Chapter Fifteen

Fighter glanced up from the paperwork on his desk when Bishop darkened the office doorway.

“How is Syn?”

“As bitchy and self-entitled as ever.” Bishop dropped into one of the torn, rickety chairs, sending a squeaking noise through the room.

Fighter smirked with a half snort. “That’s the rich for ya.”

“I’m pissed though.”

“About?” Fighter laid his pen on the desk.

“Mark. What the fuck was he thinking?” Bishop growled, his fists clenched.

“I don’t know. And I don’t know what’s going on with him lately,” Fighter sighed.

“Punk ass bitch. I’m going to kick his ass,” Bishop informed him.

“Don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”

“Did you tell him you weren’t interested in him?” Bishop asked.

“I did.”

“How did he take it?”

“He acts like I never said anything,” Fighter admitted.

“Where is he?”

“I told him to stay gone for a week.”

The front door opened and Bishop stood, sending the chair rattling.

“God, I hope this is business,” Fighter muttered, but his hopes were dashed when Brick stopped in the open office doorway.

“The contractors are asking for access to the inside back windows,” Brick said, holding his gaze.

“What?” Fighter blinked, not understanding.

The corner of Brick’s mouth tipped up and fuck if that wasn’t sexy. Irritated, Fighter scowled.

“The contractors are here to upgrade the building?” Brick’s smile widened.

“Well, I’m going to get out of your hair. I’ll let the contractor into the back room,” Bishop said, taking a step in Brick’s direction. Instead of blocking Bishop, Brick nodded and stepped aside.

Brick acted like he was the one in charge around here and that pissed Fighter off.

“Take the day off, I’ll handle things around here,” Fighter called out after Bishop’s retreating form.

Sliding off his jacket, Brick hung it on a nail in his office wall.

Fighter flicked his eyes back to Brick and then away. Fucking hell, had the guy just come from a board meeting? Dressed in a blue button down that looked like silk, the guy started rolling up the sleeves, exposing his tattooed forearms. Yummy tattoos. The ink was what had drawn him that first night. It was the reason he’d let the guy approach him.

And even though it had all gone to hell, Fighter could acknowledge that he was attracted to Brick physically. And with black dress pants molding his hips and thighs, Brick was, without a doubt, ruggedly stunning.

“Fight?” Brick said softly.

Licking at his lips at the shortening of his name, Fighter lifted his eyes from Brick’s hips to catch and hold the man’s gaze. “What?”

“Your man hit my baby brother.”

Fighter searched Brick’s startling gray eyes. Was Brick going to punch him? For some reason, Fighter didn’t want to fight him.

“I know, I laid him off for the week,” Fighter said, keeping his tone of voice as soft as Brick’s.

“Good.”

“Why are you here?”

“I want…a truce.” Brick crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the door jamb, effectively preventing his escape.

“Why?”

Brick glanced away and Fighter saw the man’s eyes travel around the room. He knew what Brick saw, a room scattered with binders thrown about in no particular order. Papers in messy piles on his scarred and cracked wooden desk that he’d picked up at a garage sale. The broken chairs that had been scavenged from curbsides after being tossed out by their owners. Stained and dirty concrete sat beneath their feet because he’d torn up the stinking and rotted carpet a year ago. Wet and dirt-crusted windows that he didn’t bother to clean because the view was better that way than the view outside.

He’d long passed the point where he felt embarrassed by his surroundings.

“Let’s just say I flew off the handle that night.” The softly spoken words brought Fighter’s attention back to Brick.

“Was that an apology?”

Brick wiped at his mouth with one hand and then recrossed his arms. Their gazes locked and held in the small space of his office. The glint of sunlight coming through the window shot across Brick’s face and Fighter realized at that moment, there wasn’t any other color in Brick’s eyes beyond gray except for a ring of darker gray around his pupils. It made the color beyond unique.

“I misunderstood,” Brick said.

“Is that your way of saying sorry?” Fighter rephrased the question, suddenly amused and he couldn’t say why. He felt lighter too, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Mr. Suwan?” A voice came from behind Brick, breaking the moment.

“Yes, coming.” Fighter stepped forward and when Brick didn’t move, he was forced to press a hand to the man’s crossed forearm. Heat scorched his palm and his touch caused Brick to go rigid before the man finally stepped back.

With a pounding heart, Fighter stepped past Brick.

“Can I show you something in the room you use for a kitchen?”

“Of course,” Fighter said, gesturing to the contractor. He was very aware that Brick followed them.

“You can’t do this.” The contractor sighed. “You may have switched out the plugs for the appliances, but you didn’t upgrade the electrical that feeds the building.”

“Why wouldn’t this place already have electrical that could feed appliances?” Brick growled. “It’s considered a place of business. The owner should have had that all done prior to the renter moving in.”

The contractor shook his head. “Whoever did this cut corners.”

“Fix it. Whatever it takes,” Brick told the guy.

“Brick.” Fighter clamped a hand around his wrist and smiled at the contractor. He pulled at Brick, who wasn’t budging. “Excuse us for a moment.”

Brick finally allowed Fighter to pull him back down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “I can’t afford to upgrade that much!”

“So, what are you going to do?” Brick turned on him, but didn’t pull his arm away, and for some reason, he didn’t release Brick. He tightened his grip, but not painfully.

“Are you going to continue using those plugs? What about the kids? How are you going to heat things up if you can’t safely plug in the microwave? Are you going to risk it?”

“Damn it,” Fighter said, feeling a lump grow in his throat.

Brick curled one big hand around Fighter’s bare forearm, holding him gently. It was weird. They held onto each other as if unable to let the other one go. This was what it had felt like that night…before it had all gone to hell. He had to remember who he was dealing with here. Brick thought money could solve everything.

“Just let me do this,” Brick said softly, his fingers slightly caressing, and Fighter felt goosebumps shoot up his arm. “I’ll handle the fucking landlord.”

Fighter blinked up at the man’s ruggedly handsome face. Brick had money and with money came power. He knew without a doubt that his slumlord would cower beneath the onslaught of whatever Brick had planned.

“Okay.”

“What?” Brick said, and Fighter had to smile at the disbelief.

“I said okay, upgrade it.”

“And you won’t interfere?” Brick squinted as if he were lying.

“I won’t interfere.”

“Okay, upgrade everything, including the appliances,” Brick ordered the contractor, who was standing silently a few feet away.

“Wait…I don’t need new applian—” Fighter found his words cut off when Brick gently pulled him toward the back of the hallway. “Show me the other rooms.”

“Why?” Fighter asked, unable to stop from sounding bewildered.

“If we’re going to upgrade, then we need to do it all.”

“Again…why?”

“So I can address everything with your landlord at once. You don’t want me having to go back piece by piece, do you?”

Brick opened the bedroom at the end of the hallway. “Don’t you want to fix the kids their own room and have one for yourself?”

“I…um…” There were three rooms back here.

Brick smiled and made a call on his cell phone. “Jenkins, I need you to meet me at this address. We are doing a remodeling job.”

“What!” Fighter gave an annoyed sound and threw up his hands.

He found out later that stopping Tyler Brick when he got an idea in his head was not happening.

And why was he suddenly caving in the face of Brick’s generosity?