Drew Klein met his gaze, and an iron fist punched Ash in the stomach. Holy fuck. The man was gorgeous. Too thin and too pale, but even that couldn’t hide the high cheekbones, straight nose, and strong chin of a perfectly sculpted face. Sadness and defeat radiated off him in waves. His dry palm, however, was warm and solid, and for some inexplicable reason, Ash’s heart beat a bit faster as they shook hands.
“Hello, Mr. Davis.” There was no friendly smile to Klein’s lips, nor did his green eyes show any spark of life. Even his voice was low and quiet, as if he hadn’t the strength or desire to expend any effort. Obviously the dissolution of his marriage weighed much more heavily on his mind than on his soon-to-be ex-wife’s, who was busy chatting with her father and texting on her phone.
Somewhat taken aback by his unorthodox response to this man,
this obviously straight man
, Ash cleared his throat and backed away. “Shall we get on with the meeting?” For some inexplicable reason, his voice shook. He strode to the side table and poured himself a glass of water. After gulping down the cold liquid, his throat loosened, and he felt more like himself. Perhaps that third cup of coffee had messed with his equilibrium.
“This should all go quite seamlessly, as I see it. Mrs. Klein is not contesting the divorce, and Peter, I think your client is aware that under the terms of the prenup, the parties will be leaving the marriage in the same position as when they entered it.”
Dr. Klein snorted, and Ash caught his eye. He cocked his head. “Dr. Klein?”
Klein arched a black brow. Damn, the man was too sexy for words. “What of our wedding gifts? We’ve barely unpacked and set up our joint account. I presume everything is fifty-fifty?”
For the first time Jackie Klein showed an interest. “No way. My friends gave us better gifts than your lousy friends and family. All that cheap crap we have is from your relations.” Her sneer was palpable, and Ash cringed at her words. “You’re not getting a penny of my daddy’s money to waste on your stupid clinic. You’re a doctor; make it yourself. I want out.” She grabbed at Ash’s sleeve. “I thought this was going to be easy, but he’s making it difficult like he does everything.”
Instinctively, he patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Jackie; that’s what I’m here for, to make sure everything is taken care of properly.” He turned back to Dr. Klein, who listened with a quiet intensity to whatever Peter was saying in his ear. When they finished, Ash smiled at both of them.
“The gifts will be split by the giver. The groom’s side back to you, Dr. Klein, the bride’s side back to her. For mutual friends, it will be split fifty-fifty. The apartment is in Jackie’s name, so you will have six months to find a new place to live. I presume, Dr. Klein, you haven’t been living there since the petition was filed?”
Dr. Klein gave a brief shake of his head, and Peter squeezed his shoulder, Ash noted. He reminded himself to make a lunch date with Peter and get the story on this guy.
They spent the rest of the afternoon going through the couple’s securities and stocks, matching it up with the formal paperwork. At the end of a grueling two hours, the papers were drawn up, and the marriage of Jackie Klein and Drew Klein would be officially and legally dissolved no later than six months from this date.
Jackie and her father had already left the office, she breezing out with a wave, loudly stating her plans with her boyfriend, which included dinner and the theater, necessitating a trip to a trendy, high-end boutique on the Upper East Side and the hair salon.
Peter hung around with his client, talking to him in that friendly, brotherly tone he always used for comfort. Ash remembered it all too well from law school. On those rare occasions when he’d become overwhelmed, his tongue loosened more than it should by heartache and vodka, Peter had been the one Ash unwittingly spilled some of his past to. If anyone could lift Dr. Drew Klein out of his misery, Ash bet on Peter. He left to attend to some phone calls.
After about half an hour, Ash strolled back into the conference room, on the pretext of a forgotten file, but mainly to see if Peter had worked his magic on his client. Once again his friend did not disappoint. The transformation in Dr. Klein was magical. Instead of the subdued, morose specter, Ash came face-to-face with a handsome, charming, though still somewhat serious man. Klein’s pale skin had flushed a healthier color, and his green eyes glowed as he and Peter shared a laugh. Staring in amazement at the total transformation in the man, Ash’s blood quickened, his body swept away by desire.
