by Beth Bolden
He raised an eyebrow. Reed was one of those men who could say a speech and never open his mouth. He definitely looked like he was talking now, even though he hadn’t said a single word.
“Who’s a lot of hotness to contain in one relationship?”
Miles thought Evan was pretty damn brave, but it seemed telling his maybe soon-to-be ex-boss he’d fantasized about him and his boyfriend was where he drew the line. If that was the case, then Evan was even smarter than he’d imagined.
“Miles and me,” Evan said, chin jutting out, like he was half-expecting his boss to disapprove.
But Reed’s frown rearranged into a big smile. “Then the long weekend was good for you,” he said. His eyes took on a darker, amused glint. “You certainly seem more relaxed, Evan.”
“We’re working on it,” Miles inserted, because he could see this conversation going all sorts of inappropriate places. And Evan, who had seemed so formal and wedded to professionalism when they’d first met, could be shockingly dirty when he was in a good mood. And thanks to Miles, he was definitely in a very good mood.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Reed said, sounding genuinely pleased. Miles found himself praying to whatever god was looking down on them that maybe that was enough to save Pastry by Miles and Evan’s job. They could manage if Miles at least saved his show, and Evan saved his job. They had each other. Miles felt certain of that, even if the rest of the world felt unpleasantly uncertain right now.
“Miles,” Reed said, turning to him, thoughtful look on his face. “Come see me after you get settled in. I think we need to talk.”
The moment Reed was out of earshot, Evan shoved Miles into his cubicle, excitement and terror warring on his face. “Is this it?” he whisper-yelled. Which, for Evan, was mostly yelling and very little whispering. “Is he going to cancel your contract?”
Miles had a very good idea what Reed wanted to talk about, and it was only tangential to his contract. “No clue,” he said. He didn’t like lying to Evan, even if it was a lie of omission, but he wasn’t entirely sure Evan would be happy about this development. Even if it meant his job was saved.
Evan was one of those sticklers who he imagined might care more about how his job was saved, not just that it had been saved. Miles really hoped that he was wrong in this scenario, but they were still getting to know each other, now that Evan had actually started to let him in.
Reed was leaning back in his big leather chair when Miles walked in.
“Close the door,” Reed said, and he still sounded thoughtful but not angry. Not angry was good.
Miles shut the door, sure that Evan had just gone into a paroxysm of curiosity and tension as he hid around the corner, desperately hoping that he’d be able to overhear their conversation.
Reed knew Evan better than he realized.
“You sent me this video,” Reed said, rotating his gigantic monitor so Miles could see the screen. Not that Miles needed to; he knew exactly which video Reed was talking about.
“I thought you might want to see that our rehearsals provided some great footage,” Miles said.
Reed chuckled. “You making a Ding Dong was solid gold footage. But,” and he paused, that thoughtful look returning, “I don’t think you made this during rehearsals. And not with Evan.”
It had been a long shot for Miles to convince Reed that they had made this video together. It was funny and clever and a little subversive, which was everything that Miles was, and everything Evan mostly wasn’t. At least the side of Evan that he tended to present at work. Miles had discovered in the last few days that he could definitely unbend if he wanted, if his mood was right, and he was surrounded by people he trusted.
But Reed probably didn’t know that.
Reed frowned. And Miles realized that he didn’t know that. Evan had never trusted Reed—his beloved boss, the person Miles might have guessed he was closest to in his whole life—enough to show that side of himself. He’d trusted only Miles. That revelation only made Miles more determined to convince Reed that they’d made this clip together.
“Evan was there. We made it together,” he said. He’d heard once that the most effective lies were the simplest. He didn’t know if that was even true, but he was willing to give just about anything a shot at this point.
Reed made a frustrated sound, but he still didn’t look angry. “I know you’re not telling me the truth.” He hesitated. “The question is why. Are you worried I’m going to tear up your contract? Are you worried I’m going to send you back to Napa?”
