The Missing Butterfly

by Megan Derr

  As he reached the granite-topped bar that divided living room from kitchen, Malcolm pushed a mug of coffee toward him. "Black, right?" Malcolm asked.

  Cassidy looked at him in surprise. He always drank his office coffee with as much cream and sugar as he could stand to hide the taste of cheap, stale coffee. "How did you know?"

  "The way you fix it at work," Malcolm replied, smiling. "Just enough stuff to ease the worst of it. I had a college roommate who did the same thing."

  Returning the smile, Cassidy sat down on a leather-covered barstool and sipped at the coffee, which was not good, but damned good.

  Malcolm leaned across the counter, and Cassidy met him halfway, sinking his free hand into Malcolm's soft, still-damp hair as he returned the very long and thorough good morning kiss. Oh, yes, he did like playing this sort of pretend.

  "Hey," Malcolm said softly when he finally drew back.

  "Morning," Cassidy replied, feeling suddenly and unaccountably shy. He glanced down at his coffee, though his hesitant smile never faded.

  "I was thinking—"

  But whatever Malcolm was thinking, was put on hold as the doorbell rang.

  "Must be our food," Malcolm said, and started toward the door. He stopped abruptly as the sound of the doorbell was almost immediately followed by the sound of the door being unlocked and opened.

  Cassidy hid an amused laugh in his coffee mug, not as horrified as perhaps he should be by how angry Malcolm looked as he stared in the direction of the door and the two men who soon appeared.

  Antoine, Cassidy recognized immediately. The other man he did not recognize, but he could guess. What with one thing and another, he had nearly forgotten that it was his damned karaoke that had started it all.

  So this was the great and powerful Wallace Burgundy. He was good looking, in a way that would have made him cute in his younger years. Somewhere in his mid to late thirties, now, the cute had smoothed out into a classy, distinguished look. Dark brown-red hair that had the barest hints of gray to it, brown-gold eyes, and a slightly crooked nose that did not at all detract from a charming smile.

  He stood next to Antoine, and it was a more impressive picture still. Red and gold, casual clothes that cost more than his best suit. It was little wonder those two were used to getting whatever they wanted. Cassidy eyed them warily as they approached, glaring a bit when Antoine smiled at him.

  "When the fuck are you doing here?" Malcolm demanded.

  Antoine snorted. "You know damn good and well we're here to speak with the little songbird you kidnapped last night. Of course we're here. That was the plan all along."

  Cassidy stiffened, drawing back. What? All of it—everything— "You only brought me here to—to get me to sign some fucking contract?" he asked, looking at Malcolm, half-tempted to throw his coffee, or maybe just go with old school and punch the bastard, except it had all seemed…

  "No!" Malcolm burst out, catching his hand to keep him from going, shooting Antoine a murderous look. "That was never my plan at all, and if my dipshit brother doesn't shut his damned mouth, he's going to find himself in a world of hurt."

  Antoine rolled his eyes. "My plan. It was my plan, not yours. Christ. Drink some more fucking coffee, Romeo."

  Wallace laughed and deposited bags of food on the bar, then slid onto the seat next to Cassidy. He held out his hand. "Wallace Burgundy. Wally, please. It's a pleasure to meet you, even if I suspect it's not mutual."

  Cassidy shook his hand. "It's mutual, though you may change your mind when you realize my answer to your question is always going to be no."

  "Why?" Wally asked, and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small notebook spiral bound across the top. He flipped through it, rattling off information he must have gathered from the clubs and bars in order to pin Cassidy down. It was equal parts flattering and creepy. "Everything I've heard about you," Wally continued, "says you have the talent, the skill. Experts and amateurs agree you were born with a gift."

  "My reasons are my business," Cassidy replied. "I'm no longer interested in a professional career." Not while his siblings still needed him. Not when he would have to fly solo, when he wanted to be Four again so badly.

  "No longer interested?" Wally repeated.

  Cassidy scowled, furious with himself. "Back off."

  "Man, you sing like a dream," Antoine said from where he stood fixing two cups of coffee. Moving to the bar, he handed one of them to Wally, who thanked him with a smile that Antoine absently returned. "That sort of voice is a rarity, people dream of being born with that sort of talent."

  Cassidy sneered. "It isn't waking up in a cradle born singing. I'm no fucking fairytale. My voice is a lifelong obsession, hours upon hours of training and practice, and spending the rest of my time doing a million odd jobs to fund the voice lessons. It's hours upon hours of devotion. It's hard work, not dumb luck. Don't make me out to be some miracle. I'm good, not divine."

  "Which makes it all the stranger that you don't want to pursue a professional career with it. Obviously the dream is there. I'm trying to offer you a chance to fulfill the dreams you obviously have. Of course you have them. Who doesn't dream of such things?

