new home and took a quick shower. He didn't take time to look at anything. The truth was Ronin was the king of procrastination and starting to unpack would ruin his reputation and harsh his buzz. Also ignoring the flashing red light on the voicemail, he glanced at his face in the mirror and shrugged. He rubbed a hand over his beard before squirting on some cologne.
When he exited the house again and jogged to the car, he was dressed in a pair of black jeans with a black dress shirt along with his black Stetson. It wasn't long before he climbed from the front seat of his car and jaywalked across the semi busy street to the restaurant. He turned the knob and stepped inside.
The interior was warm and homey. A fireplace crackled quietly in one corner. Classical music—good classical music—played from unseen speakers all around him but the place didn't seem to be open yet. The memory of his grandmother's living room floated through his mind and gave him the same calmness he'd felt each time he spent time with his nana before her death. He smiled and blinked so his eyes would adjust to the low light. When he opened them again, he stared at the picture above the fireplace. It was a beautiful abstract, something Ronin loved just staring at. Sitting at a table was a group of men, one of whom he recognized as the basketball player Jamal
Kendricks. The other men were a large African-American with cornrows, an Indian male, a Caucasian man with long, dark hair, and a rough-looking cowboy. They looked up.
"I'm sorry. I thought you were open for dinner,"
Ronin said.
"We won't be for a few more minutes," the man with the long, brown hair said as he rose. "You're welcome to stick around if you'd like."
"I don't want to intrude."
"Nonsense." The man batted a wrist at him. "Pull up a chair. Have a glass of wine."
Ronin stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Ronin McCall. Just moved into town."
"I'm Savaro Kendricks-Anatolis, and these men are my brother Rajan, my husband Jamal Kendricks, Xavier Crawford, and this…" He stopped and turned to the cowboy with the stubbly facial hair and dark, finger-raked hair. "This is Race McKade."
Ronin shook each man's hand before pulling up a chair and sitting down. It felt rather strange but they seemed to be friendly people. When he was offered a beer he shook his head. "Sorry. I'm driving tonight." He removed his hat and placed it over his knees before looking around.
"You have to have something," Xavier said with a
laugh.
"You want some juice?" Rajan asked. "We got cranberry, orange, grape, and grapefruit."
"Cranberry would be great."
After Rajan left to go behind the bar, Ronin faced the others at the table.
"How long have you been here?" Race asked.
"A grand total of three days on and off," Ronin replied. "I came down and hunted for a place to live. Once I found that I headed back to Century, packed up and had my stuff shipped here."
"You bought the old Kenzie place," Jamal Kendricks added. "I love that old building."
"Thank you." Ronin accepted the cool glass from Rajan. "I like it too. It seems quiet and out of the way so I can get some sleep and work done."
"Work? What do you do?"
"I'm an artist. I design graphics for T-shirts and I paint. Haven't had a chance to work over the past few years though."
"How come?" Savaro leaned in.
"Was away in the Navy for a while there. Didn't have time for much of anything, much less doing work I love. All those things I had to put off for a bit until I was finished."
The men around the table congratulated him and welcomed him home. Their conversation switched rapidly but the company was welcomed. When the wait staff finally began to show up, Savaro excused himself along with Jamal and Rajan. Almost instantly another man, bright-eyed and with long hair, walked through the door.
Ronin watched as a smile lit the cowboy's face and he hurried over to pull the newcomer into his arms. After a rather intimate embrace, the two walked over.
"Ronin, this is Laird Anatolis," Race introduced them.
Ronin rose and took the man's hand in hearty shake.
"José! A naked man just ran by me down your…
Um… is everything all right?"
