His Heart's Revenge (49th Floor Novels)

by Jenny Holiday

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about Paris?” David said, straightening.

  “Were you in Paris?” How long had it been since he’d seen David? He couldn’t quite remember.

  David looked at him quizzically. “No. But they’re booking now for Fashion Week in June.”

  The sentence was delivered in such a way that Alexander surmised he had been told about this before. So he said, “Right. And? How’d you do?” Alexander appreciated clothing in the sense that it was powerful. It sent messages. You could use it to communicate things to people. To be crude about it, clothes could make money. So he dressed very carefully. He was well acquainted with the personal shopper at Holt Renfrew, a woman with impeccable taste who understood the messages he was trying to communicate and steered him accordingly. And though he understood in theory the notion of haute couture as an art form, he had a hard time keeping on top of David’s high-fashion adventures.

  “I booked one show.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “One is not good. Dior isn’t having me back this year, nor is Saint Laurent. The only thing I’m booked for is Rick Owens.”

  Alexander popped the cork on the wine and poured David a glass. Now they would have to talk about the fashion industry for a while. Even though he didn’t really do long-term boyfriends, he did try to make sure he was actually friends with guys he slept with on an ongoing basis. And sometimes that meant listening to shit you didn’t care about. Sighing, he poured himself a generous glass and took a large swallow before asking. “Who is Rick Owens?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Twenty-six happened. I’m getting too old. I am too old.”

  “Well, it’s modeling. You had to know you were going to age out at some point.” He was being unnecessarily gruff. What David wanted right now was a sympathetic ear. He understood that, he just…didn’t want to be that ear. Which made him an asshole, he realized, but this was why he’d given David the “we’re not going to be boyfriends” speech at their second hook up—and why he’d been so pleased when David had whole-heartedly agreed with him.

  “I guess there will always be catalogue work.” David struck an intentionally exaggerated pose. “LL Bean is full of gray-haired dudes putting up tents.” Huffing a self-deprecating laugh, he dished up a plate of food and slid it across the island to Alexander.

  “Or you could do something else.”

  “What? What else could I do, Alexander?”

  Alexander looked up at David’s uncharacteristically sharp tone. He searched his mind for a suggestion. But he didn’t know. Had no idea, really, what David might do, what skills and interests he might be able to leverage into a new career. “I guess you’re lucky in that you don’t need to work.” David was rich. Not as rich as Alexander, but he was comfortable enough. He was smart about money. Not in the way Cary Bell was smart about money, but unlike many who came into riches in their youth, David didn’t live beyond his means, had socked away quite the nest egg, and had benefited from some strategic advice from Alexander.

  “Right,” said David, obviously giving up on waiting for Alexander to answer him. “Let’s eat. I’m sorry I’m being pissy.”

  “No worries,” Alexander said, glad to be done with the conversation.

  David came around to Alexander’s side of the island and rubbed the back of Alexander’s neck. “Whoa. Your neck and shoulders are like rocks.” He increased the pressure. “Bad day?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What happened?”

  Cary Bell happened. He thought of the smell of Cary, of the mint-mixed-with-coffee that had filled his senses when he’d leaned over to speak into Cary’s ear at the awards dinner, or, more accurately, when he’d leaned over to threaten Cary Bell. Alexander shook off David’s hands. “Let’s just eat.”

  “We could.” Undaunted, David put his mouth on the back of Alexander’s neck where his fingers had just been. “Or we could fuck first. Or if you insist on eating dinner, we could multitask.”

  David started to fall to his knees, but Alexander put out a hand to prevent his descent. He planted a quick, dry peck on his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m horrible company tonight.” His earlier fantasy of a dark, silent room exerted itself again, stronger this time. “Can I take a rain check? I really just want to eat and go to sleep.”

  David blinked. Probably because Alexander wasn’t in the habit of refusing sex. “Sure.” He picked up his plate and walked over to the informal den at the back of the kitchen. “I’m going to check on the game, then, if you don’t mind.”

