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ADAM
I’m in my office on Monday morning, staring out the window and daydreaming about my cock sliding into Nick’s ass, when someone knocks on the door.
“You okay, Adam?”
I spin around and find Charlotte walking toward my desk with two cups of coffee from the shop in the building’s lobby.
“Hey, Char,” I say as she puts one cup on the desk. “What’s the good news?”
She sits in a guest chair, takes a quick sip of coffee and pulls out her phone.
“You missed the staff meeting earlier,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
Charlotte has been my assistant for years. She’s a bit older, and it sometimes feels like I’m talking to my sister instead of a professional associate. She knows all about my preference for younger guys; in fact, she introduced me to Brent during a party at my beach house. When the sparks flew and we began spending more and more time together, Charlotte acted like a proud matchmaker. But when Brent’s moods darkened and he suddenly left me, she apologized so many times that I made her promise to avoid the subject of regrets from any of our conversations ever again.
“But I feel responsible,” she’d protested during one of our chats about Brent. “I only knew him as a handsome young guy that I met at a few parties around the city. I had no idea he could be so hateful.”
Brent was a clever, self-interested and good-looking boy who was on a mission to climb whatever ladder he encountered: personal, professional and social. We were together for nearly two years, but I never felt like I got the real story about his family or childhood. A few weeks after I discovered the inexplicable withdrawals from the account that I used for incidental household expenses, Brent confessed that he took the money to help his sister through a serious illness. When I realized that his left eye twitched as he relayed the story—a physical tic that I’d begun to associate with his more colorful explanations for arriving home late or taking cash from my wallet—I hired a private detective to look into his past.
As I’d also begun to suspect, there was no sister, no family in Scarsdale, no degree from Harvard. In fact, his real name wasn’t even Brent, although I continued using it out of habit. Even after he moved out, he dropped by the house every so often to ask for help with his rent. Despite all of the red flags and proof positive that the guy was bad news, I still found it impossible to completely cut him off. He was carefree and impetuous. He was brash and cocky. In a certain way, I saw my younger self in Brent; the man that I was before my career took off and my freedom was constricted by meetings and buying trips and client dinners and the nonstop parade of publicists and accountants and business associates.
“Hello?” Charlotte taps her knuckles on the desk. “What’s got you so distracted?”
I reach for my coffee and take a few tentative sips. Then I lean back in my chair and assure her that everything is fine.
“Nonsense,” she says with a laugh. “You only skip staff meetings if you’re hungover or had a bad weekend. Which is it?”
I shake my head. “Neither, actually. And before you ask, the trip to Miami went great. They loved our options for the outdoor kitchen and the guest bathroom floor.”
She smirks. “See?” There’s a crooked grin on her face. “Something’s definitely going on. You left me a message about that while you were flying back last night.”
I have no memory of the call, but Charlotte is so precise about business matters that I know she’s telling me the truth.
“Okay, so…” I swivel in my chair toward the window. “So maybe there’s something on my mind.”
“What’s his name?” Charlotte asks.
I spin around and we share a laugh. “It’s kind of spooky how well you know me,” I say. “And yes, I met someone. But it’s not going anywhere.”
She frowns. “How do you know that already?”
“Because I won’t let it,” I reply. “I have rules.”
“Such as?”
“It doesn’t matter, okay?”
“Here we go again,” she says, throwing both hands up in the air. “Like I said, the only time you miss our Monday morning staff is when something’s wrong.”
“Or when I oversleep,” I say. “That’s all it was.”
“Adam?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be a wanker,” she says. “What’s his name?”
I lean back in the chair, gazing up at the ceiling. “It’s Nick.”
“And the rest?” She’s smiling again. “Or did we not bother to get a last name?”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t bother to get one,” I reply. “I just didn’t need to. Because it’s not—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupts. “It’s not going anywhere. Because big, strong, brave tough Adam Coleman is a control freak. And if he decides that something isn’t going anywhere, then for fuck’s sake don’t you dare question his authority or decision.”
“Is that true?” I feel a prickle of embarrassment when I glance down from the ceiling and look at Charlotte again. “Am I that bad?”
“You’re worse,” she says. “Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”
I chuckle at the phrase. “Matters of the heart? From the way you just described me, maybe I don’t even have a heart.”
