“Sure.” He hung up as soon as she transferred the call. Then he plugged the winery into his map app and hit the highway.
It took two hours, and by the time he arrived, he had cycled through cold, crisp anger and hot, furious outrage a few times, and settled somewhere in the middle.
When he arrived, he strode in the front door like he owned the place—and almost ran directly into the man who actually did own it.
Evan took one look at him, and pointed to the stairs. “Follow me,” he said, his voice tense.
Well, at least he didn’t kick him out.
Brent took a deep breath and did as instructed. Evan led him down a hallway, past other offices, to the door at the end. His name was on it.
Evan West, Chief Executive Officer.
Brent wouldn’t be impressed. And he wouldn’t be overwhelmed or daunted by the wealth, either.
Fuck this guy. That was his motto. Fuck his nice winery, and his fancy office, all darkly modern, with a heavy wooden desk in the centre of it, and a slick black leather couch against the wall.
“What are you doing here?” Evan asked, getting right to the point.
Brent crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell did you say to my wife?”
“She’s not your wife.” The other man glared at him, then glanced past his shoulder. “And you might want to close the door.”
“This won’t take long.”
“You drove two hours to ask me that question, man. Close the damn door unless you want my employees to hear your deep, dark secrets.”
Brent’s pulse jackhammered in his neck. “I don’t have any dark secrets.”
“So they’re only deep, then?” Evan’s jaw flexed hard, his eyes glittering like onyx. “We all have secrets. Every single last one of us. Stop being ashamed of who you are, and you’ll learn to live with yours better.”
“I’m not ashamed of anything.” But his mouth ran dry. Who was this guy? What did he think he knew?
Because there was no doubt.
Evan Westknew. He could see into Brent’s soul, and Brent didn’t like that. Not one bit. Evan dropped his voice to a silky whisper. “I’m glad you aren’t ashamed that you wanted to fuck me right before you got the key to the city. You had nothing to be ashamed about. You didn’t know I was there with your wife.”
No, he hadn’t.
And the ground had fallen out from under him when he’d realized who the stranger was there with that night.
But he hadn’t done anything.
He hadn’t touched another person. He’d just let himself, for a moment, gobble up a good-looking man with his eyes.
The universe wasn’t so cruel that he would be punished for that weakness, was it?
Yes, it fucking was.
“You just pointed out that she’s not my wife.” That fucking hurt. But it was the truth. It had been the truth when Evan had thrown it at him, and now he was grabbing onto it for the life preserver it was. “You can’t have it both ways. And what’s your fucking game in all of this, eh? Does she know that you liked the way I looked at you? Did you tell her that part of it?”
Evan snarled. A warning that the door was still open, a warning not to push him too far, maybe. Brent didn’t need a fucking warning. He was feeling pretty reckless now. He’d stormed this man’s workplace and thrown down the gauntlet. Might as well see it all the way through.
They both went for the door at the same time.
“I’m not fucking ashamed of anything,” Brent bit out as he got there first. He shoved the door closed. “But I also haven’t done anything to be ashamed of, either. You’ve made some messy assumptions about me, and hurt Jess in the process.”
Evan was right in front of him. The suit didn’t hide the fact that the other man had easily twenty-five pounds on Brent. “Fucking men isn’t something to beashamed of.”
