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been far more that just entertaining. Especially knowing that thin bit of terrycloth was held on by nothing more than a twist and tuck of the fabric.
    August handed him a coffee, tossing a package of sugar and powdered milk alongside and sat down hard. A question burned behind his lips, Doren could see it as clear as if it was written in magic marker on August's skin. "What's the matter, Aug? Something bothering you?"
    Pink lips were pursed as August drew his cheek between his teeth. "What are you doing, Doren? What's your game?"
    Doren looked back, innocence and shocked disbelief all over his face. "What do you mean?"
    August nodded at the door between their rooms. "You have your own room. Why are you here in mine?"
    Steam drifted up to mask Doren's smile as he blew on the coffee. "So you could make coffee, of course. I was freezing to death."
    "You don't have coffee in your room?"
    "But then I would have had to make it myself."
    "You could have called room service."
    Doren raised his eyebrows and waved at the room. "What? And miss all this stimulating conversation?" He didn't give August a chance to reply. He stood and walked over to the small television, turning it on and flipping until he came to the music stations, scrolling further until he found some classic rock. He selected it, and the room filled with the lusty sounds of Prince. "Ah," Doren said. "That's better! Nothing like a good shot of Prince to start the day, hmm?"
    There was no smile on August's face when Doren looked up from the screen. He sighed heavily and set the cup down with a clunk. "Do you want me to leave? Because if you do, just fucking say so."
    August clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "No, of course not. I'm just trying to understand what's going on. Are you playing with me?"
    Doren shrugged and lifted his hands as if to prove he had no idea what August was talking about.
    "Fine," August deadpanned. "But let's make something perfectly clear. I have no intention of doing anything with you. I know you like men just as much as you like women. I know you're a great big star and you get whatever the hell you want, when you want it. I get that. But you're my boss and I work for you, so it's not going to happen. Regardless of the convenience of proximity. So if that's what you're over here looking for …"
    Doren stared, incredulous. What … the hell? What was August's problem? Was he determined to dislike working together? Or did August just have a hate on for him in general? Who did he think he was to question what Doren was doing or thinking or might be hoping to accomplish? Just because he'd shown a little common nicety that didn't mean he was trying to jump a piece of ass. And even if it did …
    Without another word Doren turned and headed for the door between their rooms. August's side was locked but he hadn't bothered with his. So he flipped the lock, opened the door, and speaking as coldly as possible over his shoulder, went through it. "Clean yourself up. Wear something presentable, but casual. We need to meet with Anton this afternoon at one. Bring your planner and bring something to write with. But lose the fucking attitude."
    He pulled the door hard and then kicked at the little trash bin beside the desk. It flew across the room, slamming hollowly against the wall. From behind him, he heard the cold click of August re-locking the door. Frustrated, Doren pushed his hair off his forehead and kneaded his temples. He was getting a headache. And he still needed sleep.
    He flung himself on the bed and stared at the locked door—in the exact same position, and no further ahead then he'd been six hours previously.
August
    He considered trying to get some more sleep but realized he'd probably feel worse if he did. Besides, if he was beating himself up this badly while up and roaming, he could only imagine how much he would torment himself while trying to relax into sleep.
    August could ask himself a million times why he'd said that and come up