The Intern: An MM Office Romance

by Akeroyd , Serena

  “No? Look at that girl, pretty one.” He clicked his fingers. “You know the one. American.”

  “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” Devlin ground out.

  “The one Prince Harry married. Look at them now, living in Alaska.”

  My eyes widened. “I doubt they’re living in Alaska. I think it’s California.”

  “Either bloody way, it isn’t England, is it?” Harold rumbled. “I suppose you know that when I pop my clogs and dance my way off this mortal coil—”

  “A day we’re all looking forward to,” Clarice said sweetly, and to which Harold ignored her.

  “—Devlin’s place will be here. In the UK.”

  My lips twisted into a smile. “I think that’s something I can handle. Especially if it’s London.”

  Clarice released a whispery sigh as she concurred, “This is the best city in the world, Micah. Far better than New York. Steam everywhere, you know. Not good for the hair or the skin.”

  Steam?

  I cut Devlin a look, but he just rolled his eyes and chewed on his steak like it was a piece of old leather.

  “No, it doesn’t sound good for the hair or the skin, Clarice.”

  She nodded. “London has its issues with air pollution, but God, I’d deal with it to be here.” She clapped her hands together. “So good to be home. His Highness over there insisted that we while away his last days in Cumbria of all places. Don’t get me wrong, Micah, it’s a beautiful area, but the last thing I want to see are sheep shagging.”

  I tensed and shot Devlin another glance. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  “Where did you see sheep shagging?” Harold grumbled. “The estate isn’t on a farm!”

  “I heard something fishy going on out there. I looked. Horrific sight. All that green—isn’t natural, I tell you,” she retorted, despite the fact there was nothing more natural than all that green she was talking about. “Then there was the tinkling.”

  Devlin heaved a sigh. “What tinkling, Mother?”

  “You know, from the cow bells.” Her brow puckered into a scowl. “It was like a timpani band or something.”

  “I was there just as long as you and I didn’t see a cow with a bell or a sheep fucking another sheep!”

  “Don’t sheep mate with rams?” I queried.

  “Don’t encourage them,” Devlin muttered grimly. “I think both of you need to learn what Wikipedia is.”

  “Ignore her, Devlin. It’s a beautiful place. Just beautiful.”

  “It’s frigid.”

  “Just like you,” Harold slipped in.

  “Only with you,” Clarice retorted, her smile as sweet as taffy.

  “Enough!” Devlin boomed all of a sudden, his hands slapping against the table as he surged to his feet. “I didn’t come home to listen to the pair of you bicker like I’m eight again. Jesus Christ.”

  “Don’t mind him, Micah,” Clarice soothed. “He always did have a temper.”

  “Only when I’m living with my parents again,” he snarled. “Kurt left for Surrey yesterday. I’m going to ask him if we can stay there, and if we can’t, we’ll be moving to Claridges!”

  The disappointment on both their faces was clear, as was the fact that bickering was as much a language to them as German was.

  “Funny business next door,” Harold said uneasily. “Five men and one woman—”

  “Lucky lady,” Clarice declared. “I like her. Sascha’s always been sweet whenever I’ve seen her. And that boy of theirs, so beautiful.”

  I grabbed Devlin’s hand and, squeezing his fingers, murmured, “It would be a shame to leave. I’m really enjoying getting to know your parents.”

  His eyes flared wide as he stared down at me, and I could literally hear him thinking, ‘What’s to enjoy?’ But truly, it wasn’t a lie.

  They were both so different than my own mother and father, neither of them having found much of an issue in the fact that I was a man—Harold’s primary problem was that I didn’t have ovaries, first, and that I was American, second. As for Clarice, she seemed to think I worked for Vogue or something, and had taken to wandering into a room with the magazine in hand and asking if I thought she’d suit an outfit.

  It was sweet.

  Even with missing ovaries, Harold hadn’t been cruel.

  And I knew cruel.

  Devlin, did he but know it, did he but realize it, was lucky.

