Domestic Do-over

by Kate McMurray

  “Sure.”

  “On the show, the designers went bonkers. Bright colors on the walls, clashing wallpaper in the office, quirky furniture all over the house. And the judges were like, ‘Who would want to live in this house?’ I always think about that when I pick interior paint colors.”

  “Fair. Paint is one of those things that can turn off a buyer, even though it’s easy to fix.”

  “Once at an open house that Kayla and I were running, a woman came through who insisted on having a white kitchen. The kitchen in this house was massive, so we’d decided to go modern and had put in these dark gray flat-panel cabinets. It was one of the better kitchens we ever designed. And this woman walked in and was like, ‘Nope.’ Her husband pointed out that cabinets could be painted, but she just would not move into a house that did not have white cabinets.”

  “Hence your paranoia about quirky design and color.”

  “In that case, the woman was being unreasonable. I can admit that.”

  Travis chuckled.

  “Oh, I should warn you, Virginia wants to bring a photographer by the set so we can do some promotional prints.”

  Ugh. Travis had known this was coming. Brandon was the host and would be in most of the ads, but Virginia had mentioned in passing that she wanted a few action shots of Travis doing stuff around the house to put on the website.

  “I can tell by your facial expression that you’re very excited,” said Brandon.

  “I’ve never been a big fan of getting my photo taken.”

  “Really?”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  Brandon grinned. “Because you’re so hot. If they take some full body shots of you working and put you on the billboards and subway ads, we’re golden. Your thighs alone could get us top ratings.”

  Brandon walked over and ran a hand up Travis’s thigh. Travis had never thought about his own thighs in this way; he certainly admired strong legs on other men but hadn’t known they were something Brandon admired on him. “Um, thank you.”

  Brandon leaned close. “I mean, I’d put you on posters to try to sell this show. I think a lot of viewers are going to see you and start lusting after the sexy project manager. You’re like the sleeper on this production. They’ll tune in to watch me, but fall in love with you.”

  “You say nice things, but that’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, I’d tune in to watch you.”

  “You can watch me anytime you want, babe.”

  “Oh, I have been. That’s what’s going to get me in trouble.” Brandon sighed.

  “Well, you can watch me right now, how’s that? There’s no one around. It’s just you and me.”

  Brandon slid his arms around Travis’s waist and started creeping up the back of his T-shirt. “Oh, yeah. I think we should be wearing less clothes.”

  Travis kissed Brandon, glad that they were moving forward with their real purpose here and not talking anymore. He could feel the edges of panic creeping in—about Ismael, about getting his photo taken for promotional purposes—but he didn’t want Brandon to see that, so he surrendered himself to the feeling of Brandon’s lips against his and Brandon’s hands on his body.

  “Take me to bed,” said Travis.

  “You didn’t even have to ask.”

  Brandon took a step back, so Travis slid off the stool and followed Brandon into his bedroom. They peeled each other’s clothes off and lay on the bed, and Travis tried to turn his brain off, to just let this be sex.

  But he knew better. And as Brandon took him into his arms, as their skin slid against each other, as their cocks pressed together and tingles of arousal curled through Travis’s body, he knew this was much more than sex. He’d allowed himself to be soft and vulnerable with Brandon. He cared about Brandon, wanted to soothe him, wanted him to be okay. He cared in a way he had never cared about a sex partner before. And as they kissed, Travis knew that something was different here, that his feelings were involved.

  “I want you inside me,” Brandon whispered.

  Travis wanted that too. He’d spent the night at Brandon’s apartment often enough now to know where things were, so he reached for the nightstand drawer.

  When he slid inside Brandon, they faced each other, and Travis thought he could see some of his feelings reflected in Brandon’s eyes. What felt good, what Travis wanted with his heart, started to subsume what was practical and what Travis thought he should do. Because this relationship could get him fired from a good job, and could, in fact, cause all manner of disasters.

