THE CHEERFUL SOUND of holiday classics filled the air as the clock hit eight fifteen and people began to arrive at Mitchell & Madison’s annual Christmas party.

Logan stood with Cole over by the entrance to greet their guests as they arrived, and as Jane and her husband walked off to find their table, Logan turned to his brother with a smile.

“Has she ever slipped up? Even once?” Logan asked, referring to Jane’s ever-so-proper way of addressing Cole at all times.

Cole shook his head as he took a sip of his whiskey. “Once in eight years as far as I can remember.”

“Maybe we can get her drunk and make it twice.”

“The likelihood of that happening is even less than her saying my name voluntarily. Jane doesn’t drink,” Cole reminded him. “Plus, I’ve resigned myself to her ways. She tells me it’s out of courtesy and respect that she does what she does, and who am I to try and change her mind?”

“Fair enough, Mr. Madison.”

Cole rolled his eyes and slipped a hand into the pocket of his black sports jacket. “You did good here tonight. It looks fantastic.”

Logan scanned the top floor of Mitchell & Madison and had to agree. Sara had really brought it all together, and the open-floor office looked amazing. The space was lit up by the Christmas trees that had been decorated and strategically placed around the ten tables, now fully dressed and sparkling with twinkling centerpieces. The wine glasses and silverware reflected the lights and baubles hanging from strands across the ceiling, and all in all, the effect was…captivating.

Tate was standing over by the dance floor with Rachel and Tiffany, chatting and laughing at something that had just been said, when he glanced up as though sensing Logan’s stare. When Tate raised his glass and winked, Logan returned the gesture and then turned to see Cole grinning at him like a fool.

“You’re in love…” Cole said in the most annoying voice Logan had heard, making a scowl appear.

“No shit. I just got engaged.”

“Yes. But you’re in this…” Cole paused and waved his hand over and over, as though trying to think of the word. “Lovey-dovey stage. Where you’re all hearts in the eyes and shit.”

“Excuse me?” Logan said, his mouth practically falling open at that description. “I am not in some lovey-dovey stage, thank you very much. And who even uses that phrase other than a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Well, that’s the look you have.”

“I do not.”

“You kind of do,” Cole said. “So does Tate. It’s sweet.”

As Logan was about to respond, the elevator opened and several more people walked out, and he and Cole welcomed them and then directed them toward the tables and dance floor.

“We are not sweet,” Logan said as soon as they were alone again.

“It’s not a bad thing. It just makes me think we’ll see a wedding sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, hold your horses over there. We just announced our engagement, Cupid.”

“I know. I know. You both said next year, and Rachel said Tate confirmed it.”

“What?” Logan laughed. “Did you think we were lying?”

Cole shrugged. “No, I just thought you were freaking out and were pushing it as far back as Tate would let you.”

Logan scoffed. “I’ll have you know that he is the one making us wait for the perfect date and place so we can invite all of you yahoos. I was all for going to the courthouse the day after he said yes.”

“Really?” Cole said, his eyes widening a fraction.

“Really,” Logan said, and then he turned serious. “I’d marry him tomorrow if he wanted me to.”

Cole beamed and chuckled. “See? Lovey-dovey…”

Logan was about to tell Cole to fuck off when the elevator doors opened again and their newest partner finally made an appearance.

Now, not much could shock Logan, that was true, and he liked to believe himself a pretty open-minded guy. But when Priest turned back to look inside the elevator for presumably his plus-one, nothing could’ve prepared Logan for who walked out behind him—not a fucking thing.

* * *

TATE TOOK A sip of his Corona as Rachel filled him in on the nightmare that had descended over their household, and he had to admit, it sounded like hell on earth.

Poor Rachel had been the only one out of all of the adults who had never had the chicken pox, and being that she was an adult, she was the one who’d gotten it the worst. So not only were the kids scratching up a storm, but she had been trying her hardest not to also. Not to mention the fevers and headaches. She’d had a run of it, and Tate was shocked she looked as good as she did tonight, all things considered.

“I never would’ve known that yesterday was your first day back in the land of the living,” he said with a smile.

Rachel shook her head and pushed a black curl behind her ear. “You and me both. Cole taped oven mitts to my hands at one stage. It was horrible. But at least it stopped me from scratching the two that were on my face. They went away early, thank goodness, and left no scars.”

Tate pretended to look closer, and then nodded. “Yep, you’re right. No scars. You look gorgeous as ever,” he said, and it was the truth.

