Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  “Save it.” I held up my hand, stopping the compliment in its tracks. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You look good. Someone ought to say it.”

  “No one has to,” I countered. “You don’t need to tell me things I already know.”

  I moved around him, maneuvering myself toward the passenger seat door of his Tesla before we dragged out this stupid exchange for any longer. But as I crossed him, he stepped out in front of me, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Eliot…”

  “What?” I looked down at his fingers, the way they twitched towards my wrists. Like he was one bad decision away from pressing me up against his expensive car and kissing away whatever uncomfortable feelings had risen up between us. Like he thought that he could use our physical chemistry to shift them away—or like the attraction between us was strong enough, he almost didn’t care.

  He didn’t, though. Alton Palmer wasn’t a man of many words, but the ones he used, he used well.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, looming over me in a way that made me want to arch up on my tiptoes and kiss the awkwardness away myself. “The other morning… You were using Patrick’s mug. I lost my cool. It was shitty of me and I’m sorry.”

  “I… Yeah, I figured something like that must have happened.” I blinked up at him, feeling my body aching to press my lips to his and forcing it to remain at a standstill. Before this tumbled out of control all over again and we wound up going at it in his car instead of saving his company—or addressing the emotional side of things that could only be put off, not fucked away. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Part of me expected him to deny it. Swear that the love he’d had for his late husband had died the day he put Patrick in the ground. But no—Alton wasn’t a liar. He didn’t say things that he didn’t mean—things that never could have been true in the first place.

  “I’m always going to be in love with him. Of course I am. I loved him, I married him, I imagined a life with him…and then I lost him.” He hung his head, unable to meet my eyes for a moment. When his gaze finally raised to mine again, though, his hazel eyes danced with passionate light. “But that doesn’t mean that there’s no room in my heart for you. For us. For what we have…what we could have. I care about you, Eliot. Believe me when I say that the things I feel for Patrick…they don’t stop me from caring about you, too.”

  “You were saying his name,” I revealed, my voice breathy and low. “That morning when I woke up next to you. Saying his name and reaching for me like you thought I was him.”

  “Shit,” Alton swore. “Fuck, Eliot. I’m…I’m so sorry. You have no idea…”

  I shrugged. “I have some idea. Can’t really hate you for the things that you say when you’re asleep.”

  “Can’t really hate you for being turned off by them anyway, though.” He took a step back, his shoulders sinking like the sails of a ship that had just been blasted through with cannon fire. “Christ, no wonder you bolted so fast. The sleeptalking, then the mug thing…”

  “Yeah. Yeah, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  He sank his teeth into his lower lip. “You don’t have to come tonight, you know. Not after…after how I’ve treated you.”

  “You’ve treated me fine.” I gave a pithy laugh. It wasn’t funny, of course. If anything, it was just sad. “There’s no way this plays out without me living in the shadow of your dead husband, huh?”

  He gestured toward my suit. “But you still dressed up anyway tonight. For me.”

  “For you…a little bit,” I admitted. “For the people who work for you, a little more. You know how I feel about companies crumbling to the ground. Always a weak spot for me.”

  He echoed my laugh, humorless and sharp. “Your parents. Right. God, I’m the perfect storm of obligation for you, aren’t I?”

  I stared at him for a moment, taking him in. The stress of the evening, of what had happened between us, his grief, his guilt—it was written all over the stoic lines of his face. I couldn’t pretend like that wasn’t attractive, the way he was holding himself together despite the fact that what he was going through would have torn a lesser man apart, and the way he was simultaneously processing all his emotions. The complexity of this crazy thing we were calling Us. Alton Palmer was undoubtedly the smartest man in any room he’d ever been in—but to my surprise, he was probably also the most emotionally competent man I’d ever met.