“No,” Miles said, and realized, belatedly, that he meant it. Suddenly the worst thing wasn’t that Pastry by Miles might end, or that he’d be forced to beg for his old job back.
He’d known he loved Evan, he just hadn’t realized how incredibly necessary he was to his life. It wasn’t a great time to have this realization, but it certainly provided him a hell of a lot of motivation to pull this off.
“Then what is it?” Reed demanded. A meaty fist landed on the solid wood desk with a heavy thump. Reed’s cooking had always been considered bold, bombastic and straightforward. Sort of like the man. Miles just hadn’t seen a lot of evidence of it until now.
“Of course I don’t want to get fired. Of course I want to convince you to green light a season of Pastry by Miles. Of course I want you to keep the team intact.”
“I know you’re trying to save him,” Reed said. “And you’re not alone in that. I’ve been trying to help him since I first met him, years ago. He’s come a long way from that skinny, terrified, overly proud college kid. But that doesn’t mean he’s right for this show.”
“I do love him. But that isn’t why I’m doing this. I’m doing this because he’s the best fit for the show. For me.”
“What if I told you that it was either the show or him?” Reed asked, and that thoughtful look that had reassured Miles at first now only terrified him. He didn’t know what it meant, and the unknown could be a bad place.
“Then I’d say it was an honor to meet you, I’d pack up my cubicle and I’d drive back to Napa today,” Miles said.
“You really would,” Reed observed, clearly a little mystified.
“I won’t do this without Evan. Period.”
“What if I promised he wasn’t fired, that he’d be reassigned to a different department? Would that make a difference?” Reed asked.
Miles wiped his sweaty, trembling hands on his jeans. “No.”
Reed tilted his head, intense eyes cataloging Miles minutely. Then, suddenly he nodded sharply. “Okay, then. Go get Evan. He’s probably loitering in the break room, hoping that he can hear some of this conversation. It doesn’t feel fair to leave him out of it.”
Sure enough, Evan was there, pacing with a cup of coffee in his hand. “What’s going on?” he hissed.
“Reed wants to talk to both of us,” Miles said, and gestured towards Reed’s office. “Let’s go.”
This time Reed didn’t ask him to close the door.
“Here’s your official shooting schedule,” Reed said, almost before their butts were in chairs. He slid a piece of paper across the desk. “But only if you promise me the Ding Dong video stays. It’s too funny to cut.”
Miles could feel Evan’s happy confusion radiating out of him, even as he said all the right things: about how they wouldn’t let him down, about how they’d commit themselves to making the best show possible, how happy he was that Reed had reconsidered.
It was inevitable that as soon as Reed dismissed them, Evan would drag him into the break room. It was probably inevitable that Reed had popped his head out of his office and was listening to the whole conversation. It was definitely inevitable that the entire office had tuned in and was listening to their conversation.
“What is Reed talking about, Miles?” Evan demanded. “Did you really send him that stupid Ding Dong video?”
“Yes,” Miles said. It was hard to meet Evan’s disbelieving eyes, but he did it. He’d sent it; he had to own u
p to it. “I told him that we’d recorded it during rehearsals last week. He needed to know that we could do this. Together.”
“You lied,” Evan stated, and started to pace again.
“Technically,” Miles said. “But I know we can produce content like this together. High production value, that’s what you bring to the table. And I can bring the creative flair. I know everything we’ve done for Pastry by Miles has been a hot mess so far, but all each disaster has convinced me of is that we’re meant to do this together. I don’t want to do it without you.”
“You sent it to Reed without telling me,” Evan said, whirling around, voice and face unbearably hard. Miles could sense the wall going back up, and he wanted to beg, to plead, to fall to his knees. But with Evan, those things would fall on deaf ears. That much he’d discovered about the man in front of him.
“I saved the show. I saved your job. I saved our future, working together. Why are you mad?” Miles asked in exasperation. “Because I didn’t tell you ahead of time? Because I lied to your precious Reed? Don’t worry, he knows I lied. He knows and he doesn’t care.”
