by Kilby Blades
“The closet. Where do you think?”
Levi blinked again.
“You came out of the closet in sophomore year of college. You threw yourself a party, remember? Me and, like… three hundred other people were there.”
The hint of a dimple pierced through Adam’s expression, and his eyes took on a faraway look. Adam had spent an unspeakable sum of money renting out Splash for an entire weekend. The party had been on a Saturday night, but they’d needed a full twenty-four hours on each end to set up and take down the place.
“It looked like Twitter threw up in that club,” Levi murmured in recollection. As Adam rested the champagne bottle on his knee, he barked out a laugh. Adam had said that the party needed a mascot but that rainbows and unicorns would be too cliché. So he’d gone with bluebirds. His bright idea for a theme had been “gayer than the bluebird of happiness.”
It became clear by graduation that Adam wasn’t quite that gay, though there had been no half-assery when he’d thought he was. That was his nature—to decide on a course and to forge ahead tenaciously. To march to the beat of nobody’s drum but his own, even when he changed his mind. His coming-out-as-bi gesture didn’t involve nearly as much fanfare as the original party. But this was Adam, which meant that even his small gestures were big.
He’d changed his Facebook status to “in a relationship” and posted it with a photo—a selfie with his then-girlfriend. In the photo, she’d smiled and pressed her cheek to his. He’d smirked and given the camera the finger. The caption had read “So what, bitches?” He’d been dating whoever the hell he wanted ever since.
“Like you could’ve done better than the bluebird of happiness….” Adam was still laughing. Levi faced forward, with Adam on perpendicular seats.
Levi gave a sidelong glance. “Don’t flatter yourself. Sugar plum fairies was a much stronger theme.”
Adam leaned forward again and plucked two champagne flutes from where they hung upside down by their stems, settling them next to himself on the empty seat. He then returned his long fingers to work at the neck of the bottle. There had always been something perfect about Adam’s hands. Once—just once—Levi had photographed Adam’s left hand on a pillow as he’d slept. Tangled in sheets, he’d been all limbs, all splayed out and reaching, like something Michelangelo painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
“Look…,” Adam continued. “I know I came out ten years ago. I know that everyone who knows me knows. But what about all the people who don’t? It was irresponsible enough of me to handle it the way I did when I was a midlevel executive—”
Levi finished his sentence for him. “But you’re about to be CEO.”
Not the CEO of some obscure company either. Kerr Hospitality Group was the eighth-largest luxury hotel conglomerate in the world. Before his sudden death a year before, Adam’s father had been in charge. Ben Kerr had built his empire from the ground up and run it for forty years.
“Co-CEO,” Adam corrected, holding the cork firmly and twisting the bottle with the expertise of a sommelier. “Elle came to Tehran a few weeks ago. We had a long talk.”
Adam’s twin sister, Arielle, had inherited a king’s ransom, none of it in the form of company shares. Adam had not only been willed enough shares to make him the majority owner, the succession plan had been structured to ensure that Adam was named CEO. Never mind that Elle had outranked him for years.
“I thought you were holding off on making any decisions about the business.”
Best-friendship with Adam had taught Levi a fair bit about Jewish culture. In Adam’s tradition, children mourned for a year.
Adam worked the cork gently, pausing to let the air seep out. “Technically, yes, so we won’t announce for another few weeks, but we’re having the papers drawn up. I’m splitting my shares with her. We’re reorganizing the leadership team. We’ll be co-CEOs.”
“Wow, that’s….” Levi blew out a long breath. Because, shit—this was big news. “I’m pretty sure you just earned the permanent distinction of best brother in the world.”
“It’s gonna take three months and cost us a shit-ton in legal fees to reverse what my father did,” Adam said bitterly but kept his eyes on his pour, “…just because I was born thirteen minutes earlier and have a dick.”
“What’d your mom say?” Levi asked. Adam extended his hand, and Levi took the proffered glass.
A dark look came over Adam’s face. “My mom and I aren’t talking much right now.”