Rachel was wearing a pretty long-sleeved red dress that had a bow in the middle of her back. She looked bright and festive, and the Christmas earrings with bells on them added to the overall theme.

“You’re being kind. I still feel a little bit out of it, but I couldn’t bear another day being cooped up in the house. A party was exactly what I needed. I’m even hoping to persuade Cole to stand under the mistletoe with me later.”

“There’s mistletoe? I must’ve missed that, or Logan doesn’t know about it,” Tate said, and took a sip of his beer.

“I’m presuming he doesn’t know. Or figures he doesn’t need a plant as an excuse to kiss you.” Rachel pointed to the photo area that had been set up just to the left of the dance floor.

“It’s over there,” she said, and Tate turned and spotted the holly-covered trestles for the background—and hanging out on a stick at the top of the backdrop was a sprig of mistletoe.

“Ahh,” he said, and as he turned back toward Rachel, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Cole and Logan had been greeting the guests for the past fifteen minutes, and if the night went as it had for the last couple of years, everyone would likely be there soon. But it was the two people currently standing with Logan that had Tate’s mouth falling open.

“Oh look, Priest just got here,” Rachel said as she slipped her arm through the crook of Tate’s elbow. “Cole said he was bringing someone tonight but neither of them knew— Oh, hello,” Rachel said, her mouth now falling open almost as wide as Tate’s. “Well, I guess that clears up at least one question we all had.”

All Tate could do was nod like a moron, because while it cleared up one very obvious question, it also raised a brand-new one, because Joel Priestley was currently standing in front of Logan and Cole holding the hand of Julien “the Prick” Thornton.

* * *

LOGAN LIKED TO believe himself a man who could think on his feet, someone who was smooth under any given circumstance. But as he stood there looking between Priest and the man he’d served in his bar recently, the only thing that came out of his mouth was “What the fuck?”

“Logan,” Cole said, but Logan was too stunned to acknowledge it.

What the hell was going on? This was that Prick guy…right? The French guy who’d flirted with Robbie and asked for his number? Oh shit. Robbie.

Logan looked over his shoulder to search out Tate for confirmation that he wasn’t losing his damn mind, and when he saw Tate making his way through the tables, Logan knew that he wasn’t. He was spot-on. The guy standing with his hand in Priest’s was the same guy that Robbie had practically fawned all over at The Popped Cherry, and any second now, Robbie was about to step off that elevator and into the fucking Twilight Zone.

I need a drink, Logan thought, just as Tate reached him and handed him his beer. Tate’s eyes were wide, and as if the night couldn’t possibly get any worse, Priest opened his mouth and landed the mother of all bombshells.

“Cole, Logan. This is my husband, Julien Thornton.”

As Priest turned to the handsome man beside him, Julien’s knowing eyes were trained on Tate and Logan. He looked from Logan to Tate, and then back to Logan and smirked.

What the—

“Julien,” Priest continued, “these are my partners and Logan’s fiancé, Tate.”

As Logan’s brain tried to play catch-up with everything he was hearing and seeing, Julien reached out a hand and said, “Bonjour. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Logan was so close to saying again, but managed to bite his tongue, knowing that Priest was right…this kind of work function was a breeding ground for gossip, and clearly Priest’s husband was already going to be enough of a subject at the water cooler without adding the fact that Julien was a cheating, lying bastard.

Logan shook Julien’s hand but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. So when Cole chuckled and stepped in, saying, “Don’t mind him, he’s newly engaged and the words ‘husband’ and ‘marriage’ still throw him for a loop,” Logan let him take over.

How could this be happening? He released Julien’s hand, and as Cole shook it, Rachel came up beside Tate and wagged her finger at Priest.

“You sneaky, sneaky man.”

Priest’s eyes narrowed, and Rachel laughed and put her hands on her hips. “At the winery, you said—”

“That I didn’t have a boyfriend,” Priest ended for her.

Rachel’s mouth fell open, as she seemed to be thinking back to that night, and then she started laughing. “You’re right.”

“Yes. I am,” Priest said, and then introduced her to Julien.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said with a smile. “Your man here is quite the enigma.”

Julien looked up at Priest with a sensual expression written all over his face as he said, “I know.”

“Oh, and you speak French?” Rachel turned her eyes to Priest. “That is so hot. Do you speak it too?”

“I understand most of it. But luckily, Julien is fluent in both English and French.”

“Oui. My mother is French. My father American,” Julien explained. “She liked me and my sister to speak the language at home and the few years we lived over there, but now that I’m back, I try to keep it to the mother language—English. Some things are just hard to switch off.”

