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Chapter Five

The next half dozen shows flew by in a blur of lights and stages and screaming crowds—Tennessee, Florida, Mississippi, Montana—and by the time they’d reached Texas, Shane found himself glancing over to the stage wings more and more. Where Wes stood waiting, watching, cast in shadow. A backlit, broad-shouldered cowboy-hat-wearing silhouette. And Shane knew Wes’s keen eyes were taking everything in.

Despite Wes being a bodyguarding cowboy, Shane had managed to keep his previous experiences with the Stetson-wearing crowd buried deep down in the recesses of his mind where they belonged. The cowboys he’d known a dozen years ago were homophobic assholes—his dad, his first fateful crush, and the rest of the wranglers on the ranch he’d once called home.

Shane expected the same from Wes, which was why he’d gone on the flirt offensive from the jump. Not only to make Wes uncomfortable and get a rise out of him, but also to make clear there would be zero dimming of Shane’s flame. He would never let anyone walk over him again.

But after two weeks with his cowboy-shaped shadow, he’d realized that not only wasn’t Wes a homophobic prick, but he also might not be as straight as Shane had first assumed. He hadn’t outright confirmed one way or the other, but Shane would swear on his custom Stratocaster that Wes was checking him out when he thought Shane wouldn’t notice. Oh, but Shane noticed, because he’d been doing the same thing.

Shane jumped off the stage, bounding down the stairs to meet Wes at the bottom.

“Admit it,” he teased. “You love a sweaty man.”

Instead of frowning, Wes grinned and shook his head—amused rather than annoyed.

Finally . Shane pumped a mental fist. He was going to win Wes over. Which . . . Hold up. That was the opposite of what he’d wanted. He wanted to annoy Wes so much he’d quit, not entice him to stick around. Not to become friends. And he was most definitely not going to get himself involved with another cowboy. Especially one who would only be around for a short time. That would be a big ole nope.

“Did you like the show tonight?” Shane asked after the usual post-show meetings, when they were in the elevator heading back up to his hotel suite.

“I didn’t really see it.”

Liar .

“I’m too busy watching for threats,” Wes added, his voice giving nothing away.

“When this is over, you need to come to a show,” Shane said. What was he doing? Did he not just a short while ago realize that liking Wes was a bad idea? Besides, Wes would never come to one of his concerts of his own free will. Once they caught the stalker, Wes wouldn’t need to be involved anymore. But the potential of another stalker existed, and overzealous fans were ever-present. Maybe Wes could be his full-time bodyguard.

Right . And pigs could fly, too .

Now that he was thinking of it, he realized his stalker had been quiet all week. With any luck, the lunatic had lost interest in him and found a healthier hobby.

The elevator doors slid open, and Wes stepped out first. After a quick scan of the immediate area, he motioned for Shane to exit. No, he wouldn’t want Wes to be his permanent bodyguard. The man was too gorgeous and tempting to have around twenty-four-seven. Case in point, his current thought track.

Shane yawned big enough for his jaw to crack. Man, he was tired. They’d had a long stretch of back-to-back shows, but tomorrow marked the start of a four-day break. He was looking forward to heading back home to California and getting some quality rest. To let his “Shane Castle the Rock Star” persona drop and just be Shane .

“Stop.” Wes struck his arm out, halting Shane mid-step.

“What is it?” Shane looked down the hallway, his gaze landing on a medium-sized cardboard box sitting in front of the door to his suite.

“Are you expecting anything?”

Shane shook his head. Apprehension slithered up his spine. Fuck . He’d gone and jinxed himself by thinking his stalker had been quiet lately.

“Stay here.”

Shane reached out and grabbed Wes by the biceps. The dense and defined muscle flexed under his hand. He whisper-shouted, “What are you doing?”

“I need to inspect the package.” Wes’s words were quiet but determined.

“Wait.” Shane tightened his grip when Wes attempted to extract his arm. “What if it’s a bomb?”

“I don’t think your stalker has escalated to that point just yet,” Wes said, far too calm, as far as Shane was concerned.

Shouldn’t they call the bomb squad first, or the police? That’s what they always did on TV. Unless the timer was ticking down too fast, and the super-hot hero had to disable it on his own at the very last second. But television wasn’t real life.