  And yet it was hard to remember that when he was inside Brandon, when they were kissing, when Brandon put his arms around him. They were wrapped up in each other, murmuring about how good it felt, and Travis knew there was something happening here that he’d never experienced before.

  He was falling for Brandon.

  Later, when they lay in bed tangled up in each other and basking in the aftermath, Travis said, “This is so going to blow up in our faces.”

  Brandon didn’t even need to ask what he was talking about. Instead he just said, “Worth it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  AFTER TRAVIS’S workday ended, Mike proposed they all get a drink. It had been a backbreaking kind of day, installing the antique tub in the master bathroom and laying most of the bathroom tile upstairs. Brandon had plans with his brothers anyway, so Travis had the night to himself.

  They walked down to Cortelyou Road and found a bar that looked simple enough. The little rainbow flag near the awning was encouraging. Inside there was dim lighting, exposed brick, an old-timey brass railing around the bar, and a meat-forward pub-food menu that was just the thing Travis needed after a long day of work.

  They settled at a booth in the corner and ordered beers while Travis tried to decide which decadent, toppings-laden burger he should order. His stomach grumbled in anticipation.

  “So,” said Sandy. “This is a pretty weird project.”

  “The cameras are unnerving, aren’t they?” said Travis. “By the way, I’m really grateful to you guys for coming out to help.”

  “A big paycheck and a chance to advertise the business?” said Mike. “Easy decision.”

  Travis nodded. “I’ve never worked on a project with this kind of budget. It’s like Brandon can just pull money out of thin air.”

  “So is he related to John Chase or what?” asked Mike.

  Travis wasn’t surprised that Mike knew who John Chase was. Travis had since done some research and discovered that John Chase had built a dozen buildings in Manhattan, and his family still owned several developments in the outer boroughs. The crown jewel was the St. Joseph Hotel, a Gilded Age relic the elder Chase had bought for a song in 1975—the year of the infamous Ford to City: Drop Dead headline—and restored to glorious heights. The St. Joseph was now one of the finest hotels in the city, famous for its sumptuous finishes and luxury service. But the Chase family also owned a massive apartment complex near Riverside Park, a few office towers in Lower Manhattan and Midtown, and another big apartment building near Lincoln Center. Newspapers in the eighties and nineties had called Brandon’s father the King of the Upper West Side. They’d also called him a grim taskmaster, a man who never laughed or smiled, and he seemed to win real estate bids mostly through intimidation and throwing money at lawyers. And he said at least once, in nearly every interview Travis had read about him, “Failure is not an option.”

  No wonder Brandon had such a complex.

  “John Chase was Brandon’s father,” said Travis. “My understanding is that Brandon finances his real estate projects with his own money that he earned from the business he ran with Kayla, although he mentioned some inheritance money as well. But he’s not directly involved in the Chase family real estate business, and I think that’s by design. I get the impression he and his family do not get along.”

  “John Chase seemed like a piece of work,” said Mike. “I renovated a condo in Chase Plaza maybe eight years ago, and the list of t
hings we could and could not do in the building was like a homeowner’s association on steroids. We could only use certain colors and materials, we could only work during certain hours, and the condo owners could only buy products from an approved list of vendors. That project almost made me quit.”

  “Oh God, I remember that,” said Sandy.

  “The good news is that Brandon is a lot more easygoing,” said Travis.

  “Is he now?” said Sandy, seeming intrigued.

  Travis trusted his friends, but he wasn’t super eager to talk about his relationship just yet, so instead he said, “So how are things with you guys? Your families okay?”

  “Great,” said Mike. “Well, Emma’s leaving for college soon, and I’m not ready for it.” Emma was Mike’s daughter.

  “Wasn’t she ten years old five minutes ago?”

  “She was a baby five minutes ago,” said Mike. “She’s all grown up now, and I’m in denial.”

  “She’s not going far,” said Sandy.

  “That’s true.” Mike explained that his husband, Gio, had helped Emma get into Juilliard, where she’d be studying voice and opera in the fall.

