Leasing Love: A #GeekLove Contemporary Ménage Romance (Your Ad Here Book 2) (10 page)

* * * *

Feeling better this morning?

Brunch at Silver Fork?

It’s after 10. You’ve been awake for hours. Just tell me you’re all right
.

Liz scrolled through the text messages from Mercy. When she went out for some air and coffee this morning, she left her phone behind, so she didn’t hear them come in. She should join Mercy and Ian for brunch, to make up for being a wet blanket last night, but she wasn’t in the mood for their happiness. The bitter thought made her frown.

She replied to Mercy.
I’m good. I have plans. We’ll do brunch another day.

Oh. Okay.
Was that disappointment in Mercy’s response, or simply the abrupt nature of a text?

Liz wouldn’t dwell on it. She needed a distraction so her brain could set itself straight in the background. Her gaze landed on a scrap of white on the floor, next to the trash can. She grabbed the card, to throw it out, but paused, turning it over and over, before tucking it into her pocket. There was no reason to call. Jordan’s offer was out of politeness. Nothing more.

She scanned the headlines on her phone as she wandered into the kitchen. Because she spent so much time looking up E3 news while she was in L.A., they were all targeted toward new and hot game announcements. She stalled, feet frozen in place, when she reached the headline
Jordan Iverson arrested for assault.

She scanned the article, and then the next, clicking and following links as she read about the accusations, the dropped charges, and how his
former
employer, Rinslet released a statement saying they didn’t condone his actions and they’d let him go.

Maybe the two people she met the other day were monsters, but instinct told her this wasn’t right. She grabbed the business card with Jordan’s number and dialed before she could talk herself out of it. When his voicemail picked up without a single ring, her insides did an odd topsy-turvy thing at the sound of his voice, as well as at not being able to reach him.

Mercy’s words flooded back again. Careless, not meant to harm, but distracting. They didn’t carry the same weight as earlier, and Liz pored over them to figure out why. Sure, the fooling around with Jordan and Chloe had been—and would be—fun, but the evening before was too. When she told them about George, about the mistake she let her heart make, she didn’t feel judged. That was a first. They’d been supportive, and they probably needed a friend right now. She dialed Chloe’s number.

“Hello?” The hesitant, familiar voice made Liz grin.

“Chloe? It’s Liz. Thompson. We met at E3.”

“Yeah. Hey.” Chloe’s tone shifted to cheerful, but tension ran through it. “Not to be rude—I’m glad you called—but how did get my number?”

“Jordan gave it to me when we met yesterday.”

“When you—? Right. Of course.” The lilt vanished from Chloe’s words. “What can I do for you?”

Liz’s resolve evaporated. “I… Uh…” This was stupid. What was she thinking? “I saw the headlines this morning, and I wanted to make sure you two were okay. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m here.” She spit the offer out.

Chloe sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Jordan didn’t do this. It’ll sound stupid, but we’re trying to figure out how to dig under what this Stew guy did and get on top of it.”

“I actually can help with that.” It was nice, being able to make the offer. “That is, if you need me to. I have advertising experience, and if I’m reading this in the news, so is everyone else. I can help you spin this. You might already have this information, but—”

“We could use the help. Whenever you’re free.” Chloe rattled off an address a few miles from Liz’s condo, and Liz agreed to be there in a couple of hours. As she hung up, adrenaline spilled through her at the thought of seeing them again. The circumstances weren’t ideal, but at least this way her reasons for visiting were friendly, and nothing more.

Jordan kept half an ear on Chloe’s conversation, trying to figure out who she was talking to. Someone she trusted with information about their situation, but who didn’t have their address? That didn’t make sense.

“Did you leave something out of our everything we talked about yesterday?” she asked as she set her phone aside.

Leading question. Great.
That’s what I’m in the mood for. Not.
“I had a lot on my mind. Wanna give me a hint?”

“That was Liz. Said you met with her?”

Fuck. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “I did. Took the appointment for Scott. R&T advertising is looking at our—
your
—licensed images options.” His idea. His success. Not anymore. “I meant to tell you I gave her our numbers. Like I said, lot on my mind.”

Circles lay under Chloe’s eyes, and her frown hadn’t faded since yesterday. “I’m glad you did. She might be able to help.”

A series of sarcastic retorts flew to the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t in the mood to argue, though, and he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one. “How?”

“She says she’s got experience from work with public image and making people look good.”

“I like the sound of that.” It would be nice to have someone else working with them who didn’t think Jordan was an asshole with an agenda. Speaking of— He turned back to the latest round of search results. They’d been spinning their wheels since last night. Jordan was almost certain the photographs of the injuries were real. He and Chloe were hunting and pecking everywhere they could think of. Was anyone talking about it? Had anyone seen it happen? Who took the police report?