“I’m mad because you felt you needed to charge in to save me. I can save myself. I don’t need your help with that,” Evan said coldly.
“That’s what people in love do,” Miles said, leashing in his temper as close as possible. He needed Evan to realize what he’d been trying to do, not escalate this argument until both of them were so mad neither of them were listening. That was the mistake he’d always made before. He wasn’t going to do it again.
Evan looked incredulous.
Miles retrenched and tried to explain again. “I want to be by your side for a long time. Long enough that there’s going to be times when I need you. And times you need me. Nobody can be strong and perfect all the time. This time, maybe I helped you. Next time, I’m gonna expect you to be there for me. Hell, that’s something you’ve already done. I sent that incredibly stupid drunk email, and you didn’t instantly forward it to Reed. You had my back. The way I had yours today.”
“Reed might have fired you for lying to him,” Evan said.
“He might have. I was willing to take that risk.”
“Why?” Evan asked, even though he had to know why. Reed had instantly known why.
“Because I love you,” Miles said, rolling his eyes. “And you know that’s why I did it. You know I love you. And you love me too.”
“I . . . I . . . I don’t know about that,” Evan said, sounding unsure for the first time since he’d dragged Miles into the break room.
“Bullshit. You love me, and I love you.” Miles reached and pulled Evan to him. The tension in his body cut like a cord, dissipating almost instantly.
“I might love you a little,” Evan admitted into Miles’ shoulder.
“What? What was that again?” Miles said loudly, teasingly.
Evan’s head lifted from his shoulder, looking at him straight on. “I love you, you jerk.” And he kissed him.
Epilogue
“Today, we’re going to be making one of my favorite things,” Miles said, leaning on the counter, staring at the camera like they were best friends and not a man and a machine, “a dong.”
There was a ripple of laughter through the assembled staff. Wyatt Blake found himself joining in even though the line wasn’t new to him. It might have been Miles’ delivery or it might have been who he was delivering it to—regardless, the opening line was just as funny and just as effective as it had been the first time Wyatt had heard it.
Evan leaned against the end of the counter, hip popped, white shirt immaculate, bow tie flawlessly tied. He grimaced comically at his boyfriend’s words, and Wyatt would never have guessed that this whole exchange was scripted, except that he’d seen it developed and then rehearsed.
“A Ding Dong,” Evan corrected crisply. “It’s a pastry, which is something I would guess you know about. A chocolate cake to be precise, filled with cream. Don’t tell me you need me to educate you about a dessert.”
Miles raised an eyebrow at the last part, and another round of laughter circulated through the crowd.
“You like cream-filled desserts, huh?” Miles asked Evan, who rolled his eyes.
“Bake, you idiot,” Evan retorted. There was a thread of annoyance in his tone, and the ever-present eye rolls, but he still looked enamored. Probably because he was. Wyatt might have doubted it—couldn’t help but doubt after what the two of them had done to each other—but he couldn’t anymore. Not after Miles insisted he come to the first few days of filming for moral support, and Wyatt had seen firsthand how much they cared about each other.
Wyatt was still surprised that Miles had asked him and not Xander, but then he’d been so angry lately, he probably would have been shitty moral support. And Bastian Aquino never would have given Kian the day off.
That was probably why Miles had sent him a ticket and asked—more like pleaded—for Wyatt to fly down to LA. Wyatt had been happy to do it, because Miles was a friend, and selfishly because Wyatt needed a break of his own.
Miles followed Evan’s command, with a single amused glance shot over to the other side of the kitchen, and started to assemble the dry ingredients for the chocolate cake portion of the recipe. The original concept of Pastry by Miles had always been Miles baking, and Miles still did bake, but now he was also peppered with questions by his producer, who instead of standing behind the camera, stood in front of it.
