by A. F. Henley
Doren shrugged and lifted his hands as if to prove he had no idea what August was talking about.
"Fine," August deadpanned. "But let's make something perfectly clear. I have no intention of doing anything with you. I know you like men just as much as you like women. I know you're a great big star and you get whatever the hell you want, when you want it. I get that. But you're my boss and I work for you, so it's not going to happen. Regardless of the convenience of proximity. So if that's what you're over here looking for …"
Doren stared, incredulous. What … the hell? What was August's problem? Was he determined to dislike working together? Or did August just have a hate on for him in general? Who did he think he was to question what Doren was doing or thinking or might be hoping to accomplish? Just because he'd shown a little common nicety that didn't mean he was trying to jump a piece of ass. And even if it did …
Without another word Doren turned and headed for the door between their rooms. August's side was locked but he hadn't bothered with his. So he flipped the lock, opened the door, and speaking as coldly as possible over his shoulder, went through it. "Clean yourself up. Wear something presentable, but casual. We need to meet with Anton this afternoon at one. Bring your planner and bring something to write with. But lose the fucking attitude."
He pulled the door hard and then kicked at the little trash bin beside the desk. It flew across the room, slamming hollowly against the wall. From behind him, he heard the cold click of August re-locking the door. Frustrated, Doren pushed his hair off his forehead and kneaded his temples. He was getting a headache. And he still needed sleep.
He flung himself on the bed and stared at the locked door—in the exact same position, and no further ahead then he'd been six hours previously.
August
He considered trying to get some more sleep but realized he'd probably feel worse if he did. Besides, if he was beating himself up this badly while up and roaming, he could only imagine how much he would torment himself while trying to relax into sleep.
August could ask himself a million times why he'd said that and come up with the same answer each round. He was obviously losing his mind. To insinuate—no, correction—to come right out and accuse Doren of trying to get him into bed? Doren probably thought he was the most self-loving person that had ever been presented. With all those people offering themselves up, at Doren's beck and call for no more than a crook of his finger or flash of his smile … August dropped into the chair beside the bed, frustrated and furious with himself. He wished he could call home, spend some time whining to his mother. Or a friend, if he had one willing to give him the time of day. But who would understand? Who wouldn't tell him to stop acting like an infant? After all, wasn't he? Doren wasn't the one acting like a scared kid. Doren wasn't accusing him of playing ridiculous and unlikely games. August was the only one out of the two of them who wasn't being professional. He could almost hear the rebuke: you work for a rock star, buck up and stop your damn complaining.
So instead, he showered. He dried and scrunched the curls in his hair, and watched television until noon. August was just poking his head out the door, in search of a diner or café, when Doren also stepped out of his. Doren looked awesome: tight black jeans, polished boots, and a gray American Eagle shirt with long sleeves that looked two sizes too small but absolutely delicious stretched over his chest and flat stomach. Was it really possible for a man to be that gorgeous in real life?
He dropped his eyes quickly when Doren looked over and caught him staring.
"You going for lunch?"
August nodded, his tongue suddenly too thick to speak. "Sure, August," his conscience berated, "he's throwing himself at you." Nope, it wasn't the other way around at all. It's not like he was the one who could barely stop himself from shaking when he saw Doren, now was it?
Doren's face was still dark with emotion as he walked towards August. His brow was creased and his eyes were cold and hard. The merest whisper of eyeliner darkened them, highlighting the blue and giving them even more depth than they had already. When he paused at August's door, leaning against the wall, eyes raking August's face, August was sure the key card was going to tremble right out of his own clenched fingers.
"Why do you do that?"
"What?" August swallowed. "Why do I do what?"
Doren was still watching August intently but his brow was smoothing, his face softening. "Why do you look at me like that if you really can't stand me?"
August choked on another attempt to inspire speech. "I never said I couldn't stand you."