“But, what about all the ‘ if I can’t have you no one can ’ vows stalkers make right before they kill you?” Shane shuddered.

“Unless you have a significant other that you’re out in public with, your stalker won’t have gone over that edge yet.”

The confidence in Wes’s voice, though possibly misplaced, was reassuring. Wes placed his hand over Shane’s and gently eased it from his arm. His smile was kind, understanding, and Shane might have melted. Just a little.

“Okay,” Shane breathed. “Be careful.”

Wes tapped two fingers to the brim of his hat in salute and strode the dozen feet down the hall. He kneeled in front of the package and used a key from his pocket to slide through the tape that held it closed. Shane held his breath as Wes cautiously opened the box and looked inside. He poked around before picking up the box and waved Shane over.

“No bomb. ”

Shane sent a silent thank you up into the Universe as the breath whooshed from his lungs.

Inside, Shane stood by the door while Wes placed the box on the table and performed his regular recon of the room for any threats. A few moments later, he exited his bedroom carrying a small black duffel bag that Shane had learned was his investigation kit.

“Okay.” Wes relaxed. The shift was a subtle thing, but Shane had been watching him for two weeks now. He recognized the slight easing in Wes’s frame when they were secure and alone. He remained on guard though, and Shane wondered what a fully-at-ease Wes Stonebraker was like. “Let’s see what your one and only sent you.”

Wes placed the bag on one of the table chairs and extracted two pairs of nitrile gloves, handing one pair to Shane. Wes pulled the other pair over his own hands before reaching into the box.

The first item, wrapped in white tissue paper, was a Texas teddy bear.

“Do you have a thing for teddy bears?” Wes asked as he turned it over in his hands.

At first, Shane thought he was teasing, but his expression was dead serious.

“No,” Shane replied, biting back a flippant remark about a different kind of bear. He took the plush toy into his hands when Wes passed it over. “It’s cute enough, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Which he decidedly was not. The teddy was red, white, and blue with a red button nose, a white star over one eye, and wore a T-shirt with the state of Texas in the center. A chill slithered down his spine. Why anyone thought he’d like it was one thing, but a Texas teddy hit too close to home. Did he know the stalker? Did they know his past or was it a coincidence because they were in Texas? He dropped the bear onto the table as Wes pulled the next item from the box.

In his hand was a small rectangular box about an inch deep and wrapped in gold paper. Wes carefully unwrapped it and lifted the lid to look inside. His mouth turned down as he put the lid back on and handed the box to Shane with a shake of his head.

“What the hell,” Shane mumbled. He plucked a pair of lacy men’s briefs from the box—pink lacy briefs. He chuckled nervously. “Pink is so not my color. ”

“Seriously?” Wes shot him an incredulous look, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s the color that concerns you?”

Shane shrugged. What could he say? Pink was not the new black.

Wes took the box and panties back from Shane and placed them on the table beside the teddy bear.

“There’s a letter,” Wes said as he lifted a red envelope from the bottom of the big box. He peeled off the gold seal and extracted a folded white piece of paper. Shane leaned over Wes’s shoulder as he unfolded it. The letter was brief and typewritten.

My dearest Shane,

You were great tonight. Especially when you sang our song, “Love Storm Rising”, to me.

These panties will look so good on you on our wedding night. Can’t wait to see you in them. Until then, think of me every time you snuggle with this little teddy.

Can’t wait to see you again soon.

Your one and only love.

“Jesus.” Shane took a shaky step back. Away from the creepy letter and the creepy gifts. His skin crawling, and mouth suddenly dry. “Whoever this is, they’re off their fucking rocker.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Wes said as he refolded the letter and replaced it in the envelope before adding it to the collection.

“What do we do now?” Shane patted his pockets until he found the last piece of gum. He tugged off his gloves, his movements jerky, fumbling to unwrap the gum with fingers that felt too fat. He shoved the stick of sugary goodness into his mouth and, after a few soothing, rhythmic chews, he said, “They know where I am. Again. They were here.”

“Unfortunately.” Wes sighed. “As for what we do now, we bag these for evidence.” He pulled three plastic bags from the depths of his duffel, and a black marker from the side pocket. He laid the bags out and wrote the date, time, location, and brief description of the items on the front of each one. He bagged the letter in one, the panties in another, and then picked up the teddy bear. “Then we—”

Wes froze, staring at the bear. Whatever Wes saw made the fine hairs on the back of Shane’s neck stand up.

