The Boss

by J. Calamy

“It wouldn’t be right,” Nick said. “I’m just nobody.”

  “Nelson Graves is rarely constrained by what is considered right, cheri. The opinions of others don’t register,” Jeanne said. Nick decided to tell her. Maybe Jeanne, who knew him so well…

  “He kissed me,” he blurted. She stopped in her tracks.

  “Did he really? And are you—were you—comment on dit?—Was it okay?”

  “Yeah, I mean”—Nic felt the blush creeping up his neck—“it was more than okay. I guess it showed me some things about myself I didn’t know.”

  “That is good,” Jeanne said.

  “But then we didn’t part on good terms, and so I guess it didn’t mean anything,” Nick added. “And I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jeanne said, she hooked his arm in hers and started them walking again. “He can be difficult.”

  “At least I know I can kiss a man,” Nick sighed. “For whatever that was worth.”

  “Well don’t tell Roger Yeung,” Jeanne said. “He’s been mooning over you for weeks.”

  “What?”

  “Oh yes, he would ask you to dinner in a heartbeat if you showed the slightest interest.”

  “Roger? Our Roger?”

  “You’ve been around those Kiwis,” Jeanne laughed. “Yes, our Roger. And he is here today. I am going to ask him to do the food for us.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she groaned when she read the message.

  “I must go,” she said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Go talk to Roger. At the very least, the two of you can talk food for the New Year’s party.”

  *

  Walking through the entry of the yacht’s main deck, Jeanne could hear the sounds of a heated argument above. As she climbed the stairs, the voices resolved themselves into Graves, Russ, and two men she didn’t know but immediately guessed were doctors.

  Graves was in his usual argument mode—his voice in a low snarl, leaning forward, putting all his bulk behind his words. His accent became even more English when he was angry, if that was even possible. Jeanne reflected that if he realized how much he sounded like his foster father in these moments he would probably stop cold. Something to consider… Jeanne hated this version of Graves. He was so used to getting his own way—so used to having everyone jump when he said toad. It made her angry with him all over again.

  “Excuse me?” she said, breaking in. She gave Graves the hardest look in her arsenal—arched brow and all. She knew what she was doing, Graves immediately changed his posture, crossing his arms and snapping his mouth closed.

  “That’s better,” Jeanne said. “Now, what is it you need from me, Graves darling? I’m very busy.” The other men sensed their chance and took it. Their lack of intimidation was admirable.

  “I am Dr. George Simpson, and this is my colleague Dr. Emanuel Gomez,” the taller doctor said. “Lord Graves needs to have surgery—”

  “Surgery of a very delicate nature,” Gomez cut in.

  “And he is refusing to go to the hospital to have the operation done,” Simpson finished.

  “Of bloody course, I am refusing to go to the hospital,” Graves said. “Are you mad? You knew bloody well I would never have agreed to that.”

  “We cannot do this surgery on a damn boat, sir!” Simpson shouted. Jeanne admired the man’s courage. She could count on one hand the people who shouted at Graves. And three are here in this room now. Remember, that isn’t a coincidence.

  “Graves,” Jeanne said calmly. “Surely you can’t expect them to operate on you here?”

  “Why not?” Graves snarled. “It’s a trifling piece of shrapnel! Just cut me open, fish it out, and sew me closed again. My God, what is so complicated about that?”

  “Well, if you were already a doctor, you should have told us,” Gomez barked. “I wasn’t aware that you taught yourself surgery alongside the piano!”

  Graves drew himself up, his face darkening. He was getting ready to lay it out, the fool.

  “Graves, darling, why did you call me here?” Jeanne snapped. She kept her voice calm, but he knew her well enough and clamped his mouth shut on whatever he had been ready to say. He rolled his shoulders and glared at his feet, shifting like a truant schoolboy.

  “I was hoping you could explain to these—” He gestured angrily at the two doctors. “—gentlemen, the reality of the situation. And also…” He hesitated but she waited him out. Give him all the rope he needs.

