Page 39 of Just a Distraction

“I’m calling housekeeping in the morning and having them do a deep clean.” Sebastian kneads his forehead. “I don’t even want to go in the bathroom.”

I rush to grab a sweatshirt I’d discarded on a chair. “The bathroom is fine. Better than fine!”

“Benson’s here.” Sebastian’s look is steely as he places his hands on the kitchen island, his shoulders slouching. “He’s going to be working for our father, and he hasn’t had a chance to find a place in Denver. So, for the time being, he’s going to be driving back and forth.”

There are so many thoughts going through my head. “I just saw Dad the other day. He didn’t mention this.”

“I didn’t ask much about Dad. But he’s got a job lined up for Benson. They’re trying it out. Benson didn’t exactly feel comfortable staying at Mom and Dad’s, and I don’t blame him.”

“Not to sound rude or anything, but is there another room around here he can stay in? You have like a hundred of them.”

“Those are for paying guests, Milo. Besides, the couch pulls out to a bed and the suite’s plenty big enough for the two of you. It will only be for a few days. You’ll be fine.”

“So, does he seem . . . distraught or something? Sounds like this was last-minute. When do you expect him?”

“He’s here already, Milo. He’s just getting his stuff out of his car.”

Frustration broils in my gut, but I manage to check myself. Sebastian’s allowing me to stay here out of the kindness of his heart. I do pay him some, but not at all what a suite like this is worth. And I guess now is as good a time as any to get to know Benson better.

But my evenings for writing just got that much more complicated because no one in my family knows I write. No one in my life knows. The online community who reads my serial,Zehma of the Night Loch,doesn’t know that Thaddeus Blackthorn and Milo Tate are one and the same.

There’s a knock at the door. “He’s here.” Sebastian smirks at me. “Play nice, okay?”

“You’retellingmeto play nice? That’s something else.”

I follow him to the entryway, and he glowers at me before opening the door. Benson’s face is apologetic. “Hey. Thanks again. And thanks, Milo, for sharing your space with me for a few days. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s good for him,” Sebastian says with a sideways glance in my direction. “There should be some room in this closet for your stuff.” He motions to the narrow door near the front entrance. “For now, though, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks.” Benson puts his two suitcases, a garment bag, and a crossbody bag in the closet and then sinks down into the sofa opposite Sebastian and me.

He looks so much like our father, it’s a little unsettling. He looks exactly like our dad looked when I was younger, with thesame clear, brown eyes, fringed with dark lashes and eyebrows. The divot in his chin. The same whirls in the front of his thick mahogany hair.

“So, you’re here to do some work for Dad, huh?” I ask. “In engineering?”

“I’m a computer engineer. I was dealing with automation, machine learning, and AI in my former job, so our . . . dad . . . wanted me to help him with some of those things. Foundations Financial needs a bit of an upgrade.” Benson clears his throat. I know I’m not imagining the awkwardness he feels in calling Thomas Tate “our dad.” It’s so strange.

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “Yes, yes it does. Are you . . . thinking of staying with Foundations long-term? Like, officially moving from Seattle to Denver?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My kids are still in Seattle with their mother, so being this far away from them long-term isn’t . . . it isn’t a possibility. So, we’ll see.”

I want to ask more about his kids. I barely know anything, even though, technically, I’m their uncle. Or half-uncle? Is that even a thing?

“I’ll send Drake up with some food for you, Benson.” He points to me. “Don’t let Milo eat it all. He’s still got the whole starving-college-student stomach, you know?”

“Hey!”

Benson only smiles. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not too hungry.”

“Well, this way I can make sure Milo gets fed without it being all about getting Milo fed, you know? So, yeah. I insist.” Sebastian stands. He shifts his weight from one side to the other, fidgeting with his hands. “Please make yourself comfortable here. And sorry about the mess. Housekeeping will be coming in the morning, but my staff is limited this time of night. I will send up some towels, though. Do you need anything else?”

It’s what Sebastian does—deferring to the amenities. Running a hospitality company, he’s learned some workarounds for his normally standoffish nature. If he makes it about the amenities, he can get through the painful shyness he fights so hard to hide.

“I’m more than good. Thank you.” Benson’s gaze is serious. When Sebastian leaves, Benson turns to me.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about this, Milo. To crash your pad like this.”

“It’s not my pad. It’s Sebastian’s. I crashed it a while ago.” I lift a shoulder. I’m unprepared for this. But I’m not going to be a jerk about it.

---