by Abigail Roux
Julian watched him as he worked, his eyes following unerringly as his dinner mate looked out the window and rambled about how much she hated Chicago winters. As Cameron arranged the china, he noticed Julian watching him closely and raised an eyebrow in question.
“Thank you,” Julian said to him, the soft words and intent look in his eyes making Cameron feel like the only person Julian saw at that moment was him.
Cameron straightened, smiled nervously, and nodded as he tried to tell himself that he was imagining these things and to calm down. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.
“Are you always this pleasant?” the woman asked Julian dryly.
“Not often,” Julian answered without taking his eyes off Cameron.
Cameron stepped back with the tray, glancing to the woman before looking back at Julian. “Enjoy your meal,” he said solely to the dark man, feeling a jump in his pulse at his own boldness. Then he edged back from the table.
Julian’s black, unreadable eyes followed his movements, and Cameron paused for a moment, feeling that odd flutter strengthen; then the woman’s chattering voice broke the moment, and he turned to leave.
“If you’ll bring the check back with you,” Julian requested softly.
Cameron looked back at Julian, nodded obediently, and departed; he didn’t even realize he was smiling until he got into the back and one of his fellow waiters gave him a strange look. “What?” he asked suspiciously.
Charles shook his head and grinned impishly. “You’re so completely screwed,” he said with a laugh before moving on with his own tray of food.
Cameron sighed and rolled his eyes. Miri had obviously been talking. He got the check together as requested, despite several of the others chattering around him as they took advantage of a lull in the Saturday night crowd. He wasn’t flustered, just… fascinated, right? Yes.
He sighed, forcing himself to be honest, at least with himself. He was infatuated. Maybe it was the voice; it was always low and husky, sometimes practically not there. And that one laugh he’d heard…
His mind wandered back to the thought that this Julian might be the “escort”—a crazy thought, for sure. But with looks like that, Cameron could imagine the man would command whatever money he wanted. It would explain why he was so well off but had to jump up and run at the ring of a cell phone.
Nose wrinkling, Cameron told himself to quit being silly. He put the check in the folder and headed back out, stopping at several tables along the way before heading toward the window table.
Both Julian and the woman were standing; he was helping her into her coat. She placed her scarf around her neck and gave him an improperly long farewell kiss, then whispered something into his ear as she slid her hand into the pocket of his suit coat and placed something inside it. She practically looked through Cameron as she turned away and walked toward the door. The heads of several men in the restaurant turned to watch her go.
The display didn’t do too much for dispelling Cameron’s little theory, even though he supposed if the woman were paying for sex, Julian would probably have left with her.
Julian waited until she left the restaurant before he returned to his seat, discreetly wiping her lipstick off his lips and cheek with his napkin. He reached into his pocket and extracted a piece of paper. He tilted his head as he read it, shook his head, and tossed it carelessly onto the table.
Cameron waited until he was done to approach with the check. He set the folder at Julian’s elbow before silently picking up the woman’s plate. He resisted the urge—only barely—to make eye contact again. Or to glance at the slip of paper.
“Would you do me a favor if I asked it of you?” Julian inquired quietly.
Now Cameron couldn’t resist, and any unfounded thoughts about the man’s profession melted into the background, overpowered by the man himself. He turned his chin to look at Julian as he straightened slowly. His answer wasn’t the ready-to-please answer he’d usually give. It was simply, after studying Julian for a few breaths, “Maybe.”
Julian produced a small electronic device, seemingly from nowhere, and he slid it onto the table, his palm on top of it as he looked up at Cameron. “Can you give this to Mr. Nichols after I’m gone?” he asked. “Without anyone seeing you do it?” he added pointedly.
It wasn’t at all what Cameron expected to hear. His eyes flickered from Julian to his hand, flat on the table. Without speaking, he reached to take up Julian’s plate with one hand, set it on top of the woman’s plate already in his hand, and reached again to pick up the linen napkin, dragging the cloth over Julian’s hand. “Let me just get this out of your way.”
Julian watched him as their hands touched, and he nodded, his eyes as unreadable as ever. “Thank you,” he murmured sincerely.
Cameron gathered the item in the napkin, holding it securely. “You’re welcome,” he offered, looking at Julian directly and enjoying the way it made him feel just to meet the man’s eyes.
Julian reached under his jacket for his wallet and extracted several bills, never looking away. He slid them into the leather folder and offered it before Cameron could even turn away.
Cameron shoved the bunched-up napkin into his pocket and reached to take the folder. He finally dragged his eyes from Julian and noted the heavy falling snow outside the window. “Be careful out there,” he said, knowing he meant more than one thing by it when he walked away.
It was late before Cameron had time to seek out Blake Nichols in his office. The little recorder burned a hole in his pocket all evening, and despite pulling it out and studying it, wondering what it meant, Cameron hadn’t found the nerve to turn it on. He turned the corner, stopped at the office door, and knocked quietly.
