Ben had been against pretty much every professional decision Zach had made ever since he’d left his first accounting job with Kaufman & Cohen, CPA, APC, to work for Pop, and Zach’s decision to try to keep the agency going after Pop had passed had been the final straw for Ben. Ben had given Zach an ultimatum, which Zach had, frankly, been secretly relieved to reject.
Yes, it had been a relief to have a legitimate reason to end things. To not have to be the bad guy in anyone’s eyes but Ben’s.
Ben had tried to back down, but no way was Zach willingly stepping back into what had increasingly felt less like a relationship and more like a cage. That bird had flown.
However, there were still potential problems.
Ben had the troubling habit of showing up in unexpected (and inevitably public) places to try and “win” Zach back. Meaning, coerce, coax, debate and, when all that failed, berate Zach into resuming their relationship.
Alton Beacher would probably not take kindly to public scenes.
And previously quiet, mild-mannered Ben had become better and better at making scenes in public.
But then, for a control freak like Ben, this situation had to be hell, and as exasperated as Zach was, he couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for his ex. He had no wish to hurt Ben any more than he already had by walking out, and seeing Zach in a “relationship” with Alton Beacher would certainly hurt.
Luckily, Ben wasn’t any more into golf than Zach was, so the chances of him showing up at Pebble Beach were slim.
A noise from the lobby interrupted Zach’s thoughts.
Had he locked the front door after Brooke and Pepper left for lunch? He suspected he hadn’t. Had Ben decided to drop by for another chat?
God.
He set the file aside, half rose—stopping as a familiar voice called with a trace of impatience, “Anyone here?”
Flint.
That was a surprise, and a welcome surprise at that. He much preferred arguing with Flint to bickering with Ben.
“In here.” Zach headed for the lobby and walked straight into Flint, who apparently took in here as an invitation.
“OWW,” said Flint. More noisily than strictly necessary.
Zach’s, “Ouch,” was pointedly dignified.
They hastily backed up like dueling Roombas encountering unexpected obstacles.
“This is what I’m talking about!” Flint’s tone was accusatory. His hazel eyes were narrowed and his cheeks a little red. He did not like being caught off-balance, literally or metaphorically.
“What is?”
“Are you open or not?”
“You didn’t have to pick the lock, did you? So, we’re open.” What was it about Flint that automatically brought out the smart-ass in Zach? He was usually a very amiable guy.
Predictably, Flint retorted, “The problem is, running a business is about more than door hardware. If you’re closed for lunch, you need a sign on the door.”
Oh, right. Zach was just responding in kind. He said with strained courtesy, “We’re not. Did you have some reason for dropping by? I know how busy you are.” He couldn’t help adding, “Turning down lucrative cases.”
Flint’s eyes grew slitty, but then, surprisingly, he said, “I wanted to apologize for that…for the crack earlier.”
The crack?
“Oh.” That took the wind out of Zach’s sails. He had been trying to convince himself that the you-come-cheap comment hadn’t bothered him, but the realization that Flint, of all people, felt it warranted an apology almost made it worse.
He shrugged. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“Yep. I am. And I think taking on Alton Beacher as a client is a big mistake. But…that was out of line. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Apology accepted.”
Flint continued to gaze at him in that half irritated, half troubled way. Zach, already made uncomfortable by Flint’s apology, felt even more uneasy.
Flint began, “I know it’s none of my business—”
“No, it’s not,” Zach interrupted. “Besides, what’s left to say? You think I shouldn’t have taken the case. Well, I’m not crazy about this situation either. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t pick and choose our clients. If I can get this resolved, we’ll have enough capital to see us through the next few months. Plus, if Beacher’s satisfied, it could mean more clients and more business.”
Flint shook his head. “Fred would not be okay with this. You know that, Zachariah.”
Flint must have addressed him by his first name before, but Zach couldn’t remember it, and he felt an odd flicker of…something…at hearing Flint pronounce Zachariah. As if Flint too found those four syllables unexpectedly difficult, tricky, foreign.
“Really? You’re going to drag my dad into this? Do you even know the full details of the case?” When Flint hesitated, Zach said hotly, “No, you don’t. You’re making assumptions. You’re jumping to conclusions. You don’t have all the facts.”
“Neither do you, I bet. Anyway, I heard enough. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you get an instinct.”
“Oh my God.” Zach stared ceilingward. “Spare me the Sam Spade routine.”
Flint stopped talking, pressed his lips together. His eyes had narrowed to slits again.
“Look, I think you mean well. I really do,” Zach said. “But I also think you’re overestimating the complexities of the case. And you’re underestimating me.”
That was equal parts defiance, worry, and bravado because with every terse word out of Flint’s mouth, he was undermining Zach’s confidence. Zach too had an instinct that he might have taken a wrong turn somewhere, and if he was ignoring his own instincts, he sure as hell wasn’t going to rely on Flint’s.
Flint studied him for a long moment. He smiled a smile guaranteed to frost sunflowers on the hottest summer’s day, and said gently, “Well, you know best.”
Chapter Four
Ben was waiting when Zach got home that night.
Waiting inside the house, to be precise. And to be more precise, sitting on Zach’s recently purchased black plaid sofa, stroking Mr. Bigglesworth.
Ben was Zach’s age. Slim, medium height, with curly, dark hair and wide green eyes and dimples—although it had been a long time since Zach had seen Ben’s dimples. There were no dimples in sight that evening, though Ben was smiling smugly.
“Well, this is a little creepy,” Zach replied in answer to that smile.
He was trying to play it cool, but he was genuinely shocked. Ben was the most law-abiding person he knew, so this foray into criminal trespass was as out-of-character as it was unwelcome.
Ben’s smile faded, and he flushed. “It’s not creepy when it’s me.”
That’s what all the creeps think. Zach didn’t say that, though. Ben’s flushed face did not match his defiant words. Besides, Ben wasn’t a creep, really. He was just…
“I’m not a creep,” Ben said. “Your mom suggested I drop by. If you won’t talk to me, what am I supposed to do?”
That was equal parts reassuring and upsetting. Because, yes, Zach’s mother probably had given Ben this idea. She was Team Ben all the way and believed Zach was making yet another major life mistake in letting Ben go.