Dash held his hands up. “Okay. Okay. I like to watch movies, old ones, like from the eighties.”

Thorne looked up, horrified. “Eighties movies are oldies now?”

Dash laughed. “Oh yes; I can’t believe they had color back then.”

Thorne glared at him. “Funny. You do realize I was alive back in those dark times.”

“Nothing dark about them; rather sparkly and bright, really. An exciting time for gay fashion.”

Thorne made a strangled sound as he fought a laugh.

“It’s working. Some of the tension has left your shoulders, and you’re no longer grinding your teeth.”

How had Dash known that’s what he had been doing? He hadn’t realized it himself until Dash mentioned it.

Dash slid off the desk, landing softly on the wood floor. He moved behind Thorne and began massaging his shoulders. “Fuck, when was the last time you had a professional massage?”

“Try never.”

Dash tsked. “You’ve got to do something about this, or you’re going to end up with a neck injury.”

“I don’t have time for nonsense like massages. I—”

“Have to work.” Dash’s mocking tone should’ve pissed him off. Instead, he found it adorable. God, he was infuriating.

“You also have to live,” Dash insisted.

Thorne lived for his job. When he’d been hired, Symthson had been a mid-range firm, but he’d wowed some very important clients, and the firm’s reputation had grown as had his salary. When Mr. Symthson himself had retired, Thorne bought out his shares, making him the owner of 30 percent of the company, 10 percent more than anyone else. Now Symthson Associates was arguably the best at what they did. Relaxing wasn’t going to keep that success going. But can you keep going if you don’t?

The doorbell rang then. Thorne stood and waved Dash away.

“Would I shock the poor man at the door?”

Thorne shook his head. “No, but he might try to steal you.” If Alex was the server Thorne thought he was, he was rather flirtatious.

Dash stepped into the bedroom, and Thorne answered the door.

“Good evening, Mr. Shipton. May I say you made an excellent choice? The black forest cake is my favorite of our desserts.”

“It’s quite delicious,” Thorne agreed.

Alex’s tongue snaked out, and he wet his lower lip. “Yes, it is.”

Thorne had clearly remembered him correctly. He handed Alex a wad of cash. “Keep the change.”

His eyes widened. “Thank you. Enjoy your cake.”

“I will.” Thorne took the carafe and the pastry box and shut the door. The moment it clicked shut, Dash stepped out of the bedroom.

“Forget him stealing me. I think he would have been happy to stay and enjoy you, maybe topped with cake.”

“Ha! He just knows his craft, like you.”

“Maybe Sheila should hire him away from the restaurant business.”

Thorne laughed. “Maybe she should.”