by G. R. Lyons
Zac shivered. Fuck. He needed a shower.
With that desperate need in mind, Zac got into his car and raced home, stripping his clothes back off the moment he locked his door.
He couldn't get under the hot water fast enough.
* * *
ADRIAN SAT at the conference table, keeping his eyes fixed on the tablet lying before him. Thank gods he really didn't have to do anything but sit there and listen. This was a learning experience, nothing more. Truth be told, he wasn't allowed to speak even if he wanted to. Still, he was expected to attend.
Just another responsibility his father demanded of him.
A complete waste of time, as far as Adrian was concerned. He had no desire to be part of his father's company, but there was no saying no to Sebastian Frost, especially when it came to his pride and joy. The company, of course. Not Adrian. No, Adrian would never be his father's pride and joy. Not in a million years. Hells, Adrian could go work for the company and make the most profitable investment imaginable and still not get so much as a thank you out of his father.
Let alone: “Good job, kiddo.”
Or: “I'm proud of you, son.”
Far more likely the gods would come break the world again than Sebastian Frost would deign to speak a fatherly word to his only son and heir. His only living family.
Adrian bit back a sigh and focused on the discussion happening all around him, taking notes whenever he felt it necessary. Frost Investments had just taken over another firm, and the Board were in the process of filtering the new employees, clients, and bank balances into the Frost company records. The one good thing Adrian could say about the process was that no one was being let go. The various departments were all being reorganized to accommodate those employees from the two companies who performed basically the same functions, thus allowing everyone to keep their jobs without cutting into the company's costs.
Sebastian Frost might be a bastard when it came to the bottom line, but his reputation was also high on his list of priorities, and having happy employees went a long way toward bolstering that aspect of his life.
“And that's it,” Mr. Frost's personal assistant said, tapping a few buttons on his tablet. “The merger is complete.”
Polite applause sounded around the table and a few men shook hands before silence fell over the room again.
“Any more business before we adjourn?” Adrian's father asked.
Everyone shook their heads until one man raised a finger, waiting for Mr. Frost's nod before he spoke: “Just one thing. The company gala this weekend…”
“Yes?” Mr. Frost asked, his brow furrowed.
“The string quartet we hired just canceled,” the man said. “It seems their cellist has fallen ill, and they don't have an alternate to take her place in time.”
“Do we have any other music acts lined up as a backup?” someone else asked.
“Not yet, but there is one I know of that we can ask. A group called…” The man checked his tablet. “Treble.”
Adrian perked up, staring at the man.
“They play at Underground on a regular basis,” the man went on, looking at Adrian's father.
Sebastian's eyebrows went up slightly. “They must be impressive to play there.”
The man nodded. “So I've heard.”
“Contact them,” Sebastian Frost ordered. “Make them the same offer we had on the table for…whoever was supposed to play,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
“Yes, sir,” the man said, jotting down a note on his tablet.
Adrian stared back down at his own tablet without seeing it. Treble. Gods. Just the thought was almost enough to make him hard despite his surroundings. He schooled his features into a blank mask. There was no way he could let his father see even a hint of his excitement. If Sebastian Frost learned of Adrian's interest in the band—let alone his knowledge of it—he'd want to know more. How had Adrian heard of them? How had he gone to see them when he could barely leave the apartment for business or classes? Why did he go so regularly?
His father would have the answers out of him before he knew what hit him. And once Sebastian Frost got so much as a hint as to why Adrian went to watch Treble perform, without fail, his life would be over.
Sebastian Frost with a gay son? All seven hells would break loose.
With that thought, Adrian no longer had to fight to conceal his excitement. It drained away, leaving him feeling empty. Treble couldn't play at the gala. They just couldn't.
But he really wanted them to. Having that music there—having that violinist there—would actually make the damned gala worthwhile. He might actually enjoy the otherwise tedious waste of an evening. Yet, at the same time, the very thought of being in the same room with the violinist, and risking a closer encounter, was enough to turn his stomach.
He couldn't risk it. There was no way he could get that close to the man while his father was only a few feet away. Mr. Frost would be sure to see the way Adrian looked at the musician. Then he'd lose everything.
And there would be no way he'd manage to keep his eyes off the man. The entire gala would vanish from Adrian's awareness as soon as he spotted the violinist, just as the entire Underground became nothing more than a hazy backdrop to the man when he was up on that stage.
No, he'd never meet the violinist. It couldn't happen. Better that the man remained a perfect fantasy, up on the pedestal on which Adrian had placed him, than turn out to be a real person, up close and flawed. And he especially couldn't get too close while his father was nearby. He'd be out on the streets before he could blink.
The sudden commotion of the Board breaking for the day tore Adrian out of his thoughts. He glanced down at his tablet, made a few final notes, then saved the file and switched off the screen. The room was almost empty when he slowly rose from his chair, keeping himself hunched down as he stood and pushed the chair back into place.
