Redesigning Landry Bishop

by Kim Fielding

  “I, um, ate something.”

  “You sure?” Still amused, although Landry had no idea why.

  “I’m fine. Go swim.”

  Once Jordan left, Landry was able to make some true progress on his to-do list. Even though he kept imagining Jordan moving through the hotel pool, body sleek and strong. He even read a new message from his sister.

  Hey Wormy,

  We’re having absotively perfect weather right now with the temps turning just a little crisp, but you still only need a light jacket at night. The leaves on that big old oak tree in the backyard are starting to change color. Do you remember that time we climbed it even though we weren’t supposed to, and you fell and hurt your ankle? You didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad so you ended up trying to hide your limp for days.

  I ran into Ashley Neth at Barn Owl Market yesterday. You remember her—she used to be Ashley Myers until she got married. She was your year in school and always really full of herself. She wore her stupid cheerleader outfit all over town when she totally didn’t have to, just showing off, you know? She and her husband, they have a little money because he’s a dentist, but his name is Seth Neth, and that just goes to show none of them have any sense at all.

  Anyway, yesterday Ashley was cooing at me because she saw you in some magazine. Like, everybody already knew you’re famous, so I don’t know why she was acting like this was a sudden revelation. I was mature, though. I just smiled and didn’t remind her what a bitch she was to you in high school.

  If snooty old Ashley Meyer Neth thinks you’re a big f’ing deal, can you imagine what the rest of town thinks? You really ought to make an appearance here one of these days, Wormy. Give us yokels a thrill.

  Actually, you might have to show up sooner than you think. I told you, Aunt Trudy’s got something up her sleeve, and it involves you. Because everyone thinks you’re a pretty big deal. Be warned.

  You know, I’d kinda like to see you too.

  XO,

  Missy

  He didn’t know what to write back to her. He used to tell her some of the funny things Steve had said, because he could be really funny at the most unexpected times. That was a major reason Landry had fallen for him. But now? Missy had as much interest in industry gossip as Landry did in Ashley Neth, and Missy didn’t want any of his décor or entertainment advice. He couldn’t even justify talking about the weather, because the LA climate was boring. And he was tired of coming up with excuses to avoid Peril.

  Landry ended up sending a bland little message about hiring a new PA and taking on some unexpected TV shows. He didn’t mention how handsome Jordan was or how his presence made Landry’s house feel more interesting, more alive. Then Landry simply asked her for photos of the twins. That would occupy her for a while.

  Jordan bounded into the suite a few minutes after six. “Sorry I’m late!” he said, breathing hard. “Got to talking with some people poolside and lost track of time.”

  People? What people? God, that was absolutely none of Landry’s business. “It’s fine. We still have time. But we should get dressed now.”

  “Will you tell me if what I brought is okay?”

  Landry agreed, which turned out to be a good thing. Jordan had packed his college-intern suit. It wouldn’t have gotten him kicked out of the restaurant, but he could do much better. Landry shook his head. “Did you bring those skinny black jeans you wore the other day?”

  Jordan grinned. “Yeah.”

  “Forget about the khakis and wear the jeans instead. The shirt will do”—a plain white button-down—“but I’m going to lend you a tie. And a jacket. It won’t be a perfect fit, but it’ll do for tonight. As for your shoes… well, I suppose they’ll be hidden under the table.”

  If Jordan was offended, he certainly didn’t show it. In fact, he smiled widely as he skinned off his now-dry swimming trunks. Landry tried not to stare as Jordan, gloriously naked, took his time apparently searching for the perfect pair of underwear.

  But it was impossible to look away. Jordan’s body was nicely toned but not over-muscled, with a sprinkling of pale hairs on his chest and lower belly—all of which Landry knew already, thanks to Jordan’s swimming sessions at home. But now Jordan had revealed the portions previously covered by fabric, and, well…. Wow. Smooth, rounded buttocks that Landry yearned to caress, a barely trimmed bush, and a plump, soft cock a few shades pinker than the rest of him.

