by Daryl Banner
His story is moving. It may even have a deeper impact on me, realizing that the head of the dream company I aspired to work for is sharing this sweet and intimate tale with me of him and his wife.
But it wasn’t that photo that caught my eye.
Mr. Wales notices. “Ah, yes.” He places the pic of him and his wife back on the desk, then turns the other one toward me fully—and every little bit of doubt in my heart is obliterated at once. “Our son,” he says, pride sparkling in his eyes.
I swallow hard, staring at that photo for a long, pensive moment.
“Alan,” I finally let myself say.
“Yep,” he affirms with a proud smile. “I can’t take all the credit, of course. He’s the best parts of me and the best parts of Liu. I mean … sure, he and I have our differences, too. He’s so like me in other ways, too; we butt heads. But he’s my pride.”
He seems to gloss over the fact that I knew his son’s name already. Perhaps I did my research. Or I heard about him from another intern. Or maybe Irving just presumes everyone knows everything about the Wales family. Maybe my eyes did skip over his son’s name in a few articles, never quite letting it stick to memory.
Regardless, here I am, dumbstruck yet again by something that’s been hiding in plain sight.
How did I not know? And why didn’t Alan tell me whose son he is? He knew where I interned. He knew who my boss was.
I caught him leaving this building, that evening we went on our very first date. I never asked him again why he was here, shrugging it off.
Maybe he didn’t want me to know who he is.
“Listen, Connor.” Mr. Wales takes a breath. “I know you have your reasons. Brenda keeps her eyes and ears open. She knows some of the interns are treating you differently.” He lifts an eyebrow. “It’s because they know you have something of true value to offer this company. You didn’t grow up with the means they did. You worked hard for what you have—and it is because of that fact that I wanted you here on my team.”
I meet his eyes finally.
Even now, I see Alan in them, completely.
“I want you to take the rest of the day to make up your mind, Connor,” he tells me kindly. “I will respect whatever decision you make, whether it is to stay in my program or to go your separate way.”
He rises from his desk and extends a hand. I rise as well, take his hand, and give it a firm shake.
He leans in and adds, “Not to add any pressure, but I sure hope you choose to stay, because I read your article on developing neighborhoods, Mayville in particular, and let me say, I would’ve published that article today.” He lowers his voice and adds, “Fuck the abundance of adjectives; I like how you write.”
I crack a smile—a genuine one. “Thanks, sir. I mean …” I smirk and stiffen my back. “Irving.”
He smiles back. We still haven’t let go hands. “You may not know this, but my son’s gay. And I think a spotlight from our publication on the center of the gay community in this city is … exactly what Wales Weekly needs. I’m not interested in a fiction we could spin just to get the clicks, and the reads, and the numbers. Not anymore. I want the truth, Connor. I want to publish only the truth. I want to see the truth. I want to feel it on every page we print, on every broadcast we promote, embedded into every headline we feature. The truth,” he says, giving my hand one more shake. “That’s what will build and fuel the future of Wales Weekly.”
I give him a nod. My hand is going numb. “I appreciate your kind words.”
“Take the rest of the day, Connor, give it some thought … and realize I am not a man who blows smoke, and know I meant every word I said … and finally …” He lets go of my hand at last. “I hope you make the right choice,” he finishes with a wink.
20
When I leave Mr. Wales’ office, I feel like I’m weightless. I might float straight into the ozone if someone opens a window.
My day just flipped over with a handshake.
And my boyfriend is the big man’s son.
Boyfriend. Maybe that’s premature to say. He did send me a disconcerting text just before I left, a text I still haven’t replied to.
Feeling beads of sweat on my forehead, I slip into the bathroom on my way to the elevator and dab my face with a wad of paper towels. I give the neck of my tie a tug, unsure how to proceed. Do I keep my internship? Do I decline his offer? Do I reply to Alan’s text and ask him what the hell’s up?
The bathroom door swings open.
Jay steps inside.