"You literally just said—"
He didn't let Doren finish. "What I said was, we work together. That we have boundaries that can't be crossed." Doren's expression darkened again and it made August's chest tight to see the way his mouth firmed into a line. "I'm not an idiot, Doren. I can see you just like anyone else can. You're gorgeous. You're sexy. Anyone would be a fool to turn you away. But there are so many reasons that it would be a bad thing—a terrible thing actually—if either of us acted on it."
"Like?"
"Like for one, you're my superior and I need to respect you and take direction from you. How awkward would that get if we slept together? And for another thing, I'm not like that. I'm not that kinda guy. It's a cliché, I know, but it's true. I like to believe that sex means something." He waved off Doren's opening lips before Doren could say anything. "I'm not talking diamonds and preachers, Doren. But love. Real love at least. I know that makes me sound ridiculously foolish and old-fashioned and probably not gay enough for you to be taken seriously, but I'm sorry, that's me."
With a sigh Doren closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He paused, seeming to listen to sounds out of the reach of normal humanity, before dropping his eyes back to August's face. "You don't have to worry, Auggie. I'm not interested in you like that." He pushed himself off the wall and began to walk down the hall, stopping when he'd gone a few feet. "Come on. Let's go get some lunch before we meet the beast." He smiled and August's belly dropped. Doren was lying. He was good at it, but he was lying regardless. And August had no idea what to make of that.
He shut the door and walked up the hall to where Doren stood. They walked the length of it together. Then Doren shocked the hell out of August by grasping his hand at the door to the stairwell and holding it all the way down to the street.
Black Magic
Woman
August
It had been stupid, going to such a public place at such a busy time in the day, and they rushed into Anton's office building, laughing, as they passed the surprised security guard. "Pick one," Doren whispered into his ear and August pointed at the youngest in a handful of squealing girls. She was maybe ten, with long honey hair and a pair of unfortunate glasses. She'd be a beauty when her parents finally gave it up and let her learn the wonders of contact lenses. Doren reached past the hustling officer and took her pen and book, scrawling his name elaborately on a flowered page, before lifting his hand to his mouth, kissing his index and middle finger and touching them to her cheek. Undeniable adoration lit her face and they left the group on the sidewalk, squealing and calling out their undying love. August laughed at him as they passed the elevator, the self-satisfied and smug look on Doren's face not nearly as much of a turnoff as it should have been. "You know you left a lot of jealous fans out there."
Doren grinned and motioned towards the door to the stairwell. "Always leave them wanting more, Auggie. Always leave them wanting more."
"Stop calling me—"
"Quick now," Doren said, cutting August short with a smirk. "Lest we rile the man for being late."
Anton's office was immaculate: gleaming stainless steel and rich, black leather complemented polished oak furniture. Three desks sat empty, and the room was so silent that it echoed with the quiet. August walked to the window that took the place of exterior wall, from waist to ceiling and all the way across, and stared out at the busy street below them. His father's office h
ad always seemed enormous. In comparison to what they were standing in, it had been nothing but a storage closet. "My God," August mumbled to the glass, "this office is ridiculous."
Doren chuckled. "This isn't even the office, Aug. This is just the reception area."
He grinned at August's frown of surprise and was about to say something further when he was interrupted. "Doren. Doren, my awesome, wonderful Doren. What a pleasure to finally have you here at home base."
August flinched away from the window in a reaction that felt instinctual, his skin all but crawling at the sudden appearance of the impressive man who had just walked in the room. At least, he assumed the man had just walked in the room. August was pretty sure he hadn't been there when they came in, but his entrance had been cat-like in silence and stealth. He was striking, the kind of man Guy would have gone gaga over: tall, built like a sculpture, with impeccable taste in clothing and jewellery. He all but screamed of good taste and the love of fine things.
He stalked past August confidently and extended his hand to Doren. "I trust the hotel meets with your liking?"
"Anton," Doren shrugged coolly, eyeing Anton's hand before giving it a half-hearted fist bump. "It's fine."