“That’s okay by me,” Rachel said, unable to stop smiling at the guy. “This is going to sound clichéd, but I swear you look really familiar to me.”

“You probably know him from television,” Priest said, and Logan wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

Shoot me now, he thought, as Tate cleared his throat, and when Logan looked over, Tate gestured with his head.

What? Logan mouthed. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

“Television?” Rachel said. “Are you an actor?”

“Oh, non,” Julien said, and laughed good-naturedly, the sound low and raspy—some might even say sexy. Rachel included, judging by the blush that hit her cheeks.

“He’s a chef…among other things,” Priest said, and as if this situation wasn’t strange enough, the fact that Priest was smiling and making small talk made it even more odd.

“Oh my God,” Rachel said as the penny finally dropped, and then she looked at Cole, who looked as baffled as Logan had when Robbie—poor, poor Robbie—had a similar reaction to the celebrity in their midst.

“This is—” she started, and then turned back to Julien. “You’re the Prick.”

Cole’s expression and the entire situation finally got the better of Logan then, and he couldn’t stop the sound that escaped him. Part disgust, part disbelief, he tried to mask it as a cough, but knew it didn’t come out that way.

“Oh, that’s not an insult,” Rachel assured them all, as if that was why Logan had objected. “That’s what they dubbed him on Chef Master the first season. My brother and I watched you religiously. Mase is going to flip when I tell him I met you. Can I get a picture with you?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Logan sighed, and when Priest turned in his direction, Logan realized his feelings over the little meet-and-greet must’ve finally registered with his new partner. Priest’s eyes turned that stormy grey color they always did when he was annoyed, and they zeroed in on Logan as his lips pulled tight.

Shit, Logan thought. This is not how this is meant to go. If he could just try and explain what had happened… “Priest, I—”

“I think we’ll go and get a drink,” Priest said, and Logan wished again for a black hole, or a bullet, whichever was faster and quicker.

“It was lovely to meet you both,” Julien said to Rachel and Cole, and then he nodded at Logan and Tate, making it more than obvious he thought it was less lovely to meet them.

As the two of them walked off, Cole rounded on Logan and Tate and demanded, “What the hell is the matter with you two?”

“How did we not know he was married?” Logan said, not bothering to answer the question.

“What?”

“Married. How did we not know that Priest was married?”

Cole raised his hands, exasperated. “I don’t know. HR dealt with his background check, and you already knew him through work. Why does it matter? It’s not like you’re against gay marriage.”

Logan shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. It wasn’t even thirty minutes into the night and he had a throbbing headache.

“There’s something you don’t know,” Tate finally said, and when Cole’s eyes moved to him, he continued, “Logan and I met Julien a couple of weeks ago.”

“You did?” Cole asked as Rachel said, “Where?”

“At The Popped Cherry.”

Cole looked between the two of them, clearly waiting for the rest, and just as Tate was about to reveal all, the elevator opened and one Robbie Bianchi stepped out and waved at Logan.

“Helloo, Mr. Mitchell,” Robbie said as he strutted over to where the four of them stood. He was wearing the tightest black pants Logan had ever seen, and an off-the-shoulder blouse that had more silver sparkles than the decorated tree beside them. His lips were glittered and glossed, and when he stopped in front of them and twirled around, Logan wanted to take his hand and drag him back to the elevator.

This was so not going to end well.

“Mmm,” Robbie said. “Tate said it would be fancy, but this place looks almost as sparkly as I do.”

Indeed, Logan thought, as Rachel laughed and pulled Robbie into an embrace, and that was when it happened.

Like a car accident taking place right in front of him that he was unable to stop, Logan watched as Robbie looked over Rachel’s shoulder at all the tables, and his eyes latched on to, and focused on, the two men standing by one of them.

Both were tall, both had a drink in hand, and both—Logan noted—were staring at Robbie with a strange kind of expectation in their eyes. As Robbie seemed to register exactly who he was looking at, the joyful smile that had been plastered on his face twisted into a scowl, and right before he unleashed holy hell, Logan saw Tate grab a hold of Robbie’s wrist and drag him away.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Logan wasn’t sure where Tate was taking Robbie, but as long as it was out of gossip’s way—and, more importantly, out of murdering range—he didn’t much care.

What he did care about, though, was what kind of game Priest and Julien were playing with his young bar manager, because clearly it was something, and Logan intended to find out what.