“Seriously,” I tell him, peeling my eyes off of the mirror, “we have got to stop running into each other in bathrooms. It’s just plain creepy.”
“What was in my coffee?” he asks.
His voice is strangely soft. I’m pretty sure if I tell him the truth, he’s going to sue me for a fairly serious crime of drugging someone, press charges, and destroy me completely.
And even that thought doesn’t stop it from coming right out of my lips. “Viagra.”
Jay’s eyes narrow. “Viagra,” he repeats, as if he doesn’t believe a bit of it.
I face him. “So you can imagine how my lovely afternoon was like. It worked, by the way,” I add, giving my tie another tug. “The pill. I didn’t hear the end of it from my roommate, who couldn’t stop looking at my erection.”
His mouth twists in an odd way. For a second, I can’t tell if he means to scowl, smirk, or laugh. His eyes squint so deeply, they’re almost gone.
Then he says: “That’s pretty fucked up.”
“Yes, it was,” I agree.
He snorts. “If I was you, I would have drugged my coffee to make me shit my brains out.”
I turn and stare at him in shock.
Jay shrugs, crosses his arms, then leans against the wall. “Just saying. It would’ve been a stronger fuck-you. Viagra? Really? That’s so high school. We’re in the real world now.”
I’ll have to tell Lex later that his first idea might have been the better one. Even our victim agrees. “Or maybe you’re just wishing I spent the whole afternoon glued to a toilet instead of poking holes in my shorts.”
Jay snorts with one cold laugh. Then he eyes me sharply. “You aren’t really quitting, right?”
I glance back at the mirror. “Haven’t decided.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
I quirk an eyebrow his way. “Why?”
“Why??” he spits back incredulously. “You’re my biggest competition, that’s why. The others? They’re filler. You’ve got actual ideas—and an eye that beats the senior editors who already work here and make six figures. You’re the one they’re most likely to hire when our internship ends.”
I consider Jay for a moment, wondering where this turnaround came from. Has he felt like this all along? Or is this some kind of softer side coming out that he lets no one see? “They could very well hire us both,” I point out. “We won’t know until the end of the summer … if I stay.”
“If you stay.” He takes a step forward, putting himself in my face. “And you’d better fucking stay. Because I won’t accept a job at this place by default. I want to win it.”
A new fire swells inside me, a fire much like the one I had before I even stepped foot on the plane departing Kansas, except brighter, sharper.
“You like me,” I decide, smirking.
Jay’s face contorts. “Excuse me, coffee bitch?”
“You like me,” I say again, grinning now.
He runs through about twelve different replies, stopping himself each time. Then he scowls, pouts for half a second, and at last says, “I like a healthy competition, alright? And if you choose to stay … I promise I’ll behave. No more coffee runs. No more cruelty. I will die of fucking boredom if you leave.”
I give it a moment’s thought. Then I smile at him and say, “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for my decision, just like Irving has to. Yes,” I say, answering a question he didn’t ask, “we’re on a first-name bas
is now. Maybe you should try almost-quitting, too,” I cheerily tease him, then make my way for the door.
“I swear, Connor,” Jay mutters to my back, “I don’t know if you’re an idiot, or a fucking genius.”
I glance back at him over a shoulder, and the settled, cool-mannered look on Jay’s face tells me he more than likes me. I’d daresay he admires me, even if in some fucked up, slightly unhealthy way. I did point out to Bree on my first day that there was more to Jay, a reason he was the way he was, and I always try to see the good in people.
I’m still not totally sure it’s there, but I give Jay a smile anyway, nod at him for a farewell, then make my way to the elevator.
In the lobby, I find a familiar face seated on a bench by the entrance. Upon seeing me, he’s on his feet at once, and a million nerves run past his eyes.
I come up to him. “Got your text,” I state.
Alan’s face is flushed, as if he raced to get here. “I, uh …” He sighs and shakes his head. “I needed to tell you something. I’ve been wanting to. I even tried to once or twice, but …”
Ah. So that’s what he wanted to talk about.