The concept was new and fresh and it worked like gangbusters. Miles had told Wyatt that they’d initially come up with the idea in a meeting where Reed Ryan had slammed his hand down on the table, interrupting one of Miles and Evan’s many debates, and said, “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but you have to film this. You two are insane.”
It definitely wasn’t like other cooking shows, but it also worked.
Because Miles was Miles, and he could sift flour in his sleep, he kept talking.
“Right now we’re sifting because we don’t want lumps in our dry ingredients. Or stuff that doesn’t belong.”
Evan was still watching, eyes narrowed, from the other end of the counter. He had a bunch of papers spread out in front of him, and it was clear he was still in charge of the episode. He was just doing it in full view of the camera, as ballsy as he’d ever been.
“I don’t believe you’ve ever actually found something that didn’t belong in the flour,” Evan drawled. Wyatt didn’t remember this particular dialogue, but Miles didn’t miss a beat.
“Sand, grit, a marble, I think I even found a condom once,” Miles said, flashing a charming smile to the camera, like can you believe this guy? “Don’t worry though, it wasn’t used.”
“I’d be a lot more worried if you were finding used condoms in your flour,” Evan said.
“Jealous?” The smile Miles shot down the length of the counter could have impregnated anyone within a few paces, regardless of gender.
Evan just laughed. “Of the guys who stuck their condoms in your flour, hoping to get your attention? No. Not even a little.”
Wyatt realized with a bright, blinding flash why Miles hadn’t invited Xander. How had he found out? Wyatt had been so certain that Miles hadn’t realized Xander had that impossible crush.
But he must have, and that was why he hadn’t invited Xander. On the other hand, Wyatt thought a little bitterly, he was safe because he didn’t have a crush on anyone.
After the way his relationship with Nate had ended, Wyatt had been happy enough for awhile to stay unattached and single, but watching Miles and Evan flirt with each other would make anyone long for even a fraction of what they’d found together.
It wasn’t just that he was sick of cleaning artichokes and prepping lamb chops and being held to a painfully exacting standard every second he was at work, he was bored and lonely. He’d thought that getting away for a few days and going down to LA to see Miles would help, but all being here did was throw into sharp focus what was missing in his own life.
“They’re hilarious, aren’t they?” Wyatt looked up, and Reed Ryan was standing there, grinning like a loon. Or like someone who’d just won the lottery. And he probably had, from an online cooking show perspective.
Miles had just begun to slowly whisk in the wet ingredients to the dry, and he was waggling his eyebrows, making more and more outrageous comments, aiming for some unknown reaction from Evan.
“It shouldn’t work, but it does,” Wyatt admitted.
“I knew they could work it out,” Reed said. “I had a few dark moments. Once or twice I thought they might kill each other before working it out, but I was happy to be wrong about that.”
Wyatt had no interest in such a combative relationship, but there was an invisible, undefinable thread between them, shining with love and respect and affection. It shouldn’t hurt to see it, it should be something to admire, not something to be envious of, but Wyatt found he couldn’t really help himself. Nate had been his only serious boyfriend, and they definitely hadn’t had that.
“Now, I have the Cooking Channel sniffing around my set,” Reed said, voice smug with satisfaction. “And the sort of buzz about our new show that I couldn’t manufacture no matter what draw our marketing team comes up with.”
Wyatt reminded himself firmly that he had come here to be a support to Miles, not to eat his heart out with jealousy over what he’d found, professionally and personally. He wasn’t Xander.
“They’re both very lucky,” Wyatt said, and no matter how much he tried to regulate his voice, it still came out sadly wry.
Reed put a reassuring hand on his shoulder—Wyatt thought that next time he saw Xander, there was now something else he could lord over him—and said, “I know how talented you are. The possibilities are endless. Maybe it’s time to leave the nest and explore them.”
“With you?” Wyatt wondered if maybe this invite had also been a way to get him down to LA for a job interview. With Reed Ryan. Xander was going to die.
“Not necessarily,” Reed said. “But I know about a few open positions in the area. I like to keep my ear to the ground. Would you be interested?”