  I didn’t want him to miss out on that, not when his folks were a lot older than mine, and when his father was so clearly sick. Harold had a wheelchair he refused to use, and instead of a walking stick, he propped himself up on a man called Hendry, who was a little like his PA, but more like his valet.

  Yes, he had a valet.

  No, it wasn’t 1900–just like Clarice had declared.

  But apparently sensing my earnestness, Devlin grumbled under his breath, “Then let’s just hope Kurt won’t mind us staying next door. I’m too old to be living with my parents.”

  “Never too old, son,” Harold said placidly, glowering at his water as if that would turn it into wine.

  “No, but,” Clarice inserted with a shudder, “I remember having to live with your parents. Dear God, you’re right, Devlin. Get out of here before we drive you mad.”

  I snorted. “That bad, were they?”

  “Oh, for certain. His father was obsessed with my periods. Honestly, he knew my cycle better than I did. And even after Devlin was born, he’d ask me the most intrusive questions.”

  Harold scowled. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Because, as per usual, you didn’t bloody listen,” she snapped.

  “None of his business if you’re bleeding,” he grumbled, then, he turned to Devlin. “You know, you’re lucky. You won’t have to deal with that.”

  “I thought it was an issue that Micah didn’t possess the appropriate equipment,” was Devlin’s snarled response.

  “Well, Hendry says there are ways and means nowadays. I told him to Google it.”

  “Jesus,” Devlin muttered, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a movement that came more and more frequently as the meal continued, until I felt sure that his thumbs were glued to it.

  By the time we made it upstairs, Devlin’s face was bright red and stormy with emotion, and I didn’t really blame him.

  Dinner time with his parents was hardly restful.

  “We can eat out tomorrow,” I told him the second the door was closed and he leaned against it like he was a soldier who’d just made it back from war.

  “We’d better,” he replied grimly, “or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  My lips twitched. “You did look a little handy with that knife.”

  “I usually get stabby around them both. I forgot how irritating they are when they’re together.”

  “You don’t usually see them as a pair?”

  “Before he got sick, Father rarely left the UK, and though Mother’s obsessed with London, she treated me to dazzling visits from time to time in New York.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s incorrigible, but one can deal with her when she’s on her own.”

  “One can, can one?” I mocked with a laugh. “The royal ‘one.’”

  “I told you to stop watching ‘The Crown,’” he muttered, dragging out his cellphone.

  “It’s addictive,” I countered.

  “I’ve met the Queen. Trust me, she isn’t that cheerful,” he grumbled, then, his eyes twinkled as he looked up at me. “Stick around and you’ll get to meet her when one of them gets married. There’s always an Astley at a royal wedding.”

  Mouth gaping, I muttered, “No way!”

  “Yes way. Unfortunately,” he grimaced. “Mother hates the damn things, so it’ll be down to me and you.”

  Like a real couple.

  Going to weddings.

  I knew he didn’t realize it, but that floored me. Totally. Floored. Me.

  Not the fact that it was a royal wedding which, I knew,
was absolutely crazy, but the way he said it. So blasé.

  We were that now.

  I mean, I’d known that. Truly, I had. But it just came as a shock.

  I was his plus one.

  A Viscount’s plus one, no less.

  And when Harold did dance off this mortal coil as he’d phrased it, Devlin would be a Duke.

  My eyes flared wide and for the first time, I understood why he could stare at me like I was Harry Styles.

  “What is it?” he asked, frowning at me over his cell.

  “Nothing,” I retorted, shaking my head as I moved over to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  “Kurt?” I heard him say from the bedroom. “Mate, please, can you help me? My parents moved down from Cumbria, and if I stay with them a moment longer, I’ll kill them. I just know it. Save your publisher, the man who’s paying for all your PR, and let me stay at your place?”

  I laughed a little around the toothbrush, amused at his plea because it was heartfelt.