  Jordan took his time putting underwear on, too, performing a de-stripping show that Landry found sexier than anything Vegas could offer.

  “I’ll be changing,” said Landry, realizing he should have left the room already. “I’ll be back shortly with a jacket and tie.”

  “Sure thing.” Jordan was now searching for socks, it seemed.

  Landry had to glare down an incipient hard-on before getting into his own black trousers. He went with a white shirt too—albeit better tailored than Jordan’s—and a plain black tie. His blazer was also black, but the heavy black embroidery on the lapels and down the sleeves saved him from looking like an FBI agent. Well, that and the way he carefully sculpted his hair with product. G-men, he suspected, didn’t bother with that.

  He gave Jordan a gray tie and a more subdued black jacket, and although Jordan had done nothing to his hair but comb it into place, he looked gorgeous. Delicious, even.

  “Passable?” Jordan asked.

  Landry spared him a smile. “You’ll do.”

  They took one of the hotel’s chauffeured town cars, another perk of their high-class suite. Jordan seemed amused to sit in the back seat and let someone else drive.

  Le Renard Violet was located in one of the city’s newest properties, but not on the casino floor. To get to the restaurant, Landry and Jordan had to locate a special elevator tucked into a discreet corner, where an officious man checked Landry’s name on his tablet before allowing them past.

  “Fancy place, huh?” asked Jordan as the elevator rose.

  “It’s new and exclusive. I had to pull some strings to get reservations on such short notice.”

  “Is that the kind of thing you’ll want me to do in the future?”

  “Yes. When we return home, we can go over it.”

  The smiling hostess, clad in an evening gown, met them as soon as they disembarked. She led them through the dark, quiet dining room to a table beside a window, at which point she was seamlessly replaced by a young man who filled their water glasses.

  Jordan leaned toward Landry and spoke in a stage whisper. “What’s the decorating theme here? Alice in Wonderland shouts tallyho?”

  Landry almost choked on his water, because Jordan had a point. Framed paintings featured fox hunters chasing oversize technicolor prey. “Lord Thistlebottom drops acid, I think.”

  “Lord who?”

  “It’s… sort of an inside joke with Elaine. That’s what she calls me when she thinks I’m being pompous.”

  “Ah. I like it.” Jordan lifted his water glass. “To Lord Thistlebottom!”

  Smiling, Landry joined the toast.

  But when they lowered their glasses, Jordan fixed him with a steady gaze. “You’re not pompous, you know.”

  “I am.”

  “No. You’re smart and you have a huge vocabulary. And you’re careful. Um, mindful, maybe? Controlled. You’re kind of remarkable, actually.” And then Jordan bit his lip and looked away, as if he were stopping himself from saying more.

  The menu was a five-course prix fixe with no choices. Diners were supposed to be grateful for whatever the chef’s daily whim might be. Which was fine in principle, except today the chef seemed to have taken a random culinary lurch across continents.

  “What’s this?” Jordan asked when their first course arrived. Each plate sported a patty about the size of a silver dollar, with a sprinkling of microgreens and a tiny dollop of red sauce on the side.

  “A curried crab and scallop cake.” Landry had peeked at the menu after they sat down.

  “Okay.”


  The cake wasn’t bad, although the curry contained an overabundance of cinnamon and cardamom. The red sauce had something to do with pomegranates. Even attempting delicate nibbles, Landry finished off the entire thing in three bites.

  The waiter had a heavy New Jersey accent. He tried to hide it, but not very successfully. Still, he was efficient about clearing away the plates and refilling their glasses.

  “No wine.” Jordan pointed at a few of the neighboring tables. “They all have wine, but we don’t.”

  “I specified just water when I made the reservation.”

  “But you like wine, right?”

  “I do, but I am quite satisfied without it.” Absolutely true, and drinking in front of Jordan would have been somewhat rude.

  “But I’m your PA. Shouldn’t I be catering to your needs instead of the other way round?”

  “I don’t need wine.”

