When the coffee shop doorbell jingled, Justin White flipped his textbook closed and sent up a silent thank you to the universe. Watching paint dry would have been more exciting than reading about financial statistics, so any distraction was welcome at this point. That two favorite customers walked through the door? Even better.

Well, more like favorite customer and icy sidekick. Where Sam was warm and outgoing, Eli was a wall of indifference. He had no idea how those two worked together. It didn’t matter, really. It was Sam he was concerned about, not Mr. Wet Blanket.

Justin slid of his stool and tucked the textbook under the counter next to the folder that contained his cover letter and resume. Sam grinned at Justin and held up two fingers before settling in at their usual table. Eli didn’t even glance his way—just leaned his walking stick against the wall and took a seat.

Figured.

Justin started their regular drinks—a large cappuccino for Sam and a medium Americano for Eli—with room for cream.

What if they’d hired someone today? He foamed the milk while watching the coffee drip out of the machine. Sam had been looking for an office assistant for at least week. Justin had planned to hand over his resume yesterday, but Eli had done the equivalent of cock-blocking, and had dragged Sam away to some meeting just as Justin had taken a breath to speak.

He stole a glance. Sam sat, as always, with his back to Justin. As usual, the face Justin saw was Eli’s. Not an unpleasant view to be honest. If Eli had any warmth in his body, he’d have been able to have his pick of the coffee shop patrons—male or female. He was tall, with long lean features, like something out of an old movie. Classic beauty. Despite a limp, Eli moved with an elegance that made his occasional halting steps look graceful. And, of course, there was the cane—which varied from old Hollywood to futuristic steampunk—along with thin black leather gloves he peeled from his hands every time he took a seat. Even during the summer.

Justin finished the drinks up and placed them on a tray with a little carafe of half-and-half. Resume now, or later? Later. See which way the wind blew today—if he understood their schedule correctly, this was the post-interview chat. He lifted the tray and headed over.

“. . . honestly, how hard can it be to find someone competent?” Sam leaned back in his chair.

Eli’s smile—if you wanted to call it that—was a thin thing indeed. “Not hard at all. Problem is, you’re looking for someone beyond competent.”

Justin stepped up. “Excuse me gentlemen.” He slid the edge of the tray onto the table and set their drinks out. Not normal practice, but these two weren’t the commuters that wanted their joe in a cup to go or the student who was happy to nurse one mug for seven hours for free wifi.

“Thanks, Justin.” Another grin from Sam.

Justin answered Sam with a smile of his own, then met Eli’s gaze. A little shiver trickled down his spine. Eli’s gray eyes seemed to bore into Justin, even through the loose, dark curls that fell over them. Natural black, too—not the dye Justin used in his own.

“Half-and-half.” He set the small glass pitcher next to Eli’s Americano.

“Thank you.” Deep voice. No smile.

Justin nodded and stepped away.

He always had to catch his breath when Eli looked at him like that—as if ticking off all the things wrong with Justin’s appearance. But he’d heard enough to know the opening for the job was still there.

Sam needed an office assistant. Pay probably wasn’t great, but it had to be more than the coffee shop, and who better to learn how to run a business from than the owner and CEO of Anderson Consulting? Time to put some of the dreck he’d been learning down at Carnegie Mellon for the past two years to use.

The way things were going, he needed the extra income. Given his bills and Mercy calling to ask for help, what else could he do? Her disability checks weren’t covering it, even with VA care, and you didn’t abandon family. It wasn’t like their parents could help. Hell, he should probably send them some cash too. If he had any to spare.

Justin’s heart thudded. Resume now, or later?

Later. They still had to pay. He wiped the tray down, cleaned the espresso machine, and stole another look over—and fucking met Eli’s gaze again. What the hell? Justin shivered and looked away. Thank God one of the hipster undergrads took that moment to come up for a refill. Kept him from glancing over into those cold eyes again.

By the time he finished serving the dude and cleaning up the cups left in the dirty dish bin, the familiar scrape of chairs and the regular thump of Eli’s cane sounded against the wooden floor.

Sam in front, of course, but Eli not far behind.

“Great coffee, as always.” Sam handed his credit card over.

Justin rang them up and handed the card back with the receipt. “My pleasure.”

Sam and Eli turned.

Now or never. “Mr. Anderson?”

Sam spun back, curiosity in his face. “Yes?”

A horde of elephants stomped in Justin’s stomach. “Are you still looking for an office assistant?” Somehow he kept his voice steady. Professional.

“I am.” Sam shifted back. Eli’s cane tapped against the floorboards.

He wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed it, but there the resume and cover letter were, in his hands. He held it out. “I’d like to apply.”