  Alexander did mind. That had been David’s cue to leave. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to be enough a jerk to actually kick him out. He watched David settle in at his sofa, click on the TV, and pull up a saved customized channel list called “David” that he’d created in order to drill down into the specific channels he liked. He looked very much at home.

  All right. Alexander officially had a problem.

  His phone rang. Sara. God. Would this day never end?

  “What is it?” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

  “I just came from drinks with Edwina Campbell.”

  “And?” Alexander took a deep drink of his wine, trying to think if he was supposed to know Edwina Campbell.

  “She’s on the board of Biodentics.” Alexander set down his drink. Biodentics was a Toronto-based startup that Don Liu had purchased a year or so ago, probably in anticipation of his move to town.

  “She had dinner at the Lius’ new place last night, and she reports that Liu’s daughter Linda said her father was surprisingly impressed with Cary Bell.” Sara paused for a moment before continuing. “Those were her words—surprisingly impressed.”

  “God damn it.”

  David looked over from the sofa.

  “What do we do now?” Sara asked.

  We fight dirty, that’s what we do. We wait for Johan to work his magic. “Nothing,” he said. “We keep doing what we’re doing, taking every opportunity to demonstrate to Liu that we’re the best place for him.”

  “I have some new numbers I was going to run past you for the next meeting with Liu. You want me to email them over now?”

  “No. Send them tomorrow.” Alexander was exhausted, and it was only Monday. “Right now I am going to bed.” He hung up and glanced at David, who was still looking at him instead of his basketball game. “To sleep,” Alexander clarified.

  …

  Cary should have been working. Word had gotten out that he’d met with Liu, and that alone had brought a bunch of new clients to his door. And speaking of the billionaire, he needed to do a shitload more prep in order to get a package of requested information to Liu.

  So why, then, was he at Edward’s? Or, more to the point, why had he come here every night since the Women in Finance gala? He was smart enough to know he couldn’t drink his anxieties away. But he had to get out of his head, and nothing was working.

  It was one thing to threaten war with Alex Evangelista, another to actually be in a war with Alex Evangelista. Cary had no clue what he was supposed to be doing. He hadn’t seen his nemesis since the Women in Finance awards gala a week ago. He could only assume that as one of the other people wooing Liu, Alex had another meeting with the billionaire coming up, too. But short of making himself as ready as possible for his, what could Cary do?

  Nothing.

  So why the hell was he so worked up?

  “Hey.”

  It was Marcus, and he was, uncharacteristically, alone. Cary forced himself from his thoughts of Alex and moved his briefcase so his cousin could sit at the stool next to him.

  “What’s up?”

  Cary shrugged because it was impossible to answer that question in a way that made sense.

  “You get that Liu account?”

  Cary appreciated that Marcus was rooting for him, but he so didn’t want to talk about it. “Don’t know yet. He says he’s going to take his
time making a decision. His son is still in Hong Kong wrapping up the head office function of one of their bigger companies, and his daughter is doing some set up here. He’s going to wait until he’s back, and the three of them will decide together.”

  “So you wait,” said Marcus.

  “I keep trying to impress him, but essentially, yeah.”

  “So what’s got your undies in a bunch then if not Liu?”

  “I’ll have you know that my undies are smooth as all get-out.” Cary tried to muster a smile. Marcus had always been like a big brother to him. Their mothers were cousins, and they were both only children, so they’d been close growing up. They’d drifted apart in recent years, since Marcus left the family fold to start his ad agency, estranging himself from his father—Cary’s uncle and former boss—in the process. But when Cary had followed in his footsteps and severed his own ties to the Rosemann patriarch and the family’s eponymous company, Marcus stepped right up to fill the big brother role again.

