’s your job.”

  Lindsay and his mom both laughed, and he scowled at them. “What? It is.”

  Ruth stood and kissed the top of his head. “Honey, just because your dad believed it was the man’s job to take care of the family, it doesn’t mean he did it by himself.” She slanted a glance at Lindsay. “No matter what he thought.”

  “Whatever. How about this? I’ll skip my lunch break so I can take off a little early and stop by the house tonight after my shift. I could use your help checking out the downstairs apartment, Lin. Can you do the walk-through with me? Take notes?”

  Ned’s voice melded with a sudden surge of Lucy’s laugh track, and Lindsay glanced at her album, throat working. “I don’t know. Mom needs me here.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. Your Aunt Ivy is coming by this evening.”

  Lindsay pressed her lips together and shared an Oh my god look with him. “Then I’ll definitely help Alex.”

  He chuckled and tweaked a lock of her hair. “Excellent. Couldn’t manage without you.”

  Gideon tossed his keys on the gateleg table in his foyer. God, home had never, ever looked so good. When he trolled the club scene, he rarely got home before two in the morning. But dancing and fending off advances from inappropriate guys required way less energy than schlepping boxes full of steel racks from one room to another while playing quién es más macho with the monosyllabic brick shit-house of an electrician.

  Thank goodness Charlie was at Daniel’s tonight and Lindsay was with her family, because he needed a shower and he refused to pollute their gorgeous apartment with these clothes.

  He toed off his Vans and shucked the hellish paisley jeans off, scrunching them around his ankles and leaning against the wall with one elbow to pull them off, because ewww. No grimy handprints on their alabaster entryway walls, not on his watch.

  His hoodie would never be the same, poor thing, so he dropped it onto the hideous pants. A shame, really, because it was Columbia Sportswear and he’d liked it, even if it was six years old. Although his T-shirt wasn’t contaminated with fiberglass, it was definitely contaminated with sweat, so he pulled it over his head as he walked into the living room. The shirt got stuck halfway, the tight neckband snagging on his glasses. Blinded, he banged his shin on the coffee table.

  “Ow. Damn it.”

  A low chuckle emanated from the direction of the sofa, and he froze. Intruder alert! And him with a T-shirt tangled around his nose, wearing nothing but his orange Calvin Klein skivvies. He shoved his thumbs under the shirt’s neckband and squinted out from underneath. His mouth dropped open.

  The jerk of an electrician was sitting smack in the middle of the sofa. “Nice show. You give one every night, or is this special?”

  Gideon’s heart stuttered, then took off at a sprint. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” He fumbled his glasses off, ripped the shirt over his head, then held it against his bare chest. What good will that do? It’s cotton, not Kevlar, idiot.

  Here he was, alone in his apartment with the Iron Giant, practically naked. Shouldn’t he be a little more frightened? His inner bitch warred with his sense of self-preservation.

  The inner bitch won.

  He threw down the T-shirt and propped his hands on his hips. He might be sweaty and grimy, but his abs were perfect, thank you very much, so his near-nudity wasn’t a disadvantage in a confidence face-off. He had nothing to be ashamed of, even if Mr. Reddy Kilowatt over there was built like a vintage Tom of Finland drawing. As long as he keeps his distance—

  “Gideon? Is that you?”

  Gideon’s heart kicked up another notch. Shit. If Lindsay was in the house, the rules had just changed. He grabbed the nearest blunt object—Charlie’s spare laptop—and hefted it like a baseball bat. “Lin, sweetie, stay back.”

  “What? Why?” she called from her bedroom. “Did you meet my brother?”

  Gideon met the guy’s amused stare and quickly set the laptop down. “Brother?”

  The alleged brother crossed his legs, planting his ginormous work boot on his jeans-clad knee and stretched his arms along the back of the sofa—all the way along the back of the sofa. Then he grinned, the SOB.

  “Gideon, Alex. Alex, Gideon,” Lindsay said, her voice fading as she emerged from the hall, a legal pad in her hand, and got an eyeful of Gideon’s impromptu peep show. She blinked twice and glanced away from his almost birthday suit, turning to face her—God—her brother. “So.” She ripped several sheets off the pad and handed them to Alex. “Here are the notes. I’m sure you want to get home.”

  Alex folded the papers and tucked them into the breast pocket of his Carter Construction shirt. “I’m in no hurry.”

  “Alex.” Lindsay suddenly sounded distinctly schoolmarmish, like the teacher she’d planned to be before dropping out of college.

  “Keep your hair on. I’m going.”

  Alex rose from the sofa, all controlled power and mythic proportions. Holy Mary, mother of pearl. Release the Kraken. Gideon snatched his T-shirt off the floor and wrapped it around his hips like a bargain-basement pareo, trying to regain a shred or two of dignity, although his instinct was to run shrieking down the hall.

  Covered—more or less—at last, he shuffled a half step forward. “Nice to . . . um . . . meet you?”