The series of never-ending searches was like falling down the rabbit hole and landing in a giant pile of shit with a
Bite Me
sign on it. He clicked to another Reddit thread. This one started off like so many of the others.

Did you see that cocky, talentless hack from Rinslet finally got his?

Right? Who puts a dick like that in charge of anything, let alone an entire art department?

Not surprised the fucker snapped. He’s wound up tighter than a broken spring
.

That didn’t even make sense. Jordan obliterated his desire to respond, hours ago. Now he suffered from eye-fatigue—too much rolling. He continued to scan the trash-talking, not wanting to miss any possible hint.

And then there’s that bitch he says he’s fucking.

Jordan clenched his jaw.

Bull-dyke alert. Doesn’t know what a real dick is.

She needs a good, hard—

A loud crack sounded, and pain rocketed through his knuckles. He’d snapped the pen sitting next to his keyboard. Ink covered his fingers. He closed the tab before Chloe’s questioning gaze landed on the screen.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Fine. All things considered. I need to wash this off.” He walked to the bathroom before she could stop him. This was going to devour their sanity; there had to be another way to clear his name. And if Chloe stumbled on a post like this, the assault charges against him might be legit next time. He cranked on the cold water, gripped the edge of the sink, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

What were they doing? Sure,
I’ll prove I’m innocent
, sounded all sorts of bold and smart in theory, but this wasn’t helping anyone.

“Hey.” Chloe’s soft voice tunneled through his rage and frustration. “You’re staining the porcelain.”

That drew a smile. The sink was already a rainbow of colors from one or the other of them dying their hair countless times. He shoved his hands under the icy spray and let it shock away the cloud in his brain.

When the globs of ink were gone and nothing but blue splotches remained, staining his skin, Chloe handed him a towel. “Maybe Liz really can help,” she said.

He spun, draped the towel on the rack, and pulled Chloe to him. Her palms were fire against his. “Maybe we’re wasting our time.”

She molded against him, settling her cheek against his chest. “Since when are you a quitter?”

Since he didn’t want her finding anything like what he saw. It wasn’t new. That kind of shit-talk was a hazard of the job. Over the years, they got good at avoiding it, though. Now they were about to dive in headfirst. He rested his forehead on the top of her head. “I’m not giving up. This is my career.”

“What if we apologize to Stew?”

“For what?” Jordan didn’t want to disrupt the fragile calm. “Telling him
no
?”

“If he understood the fallout he caused…”

Jordan wanted to believe that mattered. That wherever the story came from, Stew didn’t stop and think about the consequences before posting it. Except he’d gone to the trouble of involving the police. “This isn’t the kind of thing someone does by accident.”

“I could try talking to him anyway.”

“And if it backfires?” He could see the newest headline now.
Rinslet Tries to Buy my Silence with Pity.

Chloe slumped, leaning more of her weight into him. “Good point. What next?”

“LinkedIn?”

She pulled back enough to study him, brows furrowed in question.

“Maybe he’s got a connection who’s a really good make-up artist.” Jordan was reaching, but it was a new direction.

She shrugged and tugged him back toward the office. “Might as well give it a shot.”

It was at moments like this, when Chloe put everything aside to help him, he was confident they could work out whatever issues came between them.

The next couple of hours passed in a haze of more-of-the-same, until Jordan was certain they were pantomiming insanity—doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result. Chloe stood and stretched, and he let his gaze travel over her elongated form. “That’s my kind of distraction,” he said.

“Happy to be here for you.” She smiled—the best sight he’d seen all day. Someone knocked, and at the same time, Chloe’s phone rang. She grabbed the device. “It’s Rae.”

“I’ll get the door.” Jordan headed in that direction, while Chloe wandered into the kitchen. He was happier to see Liz than he expected, and he let her in.

She met his gaze, sympathy in her eyes. “How are you holding up?”

“It sucks, but whatever doesn’t kill you... Chloe said you might be able to help.”

“I hope. You’ve written your apology, haven’t you? When are you posting it? Or did it go out already?”

Maybe he wasn’t so happy to see her. “Why would I apologize? I didn’t do anything.”

“I know.” There was no hesitation or doubt in her reply. “You don’t apologize for being responsible; you say you’re sorry something so horrific happened. Chloe said you two were working on something. What, if not that?”

“Figuring out what
did
happen.” He nodded toward the office. “I’ll show you what we’ve got so far.”

She fell into step behind him as they crossed the short distance to the room. He pulled out a spare chair and scooted it next to his. “We’re looking at Stew’s connections; who he might have told; if there are any rumors about fist-fights…”

Liz was being awfully quiet.

When he turned his head to ask what was up, he saw her purse her lips. “You can’t start there. That happens later,” she said.

