The Peachtree Bundle ( Peachtree Series Books 1-3 + Trust the Connection)

CHAPTER ONE

Stephen Parker watched in horror as the cup he’d clutched between his forearm and his chest tipped forward. With an iPad and a leather portfolio full of important documents in one hand and his phone in the other, he could do nothing to stop its tumble to the floor. It landed with a violent eruption of scalding hot espresso, splashing in every direction.

“Fuck!”

He jerked away, barely avoiding getting his navy blue suit drenched. His cognac brown shoes didn’t fare so well, however, and he frowned as he watched the liquid soak into the expensive leather. With a sigh, he reached down to pick up the cardboard cup. A stairwell door slamming shut made him jerk in surprise and he nearly lost his grip on his iPad.

“God fucking damn it.” Stephen finally got a grip on the slippery cup and straightened. He carefully skirted the puddle, then headed out into the hall with an irritated sigh. “Hell of a way to start my day,” he muttered.

It wasn’t yet 7 a.m. and the office of Vantage Marketing was deserted. Only half the lights were on, and he knew the cleaning staff wasn’t in yet. He liked coming in early; it was the only way he got work done without interruption. His assistant, Elizabeth Lawrence, could only do so much to keep people at bay.

Stephen tossed the empty cup in the nearest trashcan, then made a beeline for the janitor’s closet. He unearthed a wet floor sign inexplicably hiding behind several boxes of cleaning supplies. Thankfully, after twenty years there, he knew the place like the back of his hand. Said hand was covered in spilled coffee, but he wanted to put the sign out before some other health-minded idiot decided to take the stairs and tracked coffee through the halls. At forty-seven, he was all too aware of the threat of a gradual thickening around his waist. He stayed fit, but only because carbs were generally a thing of the past and he took the stairs whenever he could. Stephen let out another irritated sigh at the untimely demise of his morning espresso.

Mulling over the idea of sneaking out to grab a replacement coffee, Stephen swung the door of the stairwell open and blinked at the sight in front of him with growing horror. There was a figure sprawled on the floor with a spreading puddle of something dark and wet beneath it. The person on the floor groaned, and Stephen’s brain finally caught up with what he saw.

Stephen knelt immediately, tossing his papers and electronics aside. “Are you okay?”

The man blinked up at him for a moment before he shifted with a grimace. “Maybe?”

When he tried to sit up, he let out a loud groan, slumping back to the floor. Stephen barely had enough time to catch his head to keep it from hitting the floor again. “Shit.”

Stephen scrutinized the man whose head rested in his hands. Huh. It was Russ Bishop, one of the firm’s newer marketing analysts. The guy he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off since last year’s Christmas party. Ridiculous, since Russ was a good twenty years Stephen’s junior but so handsome and charming it hurt to look at him.

“Russ?” Stephen asked urgently, staring down into Russ’s hazel brown eyes. Russ blinked at him, his gaze clearing and becoming more focused. “Lie there while I call the paramedics.”

“No, no. I don’t need the paramedics,” Russ protested. “I was a little dazed for a sec, but I’ll be fine once I catch my breath.”

“Nothing’s hurt?”

He grimaced. “My ankle’s killing me. It went sideways when I hit the puddle of coffee.”

“I’m more concerned about your head than your ankle. Did you hit it when you fell?” Stephen asked grimly, guilt twisting in his stomach at the thought that he was to blame for Russ’s accident.

Russ frowned. “No, I don’t think so.” He lifted his hand and gingerly felt across his scalp, wincing. “Ugh. There’s a knot forming. I guess I did hit it.”

“I’m calling 911.” Stephen’s tone brooked no argument. He gently rested Russ’s head on his thigh for a moment and shrugged out of his suit jacket, bunched it up, then slid it under Russ’s head. It would be a good deal softer than his leg. Russ let out a low murmur of protest but Stephen quieted him with a touch to his shoulder with his free hand as he reached for his phone with the other.