  “Also because you are skilled at solving problems like this.” He made it sound like he was conceding an entire nation-state but she appreciated the sentiment, however ham-fisted the delivery.

  “Well, then,” she said, “let’s not waste my time.”

  “My dear doctors,” Jeanne said, turning to Simpson and Gomez. “I am afraid that Lord Graves simply cannot check into a hospital, especially in Singapore. Legally, he is a stateless person, and so would not be admitted in any case.” The doctors shared a startled glance. Clearly, this was something they didn’t know. Graves looked smug.

  “Graves,” she said before the man got too happy with himself. “You are being incredibly rude. You should trust your doctors to know what the hell they are talking about.” She turned back to the doctors.

  “Gentleman, if Lord Graves is going to make these demands on you, then you have the right to make counter-demands. Please provide his quartermaster with a complete list of whatever you would need to make a surgical suite that would serve your needs—including any staffing requirements.”

  Everyone looked unhappy, but Jeanne simply took that as a sign that her job was done. She turned and went back down to the main deck. A steward was waiting for her with a glass of cold white wine on a tray. He winked and Jeanne thanked him. Damn right.

  After a few minutes, Graves joined her out on the deck with his own glass, mumbling that he had apologized to everyone and that Gomez and Simpson were sitting with Russ now with a table of food and drinks and a pile of tablets and notebooks.

  “They seem quite happy about it,” he said sullenly. “God knows what this will cost me.”

  “Oh? Are you in financial difficulties?” Jeanne said with an arched brow. Graves shook his head and pulled her in for a hug. They had switched to French.

  “Why are you so cross with me?” Graves asked. Jeanne shook her head. She didn’t want to get into it now.

  “I am cross with you because of Nicholas,” she said. “You are making a terrible mistake, you know.”

  “I readily admit I make mistakes, ma cher, but this isn’t one of them. Stay for dinner?”

  “I must return to my gallery planning. You are welcome to come. Nicholas is there,” she said. He flinched.

  “No,” he said. “Better I stay here, see what these doctors plan for me.”

  “You must do what you think is best,” Jeanne said. While you avoid him and behave like a child, he is going to tumble straight into Roger’s lap. And then what will you do? Idiot.

  *

  “Roger!”

  “Hi, Nick,” Roger said, his face lighting up as Nick came around the table toward him. Roger was in a flawless white suit with a black T-shirt underneath. And he was clearly genuinely happy to see him. Nick had to admit, as ego boosts went—it was a powerful one.

  “I like your jacket,” Roger said. “It’s Hugo Boss?”

  “Maybe?” Nick said, looking down. He was in a blue sports coat over jeans and a T-shirt. But as usual, Jeanne had more say in what he wore than he did. Which suited him fine.

  “I hear you are doing the food for this event,” Nick asked.

  “I am!” Roger said. “I have to say, as working vacations go, this one has been incredibly successful. My vlog is over twenty thousand followers now!”

  “That’s great,” Nick said. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but Roger seemed happy. And when Roger was happy, he smiled, and when Roger smiled, the whole room glowed. Classically handsome, he had high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He wouldn’t have l
ooked out of place modeling one of the designers he so loved.

  “That reminds me,” Roger said. “There is a new restaurant I want to check out. It is absolutely the most exclusive thing. Would you be—”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” Nick said. He realized how absurd that was. They had just arrived and were working all day.

  “I mean. I want to go. With you. Out. But tomorrow I think.”

  You sound like an idiot. Do you want to ask him out? Ask him out!

  “Are you asking me out?” Roger said. Nick watched as a blush creeped up over Roger’s cheeks.

  “Would you say yes if I did?” Nick asked.

  “God, yes!”

  “Then, yeah. I mean, I’ve never asked a man on a date. I’m sorry, that sounds so stupid,” Nick covered his eyes with one hand, trying to recover. “I don’t know how to ask.”

  “Can I take you out to dinner?” Roger asked.

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Yes, same as for a woman. Not that I would know,” Now it was Roger’s turn to smack his forehead.