  “Well, you could have fooled me,” Marcus said. “You’re sitting here looking like you’ve got a perma-wedgie, dude.” The bartender arrived, and Marcus ordered a beer for himself and another Manhattan for Cary. When the bartender departed, he turned, grinning. “Ah, wait! Is it man trouble?”

  Cary sighed. Marcus and Cary used to be on the same page about these things. Neither of them really did relationships. Well, Cary tried, but they never stuck, and Marcus lived for the chase. So the result was they were often both on the prowl. It had brought them together, in fact. When they were younger, Marcus had, like everyone else, assumed Cary was straight. But after Cary came out—after that last summer at Camp Blue—Marcus, who was in college by then, hadn’t blinked an eye. He’d gotten none of the “but you’re so athletic” protests from his cousin that he’d had from other members of their family. In fact, Marcus, who was not yet estranged from his father at that point, had smoothed things over with the clan and had invited Cary to crash at his crappy student apartment any time he needed to. And then he and Marcus had picked up right where they left off. That Cary was officially chasing men and not women at that point never mattered to Marcus. And that meant the world to Cary. But they weren’t a demonstrative family, so he showed his appreciation by doing what he always did, giving Marcus shit like the little brother role he filled required him to.

  But things had changed lately. Marcus had met Rose. It wasn’t like she had changed his personality or anything, but his cousin’s days of casual hook ups were done. He was happy—in love—which was pretty damn remarkable if you knew Marcus from before.

  Suddenly, Cary didn’t feel like playing the annoying little brother, didn’t want to answer Marcus’s jests in kind. The truth was bumping up against the jokes he always had at the ready, and for once, he couldn’t bring himself to quash it. It was getting too big, as the truth had a way of doing. “I made a mistake,” he ventured.

  “What else is new?” But then, swiveling to look at Cary, Marcus must have realized that he was serious. “What’s going on?”

  “I know we don’t really talk about shit.” Cary said, backpedaling. It was too weird, to be doing this with Marcus. To be doing this with anyone. What had he been thinking? That they were going to hold hands and sing “Kumbaya?” That wasn’t Marcus. That wasn’t him. He hadn’t even done that at camp.

  “Yeah, and not talking has worked really well for our family, hasn’t it?”

  Cary shrugged. Even though he started it, he was suddenly afraid that if he talked about it, Marcus would somehow have the power to force him to deal with it. He picked up his cocktail and took a long drink, letting the whiskey that was its base burn down his throat.

  “Anyway, we talk. Have you forgotten you’re the one who talked sense into me that day I was prepared to throw away everything with Rose?”

  “Nah. You would have come to your senses eventually. I just gave you a little shove.”

  “You left Rosemann Investments when my father tried pull that stunt and break up Rose and me. You left your career for me.”

  Okay, apparently they were really doing this. Cary looked up from his drink and met his cousin’s eye. “No. I did it for me. You were just the catalyst.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “Still. It meant everything.”

  Cary rolled his eyes. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now, dude.”

  Marcus grinned, and they sat side by side in silence for a few moments before his cousin finally said, “So what about this mistake?”

  Apparently he wasn’t being let off the hook. But that’s what he’d wanted, wasn’t it, when he started this stupid conversation? “It was a long time ago, but it’s back to bite me in the ass now.” He didn’t bother saying that it had never really left. That it never strayed far from his consciousness, as much as he tried to forget, as much as he tried to tell himself that Alex had forgotten. “It happened at camp.”

  “Camp? You mean that summer camp you used to be so obsessed with?”

  “Yeah. You know Alexander Evangelista?”

  “I do. We did some TV spots for Dominion a few years back.” He trailed off. “Wait. Alexander Evangelista is gay, right?”

  Cary nodded. “And he went to Camp Blue Lake, too.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows were going to hit the ceiling if they went any higher. “You and Alexander Evangelista got together at summer camp?” He snickered. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It’s too funny. Everyone thought you were straight, and you were hooking up with the future CEO of Dominion Bank.”