  I’d thought that my bitterness would settle in throughout the whole evening. That I’d probably end up hating him by the end of it—I certainly didn’t expect to like Alton’s boss or his string-pulling friend. But instead, in that moment, I had a newfound appreciation of Alton. His strength. His courage. The way he squared his jaw and offered me that out once again:

  “You don’t have to come. You don’t need to feel obligated. If you never even want to see me again after…after everything. I understand, Eliot. I’ve been over the books—this company might sink regardless of how this night goes. We might already be in too deep.”

  I laughed—genuinely this time. “Already in too deep…isn’t that this entire relationship?”

  The smile that spread across Alton’s gorgeous lips was a perfect one. The most delectable mix of sadness and amusement, anxiousness and bravery. I’d never met a man who could be so many things at once before—which only made my feelings for him that much more complex. That much worse.

  “Tell you what,” he offered. “You’re already dressed. I’m already here. And if you wanted to say no, you would have done it already.”

  “No was never an option,” I agreed. “Not for me.”

  “Then help me get the most out of this dinner. It might amount to nothing—might save the entire, dumpster fire of an operation.”

  “Together,” I said, nodding as I took a step toward him. “We’ll do it together. Sink or swim.”

  “We’ll do the best we can.” His fingers twitched again, and this time, he acted on impulse. They brushed against my wrist affectionately, drawing me a little closer. “And after…no matter what happens… After, we’ll have a talk about where things go between you and I. How to navigate all of this.”

  “Together,” I said again, closing my eyes as I relished the feeling of his touch against my skin.

  “Together,” he agreed, opening the passenger side door. “In that case…your chariot awaits.”

  15

  Alton

  I was going to wind up hitting him. I knew it in my fucking bones.

  “Welcome to Casa Hayward,” Malcolm said as he opened the door of his upstate estate to us. I could tell at a glance that he was already drunk—his shirt wasn’t even buttoned the right way, leaving a gaping gap down to his belly that revealed a thick smattering of chest hair. “Always a pleasure, Alton, and…oh. Who’s this, now?”

  “Eliot Ashton,” I said through gritted teeth, resenting everything about the filthy, entitled way Hayward’s eyes slid over my date. “Meet Malcolm Hayward, the CEO of my company. Malcolm, Eliot.”

  “What a lovely home you have,” Eliot said cordially, offering Hayward his hand.

  More like, what an overblown mess of a home you have, I thought to myself as I watched Hayward dip his lips to Eliot’s knuckles, which would have turned my stomach even if we hadn’t been standing on the doorstep of the ugliest McMansion I’d ever seen. Twin dragon statues, gilded in what I could only assume was real gold, flanked the door at either side. We had to pass between them as we made our way in, Malcolm hot on our heels.

  “All the lovelier for having you in it,” Malcolm said, winking at me as he guided us to the dining room. “Alton, you dog—you should have warned me that you were bringing such a gorgeous Omega to eat with us. Could have saved a fortune on dessert—we could just eat this hot little morsel up instead.”

  I snorted, slipping my arm protectively around Eliot’s waist and putting my body between his and Hayward’s. Eliot seemed a
mused by Hayward’s flattery, but me? I was only annoyed. Calling Eliot little was hardly even accurate, for fuck’s sake. With muscles like his, he could have easily bench pressed Hayward himself if he felt inclined to—which, I hoped to God, he didn’t have any desire for. For all of our sakes.

  “You’re too kind, Malcolm.” Eliot defused Hayward’s creepy compliments with effortless elegance, reminding me that he was hardly out of place in this world—in fact, his manners weren’t even the slightest bit rusty, despite how long he’d been out of the game for. Not even Patrick could have dealt with Hayward with such aplomb. “But I’m sure that I have nothing on your date for the evening.”

  “We’ll see, I suppose.” Hayward shot me a wolfish grin. “You’ll have to let me know if you like mine better, Palmer. I’m not against a trade mid-evening if you’re not.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that will be necessary.” My voice was a low, measured growl. I found my fingers curling around Eliot’s hip harder than necessary—but thankfully, Eliot only leaned into it, not seeming to mind.

