Chapter Six
“Sebastian.” Gloria Barnett Acker opened her arms to embrace her son.
Baz rose and stepped into her hug—it smelled of French perfume and crisp linen, and it felt like home. “Mom. Good to see you.”
She turned to Aaron. “Thank you for driving Sebastian. I hope he didn’t put you to too much trouble.”
“Oh, no. I don’t mind at all.” Bless him, but he was scrutinizing Gloria, making sure she wasn’t about to boot Baz into the street.
Gloria pulled Baz to the couch as she sat beside him. “So the White House is having quite a turnover, as I understand. The girls are getting settled into the garage apartment?”
Aaron glanced at Baz before replying. “Mina is. Jilly couldn’t come until August.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember her parents kept trying to pay for the summer though she couldn’t come until later. But you and Giles are settled? What about Sid? Did you get the practice room converted to a single yet, or is he not coming until August? Brian was another late one—but what about Elijah? I know his arrival was never confirmed.”
Aaron cast a naked What the hell is going on here? look at Baz.
Baz resisted the urge to throttle his mother. First Stephan, now her. He’d told them both he didn’t want the new crew to have full disclosure yet, but either they’d forgotten or decided it wasn’t convenient.
He answered her questions first before dealing with Aaron. “Giles and Aaron are all set. Brian will be there mid-August. Elijah will be over when he’s ready.” He turned to Aaron, hating this part. “She knows about all this because the management company who owns the White House is part of the family business.”
Aaron’s eyes widened. “You…own the White House?”
Gloria waved her free hand at him, dismissing the revelation. “I bought it when Sebastian moved in. It made me feel better, knowing it was kept up properly.”
“Which is why there’s a killer security system on a student rental.” Baz tracked Aaron’s reaction, relieved it was mostly surprise. He hoped the other residents were as blasé about realizing they were part of the Barnett-Acker family project. “The good news is, if you ever can’t quite make rent, I can probably get the landlord to look the other way.”
“Oh, I’m going to make my dad pay the full year in advance.” Aaron sipped his latte. “That’s pretty cool, you owning the White House. I was worried it would get eaten by the development creeping up the hill.”
“When Baz is ready to get rid of the property, we’ll give it to the college, but until then, it will stay in Acker hands.” She patted Baz’s knee. “Darling, have you eaten? I haven’t ordered dinner yet. Aaron, what about you?”
“I’m fine.” Aaron glanced at Baz, one last double-check, and Baz gave him a nod telegraphing Yep, I’m fine, cut yourself loose. Aaron nodded in acknowledgment. “I should be going home.”
“I’m sorry my phone call delayed you. If I can’t buy you dinner, let me treat you. Stephan?”
While Aaron made noises of protest and Stephan retrieved the wallet of cards, Baz had an idea. “Aaron was taken by the beauty of the Saint Paul Hotel. It’s too bad there’s not time for you to give him the historical tour.”
Gloria beamed at Aaron. “Isn’t it lovely? We stayed here when I was a girl, and I fell in love at once. I admit I use any excuse to come back.” She accepted the wallet from Stephan but set it aside, looking thoughtful. “Tell you what. I’m arranging for the manager to set up a weekend getaway for you and Giles at your convenience. I’ll make sure he gives you a tour and sets you up with a few special events.”
Aaron blinked. Rapidly. “You don’t have to—”
Baz cut him off patiently. “Let her do something for you. Besides, how much do you think Giles would enjoy a romantic getaway?”
“It will be wonderful,” Gloria promised, clearly warming to the idea. “I’ll call Oliver Thompson and have him find a perfect show for you.”
Aaron protested a little more, but not long before switching to thanking Gloria, accepting her polite hugs and giving Baz one last double-check before accepting Baz’s key fob and disappearing into the hall.
“Stephan, you’ll set everything up for Aaron?” Gloria spoke with the same careful lilt she always did, but there was an edge to her tone this time, one Baz knew meant It’s time for you to leave me alone with my son.