“Enter,” Blake called from inside his office.
Cameron opened the door and stepped inside. “Evening, Blake,” he greeted. Blake had threatened him into dropping the “Mr. Nichols” almost six years ago.
Blake looked up from the papers on his desk and smiled widely. “Good evening, Cameron,” he greeted in the same friendly manner he always did. “What can I do for you? How’s the night going?”
“Really well,” Cameron said, smiling. “I think all three parties went off great, the people were happy… and they drank a lot of wine,” he added with a knowing smile.
“Wonderful,” Blake commented wryly. “The better the tips, right?” he joked as he picked up his pen and tapped it against the papers on his desk. “Was that all?” he asked, still friendly and open but obviously distracted.
Cameron hesitantly slid his hand into his pocket and took the three steps to Blake’s desk. “He asked me to give this to you.” He pulled out the recorder and set it down.
Blake looked down at the recorder, his body suddenly noticeably tense when he glanced back up at Cameron. “He?” he questioned softly without touching the recorder.
Cameron shifted uncomfortably. “Him. Julian.”
One of Blake’s eyebrows edged up, and he looked down at the recorder again. “Did you listen to it?” he asked evenly.
Cameron shook his head, looking at Blake steadily.
Blake hummed thoughtfully and picked up the recorder, turning it over to examine it before pressing the rewind button briefly and then hitting play. Julian’s deceptively soft, deep voice filtered out of the tiny speaker almost immediately:
“I trust you know never to come back here.”
“Of course. In twenty-four hours I’ll be in the Caymans, mourning my dead husband. I have no reason to come back.”
“Good. Finish your meal.”
Blake cut off the recorder with a click and looked up at Cameron with a small smile. “Thank you, Cameron,” he said in a pleased voice. “You didn’t hear that,” he instructed with a grin.
Cameron shrugged. “I don’t hear a lot of things,” he said with a small smile, though he thought the exchange exceedingly odd. A lot of people talked about delicate things at restaurants, forgetting the help that moved around them sil
ently. He didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t think he wanted to know.
“Well, you’ve done your good deed for the week, at any rate,” Blake informed him as he picked up the phone at his elbow and dialed. “What did you think of the woman?” he asked slyly as he waited for an answer.
Cameron’s lips twitched. “She asked me if she looked like a whore,” he said significantly.
“She might as well be,” Blake grumbled good-naturedly. “We’ll see how she likes a nice eight-by-ten cell,” he added with relish. “Don’t put me on hold!” he shouted into the phone, and then he cursed under his breath and looked back up at Cameron. “Julian, huh?” he asked with a small, knowing smirk.
“That’s what she called him,” Cameron offered weakly. “You asked—”
“That is his name,” Blake assured him. “What do you think of him?” he asked, the smirk growing into one of his signature mischievous grins.
“Think of him?” Cameron echoed with a slight crack to his voice. His mind raced as he tried to think of something appropriate. “Uh. He tips really well, and he doesn’t ask for outlandish things. He’s a good customer,” he finally said, not sure what he could say without revealing how he felt.
“He certainly is,” Blake agreed with a nod, though his smile didn’t fade. “Did he say anything to you about this?” he asked as he waved at the recorder on the desk. “Or did he just thrust it at you and grunt like he usually does?”
Cameron thought about it, his eyes going out of focus. “He asked me if I would do him a favor if he asked. I said maybe.” He shrugged again.
“Slightly foolhardy of you, considering the man asking the favor,” Blake chastised as he tapped his pen impatiently, still holding the phone to one ear.
Cameron snapped out of it and answered without thinking it through. “What about him? It’s not like I know him. I mean, if a gorgeous woman asked you for a favor, wouldn’t you say yes?”
“Probably.” Blake laughed softly. “Ha!” he exclaimed suddenly. “No no no; don’t put me on hold,” he growled into the phone. He looked up at Cameron and grinned wickedly. “Go ahead and take off, Cam,” he advised with a jerk of his head. “Let the others clean up tonight.”
“Okay,” Cameron responded in amused confusion. Blake was obviously doing something he was enjoying immensely, and when Blake was enjoying himself, it was hard not to be amused.
He gave Blake one last look as the man turned away and started talking. At least Blake hadn’t teased him after that “gorgeous” line. As he walked down the hall and toward the kitchen to get his coat, Cameron told himself to stop thinking about the man named Julian. He rolled his eyes. As if that would do any good now.
The man known as Julian Cross paced restlessly as he waited for midnight. He held his phone in his hand, had been holding it long enough that it had grown warm, in fact, and he glanced at the time display every few seconds as the hour neared. Finally he allowed himself to dial Blake Nichols’ number.
“I wondered how long you’d wait,” Blake said in greeting.