Shit. This had never happened before. Certainly he’d lusted after men, men with far more sexual sophistication than the quiet Dr. Drew Klein. But the need pounding through him went beyond any physical reaction he’d ever had toward any man. What made matters worse was that Peter, goddamn him, knew what he was feeling. He could tell by the fucking little smirk the bastard made no attempt to hide.
“Oh, Ash, could you come here?” Peter the innocent, with his big baby blues so wide and bright, waved at him from across the conference table.
Shaking his head, Ash dropped down in a chair to hide the sudden tightness in his pants. “What is it, Dent?” He scowled at his friend, wishing all sorts of evil stomach maladies to happen to him on a packed subway car. In the dead of summer. “I have other meetings today, and I’m not renting you my conference room. Don’t you have your own office anymore?”
Peter stopped laughing and left Dr. Klein’s side to come sit by him. “Ash, settle down. I wanted to talk to you about a project Drew is spearheading.”
Against his better judgment, he glanced over at Dr. Klein, but the man was busy checking his phone. With an aggravated huff, he returned his attention to his friend. “What is it, and why should I be interested?” He knew he sounded like a growly, petulant child, but he didn’t care. It had been too long since he’d gotten laid, and as it wasn’t happening with Dr. Straight and Miserable, he needed to have his itch scratched.
Serious for once, Peter kicked his foot. “Asher. Come on. It’s me. Give over and stop acting like a prick. Drew is starting a clinic for underprivileged kids, and I’m helping him. He’s seen too many who’ve been on the wrong side of a fist wind up with permanent damage to their faces. He’s donating his services to treat them, and he’s gotten his friends, one of whom is a dentist, the other an orthopedist, to help as well.” The two friends locked gazes.
Fuck.
What he really wanted to do was punch Peter Dent in his nice square jaw and tell him to go to hell, because he knew what Peter wanted. But that was the thing about Peter. Ash wouldn’t treat him like everyone else. Peter was probably the one person who knew Ash better than he knew himself.
Ash’s body stilled. His fingers dug so deep into the fabric of the chair that it shredded under his nails. “What.” He cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry as chalk. “What do you want from me?” Stupid question. He knew what Peter wanted. And goddamn him, Peter knew there was no way he could refuse him, or refuse those kids.
Because he too had seen kids who had been on the wrong side of an adult’s rage and fists. Adults who were supposed to protect children and, if not love them, at least make sure no harm would come to them. Too many adults took in children to care for, not because they loved them or wanted to give them a better life, but because of the money they received from the state. And God help the children who ended up with those people, if they didn’t clean their rooms or cook the meals or…
Ash shook his head free from his nightmarish thoughts, focusing on his friend’s sympathetic face. His stomach roiled at the sight of all that compassion in Peter’s knowing eyes. “Yeah, damn you. You know I’ll help him. Tell me what you need me to do.”
Why did he have a feeling he’d made the biggest mistake of his life?
Chapter Two
Thank God he was home, with this miserable bitch of a day behind him. After their last bitter confrontation, Drew had dreaded seeing Jackie again.
Who could blame him? The last time he’d seen her, she’d been on her knees, giving his former friend and one of his Wednesday night poker buddies what looked to be a spectacular blowjob.
The familiar sense of nausea rose in Drew’s throat, but he fought it down as he entered his apartment. Throwing his keys in the bowl on the table by the door, he paused and surveyed the spartan, one-bedroom apartment he’d rented in Brooklyn Heights after leaving Jackie’s luxurious loft in Tribeca. He’d never felt comfortable there. It was always her place, never theirs.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his cat hopping off his perch by the window, coming to greet him with a loud, rumbling purr. Black-and-white with big yellow eyes, Domino had proven to be a much more loving family member in the two months since he’d rescued him from Animal Care and Control than his wife had ever been. After letting the furry creature rub against his legs for a moment, Drew picked Domino up and carried him into the bedroom, where he deposited him on his bed while he changed out of his suit.
“What’d you shred today, buddy?” When he scratched under Domino’s chin, he was rewarded with even louder purring and demanding “pet me, scratch my chin,” head butts. He begrudged the animal nothing. The workers had told him when the cat was brought in, he’d been half-starved, spray-painted pink, and so flea-bitten they didn’t think he’d make it. Running his hands through Domino’s now thick, glossy fur, he could barely feel the animal’s ribs. “Maybe you need to go on a diet, huh, buddy?”
