Chapter 12

Cameron droppedthe butter into his mixer with the sugars and turned it on, watching them cream together into smooth cookie-base goodness and letting the sweet scent start to lift his spirits.

He'd liked that job, dammit.

He added the eggs and dissolved espresso to combine before pouring in the melted chocolate.

And he'd done it well. He'd been good at it because he liked it. But it was over now, and he was making some death by chocolate chunk cookies to distract himself—chocolate therapy to go with a few episodes of The Golden Girls later.

Dammit.

He stirred in the chopped-up chocolate, then dropped blobs of batter onto cookie sheets, then put the first one into a preheated oven.

That was it for the distraction, and it hadn't really worked, had it? But soon his whole apartment would smell amazing.

He'd find another job. Maybe he'd finally do what he was actually trained for. The money might not be as good, and it wouldn't be as exciting, but he could make lunches and put dinners on the table in his sleep.

He sighed when his doorbell rang. Unless the agency had sent someone to do him in—which seemed a little dramatic for the circumstances—there was only one person that could be. So he answered it, buzzing the front door open, and a minute later, Dusty was knocking on his door.

He opened it, smiling for his lover. "Hello."

"Cameron, what happened? They fired you?" Dusty came in, hanging his coat on the rack as the door closed.

He shook his head. "I quit."

"You what?" Dusty glanced toward the kitchen suddenly like a dog distracted by a squirrel. "Oh my God, it smells so good in here."

He snorted. "I'm making cookies."

"You make cookies?"

He looked at Dusty. "I went to culinary school, remember?"

"Wait. For real?"

He rolled his eyes. He had, but that was back when Dusty had been more…self-interested. "Yes, for real. I told you once before?—"

Dusty sighed heavily. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

He waved it off. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

"Maybe after a couple of days, you could call them and work it out?"

"No. No, I definitely burned that bridge." He wandered back toward the kitchen with Dusty following.

"How? What did you do? Weren't you just doing your job?"

He wasn't ready for this conversation. He was still processing his mistakes, his situation. It was still too big. "Don't worry about it."

Dusty froze, but he went into the kitchen where he didn't have to see that reproachful look.

"Don't worry about it?" Dusty followed him, deep frown lines in his forehead.

"It's fine." He pulled the cookies out and flipped the sheet around, then slid it into the oven again. Dusty was right, they did smell really good.

"It's not fine, you're stress baking."

"I'm not. I just like cookies," he lied.

"Cam. Don't tell me not to worry about it. Tell me why you quit a job I know you liked."

"Dusty, just leave it, will you?"

"No." Dusty crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, looking immovable. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Not everything is about you, Dusty." But this actually was. God, he didn't want to talk about this right now.

"I was there, baby. I was at Jasper's with you. You read me the note, the mix-up was the agency's fault, not yours. I think you need to get this off your chest so you can enjoy your cookies without indigestion."

"It's not even about Jasper, okay? It was you. It was your big night."

Dusty stared at him. "What? You quit because you were too visible? They knew it was a public event. How is that your fault?"

He tossed his hot mitts on the counter. "Because I knew, Dusty. I got the dossier, I saw your name and your picture and of course I knew it was you. I knew you, right? We'd been in a past relationship, and I accepted the job anyway. That's against their rules."

"Which, that you knew me or that we used to?—"

"Yes. All of it. All of that. I fucking knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway."

He immediately regretted raising his voice, but Dusty didn't even flinch. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you break the rules for me?"

He'd broken the rules for himself, more accurately. He took a breath and shook his head. "I…I wanted to see you again. That sounds so stupid now, but that's it. I wanted to see you."

"You could have called." When he tried to protest, Dusty raised a hand to stop him. "No, you're right, you couldn't. I wouldn't have answered."

"And if I showed up, you'd have?—"

"Thrown you out on your ass. Slammed the door in your face. Something dramatic, I'm sure."

He shrugged. "So, I took the job. Honestly, I figured you'd fire me on the spot, but that agent of yours is fierce."

Dusty laughed. "Ann is part agent, part mom, part taskmaster."

"So…that's why I quit. Sooner or later they'd have found out."

Dusty smiled, relaxing. "I was worth risking your job for, huh?"

Okay so some things actually were all about Dusty. "Well, I didn't think about it that way at the time, but…yes."

"It still sucks."

"It does. I liked that job."

"This is LA. There are a million things to do. Besides, now I don't have to be jealous."

He grinned at Dusty. "Were you going to be jealous?"

"I don't know, but watching you hang all over Jasper Kennedy gave me some serious vibes."

"Jealousy vibes?"

"I kept wanting you to blow him off and come sit with me."

"If we ever see him again, I will be sitting with you."

"Oh, you're so sweet." Dusty kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry about your job."

He shrugged. "I was thinking this morning as I forced my depressing ass to go to the gym, that I might have been headed for quitting even if this hadn't happened."

"I never would have asked that. I wasn't that jealous, I swear."

"No, I know. But I'm a prude, remember? And the jobs were starting to dry up a little. It used to be three or four times a week, and the last few months it's been two. Two paid the bills and then some, so I wasn't hurting, but I think maybe the clients are starting to want more…adventurous escorts."

"LA is a very big, small town. Everyone knows everyone. Maybe you'd have been figured out eventually anyway."

"Totally possible." He felt better about not having to lie to his employer in any case.

Dusty surveyed the kitchen. "You didn't even make a mess in here. Shouldn't there be flour everywhere? And where's the recipe?"

He tapped his temple. "Up here."

"Well, I have a recipe in my head too. Where's your booze?"

"My…Dusty, I don't need—" He stopped himself. Maybe he did need something boozy. "Skinny cabinet, left of the fridge."

"There you go. Relax and let Dusty make something to wash down all that chocolate."

He chuckled, grabbed his mitts and opened the oven. "Oh, they're ready." He pulled out the tray, trading it for the second one he'd already prepared. While Dusty made something that looked like a White Russian, he lifted the cookies off the sheet and onto a cooling rack.

"I'm going to eat at least four of those." Dusty handed him a glass.

"This is dinner. I fully intend to eat this whole tray. I hope you like The Golden Girls."

"Oh, God. You're one of those? I'm more of a Murder She Wrote type."

"Yeah? We could do that. We can do both. I'm going to sit on that couch until my butt fuses to it."

"That's going to make finding a new job difficult, baby."

"What are you? My mom?"

They cracked up.

"To new beginnings." Dusty held his glass up.

"Okay. Yes." He touched their glasses together and nodded. "I'll drink to that."