CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As shitty as leaving LA had been, it was worse going back.

It was like the fury of a rainstorm after the weatherman warned you to bring your umbrella. Expected, completely inevitable, and very shitty.

“I can’t believe you’re not worried,” Evan said to Miles as they walked into the lobby of Five Points. They weren’t holding hands, but Miles liked to think just about everyone could see the growing attachment between them.

“It’s pointless,” Miles said. “Has anyone ever convinced Reed Ryan to do something he doesn’t want to do?” Besides—and he wasn’t quite ready for Evan to find out about this yet—he’d played the last card he could think of, and if that didn’t work, maybe it was right for Pastry by Miles to die off.

“When I was really lonely last year, sometimes I pictured Jordan doing lots of stuff he didn’t want . . . at least initially,” Evan said.

Miles burst out laughing. “Of course you did.”

“Have you seen them?” Evan demanded, laughing with Miles. “I mean, that’s a lot of hotness to contain in one relationship.”

Of course, that was the moment they ran into Reed, in the corridor outside their adjoining cubicles.

He raised an eyebrow. Reed was one of those men who could say a speech and never open his mouth. He definitely looked like he was talking now, even though he hadn’t said a single word.

“Who’s a lot of hotness to contain in one relationship?”

Miles thought Evan was pretty damn brave, but it seemed telling his maybe soon-to-be ex-boss he’d fantasized about him and his boyfriend was where he drew the line. If that was the case, then Evan was even smarter than he’d imagined.

“Miles and me,” Evan said, chin jutting out, like he was half-expecting his boss to disapprove.

But Reed’s frown rearranged into a big smile. “Then the long weekend was good for you,” he said. His eyes took on a darker, amused glint. “You certainly seem more relaxed, Evan.”

“We’re working on it,” Miles inserted, because he could see this conversation going all sorts of inappropriate places. And Evan, who had seemed so formal and wedded to professionalism when they’d first met, could be shockingly dirty when he was in a good mood. And thanks to Miles, he was definitely in a very good mood.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Reed said, sounding genuinely pleased. Miles found himself praying to whatever god was looking down on them that maybe that was enough to save Pastry by Miles and Evan’s job. They could manage if Miles at least saved his show, and Evan saved his job. They had each other. Miles felt certain of that, even if the rest of the world felt unpleasantly uncertain right now.

“Miles,” Reed said, turning to him, thoughtful look on his face. “Come see me after you get settled in. I think we need to talk.”

The moment Reed was out of earshot, Evan shoved Miles into his cubicle, excitement and terror warring on his face. “Is this it?” he whisper-yelled. Which, for Evan, was mostly yelling and very little whispering. “Is he going to cancel your contract?”

Miles had a very good idea what Reed wanted to talk about, and it was only tangential to his contract. “No clue,” he said. He didn’t like lying to Evan, even if it was a lie of omission, but he wasn’t entirely sure Evan would be happy about this development. Even if it meant his job was saved.

Evan was one of those sticklers who he imagined might care more about how his job was saved, not just that it had been saved. Miles really hoped that he was wrong in this scenario, but they were still getting to know each other, now that Evan had actually started to let him in.

Reed was leaning back in his big leather chair when Miles walked in.

“Close the door,” Reed said, and he still sounded thoughtful but not angry. Not angry was good.

Miles shut the door, sure that Evan had just gone into a paroxysm of curiosity and tension as he hid around the corner, desperately hoping that he’d be able to overhear their conversation.

Reed knew Evan better than he realized.

“You sent me this video,” Reed said, rotating his gigantic monitor so Miles could see the screen. Not that Miles needed to; he knew exactly which video Reed was talking about.

“I thought you might want to see that our rehearsals provided some great footage,” Miles said.

Reed chuckled. “You making a Ding Dong was solid gold footage. But,” and he paused, that thoughtful look returning, “I don’t think you made this during rehearsals. And not with Evan.”

It had been a long shot for Miles to convince Reed that they had made this video together. It was funny and clever and a little subversive, which was everything that Miles was, and everything Evan mostly wasn’t. At least the side of Evan that he tended to present at work. Miles had discovered in the last few days that he could definitely unbend if he wanted, if his mood was right, and he was surrounded by people he trusted.

But Reed probably didn’t know that.

Reed frowned. And Miles realized that he didn’t know that. Evan had never trusted Reed—his beloved boss, the person Miles might have guessed he was closest to in his whole life—enough to show that side of himself. He’d trusted only Miles. That revelation only made Miles more determined to convince Reed that they’d made this clip together.

“Evan was there. We made it together,” he said. He’d heard once that the most effective lies were the simplest. He didn’t know if that was even true, but he was willing to give just about anything a shot at this point.

Reed made a frustrated sound, but he still didn’t look angry. “I know you’re not telling me the truth.” He hesitated. “The question is why. Are you worried I’m going to tear up your contract? Are you worried I’m going to send you back to Napa?”

“No,” Miles said, and realized, belatedly, that he meant it. Suddenly the worst thing wasn’t that Pastry by Miles might end, or that he’d be forced to beg for his old job back.

He’d known he loved Evan, he just hadn’t realized how incredibly necessary he was to his life. It wasn’t a great time to have this realization, but it certainly provided him a hell of a lot of motivation to pull this off.