  Cassidy could feel his temper snap, like an old, dry branch. "Who doesn't?" he snapped, setting his coffee down so hard it sloshed and splashed over the counter and his hand. "Who doesn't dream of such things? I'll tell you who doesn't—try an eighteen year old kid who gets a phone call that a drunken asshole plowed into his parents' car, killing all parties. Try a dumb kid suddenly told that he's two seconds away from losing his siblings because he's just a young, dumb kid. Try a dumb kid who suddenly has to figure out how to be a fucking adult, who has to give up fuck everything—including stupid dreams—in order to keep the only family he has left. My band went on toward fame and fortune without me eight years ago. I have a different life now. I don't have the luxury of being able to pursue long dead dreams. That's the sort of person who doesn't dream of such things. So fuck off and leave me alone."

  He shoved away from the bar and fled back to the bedroom, then realized how stupid that was—it wasn't his bedroom, it wasn't his haven.

  But it still smelled like sex, like Malcolm, and even though he wanted to be angry at everyone and everything, with Malcolm for bringing him here—that wasn't fair, and even if it was, he still somehow found comfort just by being in Malcolm's bedroom.

  That probably meant he was in deep shit, but he'd sort of already known that and hell if he knew what to do. It wasn't the fall that would kill him, he thought sourly, it would be the sudden stop at the end.

  He tensed as he heard someone come in, the door close quietly. Malcolm drew near but Cassidy did not turn around to face him. He curled and uncurled his hands restlessly, wishing his head would sort itself out—wishing more that Malcolm would take away his ability to think.

  Arms draped over him from behind—cautiously at first, but they settled firmly when Cassidy did not pull away from them. "I'm sorry," Malcolm said quietly. "It's true I went to hear Jonathan sing, and maybe score. I knew my brother wanted to sign you, but I swear all I wanted was to see you again."

  Cassidy nodded, leaning back slightly in the arms now holding him.

  "They shouldn't have spoken the way they did, and I'm sorry for that, too," Malcolm said.

  "They were trying to make me a rock star," Cassidy said with a sigh. "They were trying to do a good thing. They didn't deserve to have me blow up at them. My problems are mine, no one else should have to hear them, least of all people who want to make me famous."

  Malcolm turned him around, an arm still around him, keeping them close, only breaths apart. "I want to hear them. I want to know whatever I need, in order to take the sadness from your eyes."

  Cassidy stared at him, completely stunned by the words. No one actually said shit like that, and definitely not to him. Unable to think of a reply, never mind a worthy one, Cassidy simply pressed a kiss to Malcolm's mouth. The kiss was slow and deep, a com
forting, steadying sort of kiss, and Cassidy hoped it conveyed all the things he could not put into words, or even sort out.

  This whirlwind thing they had going was probably going to blow out of his life as suddenly as it had blown in, and Cassidy hoped it left him some remaining piece, but he suspected it would not and damned if there was anything he could do about it.

  He reached up to curl his own fingers around Malcolm's neck, one kiss melding into another, until they seemed so thoroughly tangled up in each he could almost pretend getting untangled again was impossible.

  Lost to the kisses, to the smell and the feel of Malcolm, he barely noticed when they made it to the bed, except it meant that he had Malcolm's weight pressing him down. God, he loved the way that felt. "You make me crazy," he murmured, as clothes were discarded, and he began to lap and suck and bite at Malcolm's skin, adding new marks to those made last night.

  "Mutual," Malcolm breathed against his skin, matching every kiss and caress, already so well acquainted with Cassidy's body. Cassidy gasped and writhed as Malcolm teased at his hole, one finger sliding in and out.

  Malcolm laughed against his throat, nuzzling. "Tempting, tempting."

  "Do it," Cassidy said, moaning. "I'm not that sore." He didn't give Malcolm a chance to ask him if he was sure, just yanked him down to give a kiss that said it very clearly.

  Soon after, his nails were digging into Malcolm's shoulders as Malcolm thrust into him, keeping up a steady, relentless rhythm until Cassidy could take no more and cried Malcolm's name as he came.

  He lay panting long moments after they were stretched out and settled on the bed. Malcolm kissed his shoulder, nuzzling it before finally laying still behind him. "I hope your brother and his friend left," Cassidy said eventually, because he didn't want to know they'd had an audience, and that audience was waiting to harass him again.

  Malcolm snorted. "They wasted no time running for their lives. I can't promise Wally will leave off trying to change your mind, but he'll at least be more tactful about it."

  Cassidy nodded, feeling tired of it all.

  A soft kiss was pressed to the space just beneath his ear. "Do I still stand a chance of spending the day with you?"

  Whatever chance Cassidy stood of saying no, that he really should go, vanished beneath the weight of that quiet, wistful tone. Smiling, Cassidy replied, "Only if you fix me more coffee."

  Malcolm laughed and turned him to give Cassidy a proper kiss. "It shall be done."

  Chapter Ten

  Cassidy turned as he heard the door to the break room open and tried to stifle his disappointment when it only proved to be a gaggle of office women instead of Malcolm.

  Honestly, he should be relieved he'd seen neither hide nor hair of Malcolm all day. Whether Malcolm was busy or simply avoiding him, Cassidy couldn't say, but it really was just as well. He had no faith he would be able to hide the shift in their relationship; one look at the wrong time and everyone from the head honchos on the top floor to the rent-a-cops in the lobby would know he was sleeping with his boss. Urgh. How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess, when he'd told himself not to do it five thousand times?