Anton smiled and drew his hand back. "Wonderful. And my security guard tells me that you've left a crowd in your wake. Very good; by tonight the whole city will know that Doren has arrived."
August stood back against the window, waiting for direction and as if reading his mind, Anton turned and stared. "I'm sorry, refresh my memory?"
Even though every nerve in August's spine screamed at him not to, August hurried forward, knocking his knee on the corner of the desk and wincing in pain while trying to pretend it hadn't happened. "August, sir. I'm Doren's assistant." He parroted Anton's previous gesture of welcome by sticking his hand out.
For a second August thought Anton would leave him hanging, but Anton took it, disdainfully, then lifted it and turned it over, running fingers over palm and wrist. "Yes, I remember now. August. With the terrible suit and the puppy's smile."
Anton dropped his hand and turned away, his interest apparently for Doren alone. "I'm afraid my secretaries are out of the office on lunch and won't be back for some time." He grinned at Doren. "Assistants. Sometimes you just have to let them out to play or they get grumpy." He waved in August's direction. "Had I known you were bringing yours along I would have insisted they stay to entertain. But done is done. Perhaps August can help out in their absence and grab us some coffee from down the hall while we discuss your schedule."
August hesitated, watching Doren for direction. He didn't need to wait long.
"No, thanks." Doren dropped into a chair, effectively ignoring, or missing, the raised eyebrow that Anton gave him. "I'm not into coffee right now. Besides, I'd really like August here while we talk." He smiled at August and a rush of confidence surged into August's chest. "He helps me keep track of things. You know how I can be." Doren swirled a finger over his temple. "A little scatterbrained at the best of times."
While Doren turned his attention to the window, August caught the angry glare that Anton offered him. It was a short glare, the rest of the expression saved for an unmasked continuance of the look directly at August himself. It made August want to shrink out into the hall. August had no interest in confrontation; he certainly didn't have any desire to go head to head with a man so obviously important. Anton was the kind of guy he avoided at all cost. He reminded August of every man he'd ever met at his father's office or at his parent's country club, every self-important professor and slick-haired student who'd got into the college because their daddy was in the business. Except worse, somehow—stronger, meaner, harder—because Anton obviously had the good looks, money and brains to back it all up.
"Or," the little voice in the back of August's conscience piped up, "maybe you're just not giving him a fair shake." After all, they'd barely spoken. Maybe this was just Anton's way when he met people for the first time. Some guys liked to peacock, prove themselves superior. And he was, after all, the Big Boss. Kind of. Except, that wasn't really true, was it? Doren was his boss. Diana had made that quite clear, made a point of saying it, in fact. August didn't work for the studio, he worked for Doren. For whatever reason that might be, Diana had wanted to make sure August knew that. So if Doren said he was going to be part of the meeting, if Doren said he needed August's assistance, then that was damn well where August was going to be. No matter what kind of look Anton wanted to skulk at them.
"Right this way then, gentlemen," Anton said, waving them both through a heavy oak door. "Please sit wherever you wish." His voice was as pleasant as a snake charmer coercing angry reptiles, but August could feel seething eyes on him as he settled into a chair beside Doren.
Doren had been right. The actual office space itself was massive. And impressive. Rich leather and dark wood all but glimmered in the muted, hidden lighting; a sea of thick carpet sucked at his heels. Gold and platinum albums lined the wall to the left of the boardroom-style table. Not a single speck of dust dared to rest anywhere. August had no doubt that his scuffed, unpolished shoes were the dirtiest things in the place. Unconsciously he crossed both ankles and tucked his feet under the chair while Doren, in stark contrast, was leaning back doing that lazy side-to-side sway and distant look at the ceiling that August had seen him do at the interview. He seemed completely at ease. And entirely uninterested.
