Never: A MM, Opposites Attract, Fairy Tale Retelling Romance (The Pennymaker Tales Book 4)

by Tara Lain

  Wellington said, “Since you’re here, Carstairs, I know what I’m about to hear is a harebrained scheme that I’ll probably hate.”

  “Quite right, C.D., it is harebrained, but I suspect you’ll like it.”

  Wellington eyed Wen and Peter. Knowing who he was—a legend in the field of advertising—increased the intimidation factor for Wen, but Peter sat stony. Wellington leaned back and held his glass of something that looked decidedly alcoholic despite it being only 11:00 a.m. He probably figured he was going to need it. “I’m listening.”

  Mr. P. said, “First, let me introduce Wendell Darling, one of the finest and most imaginative and forward-thinking creatives in your business. It was Wen who created the Comfort commercial in which you found Peter, uh, Alan.”

  Peter said, “Can we just settle on Peter, please?” He didn’t smile.

  “Of course, my boy.”

  Wellington leaned forward and gave Wen a thorough survey. “Fine work. That commercial blew my hair back. Then I saw Alan, uh, Peter, and had other priorities. It’s Allworth, right?”

  Wen nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m assistant creative director on Comfort.”

  He sat back again. “Which means Borsinski actually created the ad, right?” He gave a tight smile.

  Peter snarled, “That asshole couldn’t design an ink blot. He almost lost the account, and only Wen’s genius saved it. Now those assholes are parading around like they did it, but it’s not true. Wen came and found me. We did the work in his apartment. It’s all him.”

  Well, slap my face and call me amazed. Wen tried to keep from hurling himself at Peter and kissing him until they threw them out of the Executive Club.

  “I see.”

  Mr. P. sipped his apple juice. “That’s why I thought you’d want to hire Wen.”

  Wen swallowed hard.

  Wellingon frowned. “Is that what this is? A job interview? I’m happy to discuss that possibility, but I thought we were talking about my son’s future.”

  “Yes, we are.” Mr. Pennymaker smiled. “You want your son to do something he doesn’t want to do and isn’t fit to do. He’s a brilliant man, but he’s an artist. He can’t run a worldwide agency no matter how hard you train him, which is moot because if you try, he’ll run from you again.”

  Wellington muttered, “Shit.”

  “But what if he was to maintain ownership of your stock but get his business information, shall we say, filtered through someone he loves, trusts, and who would in essence represent him in the firm? And what if that representative was his husband?”

  “What?” Oh yeah, that got Wellington’s attention. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack, my friend. Peter and Wen have a relationship that will disintegrate if Peter runs away, a fact that will break both their hearts. And you’ll be the author of the tragedy.”

  Wen looked at Peter, who glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

  “On the other hand, if they marry they can take each other’s names, and you’ll have a Wellington in the firm by marriage, if not blood. Peter will be far more interested in the day-to-day operations of the agency if his husband works there, and he can spend his time going to art school and living his dream rather than running from you.”

  Wellington wiped a hand over his face. “Well, hell, what an idea.”

  “As I remember, Mary has been dying to have grandchildren for years, and Wen just happens to have two of the most adorable siblings on earth. Plus they might have their own children someday.”

  Suddenly Peter jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to get out of here!” He ran to the double doors and threw them open.

  “Peter!” Wen took off behind him, but before he headed for the exit, he glanced back and saw Wellington and Pennymaker frowning.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Peter hit the sidewalk, looked both ways, and ran toward the subway. Footsteps pounded behind him. Damn. Need time to think.

  He practically slid down the stairs, shoved his card against the turnstile, and saw a train with the last passengers boarding. Running like a deer, he glanced over his shoulder and stumbled. Wen just jumped over the turnstile! Sweet Jesus, who was he?

  Peter dove between the closing doors and ran into a mean-looking guy in a black knit cap and grungy leather jacket. Peter sprang back. “Sorry!” Survive an attack on a drug dealer and get killed on the subway. Gasping, he slumped against the metal bar.

