#WhatTheFrenchToast

That afternoon Spence was trying to apply himself to his computer. He needed to be working on the software for the security of the cargo on the drones he’d built but he was getting nowhere fast.

When Elle showed up carrying his first choice of poison—coffee, black and strong—he was grateful for the interruption.

He couldn’t concentrate or focus to save his own life. Instead he kept picturing Colbie’s fathomless green eyes and how they revealed her thoughts more than her words.

“You also got another present in the mail,” Elle said. “One of the Real Housewives producers is apparently a fan and she sent a box of your favorite candy. Wants to know if you date cougars.”

Spence slid her a look.

Elle laughed. “Right. I’ll decline politely.” She paused. “Your newest tenant’s been busy,” she said casually.

But here was the thing. Elle was never casual. “Yeah? Doing what?”

“Asking questions about you, trying to figure out what you do for a living.”

Spence shrugged that off. “It’s just a little game between us—relax. She’s not press.”

“As long as you know what you’re doing. Oh, and check your e-mail. I sent you some things I need you to go over and get back to me on. I’ll be in my office.”

“Ah, don’t go away mad,” he said.

A little humor came into her eyes. “Just go away?”

“That’d be great.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, heading to the door. “Follow your heart, whatever. Just promise me you’ll take your brain with you. Oh—”

She stopped short and turned back. “I almost forgot the best part.” She set her iPad on the desk in front of him, her browser opened to an article.

SAN FRANCISCO’S TOP TEN
MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS

Jesus. “Tell me I’m not on this list,” he said.

Elle didn’t speak.

“Shit. Tell me I’m not number one on this list.”

Elle let out a breath. “You’re not number one.”

“Number two?”

She grimaced.

He scrolled through the list and felt insulted. “Number four?”

She laughed at him as he pushed the iPad away. “So let me get this straight. You didn’t want to be on the list, but now that you are, you want to be number one?”

“Well, yeah. Anything else just sucks.”

“It’s not a poker game you lost—you do realize that, right?”

He shrugged.

“Maybe if you went to more of the social events, you’d get bumped to number three,” Elle teased because he’d gone to a grand total of zero society events.

“Elle.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, go away.”

And thankfully, she did, leaving him alone. Just how he liked it. When he’d sold the start-up, it’d been a life changer. It’d given him the freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted. Buying this building, for instance. Then moving in and then filling it with people he cared about, allowing him to burrow in and create his first real “home,” where he knew everyone and felt comfortable. He was grateful for that.

It’d allowed him to keep the real world at bay too. For a while he’d been hounded for interviews, but for the most part it’d been easy enough to dodge them. That is, until a month ago, when an old college roommate had surfaced, begging him for a sit-down.

College hadn’t been a great time for Spence. He’d gone at age sixteen, which had put him at a big disadvantage on all levels. One of his roommates, Brandon, hadn’t exactly been a friend but at least he’d allowed Spence to tag along to frat parties and drinking nights with him. Then Spence had graduated before Brandon, and Brandon had stopped speaking to him.

All these years later, Spence hadn’t wanted to give the interview but . . . hell. Spence had been hired right out of college at age eighteen to a government think tank. He’d gone from there into business with Caleb, a kid he’d met in the think tank. Both adventures had been hugely successful, which meant that Spence had gotten lucky.

Brandon hadn’t been nearly so lucky. Nothing had worked out for him after he’d finally graduated. He was a struggling tech writer for a second-rate online magazine. Feeling bad about that, Spence had very reluctantly agreed to an interview—on the stipulation that they talk only about Spence’s work.

But Brandon had used his personal knowledge of Spence from their college days to spice up the final piece. Deeply private stuff, including his screwed-up beginnings, not to mention his spectacular failure with media darling Dr. Clarissa Woodward.

Now the whole world knew things he’d kept private. Such as just how socially inept he was, how out of step with the rest of the world he felt, and how he couldn’t seem to manage to sustain any sort of intimate relationship.