Stephan inclined his head in a nod. “Absolutely. Shall I arrange a telephone meeting with Mr. Thompson as well?”
“Please. Oh, and tell Erika she can work in her room for the rest of the evening. The same goes for you.”
Baz tried not to panic over the DEFCON levels his mom was setting off. Getting rid of the staff? Making it clear she and Baz weren’t to be interrupted? Baz began to regret letting his buffer get away. God, he wished his mom would threaten to chuck him out penniless as Aaron’s parents had. That he could deal with. But she’d never behave so crudely in a million years.
No, Gloria would politick Baz to death.
Once the door to the suite was closed, she threw the deadbolt and crossed to the bar, where she poured herself a glass of cabernet and made Baz a scotch neat. She passed Baz the drink and sat on the other side of the sofa beside him. “Well. Here we are, darling. I hope you’ve been well?”
Baz set his scotch beside his coffee and glared at her. “Mom, if you’re going to yell at me for not graduating, do it already. Don’t puff me up first like a goddamned lobbyist.”
“I’m not yelling at you for anything.” She sighed and put her glass aside as well. “I’ve been approached about running for political office, and this time I don’t think I can do anything but accept.”
Relief rolled off Baz in great steaming clouds. “Mom, that’s fantastic. Of course I want you to run for office. Haven’t I said so for years?”
“Nothing is official, and it’s vital you not share this information with anyone. Not even Marius or Damien.”
“Of course I won’t tell anyone. But you were born for this, Mom. This is your first step toward climbing your way to the top. God, I hope it doesn’t take you long to be running for the other US Senate seat beside Uncle Paul.”
“That’s just it, sweetheart. The US Attorney General will be stepping down by the end of the month. Your uncle is the favored candidate for the soon-to-be-open position. His nomination would be tricky, but we believe the Republicans won’t be able to resist the bait of his open seat. Especially when they see what a greenhorn the governor is offering as his replacement.”
Baz stared at her as everything clicked, at last, into place. “You. You’re the greenhorn. Except you aren’t. It’s a pretty big leap from no office to US Senator, but if anybody could do it, it’s you.”
“Yes. But not many people know. Which means if we set up the dance correctly, I can capture the flag—giving a plum position to your uncle and setting him up for bigger things, helping the President and the Democratic Party. I can finally have my dream of taking my place in the Barnett political dynasty.”
Baz squeezed his mother’s hand. “Mom, of course you have my blessing. This is amazing. You have to say yes. Right now.”
She shook her head. “Sweetheart, you don’t understand. If I do this, if I say yes, the Beltway press and the Republicans will be all over me. The Democratic party has promised they’ll send in a crack team to support us, but no matter what we do, the opposition will dig deep. They’ll uncover all the dirt and rattle every skeleton. Of me and my family.” She laced their fingers together tightly and stared achingly into Baz’s face. “You, sweetheart. They’ll come after you.”
Baz could see it already. Every nuance of his bashing, of Jordan’s death. Any trick he’d ever fucked would be interviewed. He’d be spun out as a playboy, a wastrel, an unstable bomb waiting to go off. After all these years of deliberately avoiding his past, it would be p
layed out on the evening news. Over and over again. It would be hell beyond his worst nightmare.
Yet as he took in the hope and eagerness on his mother’s face, he knew the real nightmare would be knowing he was the reason she didn’t take this step.
He kissed her hand. “I think I’ll talk to Pastor Schulz tomorrow about how many courses I’d have to complete to leave Saint Timothy with a religion major. That ought to throw off their playboy story.”
Her eyes glazed with tears she didn’t shed. “Oh, Sebastian. Are you sure?”
“It’ll be wonderful. I always wanted a senator for a mother.”
She embraced him tightly. “Sweetheart—thank you. I suspected this was what you’d say, but I truly would decline if you wanted me to.”
No, this wasn’t going to be fantastic. But what, she should say no because it might be hard on him? He who didn’t know when his graduation date was? “I’m sure. One hundred percent.”
“Thank you so much, darling.” She stroked his back. “Since you’re so certain of your support…I admit, I have a favor to ask of you already.”
