by H L Day
The phone fell silent and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Who was it?"
I shot her a glare guaranteed to freeze even the bravest interrogator in their tracks. She popped her gum and pulled a face.
I sighed. "Don't you have work to do?" I gestured toward the pile of envelopes on the nearby table waiting to be distributed to the right departments in the building.
She made a great show out of examining her nails. "Nah! Not really. Nothing that can't wait until I've finished my coffee anyway." She smiled sweetly. "How about you? Or is phone-watching a new task we've been assigned? If so, I can probably get on board with that." She pulled her own phone out. At least I assumed it was a phone. It was hard to tell beneath the garish pink sequined decorations it was festooned with. She placed it on the desk, leaned closer, and peered at it. "See! I'm good at it."
I scooped a pen off the desk and lobbed it in her direction. She ducked, easily avoiding it, and laughed. "Paul Davenport, you need to get yourself a boyfriend."
Crossing my arms, I sat back in the chair and stared at her. It was difficult to keep up with the way her brain seemed to flit from one thing to another. After two weeks of working together, we were in that state of limbo where it wasn't clear whether we were going to be best buddies or mortal enemies. Right now, I was veering toward the latter. What's more, I hadn't told her I was gay. I narrowed my eyes. "What makes you think I'm gay?"
She shot an incredulous look my way. "Oh please, you're so gay. You dress well..."
Well, I had to give her that one. "...you have great hair..." I stroked a hand through my tousled chestnut waves. "...great eyebrows. There's no way a straight man would put that much work into his eyebrows, and..."
I was beginning to revise my earlier opinion of her. I could already envisage the evenings spent together in our newfound friendship. We'd eat pizza while she showered me with compliments. Then I'd do her nails and we'd talk about men. I'd never done nails but it was just painting, right? I'd painted a wall before and they were huge. Nails were tiny, so therefore it stood to reason they'd be much easier. Hanging out with my new gal pal would make a refreshing change from spending time with Dominic, who was about to find himself relegated to backup friend, rather than best friend, due to the fact that Gabrielle had said more nice things to me in the space of one minute than he ever had in all the time I'd known him. "And what?"
"Russell told me you were gay about five seconds after I started working here."
Of course he had. Russell traded information like other people traded greetings. No doubt if I asked him, he'd already be able to tell me everything about Gabrielle from her shoe-size to her address. "But you meant it, right? About the clothes, and the hair, and the eyebrows?"
Her bright-red lipstick-covered lips curled up into a smile. "You betcha I did. I also meant it when I said you needed to get laid."
Great. First it was Russell pointing out my lack of dates. Now she was. "I get laid! I got laid only last..." I did a quick bit of mental arithmetic in my head, the results of which made me consider joining a monastery. It was way too long ago. At least three months by my calculation, which for an attractive single gay guy in his late twenties was pathetic. It seemed they were both right. Although, Russell didn't really count. He was a virgin. No way was I going to take relationship advice from a virgin. "...well, you don't need to know the exact date."
She nodded sagely, as if I'd just confirmed her worst fears. "Your cock will drop off if you don't use it."
My gaze immediately dropped to my crotch as if I was about to witness said organ detach itself from my body and slither down my trouser leg to make its own way in the world, where it could do something productive. "I don't think there's any science to back up your theory." I dragged my eyes away from my own lap and reached for my bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink.
"My boyfriend and I have started experimenting with puppy play."
I choked, spitting water all over the desk in front of me. I stared at her, aghast at both the topic change and the comment. "I don't want to know about your twisted heterosexual kinks."
She tilted her head, winding a lock of her long blonde hair around one finger. "Don't you?"
I considered it. I had a hard time picturing the fresh-faced girl in front of me involved in any sort of kinky sex play. "Well, maybe a bit. I mean, I have questions, like who... what... does it—"
My phone started ringing again. I glanced down. Same number. "Fuck!"
"Who is it?"