“I already know.”
His eyes flash with surprise. “He told you?”
“Photo on his desk.” I smile. “Your mother Liu is beautiful, and your father is smitten, even twenty-five years later. I’d say, I think your mother is one very lucky lady.”
“Well, so am I, if you aren’t pissed at me.”
I could stare into his eyes for hours. What is it about this guy that so easily hypnotizes me? It’s more than his sexy features, or cute smile, or his clean and intelligent demeanor, or the way he is so attentive to me.
There is something deeper about Alan I can’t even put into words.
“I’m a little pissed at you,” I tell him.
His face glosses over. “You are?”
I lift my fingers and pinch them. “This much.”
Alan smirks, realizing I’m toying with him. He decides to play along with me, stuffing his hands shyly into his pockets—which does wonders for his toned biceps—then sweetly glancing up at me. “Well, is there something I can do to make it up to you?”
I come right up to him and place my hands on his hips. “You could let me call you my boyfriend.”
His eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead.
Uh, okay, maybe that was too soon.
“I mean, I know it’s only been a couple weeks,” I quickly point out. “And maybe I’m … moving a bit fast. But isn’t that how things are done here? I just want to learn.” I pull him against me, bringing our faces close. “You gotta teach me.”
Alan bites his lip, his bright eyes dropping to my mouth. A sinister glint is in them as he smirks. “I think I might be ready to teach a country boy some tricks.” The playfulness vanishes. “Are you sure you’re okay with the fact that I concealed who I was? I mean, I really came here prepared to be chewed out, or have you never want to speak to me again, or—”
I interrupt him with a kiss. That kiss refreshes every dead, exhausted, or discouraged cell in my entire body. I feel alive, inspired, and detonating with elation in my throbbing, lovesick heart.
Then I pull away. “You know, ever since I got off that plane, I’ve been trying not to drop my G’s. My Kansas twang kept sneaking out anyway, but I was determined as ever for people not to see me as just a country boy who’s in over his head, moving here to start a new life.” I smile at him. “I think I get why you kept your little factoid from me.”
“Wasn’t so little a factoid,” he points out.
“You already planted the seed the first time you kissed me, remember? You said you liked how I talked to you … like you weren’t ‘some spoiled rich prick’, I believe you said.”
“I said that? Oh, right.” He nods, remembering it all. “Yeah, I did.”
“Well, I don’t see you as a spoiled rich nothin’. And …” I smile as I gaze into his eyes. “I like who I see. I like who you are.”
Alan’s face warms at once from my words. I love how easily I can affect him with what I say. “You know, Connor, the second I realized it,” Alan tells me, a sentimental look in his eyes, “the insane coincidence that you, the hottie I ran into at the airport by total chance, happened to also be one of my father’s handpicked interns …? I just knew the fates were playing some kind of sick game on me. I mean, what are the odds of that? It’s like … It’s like winning the fucking lottery. And I won it with you, Connor. I couldn’t risk losing this just because of who I am. I can’t help whose son I am. I was so scared you’d hold it against me.”
I press my forehead to his. “The only dang thing I want to hold against you … is me.”
Alan’s eyes burst with happiness. “Nothing’s stopping you now, Kansas boy.”
With that, I press my lips to his, and ignite once again the bombs within me I can’t get enough of. It may be too early to tell—and I have had a bad habit in the past of jumping the gun with these sorts of things—but I think whatever is going on between us is the start of something big, something incredible, something I would easily give up a thousand top-level internships for.
And he’s right here in my arms, and my lips are held hostage by our kiss—and I sure do hope he’s planning to let me call him my boyfriend.
[ CONNOR’S EPILOGUE ]
Two weeks have passed.
Connor and the boys are having quite a time at Aubergines.
Of course, Connor also happens to be on-the-clock, but not for much longer. That’s a good thing too, since Alan is growing impatient—and not to mention horny—at the sight of Connor running around in his tight purple bootie shorts.