  “Alex is starting first grade in the fall,” said Sandy. “I’m a mess over that, so I can only imagine what seeing Emma off to college will be like.”

  Both seemed happy, which was the main thing. Travis envied their settled home lives. Maybe it was a side effect of turning thirty-five a couple of months ago, but he was starting to feel tired of casual dates and random hookups. That was what wanting to buy a house had been about, hadn’t it? He’d been saving money long before his grandfather’s house had shown up on the market because he wanted a home to settle into, a place to build a family. He wasn’t sure about kids; he couldn’t see himself as a father the way Mike and Sandy were. But a nice house with a husband and a dog—that was something he could get behind.

  “And what about you?” asked Sandy.

  “Uh, well.” Travis wasn’t sure if he should mention Brandon. “I mean, I pretty much just live at the Argyle Road house now.”

  Sandy leaned toward Mike. “Do you see how that was not an answer?”

  Travis sipped his beer and shrugged.

  “You’re banging Brandon, aren’t you?” said Sandy. “He is pretty foxy. I mean, I’ve seen a zillion episodes of Dream Home because Everett is obsessed. He wants to redo the kitchen again, by the way.”

  “Your kitchen is fine,” said Mike.

  “I know. I built it. Anyway, I always thought Brandon and Kayla were a super cute couple, but then I met Brandon in person, and he makes my gaydar light up like a five-alarm fire. And the two of you have some chemistry, so I thought, you know….”

  Travis crossed his arms, but he knew he was smiling. He couldn’t help it. “What do you think you know?”

  Sandy held up his hands. “He’s a great-looking guy who is very publicly single. You work together all day long, sweating and lifting heavy objects. Things are bound to happen.”

  Travis hesitated to speak. He worried that the fact that he and Brandon were sleeping with each other might get out into the world. So he said, “He’s a complicated guy.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Mike.

  “Look, he and I have talked some, and I get the impression his childhood was not a happy one. If I’m reading between the lines correctly, I think John Chase was verbally abusive to his kids. Brandon has built up this false front for himself, and he’s very reluctant to take it down. He wants everyone to believe he’s just this happy-go-lucky straight guy who had a bad break, but he’s picking up the pieces now to create this new show. None of that is true, incidentally.”

  “The plot thickens,” said Sandy, sitting forward.

  “It’s not my place to tell his secrets,” Travis continued, “but it’s just… this show, his career, his ‘brand,’ are the most important things to him. I can’t help thinking that anyone who tried to get close to him would lose out to all that.”

  “So just fuck his brains out,” said Sandy.

  “No, I see what Travis is saying,” said Mike. “That sounds like a lot to deal with.”

  “See, this is because you’re a romantic,” said Sandy.

  Mike raised his eyebrows. “Do you know what you told me the first day you met Everett? That he was the hottest guy you’d ever laid eyes on.”

  “Right. And I did, in fact, fuck his brains out shortly after that.”

  “And then you married him. You’ve got at least one romantic bone in your body.”

  Sandy crossed his arms and huffed.

  Travis laughed. “This is fun and all, but really, I don’t see much happening with Brandon. Also, you know, we do work together. He’s not my boss, technically, but it could still get awkward. And even though I’m not super stoked about having all my work filmed, I do really like this job. I’d like to keep it.”

  “I was putting up tile in the master bathroom today while this camera guy just lingered behind me, and I was suddenly terrified to make a mistake!” said Sandy. “The job took three times longer than it needed to because I was extra careful. Thankfully, after about half an hour, the camera guy figured out that putting up tile is extremely boring, and he took off.”

  “This is excellent publicity,” said Mike. “I’m going to add ‘as seen on the Restoration Channel’ to our website.”

  “That was basically my thinking,” said Travis. “I do this for a couple of years, I earn money and get some good publicity, and then I can build my own business and put ‘as seen on TV’ all over my website.”