The call was brief, and after Stephen notified building security of the accident, there was nothing he could do but wait. And apologize.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I was afraid this might happen. I was on my way back with a wet floor sign and some paper towels, but you beat me here.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Parker,” Russ protested. “Really. It was an accident. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. That’s what I get for checking my email while I’m walking up the stairs.”

“After I nearly killed you, the least you can do is call me Stephen,” he replied grimly.

“Stop worrying, Stephen.” Russ managed a smile despite his obvious discomfort, and Stephen had an idle thought that no one in Russ’s current condition should ever appear so charming. “It was my own fault.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be here this early,” Stephen blurted out, smoothing a hand over his hair and straightening his tie, uncharacteristically flustered. “I had too much in my hands and lost my grip on my espresso. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“I’m going to keep calling you Mr. Parker if you don’t let go of this overactive guilt complex,” Russ teased. He shifted, grimacing. “Can I sit up? This floor isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“I think you should wait until the paramedics get here.” Stephen placed his hand gently on Russ’s shoulder.

Russ settled again with a small frown. “Can you find my phone while we wait? I think it might have fallen down the stairs when I slipped. If they’re taking me to the ER, I need to let someone know I’ll be in late today.”

“Of course.” Stephen tried to hide a wince as he stood; sitting on a cold, hard floor wasn’t doing him any favors either. He found the phone on the landing below and did grimace at the sight of it. The older generation iPhone’s screen was completely shattered and when he tried to power it on, nothing happened. “I think you’re going to have to get a new phone,” he explained in an apologetic tone as he rejoined Russ at the top of the stairs. Russ looked pale under his normal healthy tan, and Stephen frowned down at his prone form as he took a seat on the top step nearby. “You feeling worse?”

“Just mentally calculating what this is all going to cost me. New phone, new suit” —Russ gestured to the coffee-covered tan suit he wore—“emergency room bill. Glad I have insurance.”

Stephen opened his mouth to remind Russ that because the accident had happened at work, workman’s comp would cover everything but the phone and suit, when the stairwell door swung open. A man in a dark blue uniform peered at them.

“Hey, there. I’m Brian with the Atlanta Fire Department. Can you tell me what happened here?”

The flurry of activity afterward made Stephen forget about their earlier conversation. It wasn’t until the paramedics had Russ on the stretcher and ready to go that Stephen thought to speak up. “Oh, Russ, I’ll let Peter know you won’t be in today. Is there anyone you want me to call to meet you at the hospital?”

Russ shook his head and winced. “No, my roommate’s an idiot and I don’t have any family around here. I moved to Atlanta six months ago, so I’m pretty much on my own.”

Stephen nodded and touched Russ’s arm. “I’ll meet you there then.” He turned to the paramedics. “Which hospital are you taking him to?”

“Emory University Hospital, Midtown,” the man replied.

“I’ll be right behind you, Russ,” Stephen replied. Russ grumbled in protest, but it was lost in the clatter of the stretcher as the paramedics wheeled him out the door and to the elevators.

Stephen set out the wet floor sign, then gathered his belongings. He put in a call to building maintenance to have someone mop up the spill, then headed out to his car. On the way down, he called Elizabeth to let her know he’d be out of the office due to an emergency, then he called and left a message for Peter Ingram, Russ’s boss, to let him know what had happened.

Russ and Stephen worked in separate departments, and considering how attracted Stephen was to Russ, he was grateful. Not that he had any plans to do anything about the attraction, of course. He had no idea if it was mutual or not, and although he suspected Russ was gay, he’d never confirmed it. Besides, mixing business with pleasure rarely ended well. Not to mention the age difference. A previous relationship that ended disastrously was a constant reminder of how difficult it could be.