  Devlin wouldn’t hurt a fly—well, I made no promises about Rhode, but she was less than a fly, wasn’t she? Flies had a proper place in the ecosystem. Rhode didn’t, so she didn’t count. But he truly sounded on the edge, and they’d only been home two days.

  What would happen when we’d been here two weeks?

  “You’re a lifesaver, Kurt!” Devlin boomed, making me wonder if he knew just how like his father he sounded. He looked like him too—now probably wasn’t the time to reveal that fact to him. “Seriously, patricide was going to be a real threat.” He laughed. “I really appreciate it. Thanks, Kurt.”

  As he made his farewell, he moved to the bathroom where he stood staring at me in the mirror.

  “I heard.”

  He rubbed his hands together after he dumped his cell in his pocket. “Life is normal next door. They have furniture that wasn’t stuffed with horse hair and a kitchen without an Aga.” He shuddered. “Let’s pack now.”

  I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Clarice! Where’s Hendry?” Harold boomed, sounding as if he was right outside our bedroom.

  His eyes were wild when they caught mine in the mirror. “No, I’m bloody not!”

  Thirty-Three

  Devlin

  “This seems stupid.”

  “You need to relax more. When was the last time you looked up at the sky and just stared at the clouds?”

  I frowned. “Is that a thing?”

  “Were you ever a kid, Devlin?” he queried dryly.

  “I don’t think so. Astleys are never children. We’re not allowed to be.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I’m not sure if you’re joking or not, but that’s really sad.”

  “It is sad,” I confirmed, “but, it’s the truth. We pop out fully grown, you know? At least, I think so. Mother’s told me several times I ruined her vagina.”

  He snorted out a laugh, then leaned up on his elbow to stare down at me. “Why is that something I can totally hear Clarice saying?”

  Wryly, I replied, “Because she’s told me it several times over the course of my life?”

  His nose crinkled. “Maybe you were fully grown?”

  “I think so too. Diapers are so undignified.”

  “I’m not sure they are when you’re a baby.”

  “Ah, but I wasn’t a baby. I was an Astley baby.” My lips twitched when he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what am I looking for?”

  “Shapes in the clouds.”

  I scowled past him to the unusually blue expanse overhead. There weren’t many clouds in the sky, but what was there were cotton-wool like concoctions.

  I doubted it would rain, but it was the end of a crappy English summer—the threat of rain was as constant as the threat of Hannibal Lecter being a cannibal.

  “Why?”

  “It’s relaxing.”

  Was it?

  Really?

  We were in the gated garden opposite the Crescent, after having gone for a run together. Now staying in Kurt’s home, I’d admit that my stress levels were down as I no longer had to interact with my parents constantly. That was enough for an Olympic marathon runner’s blood pressure to go on the blink.

  Not having lived with them both for a very long time, and now being an adult with choices, I was glad that Kurt had let us stay next door because Claridges was in the heart of the city and when I wasn’t sharing a roof with them, I quite liked popping in for tea with Mother in the afternoon, and discussing business with Father in his office before supper.

  Maybe I was getting maudlin, or maybe Micah really had given the Tin Man a heart, because spending time with them was a pleasure—so long as they weren’t together, and I could close two front doors between us at night.

  Grimacing at the thought, I let out a yawn.

  “It’s working,” Micah confirmed. “You’re relaxing.”

  “Am I?” I asked sleepily. “I think it’s more that you kept me out past three last night.”

  He laughed. “You’re getting old if that’s late.” His hand slipped over my belly. “Nothing about you is old, Devlin.”

  He certainly made me feel like I was twenty-two, even if the activities he was interested in were more fitting for a fifty-year-old.

  We hadn’t gone to any of the gay clubs that London was renowned for, even though I’d suggested it. He was young, hadn’t had much opportunity to explore that scene, but he wasn’t interested. It might have been because of Rhode or simply because it wasn’t his way—with his past, I had a feeling it was the latter.

  Instead, we’d gone to the West End several times, visited Buckingham Palace thanks to his new obsession with that Netflix show—and if ever I deserved a reward for the Most Patient Partner ever, it was for visiting that hive. We’d gone for several meals to spectacular restaurants, and had generally been enjoying ourselves.