Persian families tended to be close—and, if not that, stuck together from a sense of duty. Adam not talking to his mother was odd. The last time Levi had seen Aryana Kerr had been at Adam’s father’s funeral. Adam had doted on his mother that day—every bit the dutiful son.
“What happened?”
“She resigned her position and has disappeared into the ether…. Word has it she’s seeing someone.”
“Huh.” Levi tutted. Aryana Kerr had been general manager of the New York flagship for twenty-five years. Levi hadn’t seen it coming that her husband’s death would prompt her to quit her job. But the “seeing someone” part made more sense. Ben Kerr hadn’t been particularly liked.
Finally finished pouring the champagne, Adam returned the bottle to its ice, shimmied back toward Levi, and raised his glass.
“To stepping Kerr Hospitality into the twenty-first century. To letting the women and queers be in charge,” Adam toasted.
“Fuck the heteronormative patriarchy,” Levi agreed, and they both drank.
Adam shimmied even closer, perching on the corner of the long bench. “So I have a favor to ask….”
“Ahhhh.” Levi smiled. “The favor. I thought you were going to ask me to be your best man.”
“Better than that.” Adam punctuated his words by nudging Levi’s knee. “I want you to be my personal photographer for all the press related to the big announcements. You know what it’s like, dealing with editorial. The interview angle always seems great, then, who knows what they’re going to print? Who knows what hideous outfit they’ll style you in or how the pictures will turn out?”
Levi did know. A litany of bad editorial choices could be made at any stage in the game. Theme, setting, and tone all had to be negotiated and reconciled among story editors, photographers, stylists, and set designers in the mix. This was why subjects with clout insisted upon using their own people. With too many creative cooks in the kitchen, it was smart to have someone on your side to influence things.
“You’re the hottest portrait photographer in the business, Lev,” Adam implored. Then he gave Levi the face—all pouty lips and brows furrowed above hopeful eyes. It was the face Adam always used to get Levi to go along with his crazy schemes. The face he’d used when he’d convinced Levi to go cliff jumping in the Hamptons in the tenth grade. The same face he’d used right before he’d gotten Levi to take acid with him in college. And, because Adam was Adam, he pulled off an impressively grown-up version of puppy-dog eyes, even at thirty-one.
“I’m not the hottest in the business,” Levi hedged.
Adam practically snorted. “Like hell you aren’t. Our new PR agency gave us a short list of photographers we should consider. Your name was right at the top.”
It had been three years since Levi got his break when a series he’d taken of a no-name rock band was suddenly everywhere when said band exploded. Soon, more rock bands wanted Levi to shoot them—big ones who got to decide which photographer they wanted to work with. By then half a dozen of his shots had appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone. And it wasn’t just rock stars. Levi was sought after by heads of state, culture icons, and powerful CEOs—CEOs exactly like Adam.
Shit.
“You know I don’t shoot my friends,” Levi reminded him.
“I know you’re a professional,” Adam countered, “and that whatever weird hang-up you have about that, you’d set aside for the right cause.”
Adam nudged Levi over until they sat side by side on the rear s
eat. Levi was sure he was about to see the face again. But something serious washed over Adam’s visage.
“This is important, Lev.” Adam’s baritone was deeper now. “I’m about to be CEO of a Fortune 1000 company. You know how many people on that list have come out as anything other than cis/het?”
Levi cringed, certain the number was paltry.
“Eight,” Adam said grimly. “Even after I come out as bi, that won’t even put us at 1 percent.”
Levi sighed.
“I have to do this, Lev. My father’s dead. It’s me and Elle’s company now. For ten fucking years he made sure I never showed up on Page Six with my arm around a guy. I’m not proud of not standing up to him.”
“It was complicated,” Levi cut in. “You never hid it. He just buried it. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
“Well… that’s debatable.” A rueful look crossed Adam’s face as he took a long gulp of champagne. He shook his head slightly as he stared past Levi’s shoulder, out the window. “Being in Iran for nine months….” He trailed off. “It changed everything. My dad twisted a lot of things. But he wasn’t exaggerating about how badly queer people are stigmatized. Do you know what life is like for queer kids in Iran?”