  For some reason that triggered Jordan’s wide smile. He dropped the topic, gazing out the window at the spectacle below. “Have you been to the Neon Museum?” he asked after a moment.

  “The what?”

  “I read about it in that magazine in the room. They have a bunch of old signs from casinos and stuff, and you can go on tours. It sounds kind of cool.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  Jordan shook his head. “The magazine said night tours sell out weeks in advance.”

  “I could try pulling some of those strings I was talking about.”

  “Being famous is kind of handy, isn’t it?”

  Landry was about to protest that he wasn’t truly famous—he simply had good connections. But then the waiter brought the second course. Landry had to explain that one too. It was a miniature barigoule: a few tablespoons of artichoke bits braised with chopped garlic and bok choy, all in a creamy sauce spiked with chilies. It was more interesting than tasty. And gone in only four bites. God, he was hungry.

  After the waiter whisked their plates away, Jordan looked wistfully at the table. “I guess this place is too fancy to give you bread, huh?”

  “Much.” A month after Steve had died, Landry had put on an old pair of jeans, a T-shirt he’d owned since college, and his most comfortable running shoes. Then he hopped into the Jag and drove to an Olive Garden in Bakersfield, where he hoped nobody would recognize him. He’d stuffed his face with breadsticks and felt emotionally stronger when he was done.

  “Can I ask you something, Landry?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you end up being so successful? Not that you don’t deserve it! You totally do. But how does a guy go from Peril, Nebraska, to nighttime talk shows?”

  Oddly pleased that Jordan remembered the name of his hometown, Landry twisted the glass between his palms. “It was mostly good luck, actually.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d known since I was young that I wanted a career in fashion or home design. Nebraska was clearly not the best place for that, so I went to college in Southern California.”

  “How did your family feel about that?”

  Landry winced. “My father had passed away by then, and—”

  “I’m so sorry!” Jordan looked pained, as if the loss were recent.

  “Thank you. My mother knew Peril was no place for me. She insisted on using part of Dad’s life insurance to help pay my tuition.”

  “Hooray for supportive parents!” Jordan raised his water glass in a salute.

  Landry nodded. Even though she hadn’t understood him at all, she had been supportive, and that had been a wonderful gift. “How about your family? Are they supportive too?”

  Jordan chuckled. “Maybe too much. I think they kinda spoiled me. We weren’t rich or anything—just solid middle class—but Mom and Dad have always made it clear that I can rely on them if I need to. Even when I’m way past old enough to be responsible for myself. They’re part of the reason I needed to leave Seattle—it was time for this bird to finally leave the nest. But we were talking about you. About your mom.”

  “She died too,” he said quietly. “Not long before I finished my degree. And she’d wanted so badly to see me graduate.”

  “You were left alone really young.”

  “Not alone; I have a sister. Plus, a good portion of Peril is related to me by blood or marriage.”

  The shadows fled Jordan’s expression. “Hooray also for extended family. Like the ones who get you a fantastic job with an amazing boss.” He winked.

  “I’m not amazing.”

  For once Jordan appeared completely serious. “You totally are, Landry.”

  Landry pretended to be fascinated by the view.

  The waiter saved him by bringing the third course, which consisted of two tablespoons of couscous arranged into a tiny mountain, topped by a flag made of chive and red pepper. A thin line of brown sauce formed a crooked path up the side of the mountain, while a tiny puddle of blue corn gruel constituted a pond at the mountain’s base.

  Jordan bent to peer closely at his plate. “Wow. Geography for dinner.”

  “The chef’s famous for his edible landscapes.”

  “Well, of course he is!”

  Unfortunately this landscape was bland, and the pathway—which tasted of fish sauce—clashed with the spices in the pond. Plus the whole thing was only a few spoonsful. Now Landry understood the Wonderlandesque aspect of the restaurant décor: the longer the meal went on here, the hungrier he became. It was a fate that seemed fitting for the Red Queen, perhaps.

  At least the water wasn’t served in thimbles.