  The women all tittered and giggled, and Cassidy realized too late that he probably should have got while the getting was good because they were hunting for fresh gossip, and he was obviously the prey. "So, Cassidy," Janice said with what she obviously thought was a sly look. "You look different today. Have a good weekend?"

  "Uh—yeah," Cassidy replied. "Good."

  "What did you do?" asked Caroline.

  Cassidy frowned. Why did they care? Were they that bored? "Uh—dinner and stuff," he said, then realized that was a dumb answer.

  "Oh, someone took you to dinner? Who?"

  "Um. My boyfriend," Cassidy said, right as the door opened and Malcolm appeared. Cassidy flushed all the darker, as he saw Malcolm had heard him, and the women had all dissolved into their damned giggles, and really why were they so damned crazy? Surely going out to dinner with one's boyfriend wasn't that interesting? Everyone did that.

  But, they only continued to make their silly girl noises and asked five thousand more questions. Malcolm, the jerk, carefully ignored all of them and only took forever fixing his coffee. Cassidy was going to kill him very, very slowly.

  Janice winked. "Well, dinner would certainly explain that mark on your neck."

  "What!" Cassidy said, nearly shouting, slapping a hand to the portion of neck Janice indicated, his face turning all new shades of red. He barely managed not to glare murderously at Malcolm, who took that moment to bolt like the rat bastard coward that he was, coughing ever so mysteriously as he fled.

  Cassidy was definitely going to kill him.

  The girls lost it completely at that point, and Cassidy decided he'd kill them first. But later. For the moment, he took his chance and fled like a coward himself, running back to the questionable safety of his cubicle.

  He'd just sat down when his phone buzzed, telling him he had a new text. Taking out his phone, he flipped it open and read, 'Elevators'. The intelligent thing would be to ignore the summons, and it would serve Malcolm right if he did so, the ass.

  Cassidy glanced at his monitor clock, saw it was twenty minutes to quitting time, and packed all his shit up.

  "Oh, leaving a bit early?" Janice asked, winking at him.

  "Y-yeah," Cassidy said, suddenly feeling guilty and ashamed and crap, he'd only been here a few months he shouldn't—what if he pissed people off—

  Janice laughed and made shooing motions at him. "Get, then. Have fun. Tell your boyfriend to be more discreet." She winked again then vanished into her own cubicle.

  Cassidy made a beeline for the elevator lobby, immensely relieved when no else talked to him or giggled at him or otherwise attempted to mortify him to death.

  "Cass!" Malcolm's voice came from the farthest elevator, head sticking out briefly as he motioned for Cass to join him. Cassidy shook his head—that was the executive elevator, and he so was not surprised Malcolm had access to it.

  Reluctantly, Cassidy joined him, feeling like he was going to get in big trouble or pretending to fit in where he never stood a chance of actually belonging. An interloper, that's all he was, really.

  But, once the doors slid shut, he could not resist the opportunity to thwack Malcolm hard. "I can't fucking believe you left a goddamn hickey!" he hissed. "I can't believe neither you nor my siblings said something. I hate all of you. A lot."

  Malcolm rubbed his abused arm, and bent to plant a mollifying kiss on Cassidy's mouth. "Didn't do it on purpose. Not my fault you're fucking edible."

  Cassidy flushed and gave serious consideration to strangling Malcolm with his tie. He settled for glaring.

  Malcolm snickered. "You're going to give yourself away, always turning red like that, baby."

  That just made Cassidy flush all the more. "Don't call me that. Do I look like a fucking girl to you?"

  "No, as a matter of fact, you look like a naughty, naughty office boy to me," Malcolm replied.

  "I hate you," Cassidy said, unable to believe he was teasing and playing about the things that actually had him scared to death. Malcolm was still his boss, and Malcolm was also rich and connected. It would be Cassidy who suffered the most when shit fell apart. But together like this, it was hard to think about reality.

  Especially when Malcolm bent to kiss him again.

  Cassidy whimpered, unable to believe he was standing in an elevator kissing his boss, doing everything he shouldn't be doing and fuck if he didn't love it. His own stupidity was going to kill him, but Christ what a way to go.

  The elevator chimed, and they broke apart, as Malcolm led him across a fancy lobby, waved to a woman in a bright red suit, and through a set of double doors. Beyond the doors was an office easily the size of Cassidy's house—at least most of the downstairs, anyway. The nameplate on the enormous desk said 'Antoine Osborne'. Good grief.

  Before he could say anything, though, he was back i
n Malcolm's arms and being soundly kissed. "Have dinner with me tonight," Malcolm murmured against his mouth.

  "Huh? Why?" Cassidy asked.

  Malcolm looked at him in amusement. "Why not? Can't a guy take his boyfriend to dinner?"

  "Ah," Cassidy flushed, remembering the break room. He'd thought Malcolm had over heard that. He hadn't meant to say boyfriend, he didn't want to presume.

  The teasing smile faded from Malcolm's face. "Unless you didn't—"

  "I didn’t mean to presume," Cassidy said quickly. "But, uh—"