  “Don’t put yourself out, man. Wouldn’t want you to sprain anything.” Alex kissed the top of Lindsay’s head and left.

  Gideon slumped against the breakfast bar. God, networking theory should have taught him not to be a douche bag to strangers ages ago, because the distance between stranger and family could disappear overnight. Of course, the reverse was also true, as Gideon knew only too well, thanks to the holiday-whose-name-he-dare-not-speak.

  But if he wanted to be honest with himself (and why not—he’d had plenty of other first-time experiences lately), he had to admit he was more than a tad miffed with his darling girl.

  “So. Lin. Your brother. Why haven’t you ever introduced him? Brought him around? Or you know, mentioned him?”

  “He’s busy. Besides, he . . . he doesn’t have a lot in common with you and Charlie.” She still wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she sidled over to sit on the sofa with her gaze fixed on her shoes.

  Oh right. I’m mostly naked. Awkward.

  He grabbed his second-best trench coat off the coatrack and slipped it on. “You think we’d beat him up with our brains? For pity’s sake, woman, the man is the
size of Mount Hood. I don’t think a couple of geeks could make much of a dent.”

  “Not physically. But he has a very tender heart.”

  “You think we’d be mean to him? When are we ever mean to anyone?”

  She hugged the floral needlepoint pillow that was her go-to comfort cuddle. “You’re sort of mean to your dates all the time.”

  “Darling, that’s not mean, that’s the expected lifecycle of a random hookup. It won’t have anything to do with your brother. I’m never mean to straight men. At least not to their faces.”

  She squeezed the pillow tighter and shrugged, her version of screaming, Gideon, you are so full of shit.

  Damn it, she had a point. He hadn’t treated Alex nicely, and why? Only because Alex had the same aspect ratio as Mark. That relative size triggered a voice in his mind that whispered, He can make you do something you don’t want to do.

  He can hurt you.

  And a smaller voice that barely breathed, He’ll leave you.

  God. If Gideon was applying the residue of his first breakup trauma to random straight guys, he was clearly off his game.

  “I’ve been a first-class whiny diva, but I’ll do better, I promise.”

  She peeked up at him. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to—”

  “Awww, don’t be concerned for moi, my precious. It won’t hurt.” Much. He struck a pose, his finger in the air. “I hereby promise not to be mean to your big bro, so help me Joss Whedon.”

  He wouldn’t confess all the ways he’d preemptively broken that promise. Damn it all anyway, he loathed being wrong, but there was no denying he’d screwed up royally.

  Suck it up, Wallace. Time to recalibrate your bitch-o-meter and make nice.

  Geekspeak: Growl

  Definition: A pop-up notification informing the user of a pertinent event, such as the result of an action or the progress of a task.

  Alex headed to work early the next day so he could stop at Downstairs Downtown before his shift. This time, he walked in the front door rather than the back. Landon was manning the host’s station, a miniskirted minion at his back, and the entryway already busy with people arriving for happy hour.

  “Well, well, well.” Landon handed menus to a server and sent him off with a couple of patrons. He signaled to his minion to take over for him before he sauntered over and slapped Alex on the shoulder. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Nobody likes a smart-ass, Landon.”

  “You must, unless the last twenty years of friendship have been your way of letting me down easy.”

  Landon had a point. Alex was obviously a sucker for snark, because there was no smarter ass on the planet than Gideon—whose attitude after his accidental striptease last night had almost been hotter than the sight of his skin.

  Almost.

  Alex pulled a key from the pocket of his shirt. “Here you go.”

  “What’s this?”

  “What do you think it is? I walked through the apartment last night with Lin, and it’s not too bad. The kitchenette sucks, but after I finish the third-floor unit, we can talk about renovations.”

  Landon grinned and snatched the key. “Awesome. So you gonna help me move in? I mean, that’s one of your full-service landlord duties, right?”

  “Not last I checked.”

  “Ah, come on. Where else can I find a sidecar your size who’ll work for beer and ceviche?”

  “Good point. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got a lot of heavy shit.”

  “Oh, didn’t I mention? I may have purchased a piano. And a safe.”

  Alex snorted. “Right. The piano I could buy, but what have you got to put in a safe?”

  “Hey! My knives are worth more than your car.”

  “Don’t dis my car. It—” Alex stared past Landon’s shoulder at the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

  Gideon.

  He had on a suit, one of those modern jobs with a fitted jacket that looked too small and tight, but on Gideon, too tight was perfect.

  “Dude.” Landon’s voice was laced with amusement. “You might want to close your mouth. The drool is splattering all over my nice, clean floor.”

  Alex snapped his mouth shut. “Gotta go.”

  “Hold on.” Landon tracked Gideon as he entered the Haynes building lobby. “That’s your guy, isn’t it?”

  “How could you know that?”

  “Are you kidding? Other than the tongue hanging halfway out of your mouth, he’s exactly your type.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly his.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure? Go forth and seize the twink, dude.”

