Page 67 of Rock Bottom

Boone’s office was already cramped by the time we arrived. He’d brought out the long card table where we sometimes had meetings. Bowie was already sitting at it, his boots propped up on the chair next to him while he worked on a carving with one of his knives. Leo’s face was half-hidden behind the screen of his laptop, his LED headphones flashing to the beat of whatever rap song he was listening to. Wattson was over by the coffee pot, filling a foam cup. He was the first one to greet us with a slight nod of his head as he swirled the plastic stirrer in his cup.

“’Bout time you two showed up,” Bowie said without looking up from his carving.

I yanked the folding chair from under his feet. “Where’s Boone?”

“Negotiating with the big wigs.” He gestured to the closed door on the other side of the office. There was nothing but storage on the other side, but sometimes Boone went in there to make private phone calls because the walls were thicker. Bowie jerked his chin toward Dante. “How you holdin’ up, kid?”

“Better than yesterday,” Dante said. “Hopefully, tomorrow’ll be even better.”

“Why?” Wattson asked on his way past us to his chair at the far end of the table.

Dante shrugged. “Just trying to be positive.”

Wattson replied with a grunt and snapped open the newspaper he’d kept tucked under his arm.

I sat down and glanced around the room with a frown. “We’re short a chair.”

Bowie paused. “No, we’re not.” His eyes bounced from chair to chair, counting. “Are we?”

“Yes, we are. There’s only one left and Dante’s about to take it. Where’s Boone supposed to sit?”

“Oh, he can have my chair.” Dante waved a dismissive hand and then, to my absolute horror, sat down in my lap.

Leo eyed us from overtop his screen while Bowie smirked next to me and Ragnar chuckled. If Wattson noticed from the other side of his newspaper, he didn’t show it, but Boone sure as hell would when he came in.

I swallowed and put my hands on his hips to move him. “Get off me, Dante. We can get you another chair.”

“Why? I’m perfectly fine here.” He scooted back with a contented sigh.

My face flamed as my body started to react to the closeness. There was no way I’d be able to sit through that entire meeting, let alone the next minute, without getting hard. All the wiggling he was doing certainly didn’t help.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” I growled low next to his ear.

Dante shuddered and smacked my arm. “Not here. Save the bedroom talk for later, kitten.”

“Kitten?” Ragnar arched an eyebrow.

I glared at him. “Say one bloody word and I’ll shave half your mustache the next time you fall asleep first.”

He gasped and turned away dramatically. “You’d better not. I have the dogs trained to piss on command, and I know where you keep your boots, Christian Danger Pope.”

I winced. I was going to bloody kill one of them before this was over.

Dante was too keen to miss it, of course. His head whipped around so he could stare at me wide-eyed. “Oh my God. Is that true? Your middle name is literally Danger?”

I sighed. “My dad got to pick my middle name. He thought it was clever.”

“If you ever needed proof your parents are whacko, there it is.” Bowie pointed his knife at me. “Nobody sane names their kid like that.”

I picked a stapler up off the table and batted the knife away. “Nobody asked you.”

The door to the storage room swung open and Boone strode out in his favorite red flannel shirt and a faded blue trucker cap. “Enough jaw flapping. Church, put the stapler down. Bowie, clean up your wood shavings before you leave or I’ll have you cleaning out Ragnar’s chicken coop. Ragnar…” He paused and pointed. “That eyeliner is on point.”

Ragnar batted his eyelashes. “Thanks, boss.”

Boone took a few more steps before he paused, looked at me, and tilted his head. I tensed, expecting a barrage of questions from him, most notably for him to ask why our client was sitting in my lap like he owned me. I just hoped he didn’t ask me to stand up because there’d be no hiding my erection if I did.

Dante grinned and stuck out his hand, interrupting whatever Boone was about to do. “Hi! You must be Mr. Calhoun. I’m Dante.”

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