“What? ”

Wes turned the bear over and felt along the backside. Finding a seam, he extracted a knife from his bag and slit the bear open. He shoved his hand inside, dug around, and pulled a small electronic device from the polyester stuffing.

“What is that?”

Wes didn’t look up, didn’t answer. His lips pursed as he felt around the device, pressed a button, and an SD card popped out. He held the card up for Shane to see.

“This is a remote DVR,” he said. The hard edge to his voice both unnerved and comforted Shane.

“They wanted to spy on me?” His voice shook, but he didn’t care. He was used to finding photos of himself out in public plastered everywhere—that came with the territory—but not in private. Not somewhere he should be able to let his guard down and relax in peace.

Wes nodded and glanced at his fancy-looking watch. Gunmetal black with all kinds of red-lit functions and digital read-outs on its face, and on its right side was a large red button.

“We’re not staying here tonight,” Wes said.

Shane nodded. He was so down with that plan. Even though Wes had cleared the suite, just knowing his stalker knew where he was again had him on edge. He’d never be able to relax now, let alone sleep.

“First, I’m calling the police,” Wes said as he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. “Then I’m calling Isaac and Jonas. We’re getting on the next flight out of Texas.”

Wes awoke to the rhythmic ebb and flow of waves breaking on the shore, gulls squawking, and the smell of brine in the air. He opened his eyes and squinted, temporarily blinded by the white walls of his bedroom. He checked his watch and groaned. Not yet six thirty in the morning.

By the time they’d arrived at Shane’s condo in Malibu—after a whirlwind of police questions, packing, a last-minute chartered flight to California, and a quick recon of Shane’s beachfront house—it had been after two a.m. when his head had finally hit the pillow .

Wes stood and pulled on clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt while looking out the window. The condo sat right on the beach, and the view was magical. Waking up in Malibu was nothing like waking up on the ranch, but Wes found it equally soothing and peaceful in its own way. For the first time since he’d taken the close protection job for Shane Castle, he could breathe.

After a quick visit to the ensuite in his bedroom, Wes exited and stepped into a short hallway that opened into an open living area—the kitchen was to his left with a large island, in front of which sat a glass dining table, and the living room made up the right side of the space. Floor-to-ceiling accordion-style glass doors ran along the entire west side of the condo, as did a glass-railed patio, and together they framed the rolling blue Pacific Ocean.

Wes hadn’t taken in the house when they’d arrived. It had been late, and his focus had been solely on ensuring the space was clear and safe for Shane. But now, in the bright light of day, his jaw dropped. Everything was white.

The kitchen cabinets and counters, the furniture . . . Even the floors were white oak. Wes shuddered at the thought of how much work it would be to keep all that white clean in his cabin back home. A few throw pillows on the couch were soft blue, going with a beach theme, and the abstract paintings hanging on the white walls had splashes of bright blue and yellow, but otherwise the place lacked any sense of character. The condo seemed nice enough. No doubt worth a pretty penny. But Wes felt like he was at his old dentist’s office in Florida, where his family had ended up after getting kicked off Haverstall Mountain Ranch twenty years ago.

Nothing here felt homey, nothing said “famous rock star Shane Castle lives here.” And while Wes hadn’t seen Shane wear anything that wasn’t black, his very presence made up for it. Shane himself was like an abstract painting—bold and vibrant and multi-faceted—yet the place he called home was sterile and devoid of color and personality.

He shook his head. Another puzzle piece in the life of Shane to decipher.

Wes walked to the other side of the living room and ascended the floating white oak stairs that led up to the main suite. A doorless hallway zigzagged into the primary bedroom that took up the entire top floor. Wes knocked softly on the wall and called Shane’s name, but when no response came, he quietly entered the bedroom. He didn’t want to wake Shane. If anyone needed a solid night of sleep, it was him—but Wes needed to ensure he was safe and sound.

Shane’s room sported the same glass doors as the main floor, and a patio the length of the condo. And again, everything but for two abstract paintings in shades of blue and gold hanging above his headboard was white.