“Then what is it?” Reed demanded. A meaty fist landed on the solid wood desk with a heavy thump. Reed’s cooking had always been considered bold, bombastic and straightforward. Sort of like the man. Miles just hadn’t seen a lot of evidence of it until now.

“Of course I don’t want to get fired. Of course I want to convince you to green light a season of Pastry by Miles. Of course I want you to keep the team intact.”

“I know you’re trying to save him,” Reed said. “And you’re not alone in that. I’ve been trying to help him since I first met him, years ago. He’s come a long way from that skinny, terrified, overly proud college kid. But that doesn’t mean he’s right for this show.”

“I do love him. But that isn’t why I’m doing this. I’m doing this because he’s the best fit for the show. For me.”

“What if I told you that it was either the show or him?” Reed asked, and that thoughtful look that had reassured Miles at first now only terrified him. He didn’t know what it meant, and the unknown could be a bad place.

“Then I’d say it was an honor to meet you, I’d pack up my cubicle and I’d drive back to Napa today,” Miles said.

“You really would,” Reed observed, clearly a little mystified.

“I won’t do this without Evan. Period.”

“What if I promised he wasn’t fired, that he’d be reassigned to a different department? Would that make a difference?” Reed asked.

Miles wiped his sweaty, trembling hands on his jeans. “No.”

Reed tilted his head, intense eyes cataloging Miles minutely. Then, suddenly he nodded sharply. “Okay, then. Go get Evan. He’s probably loitering in the break room, hoping that he can hear some of this conversation. It doesn’t feel fair to leave him out of it.”

Sure enough, Evan was there, pacing with a cup of coffee in his hand. “What’s going on?” he hissed.

“Reed wants to talk to both of us,” Miles said, and gestured towards Reed’s office. “Let’s go.”

This time Reed didn’t ask him to close the door.

“Here’s your official shooting schedule,” Reed said, almost before their butts were in chairs. He slid a piece of paper across the desk. “But only if you promise me the Ding Dong video stays. It’s too funny to cut.”

Miles could feel Evan’s happy confusion radiating out of him, even as he said all the right things: about how they wouldn’t let him down, about how they’d commit themselves to making the best show possible, how happy he was that Reed had reconsidered.

It was inevitable that as soon as Reed dismissed them, Evan would drag him into the break room. It was probably inevitable that Reed had popped his head out of his office and was listening to the whole conversation. It was definitely inevitable that the entire office had tuned in and was listening to their conversation.

“What is Reed talking about, Miles?” Evan demanded. “Did you really send him that stupid Ding Dong video?”

“Yes,” Miles said. It was hard to meet Evan’s disbelieving eyes, but he did it. He’d sent it; he had to own up to it. “I told him that we’d recorded it during rehearsals last week. He needed to know that we could do this. Together.”

“You lied,” Evan stated, and started to pace again.

“Technically,” Miles said. “But I know we can produce content like this together. High production value, that’s what you bring to the table. And I can bring the creative flair. I know everything we’ve done for Pastry by Miles has been a hot mess so far, but all each disaster has convinced me of is that we’re meant to do this together. I don’t want to do it without you.”

“You sent it to Reed without telling me,” Evan said, whirling around, voice and face unbearably hard. Miles could sense the wall going back up, and he wanted to beg, to plead, to fall to his knees. But with Evan, those things would fall on deaf ears. That much he’d discovered about the man in front of him.

“I saved the show. I saved your job. I saved our future, working together. Why are you mad?” Miles asked in exasperation. “Because I didn’t tell you ahead of time? Because I lied to your precious Reed? Don’t worry, he knows I lied. He knows and he doesn’t care.”

“I’m mad because you felt you needed to charge in to save me. I can save myself. I don’t need your help with that,” Evan said coldly.

“That’s what people in love do,” Miles said, leashing in his temper as close as possible. He needed Evan to realize what he’d been trying to do, not escalate this argument until both of them were so mad neither of them were listening. That was the mistake he’d always made before. He wasn’t going to do it again.

Evan looked incredulous.

Miles retrenched and tried to explain again. “I want to be by your side for a long time. Long enough that there’s going to be times when I need you. And times you need me. Nobody can be strong and perfect all the time. This time, maybe I helped you. Next time, I’m gonna expect you to be there for me. Hell, that’s something you’ve already done. I sent that incredibly stupid drunk email, and you didn’t instantly forward it to Reed. You had my back. The way I had yours today.”

“Reed might have fired you for lying to him,” Evan said.

“He might have. I was willing to take that risk.”

“Why?” Evan asked, even though he had to know why. Reed had instantly known why.

“Because I love you,” Miles said, rolling his eyes. “And you know that’s why I did it. You know I love you. And you love me too.”

“I . . . I . . . I don’t know about that,” Evan said, sounding unsure for the first time since he’d dragged Miles into the break room.

“Bullshit. You love me, and I love you.” Miles reached and pulled Evan to him. The tension in his body cut like a cord, dissipating almost instantly.

“I might love you a little,” Evan admitted into Miles’ shoulder.

“What? What was that again?” Miles said loudly, teasingly.

Evan’s head lifted from his shoulder, looking at him straight on. “I love you, you jerk.” And he kissed him.