Adam blinked his gaze back to Levi, who shook his head.
“Trust me. You don’t want to.”
The rest of their conversation happened silently, as the important ones tended to do—each point conveyed and duly discussed.
I know you’re busy and this will fuck up your schedule.
You’re the only one I trust with this.
This is important, and you’ll do it right.
Levi read Adam’s mental telegraph loud and clear, just as Adam knew exactly how to read his:
Of course coming out like this is the right decision.
You’re right about needing an ally for editorial.
I know this is all tied up in grief about your dad.
“So when do we start?” Levi asked finally, smiling a little as he relented. So what if Adam’s charm never failed to work on him? Helping still felt good.
Adam’s brilliant eyes spoke gratitude a second before his lips did. “I knew I could count on you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Levi brushed off the comment with a chuckle. “But seriously… when do we start?”
Adam shrugged a bit too casually. “I was thinking Monday.”
Levi narrowed his eyes. Monday was three days away. Something about Adam’s suggestion was suspicious.
“My schedule’s a beast…,” Levi baited, looking for clues of what Adam knew.
“Hazel said you’re looking kind of light next week….” Innocent-voice-Adam shimmied back over to his original seat before reaching to grab more champagne.
“Did she, now?” Levi asked after an accusatory hum. “What else did my not-supposed-to-tell-anyone-my-availability assistant say?”
Adam pouted slightly on Hazel’s behalf. “Don’t blame Hazel. It’s not her fault I know she loves the jasmine lemonade and the ochazuke from Samovar. You know how persuasive I can be.”
How Adam had won over a woman he’d only spoken to from halfway across the globe was a testament to his power, indeed.
“Blame Hazel for what, exactly?” Levi pressed, trying to assess the full extent of Adam’s interference.
“For telling me she could move a few things around.”
“I can’t disappear to New York for days, Adam,” Levi pointed out in the practiced, even, talk-Adam-down-from-his-crazy-scheme voice he hadn’t used in months. “There’s stuff I need to do here.”
“No disappearance needed,” Adam assured him. “I arranged for all the press interviews to be done in San Francisco, at the Kerr.”
“And just how long will all these press interviews take?” Levi asked calmly, even as his ears got hot.
Adam shrugged again. “Not long. Just three weeks.”
Chapter Three: Not Helpful
“NOT helpful.”
Cy might not have heard Levi over the sound of his own laughter, obnoxious not only for its volume but for its length. His head was thrown back, and square to Levi’s vision was the piercing in Cy’s labret. Seconds earlier, Cy’s blue-green eyes had sparkled with mirth.
“You’re gonna bust her little eardrums if you don’t cut it out,” Levi groused before scanning the room for their waiter. He needed another Bloody Mary, like, now.
Cy sobered a little at the mention of his infant daughter. Erykah lay prone on his chest, asleep in her tiny harness. He was still chuckling through closed lips when his hand went to her back and he pressed a kiss to her hair.
For a new dad who shouldn’t have been getting much sleep, Cy was in suspiciously good spirits. Levi telling him about his predicament seemed to have made his day. Cy’s freckled face was alight, and that traitorous fucker was grinning.
“My girl could sleep through the Pride parade. Besides…” Cy looked around the crowded restaurant. “Babies like white noise.”
Benedict was one of the hottest brunch spots in the neighborhood, and because apparently nobody worked in this city, it was jam-packed on a Friday at 10:00 a.m. The roar was loud and there was a recognizable difference between those freshly awakened and those still out from the night before.
Levi himself had never been to Benedict this early, but he’d never had to call a meet-me-for-brunch emergency since he’d moved to San Francisco. Such brunches had been frequent when he and Cy had both lived in New York. As the only two members of their Manhattan crew who came from humble beginnings, they’d always come to one another to blow off steam about the excesses of über-rich Adam and their other well-to-do friends.