“Why?” He shouldn’t snap at her, but he needed an outlet, and she’d dismissed a night’s worth of work in a few short words. “You’re not in PR. While the story is trending, people care. As it fades in their minds—which only takes a day or two most of the time—the last thing they heard about it is what they remember.” Which meant they had less than two days to show everyone why he wasn’t responsible.

“Exactly. And no, I’m not in PR. I work for an advertising company that specializes in brand recognition and social media.”

“Wait. What?” Jordan could tell Liz thought she was responding to him, but it felt as if they were having two separate conversations. “I’m not a brand.”

“You are. Every time I heard Rinslet’s name at E3, it was accompanied by a comment about how they hold themselves in the public eye. Some people admire it, and some people hate it, but regardless, the two of you are at the center of it. When you start job-hunting, are you going to sell yourself based on your skills or your reputation?”

He wanted to say
skills,
but he knew better. “So what am I supposed to do? I can’t for a second begin to imply I was involved. Any statement I issue is either going to sound like
the man doth protesteth too much
or include an unspoken admission of guilt. Or both.”

“Hey, Liz.” Chloe’s greeting interrupted the conversation and Jordan’s mounting frustration. He let the sight of her calm him enough to have this irritating-as-fuck conversation. Chloe turned her attention to him. “Rae’s inviting us to dinner Wednesday night.”

After the conversation he had with Zach yesterday?
Jesus
, family dinners were about to get tense. He didn’t want to say
yes
, but he refused to keep Chloe from everyone else in her life. “With just her?” Probably not.

Chloe shook her head.

He had to move past this eventually, and as time passed from his being fired, his bitterness was redirected from Rinslet. Mostly. As long as he didn’t think about it too hard. “Sure. Wednesday is good.”

Chloe turned back to the phone and wandered from the room. He watched her until she was out of sight.

“You love her a lot, don’t you?” Liz’s question was soft.

“More than anything. I wish—” He snapped his jaw shut before he said too much. Exposing the cracks in his relationship with Chloe felt more scandalous than the morning they shared with Liz in L.A. Liz looked concerned rather than judgmental, though.

“Wish what?”

He racked his brain for a generic response. “Things have been tense lately. I wish I could make her smile for more than a couple minutes at a time.”

“When was the last time you did something random and out of the blue for her,
just because
?”

“You mean besides lose my job and add another layer of stress to our lives?” He meant the words to be a lighthearted joke, but the bitterness in his voice disturbed him.

“I mean besides that.”

Last time he did something random for Chloe? Friday morning in her office? Fuck. That was incredible. The memory was enough to flood his skin and tug at his cock. Not the kind of thing he wanted to share. Mostly because Chloe was so pissed last time he did that.

“If you’re hesitating that long for an answer, it’s not a good sign.” Liz interrupted his thoughts. “Little gestures go a long way.”

Did little gestures include watching next time Chloe kissed her? “Like what?”

“Flowers. Candy. That kind of stuff.”

“Chloe’s not really a buy-me-flowers kind of girl.”

Liz raised her brows as if she didn’t quite believe him. “It’s one example. What does she like?”

That was an easy one. “Whips. Leather. Alien lasers.”

Pink dotted Liz’s cheeks, and she turned her gaze to her hands. “Leather’s an option if you do it right.” Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, until he had to strain, to hear her. She cleared her throat and jerked her head up. “Anyway. She writes.”

“Brilliantly.” Sexy, hot, astounding stories.

“Do her characters ever fall in love?”

“All the time.”

Liz leaned in. “What kind of things do
they
do for each other?”

“Buy whips. Leather. Alien lasers…” Jordan’s flippant retort faded as Liz’s question sank in. “Oh.” There was always something small in Chloe’s stories, whether she was writing for one of the game franchises or fan fiction. Sometimes it was poetry. Frequently it was a sketch or something else.

“Lightbulb moment?”

“You could say that.” He nodded at the monitors. “You don’t want to spend your time doing relationship counseling. Though, thank you. Tell me more about this Jordan’s-a-brand concept.” It was a simple enough solution. He should have seen it sooner. He’d put more energy into showing Chloe he cared, and things would get better.

Liz worked her jaw up and down a few times before saying, “Can I drive for a minute?”

“Sure.” Jordan rolled his chair out of the way, so she could slide up in front of the computer. He watched in fascination, as her fingers flew over the keyboard. She’d type a few sentences, then delete half of one or copy, paste, and tweak another. For the first few minutes, he tried to keep up, but he surrendered the idea when he couldn’t tell where one thought ended and the next started. She was writing some kind of letter, which appeared to be from him, but it was too fractured to make sense.

“The goal is to say you’re sorry Stew was assaulted. That you hate to see something so horrific happen to anyone, and that you hope the true perpetrator is brought to justice. You never say anything that hints at you being involved, or at any animosity toward him or implication he’s making things up.”

“Except the bit about me being responsible.”