“Adrian.” His father's voice was as sharp and unemotional as ever. The man gave a simple nod, and Adrian obeyed, heading down to the end of the table where his father sat and taking the chair Mr. Frost had indicated. “A matter of personal business, before you go.”
Adrian nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I understand your last term requires an internship in order to finalize your degree.”
Adrian nodded again. “Yes, sir.” He'd known as much since last year, but hadn't said anything, hoping his father wouldn't know about it. He didn't want to so much as intern for his father's company, let alone take a permanent position after he graduated, but he hadn't yet figured out how to go intern for someone else without his father finding out, either.
Now it looked as though the decision had been made for him.
“Just as soon as you're required to begin,” Mr. Frost went on, “check in here with H.R. and they'll set you up with the necessary documentation.”
Adrian frowned. “Sir?”
“Well, you'll be working here eventually, anyway, so it won't harm anything to make it appear as though you're interning with us for now. You can focus on your classes instead, though. I'm sure that will be more than enough for you to handle without taking on actual internship tasks.”
Adrian clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying anything. His father was going to lie for him? Sure, it saved him the effort of actually going out to find an internship elsewhere, let alone having to come in to the office to do actual work quite yet, but the unfairness of it rankled. He knew his father was unscrupulous, but this was personal.
It made Adrian feel like even more of a failure.
“Yes, sir,” Adrian bit out, knowing it was better not to argue.
“Besides, it will make the transition seamless once you graduate and officially start work here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“At that time, you'll also inherit the trust fund your grandfather set up for you.”
Adrian looked up. Trust fund?
Mr. Frost checked something on his tablet. “The curre
nt balance is in the millions, and should continue to grow with interest between now and then.” He looked at Adrian. “Once the bank has a copy of your diploma, they'll release the account to you.
Adrian blinked. A trust fund? For him? With millions? Holy shit! He could break free of his father. Live his own life with his own money, money that Sebastian Frost couldn't touch, couldn't control. He could finally be his own man.
And all he had to do was graduate.
“If you intend to remain in the apartment,” Mr. Frost continued, “I'll expect you to begin paying rent for the space at that time. Or you may move elsewhere. Between your salary here and your trust fund, you should be plenty comfortable, especially if you invest wisely.”
Translation: follow Father's orders when it comes to my own money. Adrian just stopped himself from shaking his head and throwing his father a dirty look. Instead, he forced out a nod. He could be obedient a little while longer. Just as soon as he graduated, he'd be free.
Just a few more months. That was all.
He could do that.
Millions. Holy shit.
“And I expect you to do well once you're here,” Mr. Frost went on. “Your grandfather started this company from nothing, and it has continued to grow and thrive ever since. Someday, this will all be yours.” He waved a hand, indicating the room and the building and the company as a whole. “Nothing less than your best, understand? You must be worthy of this company, of your grandfather's legacy. He had high hopes for you, which is why he opened the trust fund in the first place. Still, I expect you to earn it.”
Adrian just stopped himself from replying. His father wore the business mask well, but underneath, Adrian could see the envy. Mr. Frost would clearly love to have had all that money at his own disposal rather than seeing it set aside for his son.
Especially for a son who had been a mere toddler at the time, his potential entirely unknown. Adrian had been just three years old when Grandpa died of a heart attack brought on by too much stress at work, or so Adrian had been told. The man had only lived to be sixty-eight. Adrian looked at his father, nine years shy of that age. Would he last longer than his father had? Sebastian was in good shape, and he wore his age well, but the closer Adrian got, the more he saw the marks of stress on his father's face.
There was no way Adrian could live the same kind of life. All that responsibility? All those long hours? No, he'd gladly sit back and let others handle untold employees and accounts and clients, trying to keep it all straight and profitable, day in and day out. He'd much rather–
No. Adrian stopped himself from shaking his head or speaking his thoughts aloud. There was no sense in even considering what he'd rather be doing with his life. He wasn't even sure he knew, to be honest. All he'd ever known was Frost Investments, and until he was free of his father, it was all he'd ever know.
But now, with this trust fund? Holy gods. He could be free much sooner than he'd ever imagined possible.
All he had to do was keep his head down, continue obeying his father, finish this term, and graduate.
Just a few more months, he told himself, restraining a smile. Just a few more months.
Gods, he couldn't wait!
Chapter 5
ZAC PUT on a smile and hurried to his next table, electronic notepad in hand. “Good morning, folks,” he greeted the diners. “My name is Zac. I'll be your server. Would you like to hear today's lunch specials?”
He went through his routine: reciting menu items by memory, taking down orders, delivering dishes to their proper places. It was almost effortless at this point. He'd been working at The Rusty Fret for as long as he'd been in college, using his wages and tips to pay for classes and rent. The best part was that he didn't have to put on a mask to do the job. The rock music memorabilia splashed all over the diner's interior meant that his usual Inferno persona was not only acceptable but welcome. He could be Blaze without criticism.
