Page 124 of The Play

“Told you to call me Deacon,” he teased as he typed in the code.

“Sorry about the photographers, but they’re technically off our property,” he said apologetically.

Deacon glanced over at him. “It’s fine,” he said.

“Mr. Green is pretty upset about it,” the concierge said.

He would be. But then, if he was so freaking upset, Deacon thought as the elevator doors opened, then why hadn’t he done something about it?

Something like Darcy had suggested.

He’d considered not bringing it up right away. Maybe letting the knowledge simmer inside him for a bit, and maybe he’d find a reason why Grant hadn’t told him. Or, at the very least, he’d be slightly less pissed by the time the subject came up.

But the moment he walked in, Grant glanced over at him, wearing those black-framed, sexy-as-hell-and-yet-undeniably-nerdy glasses, and said, “What’s wrong?”

Deacon sighed. Set his bag down on a barstool. Leaned over and brushed a kiss across Grant’s mouth.

Maybe he was pissed, still, but he’d have to be dead not to want to kiss his guy.

Grant didn’t lean into the kiss though. He pulled back, that crease between his eyebrows returning. “Seriously, what is it?”

“Why does it have to be anything?”

Grant shot him a look. “I know you. I know how you look. You look pissed. Did something happen, again?”

“No, not . . .” Deacon took a deep breath. Passed Grant the tablet from his bag. “Darcy stopped me on my way out, said you’d forgotten this.”

“Okay . . .still not sure what the deal is.”

“She also mentioned a plan of attack she and Nicole were trying to convince you of. A plan you didn’t tell me about at all.”

“Oh, is that it?” Grant set his glasses down on the counter and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. Exhausted, really.

Deacon had known how hard he worked before they’d gotten involved, when they’d only been friends, but now he was intimately familiar with the sheer number of balls he was constantly keeping in the air. Just how indispensable he was to two huge organizations.

Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up—but he wasn’t going to lie. Not when he’d discovered how it felt when Grant had lied to him by omission.

“That’s it?” Deacon asked. “Darcy—and Nicole, who freaking sets the Condors’ public relations strategy—had an idea, a plan, even, to get us out of this mess, and you didn’t even suggest it to me. I had to find out about it from Darcy.”

Grant’s eyes widened. And okay, yes, he sounded really pissed.

“You’re angry . . .with me,” Grant said, with surprise.

“Not angry.” Deacon clenched his fists. Though he kind of was, wasn’t he? “Didn’t you trust me? I would’ve done it. I’d still do it.”

Grant put a hand on his arm. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you ask me what I thought?” Deacon shed his touch and began to pace through the kitchen.

“Because of what you just said. You would’ve done it. You’d still do it. And God only knows if it would work, and God only knows if it be too much pressure for us to handle, in the end.”

“And what, you’re the only one who can take one for the team, is that it?” Deacon challenged.

“No, no. That’s not it.” Grant laughed but didn’t sound very amused. “I . . .that wasn’t why at all.”

“Then what the heck was it?”

“Because you said you’d do it! Just as easy as that!” Grant exclaimed. Ran a hand through his hair. “You’d do it, without even blinking or hesitating. And then what happens afterwards?”

---