Something borrowed, p.1
Something Borrowed, page 1
Something Borrowed
Yolande Kleinn
Published by Yolande Kleinn, 2023.
Copyright 2021 Yolande Kleinn
ISBN 978-1-946316-31-8
LICENSE NOTES
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Cover Design
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Further Reading: An Intimate Charade
Also By Yolande Kleinn
About the Author
Chapter One
As the voice droned steadily in his ear, the only thought in Trevor Ortega’s head was, Too bad a stunning location can’t salvage an interminable evening.
He scanned the rooftop garden, taking in the way starlight and a crescent moon glowed across cement pathways and eerily symmetrical greenery. A high stone wall ran the perimeter of the roof, and past it stretched a downtown cityscape reaching all the way to the river and beyond.
Whoever had coaxed their way into using this rooftop bower as a charity venue had seriously outdone themselves. Understated strings of lights illuminated chairs, white-draped tables, and a long banquet spread, plus a narrow counter where waitstaff served drinks.
The glass of champagne in Trevor’s hand was untouched and likely to stay that way. These events wound him too tight to drink. He’d never understood how his fellow attorneys didn’t share his reluctance. Tonight’s entire tableau felt so starched and formal, so full of people he desperately wanted to impress. After five years settled in as a public defender, he still couldn’t imagine relaxing at a gala like this.
The air had cooled considerably now that the sun had set, and even with the extra weight of his nicest suit jacket, Trevor shivered a little. If he could simply appreciate the atmosphere in silence, he might be able to trick himself into enjoying the party.
Of course, silence was more than he could reasonably hope for tonight.
He smiled blandly at the man still talking to him. Trevor had only fleetingly caught the name offered in greeting. He probably should have tried harder to retain the information, if only to avoid crossing paths in the future. Sharp skinny angles gave his relentless conversational partner an intimidating air, the impression not at all helped by aggressive eyebrows and a sweep of receding white hair. The man’s expressionless mouth had not stopped moving for ten solid minutes. Trevor hadn’t been able to sneak in a single word to excuse himself. Somehow, the other cornered parties had all managed to escape, leaving him the sole recipient of a furious diatribe about the tax code.
Trevor didn’t mind conversations about tax codes, as a general rule. They could be fascinating in the right company. But here in this moment, words flowing over him without clarity or inflection, the topic bored him to tears. He couldn’t decide if having already eaten made the situation worse or better. On the one hand, he’d be cranky as hell if he were putting up with all this on an empty stomach, waiting in vain for a chance to escape to the banquet line. On the other hand, his full stomach meant the steady lull of his colleague’s voice was making him legitimately sleepy.
Ridiculous.
Trevor didn’t want to be here in the first place. Now that he’d fulfilled his obligation to make an appearance and could discreetly depart in good conscience, he had no graceful way to extricate himself from a one-sided conversation so dull he would prefer a concussion. It would be a different matter if this were a total stranger—Trevor might be willing to risk interrupting him midword—but he vaguely knew the man as a spouse of someone-or-other whom he couldn’t risk offending.
A shadow fell past Trevor’s elbow as someone approached him from behind. Even without knowing who the shadow belonged to, an instantaneous rush of relief cut beneath his skin. Any interruption at all could be enough of an opening to enable escape if he played his hand right.
Then he turned—had to tilt his head back to meet the new arrival’s eyes—and grinned in recognition.
Sebastian Greer stood at his elbow, tall and broad and unreasonably handsome.
“Trevor.” Sebastian greeted him with a nod, then turned an apologetic smile toward the argumentative tax attorney, who had finally stumbled mid-sentence. “Mr. Callum, I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion. I’ve got a professional question for Mr. Ortega. Can I borrow him a moment?”
With difficulty, Trevor contained his grin. If he let it spread too wide, it would broadcast his relief plainly, never mind that he was so grateful for the intervention he could kiss Sebastian here and now.
Thoughts of kissing Sebastian Greer could only lead to incurable distraction and embarrassment if he were caught staring, so Trevor set the notion aside with the efficiency of long practice. He raised his glass in a parting gesture toward Mr. Callum, trying not to appear overly pleased, then let his former boss lead him away.
With every step toward relative seclusion, Trevor tried not to notice how effortlessly gorgeous Sebastian looked in his tuxedo. Wide shoulders filled the dark jacket without straining the fabric. A bow tie sat perfectly knotted under the round line of his jaw, and the crisp white of his collar stood out dramatically against warm umber skin. Sebastian’s eyes glittered in the moonlight, and Trevor clenched his teeth.
It wasn’t fucking fair. An overworked federal circuit judge had no business looking like he just strode out of a fashion shoot. Even the silvering hair at his temples could have been a touch-up for the cover of a magazine.
How was Trevor supposed to keep his composure in front of a knight in shining armor this devastatingly handsome?
Somehow, whether through willpower or desperation, he managed to tamp down the cascade of uninvited feelings as he and Sebastian reached an empty corner of the roof. Trevor hoped his smile was visible through the shadows and that it conveyed a reasonable level of gratitude.