It was up to him then. August flipped open his planner, powered up his Netbook, and prepared to make notes while Anton spoke. Anton's first words, however, had August snapping his head up at the calculated tone in Anton's voice. "I hope you won't be too disappointed …"
Anton ignored August's reaction, fingering the pages in front of him, gauging Doren's expression from the corner of his vision. Nope, August decided, narrowing his eyes in response. The distaste he had for Anton was not unwarranted, and not just because Anton didn't like him. There was something about Anton that got his nerves jumping. The more Anton spoke, every single extra word, caused August more tension and dissolved August's trust just that much more.
"We have a slight delay with the tour." Anton raised his hand as if to silence any questions or comments, even though none had been presented. "Just a delay, mind you. Nothing to worry about. We're going to move everything forward by a week, two at the most, just for marketing's sake. Kind of get everyone's blood churning, work things up a little bit more, before actually getting you out and running."
Doren shrugged, disinterested, and August frowned at the lack of contribution. He spoke up in Doren's stead. "What's that going to cost him?"
Anton raised a single, perfect eyebrow. "Why ever would that cost him anything?"
August raised his right back. "Everything costs someone."
"On the contrary." Anton smiled slowly, the embodiment of a patient, reasonable adult calming the petulant child. "The more interest we work up, the better turnout we get at each show, and the higher the bottom line. It's simple accounting."
"You'll excuse me," August said. "I'm not an accountant. Nor am I a marketer. But it seems—"
"Of course not." The cold smile deepened on Anton's face. "Nor does anyone expect you to be. You just leave that kind of thing to the experts." He turned back to Doren, who continued his bored examination of the ceiling. "The only additional expense I foresee is the hotel costs for the next week. And I'm sure everyone is fine with that? I understand most rock gurus kind of like the whole hotel-life thing anyway, right?"
Once again, Doren shrugged. And as such, August was compelled to speak. "That's stupid."
Anton's expression darkened into furious, but August didn't let him speak. "It was only an eight-hour drive to get here. You can't tell me for a minute that it wouldn't be cheaper to store the equipment and return home until you make definitive arrangements. It doesn't cost anything extra to live where we all belong, after all. I know for a fact that hotels aren't cheap, especially not the one you have us set up in. You figu
re, two weeks at, let's say two hundred bucks a room, for Doren, myself and what, maybe six other guys? At least? That's a bucket-load of cash."
August reached for Doren's knee to gain his attention. "We should just head back home until this is all sorted out."
It was appreciative interest that shone in Doren's eyes and August had to fight to hold back the sigh of relief.
"He's making perfect sense," Doren said casually. "I'm inclined to agree. Besides, maybe you'll be a little more motivated to get all this taken care of in short order if I'm back at home where everyone else knows how to find me."
He probably shouldn't have smirked at Doren's casual, yet evident reference to the fact that all the other studios fiercely coveted Doren's talent. But there was no way August could stop himself.
"Doren," Anton spoke gravely, "we have a contract. We've given you everything you asked for, including this …" His lip curled in distaste and he thrust his thumb in August's direction. "This bold thing. And we're working hard to try and make sure that at the end of the day you are the best that you can possibly be. Surely you can't hold that against us, can you?"
August laughed, surprising himself. "Honestly, sir, I don't think Doren is holding anything against you. To quote a wise man, this is just simple accounting."
Hate fell into Anton's eyes. "Regardless of the outcome of this discussion, we need you to stay until the weekend. There's an appearance scheduled for Saturday and I must have you there. We can discuss the tour situation after that. I'm sure we'll have more information by then. Surely a couple of days of patience isn't too much to ask?"
August rose, and Doren followed suit, surprised. "Thank you, Anton. If you can have one of your secretaries get back to me with the details for Saturday I'll be sure that he gets there. And, since we've already discussed the situation, we won't need to do it again. I'll make the arrangements for bussing on Sunday if there haven't been any further developments on the tour schedule. I believe Doren knows all the staff but maybe you can have your people send over a full payroll list at the same time just to be sure we don't miss anybody." He directed Doren to the door, very aware of the pleased smirk on Doren's face. His stomach jumped with the pride of it.
