Page 29 of For You, Sir

“That’s pretty fucked up.” Jun’s parents had conditioned him to keep a lid on his emotions, to associate joy with going too far? No wonder he was sexually repressed. I clenched my jaw, but tried to stay cool for Jun.

“It’s not their fault,” he said. “I was out of control as a kid.”

“Bullshit,” I muttered into my coffee cup. I didn’t buy that for a second. There was no way well-behaved Jun had ever been a wild child. More like his selfish-ass parents didn’t feel like being inconvenienced by kids acting like kids. For an ugly moment, I was glad his drunkard dad had already kicked the bucket.

Jun cleared his throat, looking miserable, and I realized I needed to chill the fuck out.

“Sorry. Not to be rude,” I said. “I bet you were a great kid.”

“Not really,” he mumbled. He clutched his elbows in a wretched self-hug.

Could I hold him? Would he like that? Or would I just be making things worse? Jun’s posture was still defensive, and I couldn’t quite read him.

“I’m sorry, Sir. For messing it up.”

“Hell, no.” I couldn’t let that stand, so I stepped over to Jun and put my arms around him. He dropped his nose and mouth against my shoulder but kept his arms straight at his sides instead of hugging me back, an awkward blend of acceptance and rejection. I slid my hand over his shoulder blades and he sighed into my shirt, his breath warm and minty.

A pounding knock on the door jolted us both.

What the fuck?I turned to Jun, but he looked as baffled as I was.

A dozen possibilities sprang into my mind of who might be out there. Someone from the studio. My douchebag ex with an anger problem. My possessive female stalker. A paparazzo with their camera at the ready. Whoever-it-was meant me harm.

“Just let it go,” I said, pulse quickening in dread.

Jun stepped away, straightening his tie. He wore a butler’s mask of composure. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.” He headed for the door.

Something bad is going to happen.Jun’s earlier fear now echoed in my mind.Opening the door would pop the lid on Pandora’s box. All the evils I’d been hiding from these last six months would come swarming inside.

“Don’t answer it,” I warned. Panic squeezed my chest.

“It’s probably just the laundry delivery,” Jun said. He stepped into his slip-on shoes, wiggled his way into the heels.

Whoever-it-was pounded on the door again. Loud and insistent, like a goddamn cop ready to break down the door. No delivery person knocked like that.

“Then tell ‘em to leave it on the porch. Tell ‘em through the door.” I probably sounded crazy. Hell, I probably was. I’d begun picturing some hulking demon waiting on my stoop, steaming up the peephole with its putrid breath.

“It’s my job,” Jun said. His expression begged,Let me help you. Let me do something right.

Against my better judgement, I said, “Okay. But I’m not home.”Of course, I was home. I was always home.“I mean, I’m sleeping.”

Jun gave me a shallow bow. “Certainly, Sir.”

Coward that I was, I slunk halfway down the hall so I could eavesdrop out of sight, letting Jun stride toward the door alone. It felt like I was putting him in danger, but Jun was a denizen of the outside world, wasn’t he? The creature on the porch was here to stealmysoul, not his.

Jun paused by the mirror in the foyer to straighten his sex-mussed hair. Then he stepped out of my sight, his heels clicking on the tile entryway. The knob turned with a click. He opened the door, and the foyer was flooded with a rectangle of light.

“Jun Kim?” a deep voice I didn’t recognize said. “Investigator Marshall. Have you got a minute to answer a few questions?”

Chapter 12 (Jun)

I blinked at the man in front of me, speechless, my hand still on the door. No one had come to a client’s door looking formebefore.

Marshall was a well-built Black man with acne-scarred cheeks, a low-fade haircut, and the authoritative demeanor of a cop.Washe a cop? I was so flummoxed I’d already forgotten his title. He wore gray slacks and a white button-down instead of a uniform, so he could have been a detective. I noticed with a reflexive sense of superiority that his tie was a clip-on. “E-excuse me?”

Marshall arched an eyebrow. “Are you Jun Kim?” He spoke impatiently, like I was wasting his time.

“Yes.” How had he found me here? Hemusthave been a cop if Davies & Horne had given him Sir’s address—a strange deviation from client privacy protocols.

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