“Shut up,” Julian grumbled as he forced himself to stop pacing. “Did you get it?” he asked worriedly. He’d harbored doubts about using the waiter as a delivery service, but Blake had more than once assured him the man was reliable and discreet, and Julian’s own slight infatuation had pushed him into being incautious. He’d been fretting over it ever since—something he wasn’t prone to do.
“It’s safe right here in my hot little hands,” Blake answered. He paused. “Did you really think Cameron wouldn’t bring it to me?”
“Hey,” Julian grunted in annoyance. “When something leaves my hands, I worry, okay? That’s what I do. I don’t trust you or your harebrained ideas any farther than I can throw you.”
Blake chuckled. “Well, you can stop worrying. Cameron delivered it just like he said he would. He didn’t even listen to it first.” He paused again. “Why’d you ask him? Why not bring it to me directly? You knew I was in my office.”
Julian pressed his lips together and then pursed them thoughtfully. He thought about pointing out that there was always the possibility that he was being followed and traipsing back into the private offices to see Blake whenever he wanted probably wasn’t a good idea. But Blake already knew that. He was simply poking at one of Julian’s very few vulnerable spots. Blake knew Julian was interested in Cameron, and he just couldn’t help himself from teasing Julian mercilessly about it.
“He’s more fun to look at than you are,” Julian finally answered instead of giving a more serious answer.
Blake’s laugh rang out. “You’re an ass,” he responded delightedly. “Oh, by the way, did you know you’re gorgeous?”
“Yes, I was aware,” Julian answered without missing a beat. He waited a moment before he gave a suspicious, “Why?”
A snicker came across the line. “Never mind. I made the call, and they’ll get this thing to the right people. Good job, by the way. She wasn’t as smart as we gave her credit for, huh?”
“Not nearly.” Julian groaned. “I’m almost embarrassed I put so much effort into her. Did you know she wrote me a fucking check? Talk about a paper trail.”
“What’d you do with it?” Blake asked in amusement.
“Burned it when I got home.”
“Well, lessons learned,” Blake replied easily. “Will you be here next week? It’s a holiday, you know. I’ll be out of town.”
“If you’ll be out of town, why do you care where I’ll be?” Julian countered.
“I don’t want to think about you sitting in that mausoleum of a house alone on Christmas Eve,” Blake answered sincerely.
“How sweet,” Julian responded flatly. He sighed softly and looked out at the falling snow. “But since you won’t be here, regardless, again I ask: what do you care?”
“Jackass,” Blake accused fondly.
“Yeah. There’s always Christmas Mass,” Julian muttered.
“That doesn’t count as company,” Blake pointed out.
“Yes, well, it’ll do,” Julian assured him, thinking to himself that if he could muster the nerve, he could probably find himself some of Blake’s brand of company. His mind turned again toward thoughts of a dark-haired, blue-eyed waiter.
“Take care of yourself, Julian,” Blake advised knowingly. “Unless something breaks, you’re free ’til Christmas. Good night.”
“Sweet dreams, you bastard,” Julian offered with a small smile.
“Of course they will be. Emily’s back from Paris,” Blake said with a laugh, and he hung up.
Julian smiled and shook his head. He folded his phone and tossed it onto the nearest piece of furniture, wondering what in the hell he was going to do with himself for the next several days without any jobs to work or research. He stared out at the snow, pondering the memory of the way the waiter’s lips had curved into a smile when he’d watched the snow falling outside of Tuesdays.
He growled slightly, shaking his head in defeat. He thought about that man far too much for it to be healthy. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if Cameron would respond favorably if he made a move.
Julian cocked his head and stared out the window, letting himself wonder and think about a man he didn’t really know.
Cameron stood at the greeting stand cleaning off the board that listed the evening special in artistically rendered colored chalk. Keri had begged off early so she could be at home with her kids on Christmas Eve, and he was the only one working the floor. After the two early evening parties cleared out, the restaurant remained deserted, and he’d sent everyone home but the sous chef and a couple other guys on the kitchen staff. Most people were at home with their families by now, and the weather didn’t help business. It had snowed heavily all day.
He hummed along with the holiday string concerto playing in the foyer, not yet tired of the Christmas music that inundated people everywhere this time of year. Since he had plenty of time, he pulled out the wait staff list for the next w
eek and started working on the schedule.
A slight whoosh of air warned him of someone coming in. Surprised, he shifted off the stool and stepped around the stand to see how many were in the party. He stopped still and stared for a moment before he could compose himself.
It was Julian.
The man stepped into the foyer, unwrapping the scarf from his neck as he looked around. When his eyes landed on Cameron, he stopped and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Merry Christmas,” he greeted.
Cameron blinked stupidly in response. “Happy holidays,” he answered finally. Was it Tuesday? Yes. Yes, it was.
Julian glanced around the restaurant and moved closer, appearing to glide as his long overcoat swirled around him. “Thank you for what you did,” he said as he got closer.