  The waiter took away their empty plates with a flourish, as if he were performing a magic trick.

  “This would be a good place for people whose eyes really are bigger than their stomach,” Jordan said. “But okay. At the end of the last episode, you’d just graduated from college. How did you get from there to here?”

  Landry admired Jordan’s tenacity, but he reminded himself that the trait could prove dangerous. If Jordan pushed for a closer relationship, Landry doubted his own ability to resist.

  “I got jobs. Low-level management in retail and hospitality at first. But it was LA, and our customers tended toward rich and famous. It was a good way to learn a lot and get noticed. Soon I had the chance to do some merchandising, designing window displays and that sort of thing.”

  “I bet you nailed that job.”

  “I suppose so. Then I started some things on the side. This was a decade ago, so social media wasn’t the same as today, but I had a blog. I collected some influential followers.” He shrugged to downplay the facts, but in truth, he’d been wild with excitement at the time. “Some of them began to hire me as, well, an event planner of sorts. Not for huge occasions such as weddings, but for smaller affairs. A dinner party hosted by a director, a pool party hosted by an up-and-coming actress. That sort of thing.”

  “Wow. That must have been thrilling.”

  “For this kid from Nebraska? You bet.”

  “And it all snowballed from there?”

  Landry could have nodded and left it that, and he wouldn’t exactly be lying. But it wouldn’t be honest either. And thus far his relationship with his new PA had been honest—about almost everything.

  “I had help,” Landry said softly.

  Jordan waited, not saying anything, but with his attention focused so sharply on Landry that the rest of Vegas might as well have not existed. He seemed to truly care. His hand rested on the tabletop only a few inches from Landry’s.

  “I met Steve,” Landry continued. “His law firm hired me to plan an event for some of their clients. Cocktails, finger foods, semiformal attire. Most of their clients are in the industry, so it was a glittery crowd.”

  “And you fell for Steve instead of an actor?”

  Landry couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “The actors hadn’t shown up yet; the party wouldn’t start for an hour. I was running around, trying to make sure everything was going according to plan. It was an important gig for me. Then th
is attorney pulls me aside and demands a cost comparison of the crab puffs I’d ordered with the shrimp puffs he thought would be cheaper. He wasn’t thrilled with the wine price points either.”

  At the table nearest them, a man and woman burst into raucous laughter. But Jordan didn’t spare them a glance, keeping his gaze on Landry’s face. “That was sexy? Arguing with you?”

  “Actually, I suppose it was. Well, Steve was sexy, period. And he was good at arguing. As passionate about making a point as I was about dressing well. I liked that, even if we disagreed over the menu. We took our discussion to his office for privacy’s sake and… things escalated fast.” His face heated, and he wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or recalled desire. He’d barely been one to kiss on the first date, let alone strip naked in an office on Wilshire Boulevard. But Steve had pushed all the right buttons from the very beginning, in a way nobody else ever had.

  Until Jordan.

  Shit.

  Apparently oblivious to Landry’s sudden inner turmoil, Jordan leaned forward. “So that was it, huh? Love at first sight?”

  “Lust, anyway,” Landry said. “Steve was twenty years older than me, and we got censure from both sides. Everyone assumed I was a gold digger and that he was a cradle robber. But it wasn’t his money I cared about. I fell for him.”

  “I’ve seen his picture in your study. He was really handsome.”

  “He was. He was also brilliant and focused, and when I went on about Eero Saarinen’s designs or the advantages of Meyer lemons over Eureka, Steve listened. He wanted to hear what I had to say. He didn’t always agree with me, but that was good too.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We planned our life together. Steve introduced me to Suzee’s producer, which was my big break, and to a couple of literary agents. He was convinced I could be a star.”

  “And now you are.”

  “In a small way, I suppose.”

  The fourth course arrived just then, and it was beautiful. Each plate contained a slice of extremely rare beef approximately the same dimensions as a playing card—thickness and all—along with three little dots of sauce, each a different color. A single teeny-tiny carrot and a marble-size potato completed the presentation.