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If not that, he had promised no women in the penthouse
when Bitsy was there. Tyrone usually didn‟t spend many
nights alone. Calling his bluff was probably what had
triggered this.
Blake grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing
waiter‟s tray, swigged it down, and then grabbed another to
settle his nerves.
One day together and already his best friend—the man
he‟d counted on almost his whole life, more than his father,
more than anyone—was trying to get rid of him. If Blake
hadn‟t been in public, he would‟ve cried. “So, I‟m sorry,
Mitch, but Tyrone hasn‟t mentioned you.”
Mitchell laughed at that, too, a little awkward but with a
knowing gleam in his eye. “Oh, well, Tyrone and I aren‟t
close or anything; I wouldn‟t expect him to mention me. He
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51
doesn‟t… get close, apparently, unless you‟ve grown up with
him.”
Mitchell shrugged, so inoffensive as to make one wonder
how he ended up in law. Those earnest blue eyes searched
out Tyrone for some kind of approval maybe, but Tyrone was
too busy speaking Russian at someone important looking to
even notice. Mitchell gave it up and gave Blake an apologetic
smile. “Anyway, he‟s not that interested in my life. He
established that right away. I thought from all the pictures in
his office of you together that you might be his boyfriend, but
he disabused me of that notion. God forbid I think he might
be gay and attempt to hit on him. As if I even would.”
“Yeah, God forbid.” Blake took another sip of his
champagne, wishing it were something stronger. He‟d been
an idiot to get caught up in his little game of trophy wife, an
idiot for even pretending anyone could want him for more
than sex or money. Or both. Best to let this guy know that if
he wanted money, he was barking up the wrong tree. “So he
has a lot of pictures of me in his office, does he? I don‟t have
an office. Actually, I don‟t even have a home at the moment.
I‟m just a well-dressed hobo. These clothes aren‟t even mine;
Tyrone bought them.”
If Mitchell had any sense at all, he‟d hear what a train
wreck Blake was and head for the hills. Blake had that effect
on people.
Mitchell looked startled by the news, his glance flying to
Tyrone again before he looked back at Blake. He gave him a
smile that managed to be sympathetic without pitying, a fine
line to walk. Mitchell got bonus points for that. “We can‟t all
be the lucky ones, can we? Would you do me the pleasure of
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52
sitting by me at dinner? Tyrone will be on one side of you,
but I‟d very much enjoy sitting on the other.”
Tyrone deigned to notice them then, rushing over with a
strange look on his face and sliding an arm around Blake‟s
shoulders. His voice was tense when he asked, “So, are you
two getting on all right? Blakey, I‟m sorry about that. I was
expecting Floyd—he‟s the interpreter—to be here before me,
but he didn‟t show until just now, and no one else speaks
Mr. Burundukov‟s language.”
Mitchell and Tyrone exchanged a look, and Tyrone held
out a hand to him, which Mitchell shook, his expression a
little cowed. Par for the course with Tyrone then; he wasn‟t
lying about them not being close. Then Tyrone said, “Thanks
for looking after my Blakey for me. Shall we all have a seat?”
Blake looked at Tyrone, trying to figure out what was
going on. There had been a time when he could just look at
Tyrone and know everything he was thinking. Had so much
time passed that now he wouldn‟t know? Maybe Tyrone was
being cagey because he was dumping him on some
unsuspecting guy. “Certainly; let‟s have a seat. And Mitchell,
I‟d be honored for you to sit on the other side of me. I don‟t
know anyone here but Tyrone, and I don‟t want to keep him
if he has other commitments.”
Blake took the seat between Tyrone and Mitchell and
tried to think of something to say.
Tyrone almost instantly struck up a conversation with
the grumpy-looking man across the table from them, one of
the ones with an accent so thick he was almost impossible to
understand. As the waiters filled the first glasses of wine,
Tyrone‟s hand snaked onto Blake‟s thigh, resting there,
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53
heavy and hot, as if it had nowhere better to be. No one
seemed to notice it, though; the hubbub of wine pouring
seemed to have distracted everyone.
Blake wasn‟t sure what to say or do about the hand on
his thigh. He had no idea how to feel about it. Other than
warm. But what good was that?
Mitchell cleared his throat to get Blake‟s attention. “So
Tyrone tells me you passed the bar but haven‟t sought to
practice? Are you planning to change that now?”
“I suppose I‟ll have to figure out some way of supporting
myself. My father‟s disowned me. To be honest, I never really
cared much about the law. I grew up with Tyrone here, and
international law was his calling or whatever. I had nothing
better to do.” Blake took a sip of his wine. That sounded
horrible, like he‟d just followed Tyrone around everywhere,
carrying this incredible torch for him. It hadn‟t been like
that, really. It had, but it hadn‟t. Blake had always had his
own relationships, and of all the sex he‟d had, none of it had
been with Tyrone.
“Anyway, then I met a girl, got married, and had a kid.
Being a father is my true calling, like mastering legal
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