If only I hadn’t seen Russ dance at the damn Christmas party last year, he thought with a sigh. The firm held the event at a hotel downtown every year. Stephen usually found the parties rather boring, but other members of the leadership team were convinced they boosted employee morale. Stephen suffered through the mediocre meal, appalling games, and giveaways designed to encourage attendees to mingle. He took part enough to keep the endlessly chipper organizers off his back, but he drew the line at dancing. The music was terrible to begin with, and he had no desire to dance with any of the women at his office. He’d never hidden the fact he was gay, but there were a few who seemed to think the love of a good woman would change his mind.

The thought always made Stephen laugh. He’d tried—as a young man—and the experiment had failed miserably. Being gay was an unshakeable part of who he was. It had been a few years since he’d brought a date to the parties, though, and the women continued to get more persistent.

Last year, as he sat at his table discussing sailing with a colleague and hoped none of the women would get brave enough to ask him to dance, he noticed Russ. He’d seen him around the office before; Russ had been hired a few weeks prior. As Chief Financial Officer, Stephen had little interaction with Russ’s team. He was only aware of him because, well, he was an attractive man. But other than a few passing thoughts about the man’s good looks and an idle curiosity about his sexuality, Stephen rarely paid attention him.

Then he’d looked up from his watered-down bourbon and seen him dancing. Russ had worn a suit to the party—most of the men had—but he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His back was to Stephen, and he swayed his hips to the upbeat tempo of the music. Stephen felt his groin tighten as he watched the mesmerizing movement. He had to believe no entirely straight man moved like that. Christ. Or maybe he just wanted to believe that. He took a sip of his drink to wet his dry mouth and shifted in his chair. No matter how inappropriate it was, he couldn’t stop fantasizing. He had a sudden desperate hope that Russ was a bottom in the bedroom because Stephen desperately wanted to be the man to top him.

The thought had made him feel guilty immediately. That was a wholly inappropriate way to think about a colleague. But damn, the man could move.

Stephen had made it through the rest of the Christmas party somehow, but since then, Russ had moved to the forefront of his mind. Although Stephen didn’t seek Russ out, his gaze lingered on him when they ran into each other in passing. Stephen had gone on a few dates since Christmas—all successful men closer to his age—but none interested him half as much as Russ. Then again, he’d always preferred younger men.

As Stephen turned into the Emory University Hospital complex and followed the red signs directing him to emergency, he realized the encounter at the top of the stairwell was the most interaction he’d had with Russ in the entire time they’d worked together. How pathetic.

Stephen parked and walked into the building, bracing himself for the chaos of a large city emergency room, but it was surprisingly quiet. A handful of people slumped in chairs, looking equal parts exhausted and bored. He looked at his watch and realized it wasn’t yet 8 a.m.; no wonder the place was practically deserted. There was no one waiting in line, so Stephen strode to the check-in window and asked for Russell Bishop.

The receptionist tapped at her keyboard and made a quick phone call before explaining, “I’m sorry, sir, he’s in radiology right now. When he returns, we’ll be happy to let him know you’re here.”

Stephen nodded and thanked her. He wasn’t family, so there wasn’t a hell of a lot of information they could give him anyway, but at least he’d be available to drive Russ home when he was discharged.

Stephen had plenty of practice at working in hospital waiting rooms, so he popped in a pair of earbuds and spent the morning catching up on work emails using his tablet as he swilled down burned coffee. He ruefully thought that if he’d been able to hang onto his damn espresso in the first place, they wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

Mostly, Stephen pushed away the intrusive thoughts that reminded him of the time he’d spent in another hospital in Atlanta, sick with fear for a different dark-haired young man with a crooked smile. The thought made the coffee churn in Stephen’s stomach, and he tossed away a half-empty cup, then replaced it with water.

Stephen felt nothing but relief when he finally saw a pale, tired-looking Russ being pushed toward him in a wheelchair by a hospital staff member. He wore scrubs, and presumably, his suit was wadded up in the plastic bag he held on his lap.

“What’s the verdict?” Stephen asked as he rose to his feet.

Russ gave him a wan smile. “Mild concussion and a sprained ankle; I’ll live. You didn’t have to come here.”