Worse, the article had turned his life into a living hell. The press had leapt on it like Christmas had come early. Spence still didn’t understand why, but for some reason people were fascinated by him, the poverty-stricken kid turned Forbes Top 100.

Who was now one of San Francisco’s most eligible bachelors.

Shit.

That was a joke in itself.

There really wasn’t much that embarrassed Spence, but this. This did the trick. He was pissed as hell at Brandon and pissed at himself for letting it happen. Some smart guy he was . . .

His phone had been having seizures, which he was ignoring. But the sound was driving him crazy, so he turned it off. “Now maybe you’ll shut the hell up . . .”

“Talking to yourself again?” Caleb asked.

His sometime business partner and one of the few people in the world who had access to this apartment strolled in. Spence narrowed his eyes. “Hey. You made millions on our last deal, where we sold the start-up.”

“Yep.” Caleb headed for Spence’s fridge. “What’s your point?” Without waiting for the answer, he helped himself to the refrigerator, which was stocked by Trudy, the building’s housecleaning supervisor.

Trudy loved Spence. Trudy also knew Spence didn’t cook—unless popping a Hot Pocket into the microwave counted—and she knew his tastes. He wasn’t fond of vegetables aside from corn on the cob, hated anything green unless it was a gummy bear, and basically had the appetite of a tween.

“My point,” Spence said, watching Caleb shopping his fridge shelves, “is that you’re not being hounded by the press.”

Caleb shrugged. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t stupid enough to talk to them in the first place. Nor do I have a tragic background or fumble the ball with the ladies.”

Spence scowled and slouched further in his chair. “I thought I was doing a friend a favor.”

Caleb pulled out some Tupperware, and when he moaned, Spence knew he’d found Trudy’s homemade lasagna. “Oh my God,” the guy said. “I want to marry Trudy.”

“She’s twenty years too old for you and she’s currently married for the third, or maybe it’s the fourth, time—to her ex-husband. Luis would kick your ass.”

“I don’t even care.” Caleb was eating right out of the container. “And we have no friends to do favors for, remember? Not real ones, you know that. Or you should by now.”

“I have friends.”

“Yeah. Me, and Archer and Finn and Willa.” Caleb cocked his head and gave it some thought. “Oh, and possibly Elle, though I’m still not convinced she’s human.”

“No one’s convinced Elle’s human.” Spence shrugged. “But you guys are all I need.”

Caleb jabbed his fork in Spence’s direction. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be moping around like you have since you sold your start-up. Or maybe it’s since Clarissa.”

Getting up because the lasagna sounded good, Spence snatched the Tupperware from Caleb. “I don’t mope.”

“Like a baby wanting its mama.” Undeterred, Caleb turned back to the fridge to see what else he could mooch. “I take it you’re suddenly blocked on your drone project?”

“So.”

“So you’re blocked. It happens.”

“When? When does it happen?” Spence asked. “Because more than anyone else I know, you’re a lot like me and you’re not blocked.”

“First of all, we’re not that much alike.”

Spence just looked at him.

“Okay, so we’re both smart and a little bit techy. Whatever. But on me, it’s sexier.”

Spence rolled his eyes.

“And second of all,” Caleb said, “I don’t get blocked as much as you because I get sex regularly. Sex is the answer, man.”

“To what?”

“Everything,” Caleb said. “Sex is always the answer. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t had any in way too long.”

All true, but he’d never been all that good at emotionless, unattached sex. Unfortunately, he was even worse at emotional sex.

Caleb didn’t seem bogged down by the same baggage. Spence was pretty sure the rugged cowboy look didn’t hurt much either. The guy was every bit as smart as Spence, but unlike Spence, he didn’t struggle in social situations. He could talk to a five-year-old throwing a tantrum in the courtyard, the geriatric blue-hairs who spent their mornings in the coffee shop, or anyone in between and they all unequivocally loved him.

Caleb’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and frowned.

“What?” Spence asked.

“It’s Elle. Which isn’t fair. She told me to lose her number and yet she’s allowed to contact me—” He broke off as he read the text.

“What?”