“Thanks for the rescue.”
“Thanks aren’t necessary.” Sebastian wore a distinctly smug expression as he sipped from the drink in his own hand. It could have been a gin and tonic, but it was probably just club soda with lime. Trevor wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t risk being inebriated among a crowd of his peers. “I thought I recognized the flicker of glazed displeasure in your eyes. If I misgauged, I offer my sincere apologies.”
Trevor snorted at the familiar veneer of decorum in Sebastian’s teasing, then sipped his drink to keep from admitting he would forgive nearly anything for the sake of Sebastian’s company.
When he trusted himself to manage something more measured than longing, he said, “Glazed displeasure might be an understatement. I’d legitimately started to wonder if I should fake a fainting spell to make him go away. I was already scouting for an escape hatch when he cornered me.”
Trevor nearly choked on another half-hearted sip of champagne when Sebastian asked, “Can I join your escape attempt? There’s an excellent bar half a block away.”
Maybe it was silly to be surprised by the suggestion. Sebastian had invited him out for drinks and meals any number of times since their professional paths had parted ways—and in any case, the invitation was never for anything more intimate than a casual evening between colleagues, no matter how fervently Trevor might wish otherwise. They’d never socialized off the clock while he was Sebastian’s law clerk, but the five years since had been different. Trevor didn’t think he’d imagined the way they had slipped gradually across the line from professional acquaintances to friends.
“God, yes, please let’s do that.” He prayed his helpless infatuation didn’t echo too obviously through the words.
*
The place was a perfect low-key balm after the stiff formality of the fundraiser. It was noisy enough to let Trevor and Sebastian blend into their surroundings but not so packed they couldn’t find a table. The decor was a little snooty for Trevor’s tastes—mirrors all over the place and lights in intricate sconces along the walls—but the boisterous crowd more than made up for a stodgy first impression.
There were a couple of empty stools at the bar, but Trevor homed right in on a table in a far corner. Never mind that it was so small he and Sebastian would be stepping on each other’s toes, it was also at exactly the right remove from surrounding conversations and laughter, close to but not swallowed by the room’s rowdy energy.
Sebastian followed without protest, and both of them slid into metal chairs with ornate patterns shaped into the backs. A laminated drink menu proclaimed all kinds of local brews available.
“Loon Juice for me,” Trevor said when a server came to take their orders, both because he wanted to say it out loud and because cider sounded fantastic after his untouched dry champagne from the fundraiser.
“Do you have Summit Summer Ale on tap?” At the answering nod, Sebastian said, “A pint of that, please.”
Then it was blessedly just the two of them, isolated in their little pocket of a lively downtown bar. Trevor tried to be discreet about watching Sebastian in the low, warm light. The crisp edges of fancy dress seemed to have softened with the change to a more casual locale. The bow tie had vanished during the short span of their journey, the black jacket fallen open. The topmost buttons of Sebastian’s collar were undone in deference to the room’s cozy heat.
Trevor might have been imagining the way Sebastian watched him back for a moment—impossible to confirm when he was busy averting his own gaze. He wondered what Sebastian saw looking at him. Skinny shoulders, sharp nose, big eyes that had never successfully bluffed through a single poker hand. Dark hair in need of a cut, styled to within an inch of its life because he hadn’t been willing to take any chances with the wind. His suit was a little outdated, but he knew it fit him handsomely.
The fact that Trevor had put excessive care into his appearance didn’t mean Sebastian was the sort of man to appreciate the presentation. Trevor had no idea if Sebastian was interested in men, despite years of agonizing over the question. He’d never met anyone more circumspect about their personal life than Sebastian Goddamn Greer.
Their drinks arrived quickly. And then another round, along with a basket of perfectly seasoned tater tots. It didn’t take long for Trevor to be glad he’d taken a taxi to the gala and wouldn’t be driving. Hell, maybe he and Sebastian could share a cab home.
Or maybe that was a thought Trevor needed to avoid at all costs.
He’d honed a talent for multitasking his entire life, and still this hiccup of distraction threatened to derail his focus on the current conversation. Losing an argument to Sebastian wouldn’t be especially embarrassing, nor would it be novel. But Trevor was right this time, damn it, and he rerouted his attention back to the debate where it belonged.
“You’re missing the point. Deliberately.” Trevor delivered his retort with an expansive gesture.
The glint in Sebastian’s eyes suggested he was simply playing devil’s advocate—that he knew exactly the point Trevor was trying to make—and something that might have been a smirk twitched at one corner of his mouth.
Trevor tried to ignore all of this and stay on track. “It’s not about whether the prosecutor can find a fucking hearsay exception applicable to the situation. It’s not hearsay in the first place, it—”
He stopped abruptly when another emphatic hand gesture nearly upset his drink—a full glass, probably his last of the evening. The corner of Sebastian’s mouth twitched higher, and God, the expression made Trevor’s insides heat. The number of times Sebastian had looked at him the same way, back when they worked together, took up far too much space in Trevor’s memory. Never mocking, more conspiratorial, the expression mingled amusement with an unmistakable invitation to share in the laugh. As a law clerk with no business falling for his handsome and staggeringly competent judge, Trevor had found himself repeatedly floored.
