Page 1 of Get A Fix

GET A FIX

Simply because your world collides with a shooting star doesn’t mean that’s a sign, does it?

Cooper Davis has a nice life he’s quite fond of. He has a wonderful family, good friends, and a job he excels at. As a fixer with Torus Intercession, he’s entrusted with the well-being of the people relying on his guidance. He is protector, guardian, but most of all, as his boss always says, everyone needs to be better off once he leaves. The issue is, when he’s asked to watch over the actor Ashford Lennox, he’s not sure that leaving is what he wants to do.

Ashford Lennox is a movie star on the rise. He has everything he’s ever wanted, except someone to love and call his own. He’s learned over the years that home is not a place but sharing a life with one special person you can count on. When he meets the man tasked with keeping him safe during a wedding, it’s like a lightning bolt. Suddenly he can see his whole future unfolding.

Being on the same page is an epiphany for both, now if they could just make it to the happily ever after without getting shot…

ONE

It was Monday night, and I was having dinner. A nice dinner. Outside. In an area with just enough heaters to cut the chill but not enough to make perspire in my cashmere sweater over a dress shirt. March in Chicago was chilly, but not the arctic blast it was in January or February. It was so lovely that I even took off my suit jacket. In fact, it was perfect. And because it was, and because the appetizers had just been brought to the table and I was about to begin the seduction part of my evening, that was when I heard someone—two someones—screaming my name.

This was how my luck had been working lately, and I had no idea why.

My date, Matt something—very nice, very hot, corporate tax attorney—looked up, fork halfway to his mouth, and asked, “Are those guys yelling your name?”

“Absolutely not,” I assured him as Owen Moss and Benji Grace, both of whom worked with me at Torus Intercession, bolted across eight lanes of Monday night downtown Chicago traffic. They were running as fast as they could, toward me, darting between cars, the cacophony of honking, screeching brakes, and obscenities yelled out of windows trailing behind them like a parade.

Really, why did the universe not want me to get laid?

“I really think they—oh, they’re coming right⁠—”

“Cooper!” Owen gasped, reaching the decorative metal fence that separated the restaurant from the sidewalk and grabbing hold of it, panting hard.

Standing, I moved quickly over to him as Benji came flying up, seconds behind him, vaulted over the fence, and launched himself at me. Fortunately he was not a big man or he would have knocked me on my ass. Owen took that moment to scramble over and slip behind me, which wasn’t like him. He didn’t need anyone to protect him—he could easily take care of himself—plus I couldn’t imagine he wasn’t carrying. That was what his ankle holster was for. And Benji could normally talk himself out of any predicament, and he wasn’t unskilled in the art of self-defense either, so him hurling himself into my arms was out of character as well.

Catching Benji, I set him on his feet as four men in really good suits—labels that I wore myself—came hurtling over to the fence, one of them leaning over, trying to grab Owen. Everyone was yelling, and the noise got to that deafening state where it was overlapping, which I hated, before one guy got a hold of Benji. Instantly, I wrenched him off my colleague and shoved him back. Hard.

“Who the hell’re you?” the guy I pushed yelled at me.

I took a breath. I never let people see me flustered. Even during my breakup with the guy I thought I loved, I never yelled or raised my voice. It was a lesson I’d learned young from having four older sisters. What was the point of volume when all it did was tick people off? All yelling did was add to the noise level when cooler heads should have prevailed.

“Who the hell are you?” I retorted. My patience was good. Like long. So long. Again, sisters. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t annoyed, and he could hear that in my voice. Because whoever these guys were had interrupted my dinner and tried to hurt Benji—who was like a warm, sugary confection mixed up into a person—and that was a mistake.

“I’m Raglan Olivet, and these two assholes just told my buddy Patrick’s mother that the place she wanted to give him is haunted.”

Not what I was expecting, but also not the weirdest thing I would have expected from Benji or Owen. The paranormal was in their wheelhouse. Well, Benji’s. I was fairly certain Owen was more that rare breed who didn’t judge.

“I mean, what the fuck?” Raglan concluded.

I sifted through what I had so far: Raglan was talking to me, Patrick was there somewhere, and they were upset with my colleagues because they had delivered news of a haunting.

This was going to kill my evening; I just knew it.

I took a moment to absorb the ridiculousness. Did I think Benji was a gifted psychiatrist? Yes. He’d proven he was on a number of occasions and was excellent at vetting new clients for the company. Did I think his skills translated to paranormal investigator? That would be absurd. Did I think there was a need for such a thing to begin with or that paranormal anything should be a job? Absolutely not. Did Raglan have a stupid name? Without question. Because really, his nickname had to be Rag, and that was terrible. But that wasn’t the matter at hand. “May I ask why it matters if the space Patrick’s mother wants to give him is haunted or not?”

“Because now Patrick can’t have the warehouse because his mother doesn’t want him to have something that’s cursed,” Raglan explained.

“Got it. Thank you for bringing me up to speed. Now, may I ask why this situation concerns anyone outside of Patrick and his mother?”

“Because we’re all supposed to be going in together on a club we’ve been planning on for years,” Raglan said dejectedly.

Ah. The prospect of money.

I turned to Owen. “Why didn’t you stand your ground and defend yourself? There are only four of them.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone, yeah?” Owen shrugged. “I thought running would be better.”