Nine times out of ten, it was Levi doing the blowing. Adam was infinitely lovable, but billionaires did not-normal things. Levi needed this—needed someone who understood their friend. Someone who could commiserate over whatever latest stunt Adam had pulled.
“Well, what did you expect?” Cy wanted to know. “You know what Adam’s like. Ask for forgiveness, not permission might as well be his motto.”
“Then why go through all the pomp and circumstance of waiting to ask me for the favor?” Levi challenged.
“That’s not how Adam’s brain works.” Cy shook his head. “He moves all the chess pieces in his mind and figures out how he’s gonna win the game. Once he decides, it’s a matter of getting everyone else into position. He’s figured out exactly how he wants his PR campaign to be run. Now he’s moving the pieces around.”
“Except nobody likes to be a pawn.” Levi didn’t say out loud that nine months apart from Adam meant that he hadn’t felt like one in a long time. What had Levi expected? He’d been naïve if he’d thought that moving to another city would make Levi immune to Adam pulling an Adam on him.
“More like his queen….” Cy trailed off with a smile.
Levi threw Cy a withering look. It said: Corny gay jokes? That’s where we’re going now?
“Uh-uh. Don’t give me that look,” Cy tutted. “If you didn’t see this coming, you should’ve.”
“Right.” Levi rolled his eyes. “I should’ve known he was gonna give half the company to Elle and come out as bi and turn it all into some huge media opportunity.”
“No….” Cy drew the word out. “You should’ve known that Adam doesn’t let any big thing happen to him without you right by his side.”
Whatever words Levi had been about to speak died on his tongue. He couldn’t even deny it. Hadn’t Levi himself been sure Adam meant to ask him to be his best man?
“What he knew inherently,” Cy continued, “was that you wouldn’t leave him hanging, not for something this important, and probably not for anything else. Because he’s him and you’re you and the two of you are codependent as fuck.”
A petulant scowl took over Levi’s face at the same time the waiter took his empty drink. For a second he glanced up and nodded yes to ordering another. When he set his eyes back on Cy, Levi shook his head. “You used
to give much better advice.”
“No. I used to give New York advice. That place only thinks with its head. I’ve evolved to think with my heart.”
“Correction,” Levi countered. “You’ve evolved to be one of those people who brews his own kombucha and uses organic GMO-free coconut fiber dental floss.”
“Deflect all you want, Lee.” Cy paused to kiss the top of Erykah’s head. “There’s no shame in trading IQ for EQ.”
The waiter chose that moment to arrive with Levi’s Bloody Mary. Still grumpy, Levi managed not to scowl as he made eye contact and added to his food order.
“Can I get an order of chilaquiles to go, please? Extra baked, with fresh minced jalapeños sprinkled on top. Also, a hard-poached classic Benedict with double Canadian bacon and a little smoked paprika sprinkled over the hollandaise.”
The waiter raised an eyebrow.
“Not for me. For my friend,” Levi clarified before turning his attention back to Cy, who was doing that obnoxious knowing smile thing. Again.
“Don’t give me that look. You know how he eats when he’s jet-lagged.”
Cy shrugged, too innocently. “What? I didn’t say anything. Besides, it’s a beautiful thing. Two friends knowing one another as well as you two do. Him knowing everything about your calendar. You knowing everything about his breakfast. It’s sweet.”
Cy stroked the still-sleeping Erykah’s hair and kissed her forehead again. It was a little hypnotic. There were few things sweeter than watching a baby sleep.
“And if you had even a little EQ,” Cy continued, not finished with his lecture, “you’d have seen it coming a mile away. Even Adam didn’t sound surprised when he told me.”
Levi frowned, midsip on water that didn’t taste nearly as good as spicy tomato juice and vodka. When the hell had Adam told Cy?
“I didn’t know you talked to him much when he was in Iran,” Levi fished. “Did he call you for a good shoulder cry?”
Cy practically snorted, which did rouse Erykah for an irritable minute before she settled back onto her father’s chest. “He didn’t even mention her ’til I asked how she was. I can’t believe it lasted as long as it did.”