  “Hey, man, you okay?”

  When he raised his head, Knit Cap leaned over him. Peter took a huge breath, trying to get his pulse to slow down. “Oh yes. I mean, a guy’s chasing me.”

  “Don’t worry, man. He won’t hurt you if I’m around.”

  Holy shit! “Wow. Thank you, but he’s not trying to hurt me.”

  “Why’s he chasing you?”

  “He wants to marry me.”

  Knit Cap barked a laugh. “So you don’t want to marry him, huh?”

  “No!”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing. He’s wonderful.”

  “Wait, man. I’m confused. Do you want to marry this guy or not?”

  Peter opened his mouth. “I do.” He laughed, then inhaled slowly. “But I’m not sure why he’s marrying me.”

  Knit Cap’s craggy face broke into a smile. “Hey, I could tell you that. You’re hot. When you flew onto the train, I was thinking, he’s gotta come from some other world where good shit happens and people have a lot of fun.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wanna marry me?” The guy laughed, and Peter joined in.

  “Sorry, I think I’m spoken for.” He looked up. “I have to get off.” He leaped up and kissed the guy on his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. You’re like my own fairy godmother.”

  The doors opened, and Peter jumped off the train and ran—up the stairs, down the block, past the taco stand where Eddie waved, and onto the porch of the apartment building. He sat on the step to wait for the future.

  Wen dragged himself up the subway stairs. Lost. I lost him. I lost everything. He’d missed Peter by inches—inches that decided his future.

  Eddie waved at him with a big smile. “Hey, Wen.”

  “Hey, Eddie.” He couldn’t get the corners of his mouth to turn up. Still, time to suck it up. I want to chase him—forever, but I can’t be like his family. If he doesn’t want us—he shrugged.

  “Wen!”

  He looked up, and Eddie held out a box. “Here’s some extra good tacos—the kind Peter likes best.”

  Wen took the box. “Thanks. No Peter, but I’m sure the kids will like them.”

  “What do you mean? I saw Peter go by. Wasn’t he going to your place? I want to say, John told me about what happened. Hey, man, I’m so sorry to have shot off my mouth and gotten John in trouble.”

  His brain hadn’t passed “saw Peter go by.” “Not a problem. When did you see him?”

  “Peter? Maybe half an hour ago.”

  “Thanks, Eddie. Pay you next time.”

  “My present!”

  Wen took off as fast as his suit pants and dress shoes would allow, taco box swinging. At the apartment, he looked under the tree branches and around the side, but no one. No, come on. He keyed inside and ran up the four flights, two stairs at a time. He threw open the door and stepped in. Michaela sat on the couch with John’s head in her lap. He was sound asleep. In the opposite chair sat Mr. Pennymaker.

  “Is Peter here?”

  “No.” Michaela pressed a finger to her lips, shushing him.

  He lowered his voice. “Do you know where he went? Eddie says he saw him.”

  Mr. P. shook his head.

  “Where’s the limo?”

  “We sent Murphy for tacos.”

  “Oh, here.” He plopped the box on the coffee able. “I’ve got to go find Peter. I have to.”

  Suddenly John sat up like the arising of the zombie apocalypse. “You know where he is.” John grinned, and Wen’s heart leaped into his throat. Jo
hn started to laugh as Wen ran to the bedroom, tossed his suit jacket, opened his dresser drawer, grabbed what he needed, and ran back out of the apartment.

  Three minutes later, he tiptoed across the concrete floor in his hard shoes toward the sleeping body on the chaise. His sleeping body, he hoped. He sat on the edge of the couch, and Peter’s thick lashes fluttered. Wen smiled softly. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “You came here. You didn’t run.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.” He smoothed a lock of scarlet hair from Peter’s cheek.

  “Would you be thinking of marrying me if it wasn’t going to mean I can go to school and don’t have to run from my family anymore? In other words, if you didn’t think you were taking care of me?”

  “And if I wasn’t going to get a better job and marry a rich man? You mean that?”