Who decorated this place ? He didn’t see how it could have been Shane. It just didn’t track with the vibrant, animated person he’d spent the last couple of weeks with.

The enigmatic man in question was lying on his stomach. White bedsheets covered him from the waist down and twined around his legs, his feet sticking out. A massive tattoo decorated the creamy white skin of his exposed back. Intricate swirls of black and red, orange and yellow, created a fiery black horse with crimson eyes and nostrils charging off the canvas of Shane’s body. Raised hooves limned in yellow gave a 3-D effect. Flames surrounded the imposing horse, and immense eagle wings stretched the width of Shane’s back behind it. Wes wasn’t much for tattoos, but even he could admit that the piece was a work of art. The feathers looked so real he wanted to reach out and touch. Slide his fingers over them to see if they felt as soft as they appeared. He fisted his hands.

One of Shane’s arms was tucked under his stomach and the other hung off the side of the bed. A guitar-shaped tattoo adorned his left biceps, and shadowed inside it was half of a black wolf’s face with one piercing ice-blue eye, part of an ear, and a full nose. Music notes snaked around the neck of the guitar and traveled upward where they faded off at Shane’s shoulder.

A veil of messy dark hair hid Shane’s face, and he snuffled softly as he slept. An unexpected need to cross the room and lift the long silky locks from his brow, to trace the line of his jaw, rose without warning. Wes sucked in a sharp breath.

Oh, hell no .

He spun around and rushed back downstairs, where he headed for the patio. Outside, he gripped the railing, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. The salty ocean air riding in on a chilly breeze coming off the water had some sort of magical element to it, because it only took a few breaths before calm spread through him. He’d never once in his life had an urge to touch someone as badly as he did for Shane. A man whose life was worlds away from his. And who, most importantly, was his client.

With one last deep inhale and exhale, Wes went back inside to put on some coffee, which he hoped Shane had. They would need to make a shopping list for groceries, since he didn’t know when Shane had last been home. He frowned and took a deeper look at the condo—beyond the access points, safety features, and furnishings. The place was spotless. Not a single dust mote to be seen. Next to a bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen island was a handwritten note he hadn’t paid attention to earlier. He reached for it with a trickle of trepidation.

In tidy script, the note read:

Welcome home, Shane!

I gave the house a freshen up yesterday and filled the pantry and fridge. I also made a batch of your favorite cookies. Don’t eat them all at once!

Irene

Shane hadn’t mentioned anyone named Irene when he’d run through everyone who had direct contact with him on Wes’s first day on the job. How many more people were there that Shane had forgotten to mention? And how many of those would Wes need to add to the suspect pool?

Annoyed, he pulled the fridge door open and lifted his eyebrows. Irene wasn’t kidding. It was fully stocked. Everything looked to be new and sealed, but he needed to vet this Irene person before he let Shane eat the homemade cookies.

He set about making a pot of coffee before gathering the ingredients to make French toast. With bacon.

“Smells good in here.” Shane rumbled from behind when the bacon was just about finished cooking.

Wes looked over his shoulder to find Shane wearing nothing but a pair of boxers—black, of course—scratching at his belly, his hair in disarray and still blocking most of his face. His chest was free of tattoos, with only a light smattering of hair around his nipples—both of which were pierced—and a thin treasure trail below his navel disappeared beneath his waistband. He had well-defined pecs, and his abdomen was lean with a hint of a six-pack. Wes shoved down the fluttering in his own belly at all that bare skin and those enticing silver nipple rings, and turned to pour a cup of coffee for Shane. He slid the mug across the marble surface of the kitchen island.

“Thank you,” Shane said as he lifted the mug in salute before taking a sip.

Wes waited until Shane sat on a barstool on the other side of the island before asking who Irene was.

Shane raised his eyebrows, and Wes waved toward the note by the fruit bowl. Shane grabbed it and the corners of his mouth turned up as he read.

“Irene is my housekeeper.” Shane put the note down. “She has my tour schedule and prepares the house for when I return.”

“You never told me about her when I asked,” Wes said, annoyed with himself at the accusatory note in his voice. “I told you I need to vet everyone who’s in your circle.”

Shane had the audacity to snort. “Irene is the last person who would stalk me.”