Baz blinked. “Um—okay?”
“Part of the reason I’m approaching you now is because there’s an event this weekend. A house-party fundraiser for Chicago area Democrats. Paul thinks I should be there, and I’d love you to come too. The theory is to beat rumors off at the pass. It doesn’t have to be overt, obviously—we’ll let them assume.”
“Assume what?”
“It would be wonderful if you could attend the gala with someone people would assume is your boyfriend.”
Baz recoiled.
She petted him, trying to hook him in the tractor beam of her fixer smile. “Sweetheart, I don’t mean you actually have to have one. We can find someone suitable to be your escort. It’s foregrounding, in case you need cover later. If the press bother you once the announcements are made, we have the narrative ready to roll out. Or we don’t use it at all—but then we have an option.” She adjusted her smile to full wattage. “So what do you think? Shall I have Stephan send you some profiles?”
He stifled the urge to protest, having ridden this tiger before. Fighting would entrench him more deeply. He had no delusion this would be an escort-only situation. She was trying to marry him off. So he had to head her off.
His options were to refuse to go, argue he didn’t want a date or provide his own. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, but he couldn’t do this to any of his friends. Damien was obviously out, what with the engagement and all. Marius would do it, but when the shit hit the fan, he’d need to fake gay during his first year of med school. No. Aaron and Giles were out too, because he wasn’t messing up that relationship. Sid wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.
One name lingered in his contact list, and suddenly his mother’s file of prospective suitors didn’t sound so bad.
Except yes, it did. She’d call in favors from people in her network who had gay, bi or desperate sons. This one event would become four, or five, and if his mother liked the way they looked together—good odds, as she’d pick the guy out—she’d begin campaigning for the pretend relationship to be real. He could already hear the pitch. It’s not as if you have any interest in actually dating someone. And if the two of you come to an agreement, there’s no need for you to be exclusive.
The metaphorical migraine she’d stirred up became a literal one. What the hell happened to being ready to decline if I said no? Obviously nothing more than a line. He’d been politicked once again. He’d all but lain down on the track and helped her tie his body to the rails.
One lifeline. You have one available lifeline. And Aaron’s blessing to use it.
“Of course I’ll come to your party. But I can’t let you send me any profiles of prospective faux boyfriends.” Baz smiled. “My actual boyfriend would get jealous.”
The lie wasn’t the problem—Baz had delivered avalanche-level snow jobs to Gloria Barnett Acker since 1996. He knew how to adjust the corners of his mouth, dip his head, hunch his shoulders sheepishly to suggest golly, who’d of thunk it, but Sebastian Acker was in love. As she bluffed right back, pretending it didn’t annoy her to have her careful orchestra disassembled even in this small way, Baz expertly dished out breadcrumbs of fake intel as she demanded all the details.
What twisted his gut into knots was the knowledge that to pull off the act, he had to produce this boyfriend, the actual human he’d be roping into the farce. Instinct told him he could summon a goddamned mountain of politicking, and Elijah Prince would simply stand there with his arms folded, calling bullshit. Looking angry and suspicious and hurt, the way he had on the steps of the White House hours before.
When Baz’s mother rose to refill her drink so they could have a proper toast, Baz popped the lid off his bottle of oxycodone, chased two with a healthy swallow of scotch and hoped to hell he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.
Howl’s Moving Castle was Elijah’s favorite movie, but it always made him sad.
He’d glue his eyeballs shut before he watched any of Kelly Davidson’s Disney pap, but Diana Wynne Jones’s story was genius and Hayao Miyazaki could right all the wrongs of the world. That the movie happened to have romantic shading was a side effect. That this side effect always got under his skin was an annoyance to be endured. Sometimes enduring was harder than other times, though, and once Mina fell asleep, he got off the couch she’d converted to a bed for him, slipped into her flip-flops and padded down the garage apartment stairs to have a cigarette.
Naturally, as he lit up at the foot of the stairs, a car pulled into the drive, and Baz stepped out of it.
