Dirty Games

by Barbara Elsborg

  Tears rolled down Owen’s cheeks. “I love him.”

  Linton felt a pang of something strike his chest and didn’t want to think too hard about what that might be.

  “I do,” Owen choked out. “I can’t stop loving him.”

  You have a strange fucking way of showing it. “What do you love about him?”

  “The way he makes me feel.” Owen heaved a sigh. “Made me feel. I was so happy and proud to be with him, to walk alongside him, stand next to him, to have his hands on me. He made me feel as if I was worth something, that I was as special and important as him.”

  Christ. “Loving someone isn’t just about how they make you feel.”

  “What would you know about love?” Owen snarled.

  “I know love isn’t just about how someone making you happy.”

  “I wanted to make him happy. I did make him happy.” There was a defensive edge to Owen’s voice.

  “So you made him happy when you trampled over his idea of getting married on a beach? When he wanted a quiet wedding with just the two of you and you wanted hundreds of guests? When you wanted to see your wedding on the front page of a celebrity magazine?”

  Owen gaped at him. “He told you that? I would have done anything for him. If he’d wanted to get married on a beach, I’d have done that.”

  “You didn’t listen to him. You loved a different guy to the one I’ve seen. You fell in love with the idea of being the partner of a film star, a guy who could make your PR company the hottest one around, a guy who could take you to the most expensive hotels, buy the best champagne, fly you to New York. You fell in love with the life you thought he offered.”

  “And now so have you.” Owen was sullen now. “And it was more than his money. I’m not that shallow. I have plenty anyway.”

  “I don’t want to go to expensive hotels and drink a thousand quid a bottle champagne.”

  “But you want him,” Owen whispered.

  Yes. “You told me not to talk to Thorne about his parents but he’s opened up to me about them, about his inability to trust, the terrible time he had at school, the responsibility he feels for his brother.” Linton took a deep breath. He was in danger of showing he couldn’t be trusted. “Thorne is good-looking, funny and charming but he can be sulky, bad-tempered and manipulative. Which Thorne did you fall for, Owen?”

  “You know him, do you?” Owen snarled. “On the basis of your few days with him you’ve convinced yourself you know the real Thorne?”

  “You have to let him go. You’re hanging on to an obsession that will destroy you. It isn’t Thorne’s fault you’re fucked-up. You’ll never get him back. The sooner you accept that, the quicker you’ll get over him.”

  “You think he loves you?” Owen’s cheeks flushed with anger. “You think Thorne will want you when he knows what Max convinced you to do, whatever your reasons?”

  Linton shook his head. “Probably not. All I know is that you need to stop wanting him back or finding ways to hurt him. This is fucked-up. You have to move on or you’ll end up dead.”

  “I didn’t crash the car deliberately.”

  “But you slit your wrists. You need help.”

  “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

  “Tell Max the truth. Tell him why Thorne said what he did.”

  Owen shuddered. Linton thought about threatening to tell Max himself but he wanted Owen to do it.

  “Do you love him?” Owen asked.

  “How would I know when I’ve never loved anyone?” Linton kept his face neutral.

  “What about Pascal? Max said you two kept everything secret for a long while.”

  “It wasn’t love.” Though he’d thought maybe one day it could be.

  “Then you don’t understand.”

  Linton took a deep breath. He’d come here hoping to make Owen see sense, hoping to stop this. If Linton couldn’t convince Owen, he stood no chance with Max.

  They sat in silence for several minutes, Linton’s hopes spiralling down.

  “I don’t believe you.” Owen stared straight at him.

  “About what?”

  “Any of it. Those men, getting hit by lightning, not loving Pascal, not loving Thorne.” His voice grew increasingly hysterical. “I warned you not to fall for him. I asked you not to but you have.”

  Linton walked out.

  That afternoon, most of the items Linton had sold on eBay were removed from his flat. He felt numb. His bed was the last thing to go and he resigned himself to an uncomfortable night on the floor wrapped in his duvet. He knew he ought to be looking for somewhere to live but he didn’t have the heart. Maybe he could convince Amadeo to let him have his spare room for a couple of weeks because after tomorrow, Linton doubted he’d have a job.

  Thorne had texted him details of the hotel he was staying at in Ireland and in a fit of craziness, Linton went onto Amazon and ordered a bag of white pebbles to be delivered there the following day.

  At nine that night Thorne called him. “It’s not too late for me to buy you a ticket.”

  “The last thing you need is me hanging around while you’re working.”

  “You’d be my treat for being a good boy all day.”

  “Like a dog bone?”

  Thorne laughed. “Just like a dog bone.”

  “What’s the film about?” Linton wanted to listen to Thorne’s voice, wanted to pretend for a while that the world was a good place to be in.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Linton smiled at the guy who manned the reception desk of Devere Rousseau Architects. “Morning, Samuel.”

  “Good morning to you. Enjoy New York?”

  “It was great.”

  “Happy to be back?”

  Linton looked around before he said, “No.”

  Samuel laughed. “Right answer.”

  When Linton walked into the open plan office, his colleagues called out to him, welcoming him back, James pulling his leg about his tan, Gina pretending she hadn’t noticed he’d gone.