And with school now paid for, Zac was taking on as many extra shifts as he could manage before the term started, trying to save up as much money as possible since his hours were going to be fewer and more random once classes began. Being his last term before graduation, he was going to need to buckle down and make sure he didn't miss any classes or assignments. He was so close to finishing. There was no way he could afford to slack off even a little bit.
Zac felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. He wouldn't touch his phone until his break came around. Not that the other servers didn't constantly check their own phones between waiting tables. He could have gotten away with it, but he resisted. He was going to charm the hells out of his customers and earn those tips, no matter what.
His rent was counting on him. As were his folks. Regardless of their arguments, he was going to save up as much as he could to help get his dad's shoulder surgery to happen sooner rather than later.
Finally, his break arrived. Zac made sure his tables were all taken care of, then darted through the kitchen and went out to the alley behind the diner. He scooted past the smoking crowd and took up a space along the stone wall. Wrenching his mobile free of his tight pants, he checked the screen.
A call from Vic. In the middle of the day? That was odd.
He pressed an icon to return the call.
“Hey,” Vic answered after the first ring. “Sorry, I probably caught you working, didn't I?”
“What, and you're not at work yourself?” Zac teased.
Vic chuckled. “Listen, we just got a call from the manager at Underground– One second.”
Zac held his breath. The manager at Underground? Shit. They weren't losing their gig, were they? Zac fidgeted while he half-listened to Vic talking to someone in his office about an insurance case. Zac bounced his leg and bit his lip. Come on, Vic, he inwardly whined.
They couldn't lose the Underground gig. He lived for that show. For the chance to see Mr. Shadow.
“Sorry about that,” Vic said. “Anyway, he got a call from someone trying to reach us about a gig.”
Zac blinked, his leg still bouncing but slowing in speed. “A gig?”
“Yeah, they've arranged a meeting tonight at half five,” Vic told him. “Any chance you can be there?”
“My shift ends at six.”
“That's fine. I'll let him know.”
“Where's the meeting?”
“At the lounge. Ry and I are heading there right after work.”
“Any idea what the gig's about?”
“No clue,” Vic grumbled. “The guy was pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. Although, he was hinting at a couple grand in payment.”
“Holy shit,” Zac gasped. A couple grand? Even at his one-third share, that was a hell of a lot of money. He could do so much good with that. “Whatever it is, I'm in.”
Vic barked a laugh. “Those are the kind of words that give me job security.”
Zac laughed in return. He'd heard enough of Vic's client stories to know that was true. And Ryley's stories were just as bad, being that he dealt mostly with dead bodies and inheritance issues.
“Alright, don't worry,” Zac said. “I'll hear the offer first.” And I'll still say yes. A couple grand? Holy shit!
“Good man. See you later?”
“Definitely.”
“Have a good one.”
“You, too.”
Zac rang off and stared at his phone for a moment before shoving it back into his pocket.
A couple grand. Holy shit! He slowly shook his head, staring wide-eyed at nothing in particular. This day just got so much better.
Seeing the smokers quickly stomp out their cigarettes, Zac pushed himself off the wall and followed them back into the diner to continue his shift, smiling without having to work at it. The rest of the day went by in a blur. Busy tables, clanking plates, overlapping chatter, background music, shouted orders in the kitchen—it all blended together into a cacophony that Zac just barely noticed over the ringing in his ears, his exci
tement ramping up more and more as the day went on.
Closer and closer to the offer of more money than he'd ever had in his possession at any one time in his life.
The end of his shift came, but Zac lingered, finishing out his few remaining tables rather than handing them over to other servers. He collected his last few tips, then clocked out and raced out to his car.
He made it to Frost Estates in record time, diving into a parking spot and practically throwing himself out of the car in his hurry to get inside. A few people gasped and looked at him strangely. Zac looked down, wondering if maybe he'd spilled something on himself in the process of collecting plates from his last table, then realized it wasn't a mess they were looking at, but just himself. He'd never set foot in that building in anything other than his Treble wear. At least those dress clothes fit in well with the surroundings.
Now, dressed in torn, black skinny jeans, studded wrist cuffs and collar, and his long hair hanging loose down his back, the flame-red highlights visible, he stood out shockingly.
Zac lifted his chin and kept going. He belonged there just fine. To hells with all those rich people and their snobbery. They could kiss his ass for all he cared.
Besides, these were the same people who cheered for him every other weekend when he was up on the Underground stage. So what if they just happened not to recognize him at the moment?
He reached the elevator and rode down to the basement level, then went straight into the lounge. The place was only just starting to fill up at that hour. Even being a weekday, it was a popular spot, the tables occupied by well-dressed businessmen and -women having cocktails at the end of the day to take the edge off. Of course, it was nothing like the crowds they got on the weekends, when Treble performed, but Zac still had to stop and squint as he scanned the room, trying to spot his friends.
A few tables down, Vic half rose from his seat and raised a hand. Zac waved back and headed for him.
“Hey!” Ryley said, jumping up and giving Zac a half hug. The man had his hair loosely tied back, and was dressed in slacks and an untucked button-down shirt.
