He shrugged.
“You were doing really great until a few days ago,” she said. “What happened?”
He shrugged.
She gave him a look that said they both knew exactly what had happened. And her name was Colbie.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
The question was proof that no matter how much she drove him crazy, she was like family.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m working on it. Three nights ago, Colbie cooked me dinner and I’m going to return the favor tonight.”
Archer high-fived him.
Elle blinked. “That’s ‘working on it’? And Colbie cooked you dinner?”
“Burgers and salad. It was great, even if it was turkey burgers and salad.”
Elle wasn’t amused. “You don’t cook. In fact, you burn water.”
“Hello, Pot,” he said. “I’m Kettle.”
Archer laughed.
Elle went brows up at him and Archer quickly returned to his food.
“I don’t burn water,” she told Spence.
“Okay. So I suppose that time you pretended to make Archer dinner but really you ordered out because you’d already burned your first efforts didn’t really happen. Even though it totally did.”
Archer snorted but then turned it into a cough as he caught Elle’s eye again. “No worries, babe,” he said. “You give great takeout.”
Elle had the good grace to roll her eyes. “Fine, I’m being ridiculous, whatever. But you.” She pointed at Spence. “You’re the most private person I know, and you rented a place to a woman on first sight—without even knowing her last name, I might add. So you can see why I’m worried. If I did that, you’d kick my ass.”
“Yes,” Spence said. “But I got her knocked into that damn fountain,” he said. “I feel responsible for that. I just did what anyone else would’ve done.”
“No,” Elle said. “Anyone else would’ve paid her dry cleaning and sent her on her way. Period. Look, you’re not acting like yourself. I’m just worried about you.”
“Well, don’t be.” Spence nodded at Finn as he came over from the other side of the bar to steal a nacho. “Hey, I need a bottle of wine for tonight.”
“For?” Finn asked.
“Dinner.”
“I mean for what kind of food,” Finn clarified.
“Whatever goes with Cheetos,” Archer said, making everyone laugh because they too all knew Spence had the appetite of a twelve-year-old boy.
Spence’s phone went off with an unfamiliar number and he hit ignore, knowing it was either a reporter or someone who’d hunted down his number wanting him to invest in some crazy idea.
“You’re still being hounded?” Sean asked, refilling their waters.
Sean was Finn’s younger brother and co-owner of O’Riley’s. And an all-around troublemaker and chick magnet.
Spence shrugged. “I should probably reconsider changing my number.”
“No!” Archer, Finn, and Sean all said at the same time.
Elle rolled her eyes. “Pigs. All of you,” she said just as a text came through from that same unknown number.
Sure enough, when Spence opened it up, it was a marriage proposal—along with a picture of a pair of bare breasts. Pierced.
There was dead silence for a beat. Sean recovered first.
“See?” he finally said. “You can’t change your number, man. You need this. We need this.”
Late that afternoon Spence was in his office, two large screens working as he crunched some new formulas and numbers, when Clarissa called, giving him a blast from the past.
“Hey,” she said. “Checking in on things.”
Things being their project, of course. It used to be that she called just to hear his voice because she missed him.
Things changed.
“I’m not trying to apply pressure,” she said when he didn’t answer right away. “I really just wanted to see how you were doing.”
They hadn’t made it as a couple—100 percent his fault—but they’d managed to maintain a friendship, even with all the baggage and miles between them. She was important to him. His relationship with her, the one they had now, where they supported each other through thick and thin without the layers required of a romantic relationship, meant a lot to him. So when she said she wasn’t trying to apply pressure, he knew she meant it.
But he felt it anyway. He’d failed her, in a big way. The biggest way a man could fail a woman. He hadn’t cheated on her with another woman, but he sure as hell had cheated on her with his work.
Work was and always had been his mistress, and she’d left him for it.
He couldn’t go back and fix that. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. And he didn’t want to. She was so much better off without him.
And so was Colbie . . .
“Spence?”
“I’m here. I’m fine.” He blew out a breath and shoved his hands through his hair. By some miracle, she’d forgiven him all his many mistakes and she still loved him.
In her own way . . .
In any case, it was her pattern to call whenever she was stateside for a few days, which in itself was rare these days. “Where are you?” he asked.
“DC.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got some problems in the software, but it’ll come.”
“Maybe you’re working too hard.”
“No, I —”
“Spence.” Clarissa let out a low laugh. “Let me rephrase. You are working too hard.”
“You’ve been overseas. You don’t know what I’m doing or not doing.”
“Wanna bet?” Clarissa laughed again, but there was something in the sound that said she wasn’t actually amused. “I was with you, Spence, remember? For four years. I know exactly what you’ve been doing. Eating, sleeping, walking, and talking work 24–7.”
“I’ve had to,” he said carefully. “There’re glitches in the—”
“There are always glitches, Spence. It’s part of the process, part of the challenge on which you’ve always thrived. I have complete faith you’ll figure everything all out.”
This wasn’t comforting in the least. It was actually the opposite of comforting and only served to make him all the more edgy because what if he didn’t work everything out? What then? He’d have to tell her that once again he’d let her down— “Stop,” she said more gently now, all amusement gone from her voice. “Stop beating yourself up. You’ll get this, Spence. You always do. Work always wins in the end with you.”
“Ouch,” he said but couldn’t take offense, because it was true.
Work did always win.
Personal life always lost.
“You know what I mean,” she said softly.
“Yeah.”
“Listen,” she said. “I’m thinking of skipping Christmas in Cali this year. My folks flew here to meet up with me for a few days, and then I’m thinking I might head down to Miami.”
“What’s in Miami?”
Another pause, and this one had him taking his gaze and hands off his laptop and pausing back. “What,” he asked, jokingly. “You’ve got a guy in Miami?”
Her voice was regretful. “Spence . . .”
“Wow,” he said. “You do.” He nodded. “Okay, then. Well, good. Good for you.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Yeah.” And he did. Even more than that, there was in fact a small surge of relief going through him. “Who is he?”