  “I bet you’re good TV too,” said Sandy. “You’ve got that whole badass-with-a-heart-of-gold thing going. Women eat that shit with a spoon.”

  “It’s not women I’m trying to attract here,” said Travis.

  Sandy sat back and considered Travis for a moment. “No, you’re right. It’s one handsome TV star.”

  THE PRESIDENTIAL suite at the St. Joseph Hotel was technically an apartment. It had four bedrooms, a spacious common room, a full kitchen, and two full bathrooms. The whole Chase family had lived here until John Chase had passed away and Robert took over the family business. Brandon’s mother had moved to Massachusetts, having decided to spend her retirement years at the family vacation house in the Berkshires. Now Robert used the suite mostly as an office/meeting space; he and his family lived in a palatial apartment farther uptown. When Brandon arrived for dinner with his brothers, he quickly saw that half the suite was under renovation.

  “This is different,” Brandon commented.

  “Yeah,” Robert said, getting up from behind his desk, which was stationed roughly where the family sofa had once been. “No one is living here now, so I figured I’d change one of the bedrooms into a conference room and make some other changes while I was at it.” He walked around the desk and shook Brandon’s hand. “How are you, brother?”

  “I’m all right.”

  Robert led Brandon over to a dining table and gestured for him to take a seat. “The hotel is catering dinner. Luke should be here any minute.”

  Brandon was already bothered by how stiff and formal this felt. He and Robert were brothers, for God’s sake. They shared the same DNA, had grown up together in this very suite, and yet Robert was treating Brandon like a work acquaintance. They’d never been close—there was an eight-year age gap between them, after all. Brandon probably should have known by now not to expect much from his family, but it still grated on him that Robert was so cold sometimes.

  “How’s Hannah?” Brandon asked. Hannah was Robert’s wife.

  “She’s good. She would have come, but she wanted to pick up Chloe from soccer practice. She doesn’t trust the kids to get home on the subway by themselves yet.”

  Chloe, Robert’s oldest, was only ten, so Brandon didn’t blame her. “I haven’t seen the kids since I moved back to the city. We should have lunch or something.”

  “Sure, I’ll see when everyone’s free.”

  Just then, Luke arrived
. As with Brandon, Luke had a key to the suite and let himself in.

  He looked rough. His hair was a little too long, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days—and not in the deliberate way Travis maintained his stubble. Luke looked like he just hadn’t bothered. And his clothes were more casual than Brandon expected—a simple T-shirt and jeans.

  Luke was employed by the Chase Group. Last Brandon had heard, he was managing some of the properties the company owned in Brooklyn and Queens, so he and Robert were in much more frequent communication than Brandon was with either of them.

  Brandon also knew that each of them dealt with the Chase legacy in different ways. Robert had become their father, essentially. Brandon had been so anxious to be the son John expected him to be that he’d created his own business and married a woman to create the perfect image he needed for success. And Luke, well. Luke drank. And it was starting to show.

  He hugged Brandon, at least.

  An attendant from room service arrived then with a cart full of food, which he dutifully laid out on the dining table. It was a sumptuous feast: a platter with three filets mignons, several bowls of vegetables and potatoes, two bottles of wine, and a platter of petits fours for dessert. Brandon recognized the china plates the attendant set out as belonging to the hotel’s set, a unique design specific to the St. Joseph, variations on which they’d been using since Brandon had been a kid.

  “So how is the television show?” asked Robert once they were seated and had served themselves.

  “It’s going well so far.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Kayla,” said Luke. “I always liked her.”

  “She’s not… that is, you know….” Brandon sighed. “Kayla and I are still friends.”

  “I couldn’t be friends with an ex,” said Luke, filling his wineglass nearly to the brim.

  “That’s not… I mean, it wasn’t a real marriage. You know that, right?”

  Luke shrugged.

  “And I’m seeing someone now, anyway,” Brandon said, not meaning to confess that much but irritated that Luke had forgotten the arrangement.