“Ah, there it is!” she says in her sarcastic singsong tone. “Did I hit a nerve? Are you going to bring out the self-deprecation and clichés that you use for defense mechanisms? I’m just a heartless bastard. I don’t have time for love. I’d rather be alone than feel pain again. No wonder Brent stole from me. I couldn’t give him the support he deserved, so he took my money to fill the—”
“That’s enough,” I say softly. “I’m really not in the mood for that today.”
There’s a moment where it seems like Charlotte will unfurl another snappish rebuke, but then the playful glare in her eyes softens.
“Holy shit,” she says. “You’re being serious.”
I nod. “I’m wiped out from the flight.”
“And distracted by the boy,” she says, “whose name we shall not speak because we’ll never see him again.”
I put my head back against the chair and close my eyes. “Nick. His name is Nick. And I’m not going to—”
“Stop right there,” Charlotte says. “I’ve known you for ten years, Adam. And I’ve only seen you like this twice before.”
I know what she’s talking about. Actually, who she’s talking about. Cole and Brent. The two other times that I met a younger guy who became more than just a hookup. Ten years separated the experiences. It took me that long to recover from Cole’s death in a car accident. And it’s anybody’s guess how long it’ll take me to get over Brent’s betrayal. It’s been six months, but I still feel that sorrowful pang in my heart when I hear his name or look at the photos still on the bookshelves at home. Devon and Charlotte have both told me to put them away if not actually burn them in the fireplace. But they also know that I’m a pushover for nostalgia and sentiment. I still have the tattered stuffed teddy bear that my parents bought for my first birthday. There are boxes of old family photo albums in my storage unit. And I visit my sister and her family for Christmas every year, even if it means flying in and out on the same day to accommodate whatever projects I’m juggling for clients.
“So?” Charlotte says. “Why aren’t you going to see Nick again?”
“Because he didn’t call,” I say, invoking the old standard explanation. “And he didn’t come over. I left a note and my business card for Nick. I wrote my cell on the back along with my personal email. There’s no excuse for him not to get in touch, especially when you consider the incredible night that we spent together.”
She sighs. “Oh, here we go again. We talked about how ridiculous that game is, Adam. As I recall, Brent didn’t call the next day either, right?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Look how great that turned out in the end.”
She smirks. “Stop being an ass. Brent and Nick are not the same person.”
“But I am,” I say. “I’m the same guy that was fool enough to overlook the red flags and warning signs.”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,” she replies. “You loved Brent. And you know what they say about love being blind.”
“Sure, whatever,” I say. “But I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. I left my number. Nick didn’t call. So I’m moving on.”
“Not so fast,” Charlotte says. “It’s only been a few days. What if I can find this Nick guy for you? What if you give him a second chance?”
“Not going to happen,” I say. “First of all, I don’t know his last name. And second, that’s not the way that I handle these things.”
She arches one brow. “That’s exactly my point! Try a new approach. Try not being such a hard ass. Try relaxing for a change.”
“Isn’t that what I did wrong with Brent?” I ask. “I was so relaxed and comfortable with how things were that I ignored the reality that was happening all around me.”
She smiles. “Hey, the guy’s a grifter. And grifters gotta grift.”
I laugh at the goofy expression on her face. “Is that what he is? A grifter?”
Charlotte nods and gets up from the chair. “Absolutely! Brent’s a grifter alright. As well as a liar and a cheat and a charming, handsome young man who knows how to manipulate other people to get what he wants.”
“I suppose so,” I say, wincing at the truth that I’d ignored for so long. “But now he’s no longer my problem. It’s over and done with.”
“Did you change the locks yet?” she asks.
“Holy shit,” I sit up and reach for my phone. “I keep meaning to ask Charlie to take care of that.”
“Maybe it’s time to get a new handyman, too,” she suggests. “You and I have both talked to Charlie about that.”
“Cut him some slack, will you? He’s getting older.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Aren’t we all?”
“Well, I’ll text him again right now,” I say. “And if you don’t mind, give him another call in a couple of days to see when he’ll take care of that.”
“I can have somebody else do it today,” Charlotte offers.
I shake my head. “I’ll stick with Charlie. He may not be moving as fast as he once did, but I like being loyal to the good guys.”
“And that,” Charlotte says with a mischievous chuckle, “is how you end up getting into trouble. Some of those guys turn out to be the exact opposite of good.”