  In just these first few minutes, I was quickly realizing that the night was going to be just as annoying and tedious as I’d imagined it would be. Hayward’s advances toward Eliot were already wearing on my nerves, and it would only get worse once Mickey Montgomery was thrown into the mix. But when I pushed through my frustration toward the other Alphas we’d be dining with, I found that there was gratefulness lurking beneath it. A final glance to Eliot left me stunned by the sparkle he’d drawn up in those intoxicatingly green eyes of his—he was playing his role perfectly, not even missing a beat.

  Fuck, I was a lucky man. Not just for the fact that Eliot had agreed to come in the first place, but for his charm and poise as well. With him by my side…it was almost incredible, the confidence I had that we might actually be able to make it through the evening unscathed.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t a confidence that I managed to maintain once we entered the dining room and laid eyes on Hayward’s other guests. There was Mickey, as promised, with his latest Botoxed and lip-injected Omega arm candy at his side, glued to an iPhone and hardly giving us so much as a second glance. But I was quick to note that the table wasn’t just set for six—there was a seventh place setting as well. Not really appropriate for a triple-date—and even less appropriate when I recognized the man sitting at it.

  “Mickey, you remember Alton.” Malcolm made the introduction with a smug grin.

  “Of course, of course! Palmer, old boy, good to see you!” Mickey struck out a hand the size of a small frying pan for me to shake as he nudged his boyfriend with his heel, eliciting a yelp from his Omega’s puffy, eerily pink lips. “Flavio, get your fucking eyes off your phone and say hello to Alton. His family is very notable—exactly the kind of people you want to get your in with.”

  Flavio—who, I was pleased to remember, did have the most ridiculous name of anyone I’d ever heard—shot daggers at Mickey, sighed, and rose to take my hand like he was the Queen of England and I was only a marginally interesting courtier.

  “So nice to meet you, Mr. Palmer,” Flavio intoned nasally—from the sounds of things, his nose job had done a number on his ability to speak like a normal human being. And of course, I didn’t miss the way Flavio looked Eliot up and down, immediately clocking how attractive my date was as his eyes flashed hatefully in the realization of it—with Eliot present, he was far from the most attractive Omega in the room.

  “And you remember John Simmons as well, of course,” Malcolm said, saccharine as he nodded to the slimy, dark-haired Alpha sitting at the table’s seventh setting.

  “I remember,” I grunted, grinding my teeth so hard I knew I’d get a talking to from my dentist by my next visit. “Didn’t realize you’d extended the dinner invites to accounting, Hayward.”

  “No need to be jealous, Palmer. Mal just thought I might help smooth over any questions Mickey might have about our numbers.” Simmons straightened, offering me his hand in one motion and letting his gaze pour over Eliot in the next. I had to unclench my fist to shake the man’s hand—especially when I saw his tongue dart out disgustingly over his lips at the sight of Eliot. “Hot date, by the way.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” Eliot said, forcing a smile that I hoped Simmons could feel the bile behind.

  “I only get sweeter,” Simmons promised, causing Eliot and I to share a glance.

  Eliot’s said, Is this creep for real? behind that fake smile he was wearing, and I forced my own lips into a matching grin as I raised an eyebrow in reply.

  You have no idea.

  “And then, of course, here’s my arm candy for the evening.” Hayward nodded to the door as a short, weaselly looking Omega entered. He had dark brown hair slicked back in the same style as Hayward’s, in the exact same shade. It was almost as if Hayward had cloned himself into a shorter Omega form—which didn’t surprise me at all. If there was one thing that would really appeal to Hayward’s narcissism, it would be the ability to date the closest thing he could find to himself. “Wesley, meet Alton Palmer and—”

  “Eliot,” Wesley said, a sneering grin appearing on his lips. “Eliot Ashton. Well, what a small world this is.”

  “You know each other?” I asked in surprise, looking over to see the color drain from Eliot’s face.

  “Oh, you could say that.” Wesley bandied over to us, patting Hayward on the ass as he passed. “Eliot and I go way, way back, in fact.”

