Archer took a sip of his drink, his stare louder than any words as he watched me over the rim of his glass.
“Or should I say noone.”
“Ah.” The smug bastard grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“No, we’re not.” I pouted. “Because I’m not talking about it. Not now, not ever.”
“Because you can’t?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“That’s obvious, since you literally asked me to come over here for a chat.”
“Oui, but I didn’t say about what.” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I wanted to see how life is going with your pretty young thing.”
“He said with such obvious interest.”
“You know, you’re not usually this obnoxious. Maybe I called the wrong friend.”
Archer chuckled and reached over to pluck the wine glass from my fingers. “I don’t think that’s it at all. You look miserable. And there’s only two reasons I’ve ever seen you look that way—the first when you had to miss Fleet Week, and the second when he-who-won’t-be-named broke your heart.”
This was the problem in inviting over the one person who knew you almost as well as you knew yourself to commiserate with.
“And since Fleet Week isn’t for another five months, I’m thinking?—”
“Well, stop that.”
“—you’ve had your heart broken. The real question is: by whom?”
I waved him off and turned back to face the crackling fire, and an image of me and Dimitri tangled in front ofhisfireplace flashed before my eyes.
Ugh, anytime these memories wanted to exit my brain would be great.
“Benny?”
“Huh?”
“Who is he? Or can you not say?”
I gave him a droll look. Archer knew better than that. He was my vault and I was his. That was why he’d trusted me with his little—okay, enormous—scandal when he fell for his daughter’s boyfriend.
So the least I could do was return the favor and let him know I’d fallen for one of the most dangerous men in the world.It was kind of the same, right? Both relationships had the potential to blow up in our faces—mine just might include real explosives.
“His name is…Dimitri.”
Archer grinned. “Greek?”
“Oui.” I let out a sigh and closed my eyes, picturing Dimitri’s dark hair, intense eyes, and sculpted jawline. “A Greek god.”
A low chuckle had me opening my eyes and turning to my so-called friend. I was seriously thinking about revoking that title.
“You’ve got it bad.”
“I’ve got nothing.”
“Not true.” Archer gestured to the trunk my feet were still propped up on. “You’ve got four million dollars. So, um, want to tell me why a man you’re pickling your liver over while crying sent you said dollars?”
“I’m not crying.” Although I might’ve been last night. Those eye patches I spend way too much money on clearly don’t do shit for puffiness.
