And he’s not sure he can do it.

Niall’s bemused smile has faded fast, and he’s quickly turned impatient. “Won’t you come in here?” he says tersely. “We don’t know who might be prowling these halls. Honestly, this place makes my skin crawl.”

The sound of Niall’s voice alone triggers Lance’s anger, which seems to help loosen his tongue, too. “I’m just here to give you your keys.” He reaches into his pocket. “And the phone, too. I don’t think you could have me arrested for keeping a phone—I just don’t want it.” He holds out the phone in its sleek case, and the keys, in one hand extended toward Niall.

Niall stares back at him, his mouth unbecomingly slack and his eyes wide behind his crooked glasses. It’s almost time for him to have another Botox appointment, Lance thinks with cruel satisfaction. The skin beneath his eyes is starting to part and sag again. He’s never looked less impressive to Lance than he does in this moment, all of his affectation stripped back by shock.

Then, Niall gets himself under control and gives Lance a pitying smile, ignoring the phone and keys held toward him.

“Now, now, Angel,” he says, the words hardly more than a gust of breath. Lance’s heart instantly kicks into overdrive, his pulse an audible pounding in his ears. “Think about what you’re doing. Your life is with me.”

“I am thinking,” Lance says. His voice rises as he goes on. “For the first time in a long time, I’m thinking clearly about my life. And I know, without a doubt, that the best thing I could possibly do is to get away from you.”

Niall’s cool smile has slipped from his face. Lance realizes that the other man has never heard Lance raise his voice—hardly anyone has.

Seeing that Niall is not, apparently, going to take the phone and keys from him, Lance just tosses them on the floor at his feet.

Niall’s eyes drop to the floor where the keys and cell phone landed. Then he slowly raises them again. “Very well.” He straightens up from his graceful lean in the doorway. “A fussy, self-important whore I could tolerate. But ingratitude—that is not a flaw I can stomach.”

Lance blinks; Niall’s words skate close to the profanity he so abhors, which is almost as shocking as the words themselves.

Niall seems pleased to have struck Lance speechless. “You think you can just walk away?” When he’s truly emotional, truly furious, it’s easier to remember that wealthy, cultured Niall was once a roughneck growing up on the south side of Chicago. “I’ll ruin you. Don’t think you can just walk back into the business. And you can forget about the series. It’s mine; my lawyers will make sure of that.”

Lance’s eyes narrow, his fingers curling into the end of the wooden railing in the stairwell, his foot half-raised for the first step. He knows he shouldn’t take Niall’s bait, but somehow he can’t help himself. “You’re bluffing.”