I glanced up at Gabrielle, who was asking the same question I'd refused to answer minutes earlier. Only, we'd bonded since then, right? We'd discussed hair and eyebrows, cocks, and puppy play. It was amazing how much you could squeeze in when you weren't wasting too much time on work-based tasks. "My dad. I'm going to have to answer it."
I swiped the phone off the desk and headed for the corridor where I was likely to get a little more privacy, only answering it once I'd rounded the corner. "Hey, Dad."
My father, never one for idle chit-chat at the best of times, didn't waste time on a greeting. "I called you earlier. You didn't answer."
I grimaced. I'd hoped he wouldn't call back. But I should have known better. It wasn't as if we indulged in father/son small talk, so he only called when he wanted something. "I was busy. I'm at work."
He made a familiar sound of disgust in his throat before launching into his rant. I could have recited the words along with him. It was the same speech every single time. "You call that work? Hanging about with envelopes all day. Doing work that a trained monkey could do. It's about time you stopped messing about and did some proper work. I can understand why unskilled workers take jobs like that when they have no other choice. But, you. You have a family firm that you should be working for. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be for you to command respect, even with the family name behind you."
I could have kicked myself for giving him the opening so early in our conversation. But then, he would have gotten around to it eventually so maybe it was better to get it out of the way. My dad had never understood why I'd taken a simple blue-collar position instead of joining the family insurance firm. For some reason, he and the rest of the family couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that I didn't want to toil from dawn till midnight and give up everything else in my life for the sake of money. Even years after my initial refusal to take a job designed as a stepping-stone to working my way up through the company, he still didn't get it. I was beginning to suspect he never would. "Not going to happen, Dad."
"Your brother..."
I rolled my eyes and stopped listening. My younger brother was the perfect son, whereas I was the black sheep of the family. Everything that didn't interest me, he'd grabbed with both hands. At the time, I'd been relieved, figuring that with one son firmly entrenched in the company, they'd back off. But, oh no, they weren't content with that. They wanted their oldest son working right next to them too. I cut him off. I had better things to do than listen to him extoll my brother's virtues. "Did you just call to tell me how much of a disappointment I am, or was there another reason?"
My father sighed. "As you know, it's the firm's anniversary next month. We'll be having a party as usual. I wanted to make sure you'll be there."
I screwed my eyes up and shook my head. Party wasn't the right word for it. It was a huge, lavish affair that probably cost more than I earned in a month. And the only reason my father expected me to be there was for the sake of appearances. It wasn't like we'd exchange more than two words during the evening. My father was usually too busy networking. But if I wasn't there, people would ask questions. So every year I was subjected to the same charade. I'd force myself to go along. I'd spend the whole evening fielding questions about why I wasn't working for the family business, as if it were some sort of personal insult to my father, and then I'd stand in a corner on my own and get steadily drunker until it reached an hour late enough for me to be able to leave with
out it being deemed disrespectful.
I dug down deep inside myself and tried to muster the courage to say no, to say that I'd forgotten what date it was held on and I had other plans. Except, I couldn't think of one single excuse that would last longer than five seconds before my father pulled it to pieces. Short of a life-threatening medical emergency, nothing was going to be deemed acceptable. I shook my head, the familiar feeling of dread already beginning to take hold. "Of course, I'll be there."
"Good. I'll see you there. Oh, and, Paul, don't bring anyone unsuitable."
"Unsuitable? What would—"
But he'd already hung up. I laughed. As if I'd ever dream of dragging anyone that I liked along to a Davenport family party. That would be a surefire way to get dumped. By the time they'd been subjected to a long, boring evening of polite chit-chat, business speak, and fine wines, they'd run away so fast I wouldn't see anything but their dust.
"You look like someone just died."
I turned to find Russell, his long gangly frame encased in a suit that seemed at least two sizes too big. He followed my gaze. "Yeah, I know. It doesn't fit right.” He pulled at the sleeve of the jacket as if it would make it smaller, not bigger. "But it was the only one I could find at short notice that wasn't made from man-made fibers."