Oh, he’d surprised Sam. And holy fuck, Eli’s brows were up in his hairline, too. Mr. Emotionless . . . wasn’t.

Sam took the papers and read the cover letter right then and there. Flipped the page. “You’re attending the Tepper School?” Sam looked up.

“Part time. I graduate in the spring.” Nine more months.

“Who’s your advisor?” Eli demanded in that clipped voice of his.

Justin squared his back and met his dark stare. “Don Miller.”

Eli’s lips parted ever so slightly. Another crack in that façade. Probably because Professor Miller only took on the best. That’s right, you smug bastard. Yes, he dressed like a goth artist. Fit in well at the coffee shop and annoyed the fuck out of his classmates. Didn’t mean he wasn’t good. The grin and the shrug were a bit of theater, but Justin couldn’t help throwing that at Eli. “I’m more than a pretty face, you know.”

Sam laughed and Eli . . . blushed. Ever so slightly, but it was there—color touching his cheeks. Goosebumps rose on every limb. Eli’s stare wasn’t so cold now, nor indifferent. Justin couldn’t put a name to it at all.

“I guess we’ll find out if that’s true or not.” Eli handed the resume back to Sam.

“When are you free?” Sam folded the papers.

“I have tomorrow off. Classes aren’t until the evening.”

“Then you have an interview at nine tomorrow morning.”

Relief—pride—ripped through Justin even as his heart threatened to gallop out the door. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

“Good. See you then.” Sam turned and headed for the door.

Fuck yes! He would nail this! He would—

“Justin.” Eli hadn’t moved, his gloved hands folded over the silver handle of his walking sick. “Don’t be late.”

Fucker. “Don’t you worry. I always come right on time.”

That icy exterior vanished entirely. Eli held Justin’s gaze and smiled before he turned and followed Sam.

Justin sank onto his stool because his legs didn’t quite want to work. He couldn’t tell if the emotion behind the curl of Eli’s lips had been amusement or malice.

He shook himself. Didn’t mater. Bring it, asshole. He’d ace this interview. For himself, for Mercy, and for his family.

***

Eli Ovadia climbed the stairs to Anderson Consulting and for once, his leg didn’t scream at him when he reached the top. The smart-mouthed barista was one of Don’s students? Unexpected. Either Don was growing soft, or there was quite a bit more to Justin White than dark clothes, black nail polish, and too much eyeliner around those stunning blue eyes. A pretty face, indeed.

I always come right on time.

Now wouldn’t that be interesting to test. Justin’s lithe body under his? A different ache, part desire, part need, settled into his core. Too bad Justin’s personality was everything he hated in a man—snark, smirk, and too full of himself. A hot mess.

Though breaking a man like that? Eli shook himself. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Yet . . . there was something familiar in Justin, in his nervousness and determination. Those eyes.

Just a bit like Noah, that wicked grin.

Eli stopped and sucked in air. He wasn’t even sure what Noah would look like now, had he lived—but certainly not like Justin White. But the fear and hope that rode just under Justin’s skin was so very like the kid Eli had known before the car crash had ended Noah’s life and shattered Eli’s world and leg into pieces.

There was the tingle in the back of his skull, the one that signaled all the memories creeping back, the ones he really did not want to deal with right now. Eighteen years, countless hours of therapy, and that night still haunted him. He took another breath and focused on his gloves, the silver of the globe that topped his cane, and pushed Noah back into the past, the only place he still lived.

Eli shook himself and headed for Sam’s office. It was Mr. White he should be dwelling on, not the past. He took a seat in one of the guest chairs then placed his cane against the other. “You’re going to hire him.”

Sam leaned his elbows on the desk and tented his hands. “Is that a prediction or a challenge?”

Eli couldn’t help the chuckle. Neither. But Sam already knew that. They’d developed an almost symbiotic working relationship over the past eight months building the firm. Sam had a vision and the determination to achieve it, plus a list of contacts a mile long. They already had companies clamoring through the door, begging for help.

Someone had to be the brakes that kept Sam from leaping too far into the unknown. Like succumbing to the pity stories of too many companies that couldn’t be saved. Or hiring a barista to be an office assistant, even if Don Miller was his advisor. Even if he had grit underneath the eyeliner. Eli took off his gloves and draped them over his thigh. “He’s abrasive.”

Sam snorted. “So are you.”

Well, there was that. “Not in the same way.”

“True. He makes people roll their eyes. You scare the shit out of them.”

Eli leaned back and indulged in a smile. He’d made the last two interviewees pale and stammer with his blunt questions. “Better to weed out the slackers early.” And he enjoyed that aspect of this job. Possibly more than he should, but Sam didn’t mind his kink when it benefited the business.