  “Sorry. That was… How about tomorrow at eight?”

  “Yeah. That sounds great. You and me, going to check out new food? That sounds incredible actually.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  They made awkward and slightly panicky small talk before practically running off to their respective groups. Jeanne laughed loud and long when Nick told her. She immediately texted Ellen Yeung, to Nick’s consternation.

  “Oh stop!” she said. “Ellen and I were at school together. She will be delighted. Even if you are a foreigner.”

  Jesus. I have a date. A date. I haven’t been on a date in three years. And it’s a guy?

  An image of Graves playing the piano at Leon’s intruded, but he shoved it away. That wasn’t a date. None of it was. It was just…a game. Just messing around. This is different. This is going to be different.

  *

  “Did you say American food?” Nick said, leaning over to see down the line to the restaurant. They had reached the restaurant to find a line wrapping around the block. Roger wasn’t daunted.

  “I did,” Roger said. He seemed incredibly pleased with himself. Nick blinked in confusion.

  “Wait. What does Singapore think American food is?”

  “We’ll find out,” Roger said. “Ah, here is my contact.”

  A harried-looking man came up to them and led them forward in a torrent of laughing Singlish. The restaurant was all pale woods and chrome, laminate tables that were vaguely 1950s but still modern. It was packed, but they had a perfect table, right by the window. Nick saw Roger slip something to his contact.

  “Oh, my God,” Nick said, looking at the menu. Roger leaned forward.

  “Tell me you’re impressed,” he said.

  “I am impressed,” Nick said. “This is amazing. I can’t believe it.”

  A burger. A real, honest to God, 100 percent angus burger, with bright orange mac and cheese and a basket of fried pickles, hot and thin, crunchy and salty and perfect. A milkshake so thick it passed the spoon test easily. Nick shook his head when it was all laid out in front of them. He swallowed; it was like being home again.

  “Man, you are angling for that second date,” Nick said, his voice rough. Roger raised his beer.

  “I am,” he said.

  They ate in near silence, Nick so caught up with the food he kept rolling his eyes and kicking Roger under the table. Roger couldn’t stop laughing. Once Nick had cleared about half his plate, he collected himself. He was touched. Roger had clearly gone out of his way to find something specifically to make Nick happy.

  “This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in ages,” Nick said. “Except maybe Jeanne and Graves rescuing me from a trip home.”

  “Jeanne and who?”

  Nick waved it off.

  “Nobody. How did you even find this place?”

  “I may only be some pencil pusher at Energen,” Roger said. “But when it comes to food, I know everyone. I’d bribe the president of Singapore to get into the right restaurants.”

  “What’s a right restaurant?” Nick asked.

  “To see and be seen,” Roger said with a laugh. “I didn’t buy these shoes to wear to church, baby.”

  “Oh,” Nick laughed. Nick hadn’t noticed Roger’s shoes but thought it would be rude to say so. He was glad Jeanne had told him to dress up. She warned him Roger was, as she called it, brand obsessed.

  After dinner they strolled along Orchard Road, admiring the Christmas displays. It was breathtaking, like nothing Nick had seen. The upscale stores tried to outdo one another, and the whole way was lit with twinkling lights and filled with art displays. Snow was pouring from blowers above Tanglin Mall. Nick couldn’t hide his amazement.

  “Do you like it?” Roger said.

  “I can’t believe it!” Nick said. “This is real snow!” He grabbed Roger around the waist and lifted him up in a wild hug.

  I’m on a date. A date with a man. I’m a completely different person.

  *

  “Jeanne, what time are you and Nick done with work today?” Graves said, holding the phone against his shoulder, poring over the map of Hong Kong on his desk.

  “We’re stopping early and going to the Christmas village,” Jeanne said.

  “I’ll join you. I’d like to get ten minutes alone with him. Try to patch things up.”

  “I doubt you’ll get your ten minutes. He has a date.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Nicholas has a date. Roger Yeung. I don’t think you know him.”