  “No shit?” Mickey leaned back in his chair, slurping at his glass of red wine. “Where’d you two meet?”

  “Work,” Eliot said abruptly, leaving Wesley clicking his tongue and wagging his finger.

  “Don’t oversimplify the story, honey. It’s much too good for that.” Wesley grinned as he checked the expressions of every Alpha in the room for their reactions. “Eliot used to dance for me at my club. The Backdoor—you boys ever heard of it?”

  Simmons and Mickey shared a glance, then roared with laughter, causing Eliot to turn the brightest shade of pink I’d ever seen.

  “Your date is a stripper, Palmer? Lord, I wish I would have thought of that!” Mickey thumped his hand down on the table repeatedly, sending the silverware bouncing against the white tablecloth. “Flavio, what have I been telling you—stripping, that’s where all the talent is at!”

  “I do stripperobics,” Flavio spat back, scowling down at his phone. “You’ve never complained before.”

  “He’s not a stripper,” I corrected, suddenly feeling more protective of Eliot than ever. If my fingers curled any tighter around his hip, they were going to bruise—I wanted nothing more than to pull him against me and whisk him away from all of this bullshit before it got any worse. “He’s a burlesque dancer at Heaven’s Ballroom now—their clientele is a little more refined than what you’d find at the Backdoor. No offense, of course, Wesley.”

  “None taken,” Wesley replied, with every indication that he was intensely offended by my little jab. “It’s a shame, though. Eliot was always one of our most popular dancers back before I had to fire him.”

  “You mean before I quit.” Eliot’s shoulders drew back, the pink fading from his cheeks as he replaced it with a steely composure and an icy gaze. “You shouldn’t feel bad, Flavio. Stripperobics is much safer than anything you’d come across at a place like Wesley’s establishment.”

  “Thank you!” Flavio said, his eyes lighting up with vindication before he turned them back down to whatever was so interesting on his phone. Angry Birds was my guess—I’d seen Lizzie swipe at my phone in the same way when I let her play with it.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want you to ever feel unsafe, Eliot.” Wesley’s gaze was poison as it locked on Eliot’s, but Eliot stared him down with dignity until Hayward was forced to clear his throat and usher everyone toward their seats.

  “Come on—the appetizers are ready! Chop chop!” he clapped his hands, signaling to several tuxedoed waiters to make their way out from the hall and into the dining room with us
, silver platters balanced on the palms of their hands. “I hope you all like foie gras!”

  I suppressed a groan as I moved toward my seat across from Wesley—Hayward’s idea of fine dining was as tasteless as everything else about him. But as I pulled Eliot’s seat out for him, he hesitated.

  “Can you point me to your restroom, actually?” Eliot gave Hayward a tight, polite smile. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Of course, of course.” Hayward offered Eliot his arm, guiding him out of the dining room and down the hall. “Start without us—I’ll be back in just a moment!”

  I found myself resenting Hayward for finding an excuse to get Eliot to touch him—even if it was only at the elbow—as I took my seat. But not as much resentment as I felt toward Wesley for trying to embarrass Eliot—or toward Mickey for exacerbating it—

  And not nearly as much as I felt toward Simmons as I saw the way he was watching Eliot go, his eyes on my Omega’s ass the entire goddamn time.

  16

  Eliot

  It was the worst nightmare I’d never even realized I could have. Showing up back at high school with no pants on? Fine. Being chased by flying monkeys in a snowstorm? Whatever. No problem. But what my ex-boss had just done to me—what every Alpha in the room, with the exception of Alton, had joined in on and become culpable for—it was bad enough that when I reached the bathroom sink, slamming the door behind me, I found myself dry heaving into it.

  For seven years, I’d been dancing at one club or another in New York. The Ballroom had been my safe haven for the last five, so comfortable and respectful of who I was as a person that I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be treated like such a piece of meat. Wesley Harmon and the patrons of the Backdoor hadn’t seen me as anything more than that—just a hot piece of ass that they could grope, grind on, humiliate and demean however they fucking felt like at any given moment.