“There is nothing amusing about your stalker,” Wes growled, but checked himself when he continued. He didn’t growl at his clients, but this particular client was messing with his head in ways that could spell all kinds of trouble. “Looks can be deceiving. You never know what’s really going on with someone or who they really are.”

Shane studied Wes for a few seconds. He opened his mouth and snapped it shut. He dropped his eyes and took a sip of his coffee.

“Irene has been my housekeeper since our first platinum album.” Shane’s words were measured, but Wes knew without a doubt he’d been about to say something else—and Wes wanted to know what. “She’s the sweetest lady you could ever meet and has always been more of a mother to me than my own.” Shane pinched his lips and shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

“All the same.” Wes needed to run a background check on her. He wouldn’t be doing his job properly otherwise. “I’ll need her schedule and contact info, and I’d like to meet her today.”

“Suit yourself.” Shane shrugged. “But I want to go for a run first. ”

He pushed the hair out of his eyes—his face was free of makeup, his fingers bore no rings, and he’d removed his black nail polish. For a speechless couple of seconds, Wes could only stare. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Shane relaxed and without all the added adornments, but it was the first time seeing him on his home turf. Somehow, Shane was even more gorgeous. And then Shane’s words registered.

“A what now?” He looked over his shoulder at the stove and back at Shane. “Breakfast is ready.”

“We can’t run after eating that.” Shane hopped off the bar stool and stretched, drawing Wes’s gaze to his low-riding boxers. “Pop it in the oven to stay warm. We’ll have it after.”

“ We are running?” Wes hadn’t noticed a gym in Shane’s condo. There was a music studio, which he’d expected, in the room across from his bedroom. On the road, Shane had made use of the treadmills in the hotel facilities on their few days off, while Wes kept watch by the door. Wes was fit, but he didn’t run unless he had to. Living on a working ranch kept him in shape, but that was a different fitness.

“Well, yeah. Nothing beats running on the beach,” Shane said like it was obvious, and his gaze flicked to Wes’s bare feet. “Do you have anything other than cowboy boots?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good.” Shane dropped his voice, all sexy low and provocative, to add, “I can’t wait to see you all sweaty.”

Wes’s pulse spiked at a sudden mental image of Shane naked and sweaty and writhing. Jesus . He needed to get a grip. Colt would rake him over the coals if he knew the thoughts running around in his head. He rolled his eyes at Shane while swallowing hard.

“I don’t have shorts,” his voice sounded thick. Fuck .

“No problem. I have extras,” Shane said as he headed back upstairs. “I’ll even let you keep them as a souvenir.”

Wes glared at his retreating back. Like hell I will .

Liar . A voice that sounded like Colt’s countered.

By the time Wes had changed and stood waiting for Shane in the entry, he had himself back under control. Until Shane walked into the room. Wes blinked.

“You’re wearing color,” he breathed. Unable to keep the shock from his voice .

Shane stopped and did a cheeky spin for him and then posed with one hand on his hip while sliding the other through his hair—the move making his biceps flex. He wore a snug tank top the color of the Caribbean Sea that matched the bright blue of his running shoes, which were trimmed white and tied with rainbow-colored shoelaces. His soft-looking shorts were black with a thick white waistband and piping and hugged his ass like a second skin. His legs were long and sinewy like a runner’s, lightly furred, and sexy as hell.

Until today, he’d never seen Shane anything but fully dressed, and part of him wanted Shane to put on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt so all that gorgeous, exposed skin and lean muscle wouldn’t distract him.

He turned to open the front door.

“This way,” Shane said, a hint of laughter in his voice and mischief dancing in his eyes, as though he’d read Wes’s thoughts.

Shane gave Wes a slow perusal that felt like a caress from his head to his toes and back. Grinning, he grabbed a baseball cap and sunglasses from the hall closet before opening a door next to the main entrance.

Lips pressed tight, Wes stepped out onto a wooden deck ahead of Shane and scanned the immediate area for any threats. Off the deck, a set of well-worn wooden stairs led down to the sandy beach. He motioned for Shane to follow him with a tip of head and descended the steps.

The tide was receding, and the water-softened rocks the waves had hidden earlier now jutted up from the smooth, golden sand like monoliths. Thick pylons drilled deep into the earth supported the section of the condo that hung over the beach. While Wes had enjoyed waking up to the ocean, knowing half the house could plunge into it at any second unsettled him. Earthquakes were a thing in Southern California. Big ones. A longing for home and the solid ground of the rugged Colorado mountains tugged at him.