  Graves didn’t say the ten things that crowded into his mind at once. He had enough sense to realize that Jeanne was merely waiting for an excuse to shout at him some more about his behavior and frankly, he wasn’t interested in hearing about it. He texted Tony to come up.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Do you?” Jeanne asked, clearly angry with him.

  “Maybe not, but I can take a hint,” Graves said. “Is this your doing?”

  “Only tangentially. His mother and I are friends. Roger works for Energen but he is a food blogger out of Hong Kong. He and Nick are working out the menu for New Year’s. They are working as a team. Their debut, if you will.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do. Roger took Nick to dinner last week and apparently it was everything one could hope for a first date. They have been together ever since.”

  “Was it now?” Graves forced his fist to uncurl.

  Graves handed Tony a slip of paper:

  Roger Yeung, Hong Kong, find out everything.

  “So that is that then?” he said.

  “Roger is only in town for another week,” Jeanne said. “So no—that is not that. But it has been good for Nicholas to see…well.”

  “To see what?”

  “What dating a man is, to decide if it is even something he would want. To be with someone ordinary.”

  “Bloody hell, Jeanne.” Graves said. “You’re not messing about are you?”

  “Will we see you at the Palladium? Or are you going to sulk?

  “Why wouldn’t I go? Lord Graves has to be seen. Out and about. In the public eye and all.” The intensity of his bitterness surprised him.

  “Listen, you brought this on yourself,” she said.

  “Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  He hung up and sat staring at his phone for a moment. Jealousy was not a familiar emotion. He was used to getting what he wanted and not especially wanting what he couldn’t get. But the idea that Nick was going to the Li gala at the Palladium on the arm of another man? Graves stared out the window, trying to compose himself. His mind was warring between anger at himself and the kind of furious jealousy that almost took his breath.

  Thought you were keeping your hand on the tiller, old boy? You had your chance and didn’t take it. Who cares who the boy fucks?

  B
ut if a chance to toss Roger Yeung’s lifeless corpse into the bay were to suddenly appear, Graves didn’t think he could stop himself. Only the deepest respect for Jeanne and Nick, both, kept him from going and kicking the man’s hotel door in. He could tell himself whatever lies he wanted—he was miserable. Nicholas Erickson had snuck in under all of Nelson Graves’s careful walls. No. No he did not. This is not happening. I cannot—

  His phone beeped and he saw Tony’s write-up. The photo was enough to make Graves have to put the phone down before he smashed it. Roger Yeung was ridiculously handsome, someone Graves would certainly have pursued himself. Thirty-two, CFO of an energy company. Impeccable pedigree, Cambridge, two years in the US managing an energy fund… Damn it. He is perfect.

  “Boss?” It was Tony again. He was biting his lip. “Is this part of the plan?”

  “No, darling,” Graves said. “It’s not.” He rubbed his eyes.

  “I have the blueprints if you—”

  “Not now, Tony. Have the Bugatti brought around. I’m going for a drive.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The waiting was the worst part.

  “Tell me again why I’m not there in person?” Graves barked, pacing back and forth behind his desk. The horsemen didn’t even bother answering. They had said it a dozen times already. Said it while they planned, said it when they were setting the pieces in motion, said it with every new decision. That didn’t stop Joe though.

  “You cannot waltz into the most surveilled city in the world and lead an op!” he snapped. He was chewing his thumb nail, as worried as the rest of them. “Louis Tang, Mac, the Chinese—it would be a toss-up as to who would get to you first.”

  “You mind your tone, Joe,” Graves said. But he had to acknowledge Stinton was right. Singapore was a risk, but it was their turf. The op in Timor had been a warning. This was the show of force. And Graves was not used to having force happen without him. It felt wrong. It felt like cowardice. It felt—

  “Four minutes,” Tony said softly. He had three screens in front of him, two with street views from CCTV cameras and one with code scrolling as he typed.

  “Where is he?” Graves said, leaning forward. “Shouldn’t we see him by now? Christ, this is why I should be there.”