José looked away from his soon-to-be ex to look at
his best friend's husband, Xavier Crawford. The SWAT
agent was still decked out in a part of his uniform—black
pants and shirt neatly tucked in, a silver badge hooked into
his belt on the left side with a gun holstered and secured on
the right. He also wore an empty holster strapped around
his massive right thigh. The legs of his pants were tucked
into boots that were laced up neatly and tightly. With a
small smile, José rested his hand against his hips. "Oh
everything is perfect. Richie here didn't think I was man
enough for him so he had to go out and find someone else."
"It wasn't like that!" Richie pushed, reaching for
José.
José shrugged away from Richie. "You better get
him outta my face!" José backed up to stand beside Xavier.
"You want to go? That's what you want, right, Richie? You
want to go, then go! Leave! Get to steppin'."
"Oh come on! I made a mistake!"
"What? Did you slip and fall on his dick over and
over again? My momma didn't raise no fool. You're going
to get your shit and get out."
When Richie stepped toward him again, Xavier
moved in between them. José was thankful for that because
if the SWAT agent hadn't, he was sure he would have
ripped Richie's throat out and fed it to him.
"You should leave," Xavier explained to Richie.
A thick silence blanketed the room as Xavier stood
staring Richie down. For a bit there, José thought Richie
was stupid enough to start a fight with Xavier. Thankfully,
he turned on his heel, muttered a profanity, and exited the
room. José was going to give the ass some time to grab his
things. If he wasn't gone in ten minutes José was going to
start throwing Richie and his things out. He walked by
Xavier and entered the kitchen.
A horn honked behind him and José shook his head and looked up. The light was green and apparently he wasn't paying attention. He looked both ways before he eased through the intersection, flipped his signal on to go left, and made the turn into the parking lot. He wanted to park close to the door but he couldn't. Though there was a spot between two trucks, he didn't feel like trying it.
The sky was dark when José walked from his car into the large shoe store. He hated shopping but sometimes it just had to be done. He stepped through the door and a chime sounded—one that annoyed him often but it was
used to alert the clerks someone had entered their store. He mentally shrugged and browsed the aisle until he found the size ten section. The search was harder than he thought. It was as if he'd missed all the good stuff. When he found a pair that looked as if they could be for him, he yanked the box off the shelf and sat to try them on. José pushed his feet into the new pair of shoes and stood. He stared down at them, tilted his left leg inward slightly and looked at the side. He wasn't a fan. Pushing some air out his mouth, he removed the footwear, placed them back in the box, and shoved the box on the shelf again. He glanced at his watch and made a face. If he didn't leave now, he'd never make it into Eros on time. Quickly, he took one final look at the shelves before leaving the store. At the exit he skidded to a stop as rain hit him. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he searched the parking lot for where his car was and moaned.
Why'd he park so far away?
"Oh right… didn't want to park between two trucks," he muttered.
The trucks were gone, leaving him to walk across the lot in the rain. If there was one thing he hated, it was showing up at a meeting looking disheveled. He took a breath, darted out through the light rain, and sped across the street. He pressed the remote to open the car door and all but dove into the front seat. Rain wasn't his favorite thing
on the best of days. Once the door was closed, he turned on the ignition and wiped his palms against his thighs to dry them. After a quick break to allow the car a little time to warm up, he pulled from the parking lot and turned the car toward Eros. It'd been a long morning and all he wanted to do was get away. But he had a meeting with Laird he couldn't very well miss.
He turned the radio on to boring music, made a face and flipped it off. He drove the rest of the way to Laird's place in silence. When he got there, he was still damp but the rain had stopped so he figured that was an upside. He grabbed his portfolio, tucked it under an arm, finger-raked his hair back, and pushed from the leather seat. He let himself into the large house and kicked off his shoes.
"Laird?" he called, stopping to glance at himself in the mirror. His hair was damp but otherwise it looked fine.
He hated the dim way his green eyes stared back at him.
They were his father's eyes. "Laird? You here?"
"In the den," Laird hollered.
José took one final look at himself then walked through the foyer, down a hall and emerged into the den.
He placed his portfolio on the desk before one of his best friends, flopped into a leather seat, and groaned dramatically.