“Not sure Justin is a slacker. His resume reads well. The cover letter is professional. Even the paper’s nice.” Sam flicked the folded pages across the desk. “And it took balls to hand it to me.”

Eli retrieved Justin’s resume and scanned it once more, this time paying more attention to the dates. “He’s older than he looks.” Three years younger than Eli, judging from graduation dates. And there was the similarity with Noah again, except this time Eli was the older one. Fuck. Focus, E. He shook the page to cover the tremble in his hand.

Undergrad at Stanford in management science and engineering. MBA at Carnegie Mellon. Impressive. Eyeliner or no, Justin had a head on his shoulders.

And yes, balls. That quip at the end? Lord, he hoped Justin was late tomorrow, even by thirty seconds. “Work experience isn’t bad, before now.” Three decent companies in California before slumming it at a coffee shop in Squirrel Hill. Which lead nicely to the next question. Why would he want to work as an office assistant? There had to be more suitable jobs in Pittsburgh. Eli met Sam’s gaze.

“You going to look at the cover letter?” Sam asked.

“I never do.”

“The answer you want is there.”

Of course it was. Eli tossed the pages back over Sam’s desk. “So then tell me, why does he want this job?” And why do you want him to have this job, E?

“He’s been listening to us. Knows I want more than a receptionist. More than an assistant, despite the title. He’s willing to make less if he gets to work for the Sam Anderson.”

There was that—a chance to work with Sam had been one of the aspects that had attracted Eli to becoming Sam’s CFO. He couldn’t fault Justin for that at all. Sam was the best, and he didn’t blink at Eli’s other . . . hobbies. “Wonder if he’ll take that chipped nail polish off before the interview?”

Sam waved the question away. “If that’s your only concern . . .”

Hardly. Still. “I like things neat.” Noah had been; they all had been, back then. Justin White wasn’t neat, even if he was tempting and evocative with his jagged hair, high cheekbones, and the brash mouth that just begged to be tamed. Eli shifted in his chair. “He’s—messy.” Wiry, unkempt.

Sam laughed. “It’s a wonder you and Michael were ever friends.”

That snapped Eli’s thoughts away from Justin. He’d been friends with Sam’s lover, Michael Sebastian, since their undergraduate days. An entirely different man than Justin. “Michael’s messiness has always been carefully cultivated.”

A man as tall and as broad as Michael could be—and often was—very intimidating. The clothes Michael chose were more suited to a tropical bar, but it relaxed folks, set them at ease. Eli had seen Michael in other outfits, as well—and watched men fall to their knees at Michael’s commands—both figuratively and literally. “He chooses the effect, regardless of which look he picks.”

Sam’s eyes were not nearly as blue as Justin’s, but still penetrating. “Oh, I know that.” Soft words. “I’m willing to bet Justin is just as careful and aware of his appearance.”

The temptation. The carrot. “What’s the wager?”

“Dinner for two. Winner’s choice.”

“Done.”

They shook over Sam’s desk. Sam leaned back, his smile slight, but sly. “He’ll leave the nail polish. On purpose.”

Eli picked up his gloves and cane, then rose. Not even a twinge in the leg. A good day. “Why would he do that?”

“To fuck with you.”

Not the answer he’d expected. Eli spoke though a suddenly dry throat. “With me?”

Sam grinned and rotated slowly to face his monitor. “Hard to miss your—contempt, Eli.”

Sam had considered another word in that pause, Eli was sure. Pinpricks trickled down his legs. Still, he grunted. “It’s not contempt.”

Sam looked over, his eyebrow lifted in a manner that reminded Eli of Michael. “Oh?”

He waved the question away. “I’ll be in my office.”

As Eli crossed the hallway he rolled Sam’s words around in his head. He dropped the gloves on the corner of his desk, and leaned the cane against the wall.

Sam had noticed something in Eli’s behavior. Troublesome. Very troublesome. Because if Sam had noticed? Chances were Justin had as well.

Worse? He wasn’t exactly sure what signals we was giving off. Disdain? That didn’t resonate. Eli ran a hand through his hair and sat down. There was raw potential in Justin. But his attitude, his flippant manner . . . Eli wanted to channel that. Put it to use—in so many ways that were entirely inappropriate for an office environment.

He hadn’t even had a name for those desires back when Noah had been alive, though looking back on it . . . Yes. He’d felt that for Noah too.

Well, being unbalanced was new . . . but intriguing. Eli adjusted himself through his pants, then nudged his mouse to wake up his computer.

If nothing else, tomorrow would be very interesting, indeed.