Max slapped his shoulder. “Everything okay, Carney?”

“Uh, yes. Thanks.” He steadied his glass to keep from spilling, looked up as Braden Lord stepped next to him, and proceeded to slosh champagne all over Lord’s elegant, European leather shoes. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Max slapped him again. Maybe a couple too many drinky poos there. “My fault. Totally my fault. Braden has more shoes, right, Bray?”

“Yes, not a problem.” Braden smiled at Ian. Up close, that face looked a little less pretty but even more interesting, with crinkles around his eyes like from laughter—and pain. “Need more champagne?”

“Oh, I guess I better not. It seems like I can’t handle it.”

“Something else, then?” Lord looked in his eyes.

Whoa, what an offer. Get your mind out of your boxer briefs, idiot. “No thanks. I guess I should go soon.”

Max leaned toward him. “How’s your boyfriend’s father?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Did he sound as pathetic as he felt? “I mean, the cell service isn’t great.”

“Oh, I heard it had gotten so much better the last couple years.”

“I guess not.”

Lord put a hand on his shoulder. “No, I’ve had cell problems in Mexico. It can be spotty. Probably worse if you’re in a hospital.”

As the heat from Braden’s hand seeped through his cheap sports coat, Ian half wanted to cry and half to kiss Braden Lord. Right, Rico was in a hospital. He couldn’t use the phone. Shit, why hadn’t he thought of that? “Thank you.”

“For what?” Lord smiled softly. He knows what.

“Reminding me that I should leave him a message he can read when he goes home. Thanks again. I better go. I have school tomorrow.” He shook the hands of the two clients he’d been chatting with. “I hope to see you again. You’re in great hands with Lord and Kendrick.” He turned. “Max, I’ll see you Monday.” He turned back to Braden but looked at his feet. “Sorry again. I hope I didn’t stain your shoes.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

Look up, dummy. He plastered on a smile and met Braden’s deep sea-blue eyes. “Thanks again for inviting me. Honored.” You can drown in the sea.

“Glad you could come.” Lord’s face looked friendly, sympathetic, and—what? Disappointed?

Shit. Give me one chance to impress, and I’ll spill something every time. Holy fuckhole, how does a guy get that gorgeous? “Night.”

Max said, “Don’t you need a ride?”

“Nah, thanks. The office is close and my car’s there.” He waved and practically ran to the door of Antonio’s. Outside, the nightly drop in temperature slapped his face. Had he been flirting with the boss? Hell, the boss’s boss? Nah. Just shitting on his shoes.