Once they’d cleared the condo and walked to where the sand was still firm from the waves that rhythmically washed over it, Wes took in the view. As far as he could see, they were the only people on the private beach, which curved like a horseshoe. Sage-covered hills dotted with homes and palm trees to the south and rocky, wild cliffs to the north. Wes didn’t like how exposed they were, but unless Shane’s stalker was also a sniper, there wasn’t anywhere for someone to hide and sneak up on them.

He relaxed a little as they headed north, where the houses ended and nature took over, but he didn’t fully let his guard down. He couldn’t.

After a few minutes of walking with an unusually quiet Shane, Wes turned to him. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, his hair was tucked up under the ball cap, and his attention was on the vast blue horizon. He looked like an average joe out for a stroll, about as far from his rock star persona as one could get.

“Do you plan on running anytime?”

Shane turned a smile on him. Serene and genuine and the first real smile he’d seen from the man since they’d met.

And he liked it.

A lot.

Shit .

“Nah,” Shane said softly, as though speaking too loudly would disturb the peace of the morning. “This is nice.”

Wes agreed with a quick nod. The early autumn sun warmed his skin, and seagulls circling the shoreline called out as though welcoming the day. A dog barked in the distance. A counterpoint to the mesmerizing heartbeat of the mighty Pacific Ocean as it washed over the flax-gold sand, leaving diamonds sparkling in its wake. Apart from the hum of LA’s ever-present traffic on the nearby Pacific Coast Highway, the morning was perfect.

Wes didn’t stop scanning the beach and the houses and condos that lined the shore, but he lost track of time. When the sand gave way to rocky outcrops, they turned and headed back toward the condo in mutual unspoken agreement.

“Look.”

Wes startled at Shane’s voice, after having been silent for so long.

He stopped to follow Shane’s line of sight, and his breath caught. There, not more than a few hundred yards offshore, was a small pod of dolphins. Their glistening dorsal fins sparkling in the bright sun, water droplets flashing like diamonds when they breached the waves in a graceful arc before splashing back down. One after another, they jumped and bowed and dove under, putting on a show for an audience of two.

“I love it out here,” Shane said when the pod traveled farther down the coast, moving deeper out to sea. “It’s the only time I get to turn everything off and just be. Recharge from the road and rest my soul.”

Wes knew that feeling. That was how he felt every day, waking up to the rugged wilderness of his Colorado home. He didn’t have waves and dolphins, but he had mountains as far as the eye could see and wild horses.

He turned to find Shane watching him. His lush-looking lips quirked up. Shane slid his sunglasses off and his eyes searched for something in Wes. His gaze held a question that Wes wanted to answer, but knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t move when Shane took a step forward. The sun on his shoulders was hot, but the heat of Shane’s body, so much closer than it should be, burned deeper. Shane parted his lips, his tongue snaked out to moisten them, and Wes leaned toward him. Enthralled.

“Watch out!” a woman shouted.

Wes jumped back as a bright orange frisbee soared toward them, pursued by a Golden Retriever wearing a purple collar. The dog’s tongue lolling from her mouth and pure joy in her eyes. She launched into the air, snatched the frisbee and landed right where Wes had been standing seconds ago.

“Sorry,” the woman called out.

She whistled and the dog spun around to race back, leaving Wes feeling off-kilter and a little dazed. He took another step away from Shane.

What the hell had he been thinking? Holy shit . He refused to follow in Colt’s footsteps and fall for the person he’d been hired to protect. But no. He wasn’t falling. He was simply drawn to an attractive person. Which needed to stop right now.

“Well,” Shane said with a grin. Sounding not at all troubled by what had almost happened. Because of course he wouldn’t. He was Shane Castle, and that was his MO. “I guess that answers my question.”

Wes cleared his throat and picked up his pace back to the condo. “What question? ”

“The boy or girl trouble question.” Shane’s grin widened. “You’re into me.”

Wes rolled his eyes and snorted. “You’re delusional. And a client.”

Shane shrugged—a lazy roll of his shoulders. “I won’t be a client forever.”

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