The headlights cut across him as the sleek black car retreated, so there wasn’t any point in trying to hide. Ashing into the bushes, Elijah rested a hip on the wall and stared at Baz, waiting to see what happened next.
Hands in his pockets, Baz leaned on a decorative lamppost beside some lattice fencing. “Hey. How’s it going?”
Elijah took a slow, careful drag before blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Sorry—were you talking to me?”
“Yeah.” Baz shoved his hands deeper and nodded at the main house. “Um—hey. I know we haven’t…said much to each other lately. And this is the wrong way to go about it, but…I have to ask you something. A favor.”
Normally the broody-male routine would at least give Elijah a cheap thrill, but the one-eighty from complete cold shoulder to aw-shucks, I’m such an awkward hot mess, please forgive me because I need something pissed Elijah off. “No worries. People fuck me, act like I’m a syphilitic leper, then ask for a favor all the time. Just keep me abreast of where we are. Maybe we can come up with a signal.”
The bastard had the nerve to laugh. “You’re right. It would be stupid to ask. I’ll figure out something else.”
For a moment, snark deserted Elijah, panic and raw loneliness overcoming him as he realized Baz was about to turn him loose after one goddamned exchange. Angling across the sidewalk, Elijah cut Baz off before he could disappear into the garage.
“Oh, no you fucking don’t. You do not ignore me for five weeks, rub your toe in the dirt and say you need something from me, then bail when I bleed off some hurt.”
He shut his eyes as he winced at letting the word hurt escape his filter.
Setting his jaw, Elijah glared into the depths of Baz’s sunglasses and planted his flag. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re having this out. Right here. Right now.”
Baz held up his hands, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Seriously, not tonight. I’m tapped out.”
Baz tried for an end run, but Elijah reinserted himself in the way. “Fine. You can go hide in your cave and brood, as soon as you tell me what you were going to ask me.”
The weary-moppet act fell away as Baz bared his teeth. “Changed my mind. Not asking you for anything, ever. Back the fuck off.”
“Fuck you and your goddamned moods. Fine, asshole. I don’t want to know what you were going to tell me. Probably that you had a fucking hangnail. Well, suck on it. I’ll make it easy to never ask me for anything, ever. I’m not spending one more ass-tastic minute in this house so long as you’re in it, and I’m sure as fuck not living here. Not for the summer, not the school year, not for the goddamned zombie apocalypse. I’ll stay with Pastor, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll stay at the Kiss My Ass Motel.”
It was a line demanding a dramatic exit, but Elijah didn’t know where the hell to go. If he went upstairs, he couldn’t have another cigarette, plus if Baz followed him, he’d wake Mina. If Baz didn’t follow…
Fuck. This. Elijah shoved the cigarette between his lips and stormed down the alley to who the fuck knew where. In his pajama pants.
Baz grabbed Elijah, knocking his cigarette into the gravel. Pushing Elijah against the garage, flattening one arm above his head, Baz used his other hand to pin Elijah’s shoulder in place.
Elijah shut his eyes in a slow blink, masking a shiver of want before cloaking himself in outrage once more. “What the hell—”
“Shut. Up.” Baz loosened his grip, but not by much. The dark holes of his glasses bore into Elijah. His jaw was tight, the cords of his neck tense. The aw-shucks routine was gone, as was the edge. Now he was merely raw and wrecked. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to say, except I’m an ass and you deserve better.”
It was true. Nobody fucking deserved this. But wrecked Baz was Elijah’s kryptonite. “I would have simply put out, you know. You’re the one who paraded us in front of everyone we know. They keep making sad eyes at me because I was dumped. Which is fucking cold, because I told you I got it was a one-off. I didn’t think we were fucking dating, but I thought we’d at least progressed to eye contact in the hallway.”
Baz sagged, body curving around Elijah as he let his forehead hit the siding of the garage. “It’s stupid. I fucked up. It was a real asshole move to volunteer you after the way I’ve treated you. I’m—sorry.”
Lonely Hearts Page 8