Stephen waved him off. “It’s the least I could do under the circumstances. Are you ready to leave?”

Russ lifted a paper bag on his lap, making it rattle slightly. “Yep. I picked up my prescriptions already.”

“I’ll pull my car up and meet you out front then.” Without waiting for Russ’s reply, he strode through the waiting area and out into the bright sunshine. The heat was welcome after the chill of the building.

Stephen pulled his Mercedes up to the curb in front of the discharge door, and a staff member wheeled Russ directly to his car as he put it in park. Stephen got out of the car to help. He stowed Russ’s belongings and crutches in the back seat, gripping Russ under one arm to help steady him as Russ stood on one foot and hopped the short distance to the car. He grimaced as he settled in the passenger seat but didn’t speak until Stephen was in the driver’s seat again.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. I could have taken a cab or something.” Russ sounded exhausted, though, and when Stephen turned to look at him, his skin was chalky. He still clutched the bag of painkillers in his hand.

Stephen gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m happy to help. It’s the least I can do considering I caused your accident.”

Russell gave him another weak smile in return. “Please stop blaming yourself. It was as much my fault as yours.”

Stephen nodded, although he didn’t agree. “You ready to go home?”

Russ looked away with a grimace as Stephen pulled away from the curb. “I’d rather go back to the office, but I’m not dressed for it.” He glanced down at the scrubs he wore.

“Big project today?” Stephen glanced over at the younger man out of the corner of his eye.

“No.” His tone was reluctant. “But I’m not supposed to be alone for the rest of the day because of the concussion. I can’t rely on my roommate, so I figured at least at work there would be people around …”

Stephen frowned. “Do you have a headache?”

“Yeah.”

“You should stay home and rest then. I’ll take you home.”

“I told you, no one’s there.”

“I can stay.”

The paper bag from the pharmacy on Russ’s lap crinkled as he fidgeted with it. “I can’t ask you to.”

“You aren’t. I’m offering. Now, which way to your place?”

Russ groaned. “My apartment’s on the fourth floor. No elevators. Not sure I can walk up there right now.”

“No problem. I’ll take you to my place.”

Russ protested, but Stephen ignored it. With a concussion and a sprained ankle, Russ was in no shape to be alone, let alone struggle up four flights of stairs on crutches. Stephen’s apartment was the logical place to take him, and Stephen could work from home while he kept an eye on Russ. He tried to ignore how much he liked the thought of Russ in his apartment.

After they arrived, it took some effort to get Russ used to the crutches, and they made slow progress from the parking garage to the lobby, but at least there was an elevator in Stephen’s building.

By the time Russ took a seat on the couch in his living room, he was alarmingly pale and he let out a long, low sigh of relief.

“Are you okay?”

“Tired and hurting.” It looked like it was difficult for Russ to admit that, and Stephen felt a pang of sympathy. He’d have felt the same way. He patted Russ on the shoulder.

“Make yourself comfortable; I’ll get water so you can take your pills.”

“Thanks.”

When Stephen returned with a bottle of water, he saw Russ stretched out on the sofa, his eyes closed. He was reasonably sure Russ was in his late twenties, but he didn’t look it now with his dark lashes, thick against his cheeks, and his lips slightly parted. He looked heartbreakingly young. “Russ,” Stephen said quietly. “Your water.”

Russ blinked at him for a moment then reached for the bag of medication, swallowing two pills with half the bottle of water before lying back down. “Thanks. I—I don’t know how to thank you enough for your help today. I feel like an idiot.”

Stephen sat on the edge of the brown leather ottoman near Russ’s head. “It was an accident, and I was the idiot who tried to juggle too much while taking the stairs. It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse. The least I can do is keep an eye on you for the rest of the day. You’re not supposed to sleep, right?”

“Nah, sleeping’s fine. That was the old-school recommendation, but apparently, doctors have changed their stance on it. As long as I don’t start puking violently, I’m probably fine.”