Caleb lifted his head. “There’s a woman? Why didn’t you say so? Now you can test my theory about the sexy times unblocking you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Elle said there’s a new woman in the building and that you’re going to be stupid about her and go for it, so I should babysit you so that you can’t,” Caleb said. “Except I’m all for you going for it.” He deleted Elle’s text. “Whoops.” He looked at Spence. “So. Is she hot?”

Spence shut the fridge and gave Caleb a nudge that might’ve been more like a shove to the door.

“Let me guess. Visit time’s over,” Caleb said dryly.

Spence opened the door.

“Fine.” In the hall between the front door and the elevator, Caleb turned back to him. “Do me a favor. Don’t give her an interview.” Then, cracking his own ass up, Caleb got on the elevator just as Joe came out the stairwell.

Joe looked surprised to see Spence just standing there in the hallway. “Hey. What’s up?”

Spence crossed his arms, no longer willing to even pretend to be having a good time. “You first.”

As a rule, Joe was unflappable. Impenetrable. A virtual stone when he wanted to be. Always cool under pressure and usually make-a-joke-in-every-situation, and yet he rocked back on his heels, his hands shoved in his front pockets. Uncomfortable.

“Talk,” Spence said.

“It’s . . . nothing.”

“Or . . .?”

Joe blew out a breath. “She wants me to run the new girl.”

No need to ask what “she.” Elle, of course, being mama bear. Joe had access to some serious search programs. Once Spence had searched himself on the system and had learned he’d skipped both first and second grades, going straight to third—which he’d actually had no memory of doing. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Why didn’t she ask Archer to do it?”

“Because she knows Archer would’ve said no. He’s not afraid of her like the rest of us are.”

“You were Special Ops,” Spence said. “You still have all your skills. You could just stand up to her.”

“Look, no one says no to Elle, okay?”

“Well start,” Spence said.

Joe pulled his not-ringing phone from his pocket and stared at the dark screen like he wished a call would come through and save him from this conversation.

“You’re not going to research Colbie,” Spence said. “It’s no one’s business if she’s got secrets. And tell Elle that I’ll fire her nosy ass if she doesn’t chill.”

Joe grimaced. “Aw, man, I can’t tell her that. Why do you hate me?”

Spence shook his head. If Joe told Elle no, she’d just find another way. “Okay, new plan. Just find a way to put her off before you run her. Blame work, I don’t care.”

“I’ll try,” Joe said. “But it’s going to cost you too. Big.”

“You’re not going to fly one of my drones again,” Spence said. “We never found the two you lost.”

“Hey, those drones were faulty.”

Spence rolled his eyes.

“Fine. What I want is an entire tray of Trudy’s five-meat and cheese lasagna for myself.”

Joe was constantly hungry, and constantly on the hunt for food. The guy was built like an MMA fighter, lean, solid muscle. Spence had no idea where he put all the food. “Seriously, you’re a grown-ass man, one who’s been trained in a million different ways to kill someone. Why do you let Elle terrify you?”

Joe didn’t bite. He just pointed at Spence. “Forget it. Deal’s off.” And then he pivoted on his heel and headed back to the stairwell.

“Chickenshit,” Spence called.

“Sticks and stones, man. You’re on your own.”

Which meant leaving Elle sniffing around, butting in, because that’s what she did. Most of the time, Spence appreciated it. But for whatever reason, he didn’t want her snooping around in Colbie’s personal life. He wasn’t trying to be stupid, but it felt wrong. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to hold off checking into Colbie’s background for at least a week.”

Joe turned back, brows raised. “Okay, you have my full attention.”

“Are you serious? You’ll get Elle out of my hair for money?”

“Hell yeah.” Joe paused. “But when she finds out and kills me, I want an open casket. A week is all you want?”

“I’d ask for three weeks but even I know you can’t put Elle off that long.”

“True.”

Spence shook his head and strode back into his apartment. He stared at the computer screens he was getting nowhere on and left again, hitting the stairwell too, needing to clear his head.

