He tightened the knot at the base of his throat before smoothing a hand down the front of the narrow material and raising it to tuck the thinner strip into his white shirt. Shrugging into his black vest with the words After Hours embroidered on the pocket, he was reminded of his first day on the job at the upscale bar.

The day I met Logan. The day that forever changed his life.

Tate could remember every single detail from that first meeting. From the confused way he’d felt and responded, to exactly what Logan had been wearing. It was unbelievable to think back now and realize that, in that precise moment, he’d met the one person who would turn out to be the most essential in his life.

Who would’ve guessed it? Two people from totally different walks of life colliding and having that one moment.

There was a buzzing on his bathroom sink, and he glanced down to see a text from the man himself.

Logan: I’m here. If I don’t make it out alive, I love you. If I do, you & I have something to discuss.

With a grin, Tate grabbed his cell phone and typed: So it takes the fear of death for a proclamation of love in writing from Logan Mitchell? That’s good to know. I love you too. And let it go, would you? You’re like a dog with a bone.

He shoved it in his back pocket and made his way out of his room, flicking the lights off as he went. Grabbing his helmet and jacket, he walked down the hall to the front door and snagged his keys from the side table before heading out. When he got to the elevator, the phone vibrated again. He reached into his pocket, fished it out, and chuckled at the message.

Logan: No…it doesn’t take the fear of death. But thanks for the reassurance of my safety right now. Did you really just use the word ‘proclamation’ at ten in the morning?

Stepping inside the elevator, Tate pressed the button for the parking garage and then leaned back against the wall typing: It’s 10:13, and yes, I did. I do know some big words, Mr. Fancy Lawyer. I can even spell them.

When the elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors slid open, Tate wandered out into the cool morning air and walked across the lot to where his motorcycle was parked. He got on and settled in the seat before he brought the phone up to check the text, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face.

Logan: Now that’s something we should further explore. Can you also spell while distracted? This fancy lawyer wants to know how good you would be at taking down his dic-tation. You know, in case of emergencies.

That smartass mouth of Logan’s would get him every time. There was something so insanely sexy about his quick wit and smirking face, and Tate could picture him saying those exact words to him.

Chalk that up as another thing he loved about the guy. Anything Logan wrote down or insinuated, he sure as hell wouldn’t have trouble saying to your face. And that made Tate want to kiss those arrogant lips until Logan was groaning.

Since that option wasn’t available right this second, Tate decided that teasing him would be just as much fun.

Am I being interviewed for a specific position I don’t know about?

After he put his helmet on, he turned the key in the ignition and felt his phone buzz.

Logan: While there are many positions I’m sure you’d qualify for, I think I’ve narrowed it down. I’m after a very private and discreet PA. But I need a few more details before I invite you to my office for a sit-down-get-to-know-you interview.

Tate pressed a hand against the erection he was now sporting. Fucking hell. He could just imagine what an interview with Logan would be like. Torture. Thirty minutes of cock-pounding torture.

Logan in one of those immaculate three-piece suits he wore like a second skin. That coal-black hair styled perfectly, and his strong chiseled jaw. Add in those sexy-as-hell glasses that framed his blue eyes and hell—maybe he should go pay him a visit on his dinner break this evening.

Before he started the engine, he quickly text back: Gonna be late for current job. Text me where I should meet you for this sit-in-your-lap deal or let me go so I’m still gainfully employed, SIR.

Logan felt his cock stiffen at that final word typed in all caps.

Fuck. He wanted to hear that on Tate’s tongue in person. He’d never been one to get off on role-playing before, but—

“Logan?” Cole’s voice broke through his thoughts as effectively as a bucket of ice water.

Well, shit. Time to face the music.

Maybe, if he survived, he could convince Tate to come and—

“Hey,” Cole said.

Logan turned to see him standing behind his desk with his arms crossed. His blond hair was sticking up in messy spikes where he’d run his fingers through it. Probably in annoyance at me.

“Want to maybe pull up a chair and tell me about this little fucking surprise Christopher Walker dropped in my lap last night?”

Not really…

“That wasn’t a question,” Cole informed him as though he could read his mind. “Sit down. Now.”

Cole’s tone left little choice but to do as he’d said, and Logan knew better than to argue with him when he was in one of his moods. So he sat.

Since he wasn’t sure what Chris had spilled the night before, Logan remained silent as Cole glared at him, and suddenly, he found himself grinning.

“What on Earth could you possibly find amusing right now?”

Logan stuffed his hands into his pockets and slumped down into the chair. “You’re acting very much like a father right now, about to send me to my room. And just earlier, I was thinking how motherly Rachel looked. This whole pregnancy is really bringing out the best in you guys.” A chuckle escaped him as Cole’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “What? You do. Not that I’d know. It’s not like ours ever bothered with me.”

Cole pulled his chair out and sat, appearing to think over his next words carefully. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Logan spoke up again.

“Please don’t give me some speech about how I didn’t miss much. This I already know. But I bet he used to look just like you when he was mad, all scary and shit. He had your hair color and my eyes. I’ve seen pictures. Mom used to try to be strict with me, but really, with this face?” he said, pointing to himself as he gave his most charming smile. “She always crumbled. A bit flaky, she was.”

Once he finally stopped talking, Cole sat back in his chair and asked, “You done?”

Logan made a show of clamping his mouth shut and waited for Cole to continue.

“Jesus. When you’re nervous, you don’t know how to be quiet. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that side of you I forgot it even existed. Nice to know that that geeky school kid with the skinny legs, big glasses, and shaggy hair is still lurking in there under all of that sophisticated arrogance.”

“Oh, fuck off. Like you’re one to talk,” Logan retorted, but he appreciated that Cole was trying to ease the tension in the room.

He really didn’t want to get into this. Not with Cole—the one person who’d known him since he was a teen. The one person who’d witnessed the way Chris had treated him back in college. How could he admit to him that he’d…what? Gone back for more as an adult? For years?

God, he was disgusted with himself.

“So, you want to go first?” Cole asked.

Logan’s brow winged up, and he asked, “What is this, show-and-tell? Just ask what you want to ask and get it the fuck over with.”

Cole regarded him as if he were deciding where to start, and then he asked something Logan hadn’t expected.

“Does Tate know everything that happened with Chris? Or just the parts you decided to tell him?”