  “We didn’t hook up,” Cary said, inexplicably defensive. “We just kissed. He was kind of a nerd. The other guys picked on him. I defended him, to a certain point, until…I didn’t.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I made out with him, and then I threw him under the bus when the other guys started to suspect he was gay, that’s what it means. I humiliated him. Then I never spoke to him again—until now.” Cary raked his fingernails across his scalp in frustration. He always felt like he was talking about someone other than himself when he thought about that summer. He didn’t feel like the kind of guy who would do something like that. But the bitter truth was that he had done it knowingly. Because he was too much of a chickenshit to risk anyone finding out the truth. He hadn’t been brave and self-possessed like Alex.

  He swallowed hard so he could keep going, because now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop until it was all out. “He left early because of me.”

  “Didn’t you come out of the closet that summer after camp?”

  Marcus was surprisingly good at putting the pieces together. “Yeah.” Cary sighed. He and Marcus had never talked about anything related to Cary’s coming out, or being gay at all. Because Marcus had just fallen in line with the acceptance, it had never come up. “I felt like such a complete asshole the rest of the summer there…without him. I was scared shitless to tell everyone, but after having hidden all summer, when I came home, suddenly, I just…”

  “Couldn’t hide it anymore.”

  Cary nodded, embarrassed that he sounded like he was still fifteen. Normally, he never let this kind of emotional melodrama get to him. “If I’d had any balls at all, I would have owned what happened. I would have come out at camp that summer. But instead I just waited until I got home, and I never went back to camp.”

  “You were a kid. You made a mistake.” When Cary didn’t respond—he didn’t know how to respond to such sympathy from his cousin—Marcus clapped him on the back. “Have you seen Alexander Evangelista lately? He’s the poster boy for rich and successful. He’s in the financial pages with his business triumphs and in the society pages because he’s dating a supermodel or some shit. If it makes you feel any better, he probably doesn’t even remember what happened.”

  “Oh, he remembers.”

  “So apologize, if it’s really eating at you that much.”

  “I can’t.” Cary downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. “He’s
also competing for Don Liu.”

  Marcus whistled. “Ah, I see. The plot thickens.”

  “Yeah,” Cary said.

  “But still. Just talk to him. Clear the air on the personal stuff.”

  “I can’t. He, uh, declared war on me.”

  Marcus looked confused. “And what did you say?”

  Cary let his head fall forward and hit the bar with a soft thud. “I declared war on him right back.”

  Chapter Seven

  Camp Blue Lake

  Cary could tell that Alex was awake. He wasn’t making any noise. If anything, it was the lack of noise from the bunk below that gave him away. Alex was normally a restless sleeper, sighing and turning over frequently. Cary lay there as the minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Every now and then, he hit the button to light up the travel alarm clock he had in bed with him to check the barely moving time.

  Finally, some movement from below, and a glance at the clock confirmed that it was nearly two. He sat up in bed, drawing Alex’s attention. He shook his head and laid a finger against his lips, though it was probably too dark for his bunkmate to see either gesture. He stayed sitting up in his bed until Alex had left the cabin, reasoning that if Alex’s departure, though it had been utterly silent, had awakened anyone, he’d give them a minute to fall back asleep before he followed. The bunk belonging to Brad, the counselor who slept in their cabin, was empty, but they still had to be careful.

  Alex was waiting for him at the fork in the trail system where one branch split off toward the lake. As soon as Alex spied him, he took off down one of the trail’s branches, and Cary had to jog to catch up. He should just walk behind Alex like a normal person instead of doing his usual thing where he crowded his friend. The dark would make it extra hard to walk side by side. But as he approached, Alex moved aside automatically, making room for him. As if it was their thing. It was a good thing it was dark because Cary’s cheeks heated with pleasure. They didn’t speak, just walked, the crunching of the gravel the only sound and the beam of Alex’s flashlight the only thing Cary could see in the dark, dark night.