As if he understood, the purring abruptly stopped, and Domino gently swatted Drew’s hand. “Okay, okay, kidding.” After spending a few moments giving the cat more scratches under his chin, Drew changed into jeans and a T-shirt, hung up his suit, then went into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge. Luckily he’d stocked up earlier in the week, as he knew after today’s meeting, his friends would come over to help him commiserate.
As if on cue, the phone rang. It wasn’t one of his friends though. “Hey, D. how’s my big brother?”
His baby sister, Rachel, had called him by the first letter of his name since she was a baby, and it stuck with everyone close to him. Although she was two years younger than him, in the dating world she’d always watched over him like a mama bear, offering advice whether or not he asked.
“Did you see her today? She have the nerve to show up?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Rach. She was there. It’s fine, and in six months I’ll be free again. All done.” He drank down his beer, then flopped on the couch, picked up the remote, and switched on the TV, looking for the Yankees game.
“Was it awful?”
His stomach clenched at the concern in her voice. He so didn’t want his little sister worried about him. “Rach, I’m thirty-two years old. I can handle it. I never should’ve married her. You were right.”
Rachel, finishing up her PhD in child psychology, had the grace not to tell him
I told you so.
“So listen to me now. Don’t rush back into the dating scene again. I think you need your friends and family more than anything.”
“Don’t worry, honey. The last thing on my mind is getting involved with another woman. I’ll see you at Nana’s this weekend though, right?” They always went together to visit their grandmother every Sunday. When he was a junior and Rachel had started college, their parents were killed in a head-on collision by a drunken truck driver on the New York State Thruway. Their grandmother had taken care of them from that day forward. Even though she was now well over eighty years old, her fiercely independent nature only allowed them to do the littlest things for her. But they never missed a Sunday visit. Another thing Jackie had complained about having to do with him.
“Of course. Love you, D.”
“Love you too, Rachey.” He clicked off and was about to settle in to watch Jeter take his turn at bat when his doorbell rang. Sighing, he knew this would be the beginning of a long night of companionship with his buddies, whether he wanted it or not.
Standing at the door were his two best friends. One had two boxes of pizzas from Grimaldi’s. Another had bags that smelled like meatball heroes from their favorite place in Carroll Gardens, resting on top of a case of beer.
“Holy shit, guys. There’s only the three of us.” He gestured them inside, and Mike, the one holding the sandwiches and case of beer, made a beeline for the kitchen.
“Listen, D, we were so happy you were finally getting rid of that cheating bitch, we didn’t know what to do first.” Mike shoved the case of beer into the fridge alongside the bottles already there. “But beer, pizza, and heroes work, right?” He flashed a grin.
“Thanks, man.” Drew grabbed him around the neck for a quick hug, speaking into his good ear. Mike Levin had lost almost all the hearing in his left ear after being wounded during his tour in Iraq.
Drew cast a fond glance at Jordan, busy opening pizza boxes and arranging the heroes on foam plates. They’d been best friends all their lives, ever since their moms met at the playground when they were babies. They’d stuck through everything together, his disastrous marriage, Mike almost getting killed in Iraq and his long road to recovery, and Jordan’s coming out.
“Thanks to you guys for being there for me. It actually went a lot easier than I thought. Yeah, she was there with her father, of course, but my lawyer and hers are really good friends so they worked it out. Six months from today I’ll be a free man, and now I can concentrate on getting the clinic off the ground.”
They all gathered their food and sat on either the sofa or the floor. After watching the Yankees kick the Red Sox’s asses for a while, Drew muted the set. “So you guys are all still on board with me, right? It’s going to make such a big difference in these kids’ lives, knowing that they can get the medical and dental care for all the issues they face.”
Jordan chewed the last of his pizza and then took a drink of his beer. “Are we dealing with mostly teens, D? And you said many of them are gay?” Jordan Peterson was a premier orthopedic surgeon in the city. He and his partner, Keith Hart, an NYPD detective, spent many hours at local LGBT programs helping teens with bullying issues, as well as other family problems. Jordan’s parents had never been anything less than fully supportive of their son and welcomed his partner Keith like another one of their children. Keith’s parents, devout, Bible Belt Christians, had cut him off when he’d told them he was gay. He’d neither seen nor spoken to them in years.