EPILOGUE
Mr. Wales was right. Time does fly, and before you even bother to check the date, it’s two weeks later, that cute guy you ran into at the airport is your boyfriend, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be one of those gross couples who do one-month anniversaries complete with gifts and fancy dinner reservations.
It doesn’t bother me. I’m so insanely happy, I’d celebrate an anniversary every day if he wanted to. Alan fills a part of my heart I didn’t know was empty.
I pass tray after tray of shots to the cheering men, making my tips as I go—which happen to be more generous tonight than usual—and now and then searching for my big table of friends near the front. I always seem to catch Alan’s eye, and he’ll give me this devilish look I know has everything to do with my scanty Aubergines outfit.
It’s apparently checking all his boxes.
He’s got a lot buried in that head of his, and I love the patient one-piece-at-a-time discovery game of finding it all out. I’m learning he loves seeing me dance. I also found out just last week that, of all colors, his favorite one is purple, so there’s that.
And last night, when he invited me over to his place to spend a romantic night, he “accidentally” let slip the L-word.
I pretended not to notice and blushed.
He changed the subject very quickly.
I’m not worried; I know Alan will say it again someday when it’s time, and we can both pretend it’s the first.
After Zak finishes his routine—this one in a suit and tie, perhaps unknowingly borrowing an “office theme” from yours truly—it’s time for me to head off, and the relief on Alan’s face is palpable.
After quickly changing to something far more comfortable, I walk with Alan, Brett, Lex, and Omar back to Piazza Place, where we all hang out in our apartment on the fifth until late into the night, making each other laugh and sharing stories about all the craziness at the club. Alan and I stay snuggled at the end of the couch, unable to keep our hands off each other, which both Lex and Brett are quick to point out and tease us for.
“Think Dante’s still awake?” asks Lex during a lull in conversation, putting a finger to his lips.
“Why don’t you go downstairs and find out?” teases Omar, flipping through channels on the TV.
Lex rolls his e
yes. “Are you really going to use that joke every time I bring up the love of my life?”
Funny story: Brett had already given me quite an eye-opening experience with Dante the other day. We had both gotten off of work around the same time, and he handed me an envelope that he stuffed away in his bedroom. “Can you run this down to Dante’s basement apartment?” he asked me. “I, uh, kinda forgot to get it to him yesterday and swore I’d have it to him by the end of today.”
I took that envelope and quickly realized it was the rent. Holding that envelope sent my mind on a very long journey, from the first terrifying day of my internship when I learned I wasn’t being paid, to the day I got hired at Aubergines, and beyond. I had thought my life here wasn’t going to last.
Holding that envelope full of our rent carried more meaning to me than I could possibly express in any number of words.
“Are you gonna stand there and squeeze that envelope for an hour?” Brett teased me, snapping me out of my daze. “It ain’t gonna jizz all over you if you hold it long enough, y’know.”
I made my way down the five flights to the door of the basement apartment, inside of which I had never been. When I knocked, there wasn’t an answer. Figuring it wouldn’t be wise to leave this envelope full of money on his doorstep, I decided—against all logic—to give the doorknob a test turn.
And it opened.
I stuck my head inside. “Dante?” I called out, curious. Already, my eyes were drinking in the vast and impressive size of his basement apartment. It was the size of an entire floor, with a very open-concept approach—a total bachelor pad that had to be the envy of everyone living above it. Surely Brett had dreamed of hosting one of his parties down here. Maybe someday … “Dante? You home? I have our rent!” I kept calling out, daring to take another step or two inside. “Dante?”
That’s when I turned the corner and saw it.
A dungeon. A full and complete dungeon. My eyes were filled with a wall of leather toys, whips, cuffs, and floggers. I saw a harness hanging from the ceiling. I saw a giant table with cuffs for wrists and ankles. I saw a cage. Two of them.