This drone project was really weighing on him. Work always did, since he put it first. But there’d been bonuses to that. He’d been able to take care of his family, for one. His mom had never had a penny to her name, so she hadn’t wanted anything from him when he’d sold the start-up, but he’d bought her a house on the coast anyway. It was about an hour south of here, the perfect distance for the both of them, and she felt like she’d won the lottery.

Spence got to the courtyard and turned to look down the alley. The homeless man who lived in it was called Old Man Eddie by all. Too many times to count, Spence had tried to get him a safe, dry, warm place to live, and too many times to count, Eddie had told him where to shove it. The old man liked the alley as much as he liked the special brownies he’d learned to bake way back in the early seventies, and no one could tell him otherwise. He looked like Doc Brown from the Back to the Future movies—if Doc Brown had baked his brain at Woodstock—and was currently sitting on an upside-down crate twirling several coins between his fingers like a magician.

Or probably more accurately, like a con artist getting ready to find a new mark. His favorite were ladies of a certain age, several of whom lived in the building, and all of whom had crushes on him.

“I didn’t do it,” Eddie said at the sight of Spence.

“Do what?”

“Whatever you’re going to bitch at me about.”

Spence blew out a sigh. Last year Eddie had been caught selling mistletoe that had turned out to be weed. Last week he’d had to warn Eddie it wouldn’t be tolerated this year.

It hadn’t gone well. “I’m not here to bitch at you,” he said.

“Well that’s a change. Wanna play a game?”

The last time Spence had played cards with Eddie, he’d actually lost a hundred bucks because Eddie could count cards. “Do I look stupid, Grandpa?”

Eddie’s smile widened. He was Spence’s only other living relative besides his mom, except his grandpa wasn’t nearly as easy to take care of. The man was nontraditional, incorrigible, and mischievous to say the least, and he couldn’t be reined in.

Spence did the best he could to always have the old man’s back, but Eddie made it more difficult than getting medical care to countries in need via his drones.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re warm enough,” Spence said. “The nights are getting cold.”

“I’m good.”

Not really an answer, which didn’t make Spence feel any better. Eddie was a good guy, a smart guy, but he was also good at putting distance between himself and any sort of emotional attachment. He’d always said he was meant to be alone for the rest of his life, and Spence knew he believed it.

Spence knew the same thing about himself, which was ironically also his biggest fear—ending up alone. So far he’d made that a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But he knew without a doubt that he didn’t have the ability to love someone and give her everything she needed. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man and work came first because, well, that’s who he was. “You know how to get ahold of me if you need anything.”

“That I do,” Eddie said. “And right back atcha.”

Spence let out a low laugh.

Eddie’s good-natured expression faded. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie said. “You’re saying this is a one-way street, that you help me but I don’t do shit for you.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

Eddie stared at him and then blew out a breath. “You don’t have to,” he muttered. “Because it’s true.”

“Grandpa—”

“Go away, boy.” And then instead, Eddie walked out the alley to the street and vanished.

Spence shook his head, went to the coffee shop, bought two cups to go, and two bags of mini muffins. He left one of the coffees and bags on Eddie’s crate and took his breakfast back to the stairwell. He went straight up.

To the roof.

There, he strode across the rooftop to the far corner of the building. He hoisted himself up on the ledge and, as he’d been doing since he first bought this building, swung his legs over the side, leaned back, and then did what he had a hard time doing anywhere else.

Relaxed.

He let out a long breath and waited for calm to come over him.

But it didn’t. Not this time.

He’d long ago learned how to compartmentalize each section of his life. But at the moment he had so much going on that his brain raced over each problem, touching down and bouncing back up, unable to settle on any one thing. Part of this was his ADD. He had some serious attention deficit problems, always had. He’d gotten pretty good at managing it.

Mostly.

But not today. Today his brain felt like he had a full dozen massive flat-screens on, each set to a different channel, all at full volume. It actually physically hurt and he rubbed his temples.

“Headache?” asked the soft female voice that had seduced him in his dreams last night. A new voice that belonged to the woman he’d seen wet more times than dry.

Colbie.