He’d spent a lot of time in chambers telling himself to calm the fuck down.
It worked just as well now as it had then. He resisted the instinct to launch directly back into his abandoned rant. It was a near mathematical certainty that Sebastian already agreed with him and was pushing Trevor’s buttons on purpose, never mind that Trevor couldn’t fathom why. The man always had seemed to enjoy goading him into spirited debate, all the while rebutting each point with far too much skill, a couple incisive words enough to muddle Trevor’s entire argument.
Then again, there was a reason Sebastian was considered one of the best judges in the district. And there was a reason Trevor had wanted to work solely for Sebastian Greer, back when he’d been finishing law school and should have been casting the widest possible net for job opportunities. The industry was stacked against him in a lot of ways, many of them technically illegal and slow to change. Plenty of doors actively tried not to open for a man with his name and unmistakably brown skin. The smart thing would’ve been to apply for as many jobs as possible and not risk ending up underemployed with a mountain of debt to pay off.
But something had told him the county courthouse was exactly where he belonged, and even before he’d met the man—even before he’d had the chance to fall head over heels like a fool—Trevor had been certain he needed to work with Sebastian Greer.
The bar quieted a little around them, and Trevor tore his gaze from Sebastian’s face with difficulty. He fished out his phone as a pretext for breaking eye contact and checked the time. Late, but not so late he felt any need to cut things short and call a cab. He opened his email to stall for time, not yet braced to meet Sebastian’s beautiful brown eyes without showing his whole damn soul.
Trevor froze at the new message sitting at the top of his inbox. The subject line stopped him in his tracks.
You Are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Emma Calcaterra and Sloane Smith...
The words were a perfect mirror to the paper invitation he’d received in the mail over a month ago. The reminder in his inbox felt like a slap on the wrist, though of course Emma would never intend it to be cruel. The digital nudge was probably a practical necessity. Trevor hadn’t RSVP’d, mostly because he’d been trying not to think about his ex-girlfriend’s pending nuptials. He should have expected her to push a little harder. This wasn’t a pity invite. Strange as Trevor might feel about maintaining an amicable relationship after parting ways with his only serious significant other, Emma sincerely wanted him to attend.
He tapped the message and found the email included a link to an online portal. He wouldn’t even have to track down the official postcard to RSVP. Would he be attending? Did he plan to bring a plus-one?
For a guilty moment, Trevor wasn’t sure he could bear to go.
The painful truth was, he didn’t want to. The thought of being present to witness the former love of his life marrying his law school rival... It sucked. He’d rather be happy for them at a safe remove. He missed Emma. He wanted her to be happy. He harbored no delusions about any old twinges of romantic feeling; Trevor found it difficult to obsess over an ex while falling inextricably in love with someone else.
But attending her wedding single and alone did not sound like a good time.
A sinking sensation settled into his stomach as he realized none of this reasoning mattered. Of course he would attend.
“What’s wrong?” Sebastian’s quiet question cut through the spiral of emotional upheaval, and Trevor sat straighter with a start.
His first, almost overpowering instinct was to brush off the offered concern. He felt ridiculous for being upset over something relatively trivial. After five years establishing his own separate career, he still hated the idea of Sebastian thinking him ridiculous.
But damn it, Sebastian wasn’t just a former employer. He was a friend. There were few people in the world Trevor truly trusted, and Sebastian had long since earned his place in the lineup.
“My ex-girlfriend is getting married, and I’m short a plus-one to the wedding.”
One of Sebastian’s eyebrows rose in obvious confusion. “You’re invited to your ex’s wedding? And you intend to go?”
“Of course I’m going.”
Sebastian paused significantly before observing, “You don’t seem happy about it.”
Too much careful sympathy echoed beneath the words. Sincerity, worry, maybe even a faint sheen of protectiveness. Trevor’s every defensive instinct kicked into high gear at the thought of this man—friend, mentor, former boss, center of every romantic fantasy he’d harbored for years—pitying him. He needed to rearrange the landscape before things turned too serious to salvage.
He couldn’t brush the entire conversation aside. Sebastian knew him too well for blunt obfuscation to do the trick. But surely he could steer the discussion into less gloomy territory.
“What I need,” Trevor said with what he hoped was convincing cheer, “is a stand-in date. A fake partner to make me look good for the night.”
This time, Sebastian’s answer came with unaccustomed caution. “I’m sure you’re acquainted with any number of women who’d be willing to assist you.”
Trevor blinked, startled at an observation that felt not only heteronormative but deliberately so. “It doesn’t have to be a woman.” He shrugged, the gesture calculated to convey a lightness the statement didn’t actually contain. “Emma knows I’m no straighter than she is. I could borrow a boyfriend for the wedding just as easy, assuming I had any damn volunteers.”