  Peter propped up on one elbow. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “No.”

  Peter gasped softly. “So you wouldn’t marry me.”

  Wen held up a finger. “I wouldn’t marry you right away. I’d wait and date you and woo you and persuade you that you can’t possibly live without me. I’d wait until we’d had a chance to have lots of sex and you were hooked on my cock. I’d let you get used to the idea of being more of a family man.” Wen traced a pattern on the tablecloth still lying on the chaise. “Sadly, I don’t think your dad is up for that. He wants assurances, and I’d happily marry you this afternoon rather than not at all.” He touched Peter’s nose. “I don’t have any doubts, Peter. Yes, you remind me of my mother, but I realize now only the very best parts of her. The creativity and the passion—but the magic is all yours. I was in danger of falling into the life my father had. Disappointed and strict. You saved me. Please do that every day of our lives.”

  Peter lay back down and gazed up at Wen. “You showed me there are things worth giving up your freedom for, and I’m safe because you’d never ask me to do it.”

  Wen leaned down and kissed Peter’s full, pink lips. The smell of tangerine filled his head, heat warmed his mouth, and arrowed straight to his groin. “Whoa.”

  Peter wrapped his arms around Wen’s neck and whispered, “Isn’t it time we had some real sex?”

  “Hey, I think what we’ve had was pretty real.”

  “Umm, but I mean your cock in my ass, deep and hard.”

  “Whew.” The long slow breath ruffled the hair on Peter’s forehead. “You like that, do you?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Guess what I happen to have brought with me?” He pulled out of his pants pocket the three packets of lube and two condoms he’d taken from the drawer.

  “That’s my boy. Plan ahead.”

  “I’d like to be responsible…for your pleasure.”

  “Then please me.” Peter glanced around. “I mean, if you think we won’t have eight people joining us sometime soon.”

  “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wanna bet? We’d better get this done.”

  Quickly, they both undressed and pulled the red tablecloth over them. Wen ripped the packet of lube and began sliding it into Peter while staring into his eyes. “Does that hurt?”

  “Are you kidding? That first night I climbed in your window, I would have sat on you and taken a ride if you hadn’t told me you had children.”

  “I gather you like to bottom?” He slipped the condom on his own throbbing cock.

  “Yep, and you like to top, my bossy executive.”

  “I must admit it.” He fit his cockhead to Peter’s opening and started to rub back and forth, back and forth, loosening him a little more each time. “Just think, if we get married and live in Mr. Pennymaker’s apartment, we’ll have our own room, and we can have sex every night all night if we want. No more clandestine hand jobs on the lumpy couch.” Wen pushed, and his tip breached Peter’s hole and dove toward his prostate.

  Peter gasped, and his words came out on a long breath. “Why didn’t you remind me earlier? Maybe we can go to Vegas tonight?”

  “Nah. Until we have our own place, we can meet right here.” Wen shoved and thrust and moaned and finally wailed as the boiling heat in his balls exploded as fireworks in his brain like a marquee spelling out Peter, Peter, Peter.

  Wen strode into the office building carrying a cardboard box and pushed the button for the elevator. It made him smile to know that Peter, Michaela, John, Tink, and the Boys were moving into Mr. Pennymaker’s apartments at that moment. While they were all on the same street, they weren’t in the same building. Mr. P. insisted it was because the larger four-bedroom places like Wen and the family needed were in a separate location, but probably he thought Peter and Wen could use just a little privacy. As it was, Wingman, Map, and Dudish all roomed together, and as the ultimate odd couple, Samu and Tink opted to live as roommates. It turned out Tink’s family was almost as affluent as Peter’s, and her folks were pretty excited when she asked to go back to school to study music. Of course, the whole group would continue to headline at the club now owned—and being remodeled—by Mr. Pennymaker.

  After the elevator ride that stopped at almost every floor, Wen got out at Allworth and walked back to his cubicle. He looked around for any personal items he’d take with him.

  “Hey, my friend.”