"Man-made fibers?"
His blue eyes blinked at me. Sometimes he reminded me of a newborn deer still trying to find its feet. It was no wonder people told him everything when he came across as so damn innocent and sweet. One glimpse of that face and you wanted to spill all your secrets. "I'm allergic to them. I think... anyway. I broke out in hives and I did some research on the internet, and someone else was saying how they changed all the fabrics they were wearing and it helped."
Russell was one hundred percent neurotic. Either that or a hypochondriac. I was never quite sure of the correct definition for him. Or maybe it was a bit of both. The best policy was usually to agree with him or change the subject. "Were you looking for me?"
He nodded. "Have you heard the latest? You probably have. Because he's your friend."
"Who?"
"Dominic."
"What about him?"
Russell raised his eyebrows. I recognized that expression. It was his “I know something you don't know” look. "Didn't you notice his absence at the super early Christmas party last night?"
I had, but I hadn't thought much of it. Dominic was notoriously antisocial at the best of times. If he'd found a way to get out of it, then more power to him. Besides, our friendship had been a bit fractious lately. Apparently, it was out of order to point out that your friend was suddenly very buddy-buddy with the CEO of the company, who he'd always professed to hate. I'd put up with weeks of Dominic whining about how weird Tristan Maxwell was, and how he couldn't wait to get back to his old position in the firm, only to witness a very interesting dynamic between them. Perhaps I'd gone a bit far by accusing Dom of having a crush on Tristan. But he did seem to have a huge blind spot when it came to the boss. Dom hadn't even noticed he was being manipulated. He was usually much smarter than that. Besides, nobody would blame Dominic if he did have a crush. Tristan might be straight and engaged, but he was gorgeous. Anyone with eyes, forced to work closely with him, would probably feel the same. "So what?"
Russell leaned forward conspiratorially. "He was there. Briefly. But he left. Because Adam was kissing someone else."
I shrugged. It wasn't a big deal. Dom might have been dating Adam for a few weeks but he wasn't particularly into him. He'd probably be relieved at the excuse to dump him. "Is that it?" Russell was grasping at straws if this was the best gossip he could come up with.
Russell shook his head, unperturbed at my insipid response. "You must have noticed there was no speech this year?"
I had, but hadn't thought much of it. Tristan was entitled to take a year off. "So? He was probably too busy letting his hair down and forgot."
"Except, he didn't give it, because he wasn't there. Do you know why he wasn't there?"
I sighed loudly and pointedly checked my watch. Russell was great at sharing gossip, but he was a huge drama queen and liked to release it piece by slow piece. "Spit it out, Russ, for God's sake. I've got to get back to work."
Russell leaned closer, his words delivered as if they were state secrets. "He left with Dominic and he never came back. He rescued him from the whole awkward Adam situation, but then where did he go?"
"Home, probably. Where do you think?" Except the cogs were already starting to turn in my head, and adding two and two together was giving me a number considerably higher than four.
Russell gave an expansive shrug. "Just saying, it was weird and people are talking. That's all. Just keeping you informed."
For the next few minutes, he filled me in on everything else he knew, which included the name of the guy Adam had been kissing and every single snippet of gossip that had been discussed anywhere in the building in the one hour since people had started work, including who'd said what stupid thing after drinking too much the previous night.
Conversation finally at an end, I waited until Russell was out of sight before making a U-turn and going in search of my friend. I found him at his desk, his blond hair rumpled as if he'd spent most of the morning running his fingers through it and shadows underneath his eyes like he hadn't slept much. Curiouser and curiouser. I halted in front of him, gesturing at the adjoining office door where Tristan usually worked and lowering my voice to a whisper. "Is he in there?"
Dominic lifted his head and stared at me blankly for a moment before shaking his head. "I really wish he was."