  “That’s never gonna happen.”

  “Never say never. It’ll come back to bite you on the ass.” Landon held up the key, kissed it, and pocketed it. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for my personal pack mule. Now get out of here. I’ve got a happy hour to manage.”

  “Yeah, better stop slacking before the boss finds out. I hear he’s a real asshole.” He held up his fist for Landon to bump. “Later, man.”

  The restaurant had two front doors—one opening onto the street and the other to the Haynes lobby. Alex hesitated for a moment, then took the lobby door. He checked out the escalator, but Gideon was gone.

  What was Gideon doing here so early and in a suit instead of his work clothes? Construction isn’t his usual gig, moron. Those are his regular work clothes. Was he here to see Haynes? The idea sent a spike of anger zinging through Alex’s chest. Damn it, he could never compete with that asshole. Why bother trying?

  He had an hour to kill until his shift. Too bad he had a strict no-alcohol-before-work rule, because he could sure have used a good stiff drink.

  Gideon paused outside the frosted glass doors of Haynes Industries’ main reception area and adjusted his blazer. When Jared’s assistant had contacted him this morning, asking him to stop by the executive office before his shift, he’d been surprised, to say the least.

  It was too early for a progress report on the hardware installation—for one thing, the right freaking hardware hadn’t been delivered yet—and a persistent tickle of excitement had been skating across his skin ever since. Had Jared noticed him at Hana K’s before he’d made a soggy spectacle of himself with his unsuccessful martini juggling?

  But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have made the call himself? Maybe arranged a meet-up somewhere other than his offices?

  Whatever. If Gideon intended to correct the two less-than-optimal impressions he’d already made, he needed to step up his game, and this was a prime opportunity. Grabbing the door handles, he took a deep breath. He’d never gone the drag route, but damn it, when necessary he could make an entrance with the panache of RuPaul at the Palace.

  And now? Definitely showtime. He pushed open the doors and walked in, head high.

  Unlike the Luddite, who lorded over his cubicle drones from his glass-fronted throne room, to ensure they shuffled their reams of paper in accordance with his micromanagement mandates, Jared obviously preferred privacy. His office lay somewhere behind an enormous floor-to-ceiling oak door guarded by a monster reception desk. If the receptionist wasn’t a monster, she definitely had a superpower—the ability to flash-freeze unsuspecting supplicants with one glance, like a corporate Medusa.

  But given the possibility of connecting with Jared—purely professionally until the contract was over, of course—Medusa’s chilly glare bounced right off Gideon’s shiny outer shell.

  “Gideon Wallace. Jared asked me to stop by.”

  “Mr. Haynes will see you now. Please clip on this security badge.”

  The badge read Visitor in inch-high orange letters. “Do I need an armband too?”

  She stared at him, blank and uninterested. “The badge is sufficient. Through that door please.”

  “Thanks.” Jeez, some people had no sense of irony.

  The door unlatched when he approached. Huh. Proximity-activated locks. N
ice tech. Gideon pushed the door open and entered a long hallway lined on the left with closed doors. The right-hand wall had floor-to-ceiling windows, interspersed with a selection of truly alarming acrylic bas-relief artwork. They reminded Gideon of the unsuccessful experiments in Alien: Resurrection, and they made the back of his neck crawl. He was afraid if he looked over his shoulder, a misshapen head with extendable teeth would be oozing out of them, following his progress down the hall.

  The door to the corner office was ajar. Good thing too, because Gideon was pretty sure his Visitor badge of shame wouldn’t have popped that lock for him. He knocked.

  “Come.”

  Jared’s voice was low and husky, and Gideon had a few very inappropriate thoughts about the command, but the sight of the Luddite rising out of a black wingback chair cut them off tout de suite.

  “Come in, Gideon.” Jared sat behind an opaque green glass desk in an unfortunate kidney shape. “Please. Sit down.” He gestured to a chair next to the Luddite. Lovely.

  “Mr. Wallace.” The Luddite’s tone was positively sepulchral. “I understand from Mr. Haynes that you violated the client space. You realize this constitutes a contract breach?”

  For an instant, Gideon’s steps faltered. Jared leaned back in his Aeron chair with a wry smile and lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug as if to say, Sorry.

  All righty, then. Gideon conjured up a straight spine and lifted chin. Years of practice facing down the haters in high school—with less support than even that tiny hint of camaraderie—had been good for something.

  It taught him how to bluff.

  He sat across from Jared. “No clients were present, however, so no harm was done.”

  The Luddite glared at him. “I was also informed that you contacted the hardware vendor. Without authorization.”

  Yes, after he’d gotten no response from the Luddite’s office. He’d had to dig through a dozen boxes before he found a packing slip with a contact number that worked. “They delivered the incorrect parts. I only arranged to have them replaced.”

  “It’s not your job to question our consultant’s decisions.”