Page 18 of Addicted

Owen nodded. “So, when is the big day? September third next year?”

Liam frowned. By now, most of next September was booked. Weekends in May, June, September, and October were so quickly snatched up that you had to think two years ahead if you wanted a prime wedding date. But there was always a chance. He went to the computer and opened the booking software. He hadn’t touched it until Dean left but, once it was all hands on deck, he and some of the other servers had to quickly become familiar with it.

“Can you hold for a moment while we check on the availability of the date?” Owen asked, his voice honey-sweet and making Liam shiver a bit. “Great, thank you.”

Once the program got out of its usual opening sluggishness, Liam flicked to the following year, scrolling through the months. “It looks like the downstairs room is open but it only holds one hundred. How many guests are they having?” Liam wondered where this was all coming from but then he realized that he’d heard Marci’s tour spiel so many times that he’d absorbed it. It wasn’t difficult, especially with Vicodin boosting his abilities and enthusiasm.

At that moment, Liam had an epiphany. He and Owen wouldn’t have time to talk if they were too busy, and they would be. It wasn’t like Liam had to make up tasks; Owen needed an assistant for real reasons.

And it seemed like the universe agreed, for the other line rang before Owen could take the first one off hold while the intercom let out a high-treble beep. Dylan’s tinny voice came through the speakerphone, filling the room.

“Bossman? Those files that I said were still in the building? I found some in a Fourth of July box in storage downstairs.”

“That’s not good-” Owen started.

“He can’t hear you. You have to hit this.” Liam pressed another button on the phone, an idea forming in his head.Owen was looking to reorganize everything, or justorganizeit for the first time. That required several steps, including finding all the paperwork scattered throughout the catering hall and destroying The Pile. Liam could volunteer for both of those tasks; they would keep him busy, out of the office, and away from Owen. “Thanks, Dylan.” He hit mute. “I can go to storage.”

“Don’t worry about that yet, the mail in that other office comes first or-” he looked down at the ringing phone. “These calls come first.”

Liam was slightly disappointed but he knew that he couldn’t slip away for the first few days. Once Owen had the basics down then Liam could find all kinds of reasons to leave the office. He’d make sure of it.

With that in mind, Liam buckled down to get through the next few hours, hoping it wouldn’t be too awful. And it wasn’t. Not really. Due to the non-stop work alongside the constantly-interrupting phone and intercom, time passed quickly and, as Liam predicted, they were too busy for any kind of idle chitchat. However, the way that Owen handled the calls made Liam feel like they were already crossing a line. It was like a game. Owen would pick up, repeat the person’s name or their request aloud, glance at Liam’s expression, and judge accordingly. Or Liam would scramble to find what was needed, not liking the fact that they read each other so easily. But Liam could read Marci’s moods and she could read his, so it was nothing special even if it made Liam feel like it was.

And it felt even more special when, during a small reprieve, Owen gave him one of those radiant smiles.

“You’re a lifesaver, Liam. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ducking his head, Liam hid his blooming blush and focused on piling up whatever papers were on the couch.

“How did this place hold it together for the last few weeks?” Diverting his attention back to the monitor, Owen scrolled through the intimidating list of emails. Absently, he opened the button at his collar and Liam swallowed hard as he caught a glimpse of blond chest hair. It was thick, plush, and a shade darker than the hair on his head.

Liam’s fingers twitched, wanting to touch it, but he tore his eyes away, trying not to sweat on the invoices he held as he mentally reigned in his dick, which had started to stir.

“It’s all Marci’s doing,” he eventually said, his voice only breaking a little.

“I think it’s everyone’s,” Owen stated. “There’s a lot of great people here, like you Liam. And I can’t let all of you down.”

Blushing furiously once more and hating how his face betrayed him, Liam kept his eyes on the floor, surprised at how much Owen’s words warmed his heart. Aside from the whole neighbor-crush thing, it was nice to have someone managing again, someone who truly cared. Liam didn’t have much in this world but he had this job and knew how much Marci, Dylan, Angelo, Emma, and the rest of the staff needed The Pointe. He wanted the hall to succeed and with Owen at the helm, it had a good chance. Something strange bubbled in Liam’s chest and it took him a few minutes to figure out what it was.

Hope. He hadn’t felt it in so long it was almost unrecognizable; the pills probably helped bring it forward.

Feeling the weight of a stare, Liam looked up to find Owen studying him again, this time with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, like he was considering something serious. Liam froze under that deep cobalt gaze, unsure. An invoice slipped out of his hands, the sound of it fluttering to the floor loud in the silent room, and Owen started, a splash of red dusting his cheekbones.

“Sorry Liam, I was just thinking…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Um…about lunch!” Cracking his knuckles, Owen rose from his office chair. “How about I go down to the kitchen and see what I can grab, Marci said we’re allowed to make sandwiches and such?”

“Yeah,” Liam answered halfheartedly, a little stunned and worried by the intensity of Owen’s gaze. Did Owen somehow figure out that Liam was on drugs? Could he tell that Liam was still grieving? Were there going to be questions now? Concern? And why did the phone decide to be quietnow?

“I turned off the ringer for lunch. The voicemail can work for a half hour, we need a break,” Owen told him as he left, once again reading Liam’s mind.

Owen hadn’t fully closed the door behind him and Liam stared at the sliver of hall outside the office, managing to work himself into a nervous frenzy until Owen returned fifteen minutes later with plates in hand. Suddenly Liam’s heart went from beating like mad to a standstill as he noticed what was on them. Owen’s was an unrecognizable sloppy mishmash of whatever sliced meat, cheese, and condiments were available, enough spilling out of the sides that there was more on the dish than between the slices of bread. But Liam’s sandwich was clean, neat, and obviously well-thought-out. It was only a simple grilled cheese with a small bowl of tomato soup but it was so much more than that; it was what his mother always made him. His eyes watered from the memory while his mouth watered from the scent.

“Did Angelo get it right? I gave him specific instructions and I think he wanted to kick me out of his kitchen,” Owen joked, handing the meal to Liam, who nodded mutely, unable to speak. It was only a sandwich but for Liam it had been ages since someone did something so kind for him. To be fair, he hadn’t let anyone close enough to allow them the kindness but the simple act had him blinking away tears.

“Yes. I-It’s great. Thank you,” he said huskily as his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the night before, and he tried not to moan as he took the first bite. The warmth of the melted cheese went so well with the crunch of the bread and, when he bit into a thick piece of tomato in the center of all that gooeyness, he gave up fighting against the ghosts and allowed himself to drown in the taste.

Silence filled the room as they both ate their food and Liam appreciated that Owen didn’t take the opportunity to stroll down memory lane. He was having enough trouble repressing all the times he’d eaten the same thing at the kitchen table in his old house, his elbows resting on the flowery tablecloth while he watched his mother putter around the room, her reddish hair glinting in the sunlight that came through the window. He could almost hear her voice, see her quirky smile.

“Can I have your number?” Owen’s voice cut through the quiet like a ragged bomb.

---