Stephen winced at the old-school comment, wondering if that’s the way Russ saw him. Well, what did he expect? He was old enough to be Russ’s father without having been a teenager at conception. He’d dated and fucked plenty of younger guys, but none had been two decades younger. Just because Stephen was interested in Russ didn’t mean the attraction went both ways.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Stephen asked, returning to the business at hand.

“Can you help me take my shoe off?” Russ looked chagrined. “I don’t know if it’s because of the angle I’m at or what, but when I tried to take it off I got this shooting pain …”

Stephen’s gaze traveled down Russ’s body, coming to rest on his feet: one bare except for an Ace bandage, the other still encased in dark brown leather.

“Of course.” Stephen reached over and carefully unlaced the shoe, sliding it off and placing it on the floor by the couch. He didn’t let go of Russ’s foot though, and he glanced up at Russ, who watched him intently. His toes flexed against Stephen’s thumb, and as their gazes met and held, Stephen felt a thrum of excitement. He was half-afraid he was delusional, but he would swear there was interest in Russ’s eyes. He realized his thumb still pressed against Russ’s instep, and he watched Russ’s face soften, relaxing as he pushed more firmly. It wasn’t until Russ let out a soft, barely audible moan that went straight to his cock that Stephen realized he’d crossed a line. Christ, what am I doing?

“I should get ice for you,” he said aloud, the roughness in his voice surprising him.

Granted, his groin needed it more than Russ’s ankle did, but it couldn’t hurt. Besides, Stephen needed to stop touching Russ before he did something stupid. He set Russ’s foot back down on the couch and stood, hoping he wouldn’t notice the bulge in Stephen’s trousers.

Thankfully, the cool air from the freezer helped so he let it flow over his flushed face for a moment. When he’d regained his composure, he wrapped an ice pack in a towel. Russ accepted it with a quiet ‘thank you.’

“I can close the curtains if you want to nap,” Stephen offered.

“If it won’t bother you.”

“No bother. I’ll be outside if you need me. I like to work out on the balcony when the weather is nice.”

In the time it took Stephen to close the curtains, change out of his coffee-speckled suit into something more casual, and retrieve his laptop, Russ fell asleep. Stephen watched him for a few moments, unnerved by how much he liked having a handsome man sprawled on his couch.

If that’s not a sign I need to get out there and date more, I don’t know what is, he thought with a rueful chuckle as he carried his computer out onto the balcony.

Stephen worked for a few hours, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, but he peeked inside to check on Russ sporadically. He shifted when Stephen removed the thawed ice pack and muttered a few times in his sleep but didn’t wake.

Russ slept through the afternoon, and Stephen didn’t have the heart to wake him for lunch. He took a salad out onto the balcony and continued to work while he ate. But his thoughts kept wandering back to Russ and he wasn’t sure if it was worry or attraction that made him check on his reluctant houseguest so frequently.

By the time dinnertime rolled around, Stephen had stopped trying to pretend to work. He ordered takeout and sat in a chair in the living room, attempting to keep his eyes on his iPad screen instead of wandering to Russ. He wasn’t terribly successful.

He’d read a chapter or two and hadn’t retained any of it by the time the food was delivered. He stood for a moment in front of the door after the delivery guy left, his eyes closed, as it hit him how ridiculous he was being. Almost fifty years old and he couldn’t stop obsessing over a man ludicrously younger than himself.

If it didn’t all blow up in his face, it would be a miracle.

This ebook contains involving the death of a parent, parental abandonment and violence, internalized homophobia, homophobic language and behavior, discrimination, grief, parental abandonment and homophobia, death from AIDS, jealousy, the return of an ex, homelessness in children, the foster care system, adoption, the (non violent) death of a parent/other parent incarcerated for drug distribution, PTSD, depression, self-loathing and body image issues due to a car crash, ableist language, and parental abuse/abandonment/alcoholism.

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