"What's wrong with you?" Laird asked, laughter in
his voice.
José lifted his head and inhaled deeply. "Oh the horror," he joked. "I went to get a new pair of shoes since the bottom of the only black pair I own fell off the other night. I couldn't find any that fit right."
Laird chuckled. "You just need to go shopping somewhere other than Century for once."
"And that's not even the worst part. The painter I had on staff decided, out of the blue, he wanted to move to Africa for a year to work with some kind of charity organization—what am I supposed to do now?"
"Oh please, that guy was always more than a little off. I don't know how you kept him around as long as you did."
"He was good."
"I guess that's something to make up for his random tantrums and weird-ass outbursts."
"Now I have to find a new one."
"I met a guy last night at Anatolis who's a painter.
Race has him doing some pieces for the vacation house."
"So you two finally know what to do with Race's house, huh?"
Laird nodded. "Yup. We're going to rent it out as a vacation property for tourists who want a nice place on the beach for their accommodations. Race likes the idea and
he's going through all the paperwork now. It would help to have some nice art pieces on the walls. Anyways, this guy I'm telling you about—he just moved into town. Maybe you can talk to him about freelancing for you when you need him. That way you don't have to pay him a salary, only when he does work for you."
José leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers laced, and arched a brow at Laird. "Really? What a coincidence."
"He lives out by the Kenzie place so I guess you could pay him a visit."
"Great. Me going out to talk to a strange man out by the Kenzie place. That's not weird at all."
Laird laughed. "Would you stop being such a drama queen? He looked harmless enough."
José made a face. "What if he tries to have his way with me? Are you going to defend my honor?"
"Defend… um… defend your what, now?"
"My honor… virtue…"
Laird stared at him with a blank expression before bursting into laughter. Laird laughed so hard he doubled over, forehead pressed against his desk with a large fist hitting the mahogany surface repeatedly.
"Well, fine. If you're going to be a jerk about it."
José rose and exited the room to Laird's laughter echoing
through the large house after him. He walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. There wasn't much in the way of cooked food in there but he managed to snag a Jamaican Patty from the freezer and stuck it into the toaster oven to thaw and heat. Since Laird's brother Savaro had married a Jamaican descendant, they had all kinds of yummy Caribbean food lying around. While it warmed he took a bottle of chocolate milk from the fridge and twisted the cap off. The seal snapped and the cover fell into his hand. By then he heard footsteps coming toward him.
"I'm sorry," Laird chuckled. "You know I always have your back. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm grumpy today is all."
"You? Grumpy? Why?"
José smiled softly and took a breath before taking a drink from the bottle. "I don't know. I guess I need to go out tonight… cheer myself up."
"Oh you'd cheer yourself up all right," Laird said, eyeing him with suspicion and leaning his back against the counter. "Just stay away from Jamaica."
José wanted to bang his head on a desk. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
Laird grinned impishly and shook his head.
José grinned. "So, changing the subject. Did you get the place for your new offices yet?"
"Yes. I found some offices in Century. I just want you to make the place look welcoming and ready for clients in four months."
"Four months? How many floors are we talking here?"
"Eight. This is a small office since I won't be there to run it."
"Average rooms per floor?"
"Twelve. The first floor is the lobby. I don't want much down there. I had them knock out all the offices but two. One is for the security system and the other is for the security office. All you really need is a desk, some potted plants and all that good stuff so it can be done last. But the offices upstairs need a little more work. I want to put seven new agents in there, plus the marketing department and maybe the internship department."
José sighed. He wasn't really paying close attention to Laird. Instead he was doing the math inside his head; he and his team would have to do a whole eight floors, twelve offices per floor. "Well I may have to bring in some freelancers but I think we can do it. And about this guy you met last night. I think I might pay him a visit after I leave here. The sooner I can find a replacement the better. It'll be one less worry on my plate."