Definitely acting weird. Not to mention the fact that the floor was littered with crumpled pieces of paper. Dominic was usually fastidious about his working environment so it was definitely out of character. I spent the next few minutes delicately trying to get to the bottom of whatever events had transpired the previous evening, and what, if anything, Tristan had to do with it. Dom was a tough nut to crack, though, using every diversion tactic under the sun, including an apparent fascination in a pen that really shouldn't have held that much interest, even to the biggest pen enthusiast. He became even more evasive as we discussed the lift home Tristan had given him as part of his white knight role and what he'd done after that, which meant he hadn't returned to the party.
Running out of patience, I snatched the pen out of his hand, forcing him to have to look at me. I watched in fascination as he slowly turned red. He was beginning to rival Russell in the blushing department, only Dom didn't normally blush. "What did you do?"
"What do you mean? What did I do? I didn’t do...” His words trailed off, his expression about as guilty as I'd ever seen from him.
My crazy theory was beginning to seem less crazy by the second. Had Dom thrown himself at Tristan? He'd gone ballistic, though, when I'd accused him of having a crush on the man, so I needed to step carefully. Only, my curiosity was a wriggling worm in my guts desperate to be heard. And if he did stop talking to me, it would only be for a short while. I couldn't hold the pertinent question back any longer. “Did you try and seduce him?”
Dom's eyes went wide. "Of course I bloody didn’t! I’m not insane.” He took a shaky breath. “It was all him. He’s the seducer. He’s...”
I sat back, staring at my friend as if he was an alien. He picked the pen up again, tapping it on the table. “Can I talk to you after work? This is, you know, not really the best place. But I do need to talk to somebody.”
I nodded at him, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my strait-laced friend had been doing whatever the hell he'd been doing with an engaged, straight man who was also his boss. My boss as well. “Do you... erm... want to come to the mailroom?”
Dom shot me a look as if I was a complete imbecile. “Yes, Paul, the office where anybody could walk in is a really bad place to discuss it, but the mailroom where even more people might walk in would be so much better.”
He had a point. It hadn't been on
e of my better suggestions. But then, what did he expect after the shock of what I'd just found out? “Yeah, of course. Where do you want to go?”
Dom shrugged. “How about the bar down the road? Six o’clock?”
Great. The exact place I'd been avoiding for the past week. I wanted to say no, that I'd rather remove my own eyeballs with a rusty spoon than set foot in the same place as the oblivious barman who'd fucked my ex and now gave every impression of wanting to add me to that same list. Except, I hadn't mentioned my run-in with him to Dom and now didn't seem like the right time to bring it up. I was just going to have to suck it up and think of my friend rather than myself. "Sure."
When I eventually got back to the mailroom, Gabrielle didn't appear to have moved an inch, the pile of undelivered mail still sitting exactly where it had been when I left. I sat down and exhaled loudly, her head slowly turning toward me. I smiled. "So, where were we? Tell me about the puppy play."
Chapter Three
"YOU'RE BACK!" THE BARTENDER's green eyes sparkled. No, not sparkled. Sparkling would insinuate they were doing something attractive. And I couldn't allow myself to think that way. I needed to remember him buck-naked getting fucked by my ex. Except then I was thinking about him without any clothes on and recalling the fact I'd seen his cock. Only briefly and through the red haze of an intense rage, but I'd still seen it. Hard. His hand wrapped around it as he'd stroked it. A throb of arousal caused my own member to push insistently against the zipper of my trousers, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to let my gaze drop to his crotch.
I gripped on to the edge of the bar, fluctuating between the need to say something witty or scathing. Perhaps I could manage both. It wasn't usually a problem. After all, I had years of struggling to outdo Dominic to fall back on. And he was usually Mr. Scathing.
"Yeah, I'm back." That was it. That's what I'd come up with. My powerful rebuttal of all the flirtatious body language currently being presented to me over the bar. Great. Well, that was him told. Not surprisingly, he didn't run crying into the back room.