  This, I thought with satisfaction, was dating.

  “Devlin?”

  “Pretend he’s not here,” I muttered to Micah, upon hearing my father’s call.

  He snorted. “He knows all.”

  “He will if you don’t shut up,” I grumbled.

  “I know you’re in the garden,” Father yelled. “I wish to speak with you.”

  Heaving a sigh, I muttered, “I only spoke to him an hour ago.”

  “Must be important then,” Micah said with a laugh as he jumped to his feet seeming to possess more energy than I had in my pinkie finger, and leaned down to haul me up.

  I’d never imagined that he’d take their side against mine, but for whatever God-awful reason, Micah liked them. Actually liked my parents.

  I was still flabbergasted by the prospect, but seeing Mother and him together, her peppering him for advice on this year’s Winter collection—she was nothing if not a cliché—and him being patient with her was actually pretty sweet. Last night, I’d seen him reading up on all this stuff so that he could advise her properly.

  I knew why—why wouldn’t he cling to her when his own mother hadn’t even called him since the Rhode situation?

  Mother wasn’t being kind to him because of that, but I’d told her the sordid details, and had watched as a militant gleam appeared in her eyes. The next thing I’d known, they were taking brunch together most days, and she’d even invited him to the greasy spoon she used as inspiration for her poems. Next, she’d be taking him to Ascot.

  Heaving a sigh now I was on my feet, I peered over the fence and saw Father leaning against the front door to Kurt’s place.

  “The whole point of moving there was to avoid him.”

  Micah just chuckled.

  Gaze clashing with Father, I scowled. “You could have waited,” I groused at him as I crossed the road and let him lean on me while Micah dashed to the front door and unlocked it.

  Heaving him up the stairs was a revelation of just how thin he was getting, but also, how out of breath such simple exercise weighed on him.

  The thought hurt, enough to rob me of my breath too, so I
didn’t chide him anymore, just guided him into the back room where there was a more comfortable lounge. Plunking him on the sofa, I turned around and saw Micah was in the doorway, two bottles in his hand that he tossed to me. He pointed upstairs, and I nodded, unsurprised that he was making himself scarce.

  I gave the water to Father, and cracked open the orange juice and took a deep sip as I plunked my ass on the coffee table to avoid dirtying the cream sofa.

  “What’s wrong, Father? Couldn’t it wait until later?”

  He grimaced. “I—”

  “What?”

  “I just got off the phone with Dr. Harvester.”

  Tension filled me. “Bad news?”

  His smile was dry. “It’s all bad at my age, Devlin. But in this instance, there was some light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Oh?” Hope filled me. “What is it?” I asked eagerly.

  “Do you think your mother really means it when she says she’s looking forward to me dying?”

  “Probably, you know her. Then, you’ll die and she’ll wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life.”

  Father heaved a sigh. “Well, that settles it, then. I can’t let her wear black just yet. You know it makes her look drawn. She wouldn’t like that. Your mother—” He wafted a hand. “—like a butterfly, you know. Never did suit black.”

  Though I was curious, I agreed, “No. She doesn’t. And she is like a butterfly.”

  His nose crinkled. “Never meant to hurt her.”

  “Why did you, then?”

  “Just in my nature,” he said with a grunt before he took a sip of water and squeezed the bottle so it crackled. “Then it derailed, and we were engaged in a thirty-year battle of tit for tat.” His eyes drifted to mine. “Harvester says there’s a radical therapy in the US. Costs a fortune, of course—”

  “What doesn’t when it’s radical?” I said ruefully.

  “True, true. Thirty percent chance it’ll work.” His already gaunt cheek was sucked in some more as he gnawed on it. “Not good odds.”

  “Better than the hundred percent chance of death now though, hmm?” I countered.

  He wagged the bottle at me. “True, dear boy, true.”

  “Plus there’s the issue of Mother having to wear black.”