  Amadeo came to his side stroking his chin. “Ah 007, what brings you to headquarters?”

  “Apart from needing a new Aston Martin, I need to speak to Max.”

  Amadeo winced. “Good luck with that, he’s in a foul mood this morning.”

  Linton’s spirits sank further. “Can I ask a favour? Do you still have an empty spare room?”

  “Define empty.”

  “No one sleeping in it.”

  “Then it’s empty.”

  “Could I stay with you for a couple of weeks until I sort out somewhere to live?”

  Amadeo frowned. “What happened to your fabulous new place?”

  “I had to give it up. Can’t afford it. A sudden expense I hadn’t budgeted for otherwise known as Dirk.”

  “Course you can stay. I’m at Megan’s half the time anyway. Come back with me tonight and I’ll give you a key.”

  “Thanks.”

  Amadeo nodded to someone behind Linton. “Morning.”

  “Morning.”

  Oh shit. Linton blanked his features before he turned knowing who he was going to see.

  “Linton.” Pascal smiled at him. “Welcome back.”

  “Morning.” Great, his voice had cracked.

  “Thought you were doing some top secret project for Max?” Pascal raised his eyebrows.

  “I am. I’ve just come to have a chat with him. Excuse me.” Linton headed for Max’s office while his legs were still functioning.

  He was annoyed that even hearing Pascal’s voice still had an effect on him though it wasn’t one of lust, but annoyance, which was at least progress.

  “Linton?” Pascal called.

  Linton turned.

  “I want to see you in my office before you leave.”

  “Okay.” Oh fuck.

  Linton knocked on Max’s door and waited.

  Max flung open the door and glared at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you.”
/>
  Max moved out of the way so Linton could enter, then slammed the door. He stalked back to his desk and pointed to the chair, a low one so Max could glare down at whoever sat there. Linton put the drawings he’d done for Cindy on the desk.

  Max glanced at them and tossed them aside. “She’s got another book for you to work on.”

  “I’m not doing anymore. Has Owen spoken to you about me going to see him?” This would be so much easier if Owen had told Max the truth.

  “No.”

  Shit. Linton took a deep breath. He really wanted to tell Max about Owen cheating on Thorne, but he’d promised not to and he had a sneaking suspicion it would make no difference anyway.

  “I’m not going on with this,” Linton said.

  “Oh yes you are,” Max snapped. “I paid you a great deal of money to do it and you’re fucking going to keep your part of the bargain.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not going to work for you anymore. Not as an agent of revenge nor as an architect. I’ll pay back the money you gave me.” He pushed to his feet and put a cheque for a thousand pounds on the desk. “That’s a start. I’ll repay it as quickly as I can but it’ll take me some time. I’m looking for a new job. I—”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Max banged his fist on the desk. “Sit down.”

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  “Sit the fuck down!” Max yelled.

  Linton sat.

  “Do I actually need to remind you of what lies in your future and that of your deadbeat brother if you don’t go through with this?”

  “You do anything to hinder Dirk’s progress in rehab and I’ll find a way to destroy you.”

  Max gaped at him, then laughed though there was no humour in it. “Let me tell you the way this is going to work. You are not leaving this company until I say so. You’ll do whatever job I give you. You’ll work your fucking socks off to meet deadlines I set. Including weekends if I so choose. I’m going to take the money out of your wages until you’ve worked off the debt. I’ll decide the details. If you disappoint me in any way, I’ll tell Thorne you and Owen cooked this up between you, and I’ll ruin you and your brother. And leave Pascal alone.”

  “Can’t you just let this go? Let me go? I’ll pay you back, but—”

  “No. You’re going to do exactly as I tell you or I’ll make it look as though you stole the money.”

  Linton glared. “You put it into my account. How can you make it look as if I stole it?”

  “I can make it look like whatever I want it to look like.”

  Linton almost told him to fuck off, but common sense prevailed. Maybe Max could make it look as though he’d stolen the money. Even if he couldn’t, without a job, Linton would struggle. At least this way, he’d be earning something and have started to pay Max off. Except in the office across the hall there was a good reason for not wanting to be here at all.

  “Don’t sit there looking as if you’re deciding what to do. I’m not giving you any fucking choice, Linton. You want me to keep quiet about what I asked you to do, then go to Daisy and take on the next five projects she has on her list. And tell her you’ll do the coffee order for the foreseeable future.”

  Linton bit the inside of his cheeks.

  “You’ll fucking clean the bathrooms if I want you to!” Max snarled.

  “If I cooperate, you’ll keep quiet?”

  “You’re worried I’ll tell Thorne and he won’t like you anymore? I don’t give a shit about that but this whole thing doesn’t make me look good, does it? Maybe I did go over the top but the guy infuriated me. But I should have known you’d be a waste of space on this. You were a coward when you were a teenager and you’re still a coward. You’re going to work your fucking socks off and I’ll leave your poxy brother alone. That’s the deal. No negotiation. Get out.”