  He looked at the cubicle opening and grinned. “Hey.”

  “So you did it. You quit. Man, that serves them right. And to Wellington, no less. What a great move for you. I’m so happy.” She gave him a big hug.

  Wen whispered, “I’ll be looking for a spot for you.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Seriously?”

  “Of course. I know talent when I see it.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Sure. Would you grab all the photos and shove them in the box while I get my books.”

  “Don’t take anything that’s not yours, Darling.”

  Wen turned his head at Arnie’s sneering voice. “Nah. I’m not the one around here who takes stuff that’s not theirs.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Yeah, well Wellington’s on its way out. Clients like small agencies these days. Those behemoths can’t compete.”

  “Right, Arnie. Just keep telling yourself that.” He loaded two more books into his box, then suddenly grinned. “Besides, they’ll have me.”

  Arnie made a hissing noise and walked away.

  Laila said, “Asshole. I better get back to work before he blames me for his latest failures. See ya, honey.”

  “You’re coming to the wedding.”

  “Hell, I wouldn’t miss that.”

  “See you then.”

  Laila walked away, and Wen took one last look around, finding a sweater in a drawer he’d used to keep warm during long, late hours. He bent over to grab the box.

  “Wendell?”

  Wen straightened. “Oh, hi, Mr. Henderson.”

  “I hear you’re leaving Allworth.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m going to Wellington.”

  “Excellent agency. I almost went with them, except for the amazing campaign you created.”

  Wen smiled slowly but said, “We’re a team, sir.”

  “Right, and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose and sometimes it rains, right?”

  They laughed together.

  “I’m not a stupid man, Wen. People can only pretend to be geniuses for so long and get away with it.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card, but with a few handwritten numbers on it. “These are my private numbers. I’d like you to call me once you’re settled.”

  “Uh, sir, you have a contract with Allworth.”

  “Only for a single ad.”

  “What?”

  “I wouldn’t sign the agency agreement. I wanted to see what happened with your ad. Of course, it’s doing brilliantly, but I don’t like the level of, shall we say, subterfuge that goes on around here. So we’ll talk, okay?”

&
nbsp; “Yes, sir.” Wen smiled and shook Henderson’s hand. “And you should know that the artwork you loved was done by the man I’m about to marry.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Henderson turned and laughed all the way out of the agency.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

  Wen reached for Peter as Peter reached for Wen, and they jockeyed for position for seconds before Wen grabbed Peter and swooped him into a low, sweeping kiss. They came up laughing and faced the packed church full of people they largely didn’t know.

  Most guests smiled and clapped, a few looked disapproving, and they didn’t give a shit one way or another. Wen tucked Peter’s hand in his and started back down the aisle. “We did it, darling. We’re married.”

  Outside in the midday sun, they walked into the embrace of Mrs. Mary Wellington. She kissed Peter on the cheek. “I’m so thrilled about your marriage and your life, Al—Peter.” She hugged Wen. “Welcome to the family, dear. C.D. is very excited to have such a brilliant son-in-law working for him. As for me, I’m just happy to have my son back.” She wiped elegantly at her cheeks. Then she grinned. “And to have some grandchildren.”

  They hugged a few more people, then raced down the church steps to the limo, where Mr. Pennymaker stood with both John and Michaela. “Ah, my dears, have a good time at your reception. I’m heading for the club, and I’ll see you later.”

  John giggled, which was slightly odd. Wen gave him a look.

  John and Michaela piled into the limo, and Wen and Peter followed. Mr. Pennymaker waved and closed the door as they all settled into the cushy seats.

  John kind of bounced, which looked funny in his tuxedo that was compliments of Mrs. Wellington. “Just a few more hours and we can ditch this shindig and go have some real fun.”

  Michaela, looking very adult in a slim, pale green dress, gave him a poke. “Just because Mr. P. said you could come to the club opening doesn’t mean you get to fidget your way through the reception. After all”—she glared at him with wide eyes—“Wen and Peter only get one wedding reception. We want them to enjoy it.”