  Linton pushed to his feet and exited into the corridor. He leaned against the wall outside Max’s office and shuddered. The door to Pascal’s room stood ajar and suddenly Pascal was standing there, staring at him.

  “In here,” he said quietly.

  Linton’s feet dragged him forward but when Pascal closed the door behind him, Linton opened it. The bastard smiled.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Pascal said. “I missed you.” He raised one eyebrow. “I missed your arse.”

  Linton pressed his lips together.

  “What’s the problem between you and Max? I heard raised voices.”

  “Nothing.”

  Pascal narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t sound like nothing. I want to talk to you but not here. Come out for a meal tonight.”

  Linton shook his head. “Busy.”

  He slipped out of the room and headed for Daisy. He was under no misapprehension as to what he was going to be working on. There would be no more exciting projects, no chance to showcase innovative design concepts. His life was going to be one of loft conversions, granny annexes and garden sheds. Oh yeah, and going to collect the office coffees. But on the plus side, there was a chance for him and Thorne. Maybe.

  No one made any comment when Linton put their coffee on their desk. They’d guess he’d fallen out of favour with Max. Linton’s fall from grace just left a space for one of them to move into. Luckily Pascal wasn’t in his room. Amadeo opened his mouth, then closed it when Linton gave a slight shake of his head. Linton felt humiliated which was Max’s intention, but he could put up with that. He’d thought about what Max had said and seen that it was in Max’s interests to keep quiet about what he’d wanted Linton to do.

  That didn’t mean Linton shouldn’t tell Thorne everything.

  Linton didn’t leave with Amadeo that night. Max had come out of his office when everyone was tidying their desks and made it clear Linton had to finish the project he was working on before he even thought about going. A couple of hours later, Linton snuck out while Pascal and Max were ensconced in Pascal’s office. He went home—while it was still his home— and packed up his car. On the way to Amadeo’s flat, he dropped an envelope holding his keys through the letterbox of the letting agents.

  So that was that, Linton thought. It wasn’t worth having his post redirected. Almost all of what came to his mailbox was junk. He’d ask the letting agent to forward anything official-looking to Amadeo’s place.

  Linton called him as he drove to Greenwich. “Hi, Amadeo. I’m on my way. Is there anywhere to park?”

  “You can use the visitor’s space inside the courtyard. Give me a call when you’re outside and I’ll buzz you in.”

  “Thanks.”

  He left everything in the car apart from one suitcase and made his way up the stairs.

  Amadeo was waiting at the door. “Need a hand?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem.”

  Linton followed him into the spare room. Amadeo had pulled out the bed settee and tossed sheets and pillows on the top which saved Linton bringing his up from the car.

  “What was all that aggro between you and Max today? Every time he saw you he looked as if an ulcer had burst. Now are you going to tell me why he has you doing grunt work?”

  When Amadeo had eventually cornered him in the washroom that afternoon, Linton had said he’d tell him tonight. He’d had all day to think of something feasible.

  “I upset that special client I was working for and Max is pissed off. I’m getting punished, that’s all.”

  “What the hell did you do? Step on a Corgi?”

  A laugh burst from Linton. “You know I can’t tell you.”

  “Well, it’s good to have you back anyway, mate.” Amadeo elbowed him. “Megan’s always complaining what a tip this place is and now I can blame you. Talking of my princess, I’m off to hers tonight, so see you tomorrow, right?” He handed Linton a spare key and a buzzer for the gate.

  The flat was quiet after Amadeo had left and Linton finally had chance to look at his phone. Endless messages from Thorne. Dozens of pictures of him looking
sappy, happy and cross. Asking Linton to call. Demanding he call. Begging him.

  He shouldn’t.

  But he did.

  Thorne found himself with a silly grin on his face when he heard Linton’s voice.

  “I’d like a chicken Korma, pilau rice and a Peshwari naan please,” Linton said.

  “Anything to drink with that?”

  “A bottle of Cristal?”

  Thorne laughed. “I thought you must be dead. What are you up to?”

  “About to go to bed. What are you up to?”

  “I’ve been admiring a nest of pebbles that some ardent penguin has sent me and now I’ve heard your voice, I’ve just stuck my hand down my pants.”

  “Hmm. Have you had a good day?”

  “Yeah, this film is going to be brilliant. Everyone’s buzzing, but I have a feeling my day is about to get even better.” Thorne mentally crossed his fingers. “Do you have Skype?”

  Thorne didn’t like that Linton hesitated but did like that he said yes.

  “My ID’s ironman_7779,” Thorne said.

  “Christ.”

  “That was taken. Hey, I can’t use my name, can I? I’d get all sorts of perverts wanting to talk to me when I just want one pervert.”

  “I’m on Skype as Linton Williams.”

  A few clicks of the keyboard later Thorne found himself peering at Linton in a dark room. “Can you turn the light on?”

  “No. I have a spot.”

  Thorne huffed. “Are they all over you? Better take your clothes off so I can check it’s not measles.”

  Linton put his laptop down in front of him, angled it so the camera was in the perfect position and Thorne held his breath.

  “Or it might be chickenpox,” Thorne croaked when Linton didn’t do anything. “Christ I miss you. Let me see.”