42
Benjamin was once robbed at gunpoint, shat on by a pigeon, and broke his arm in the same day.
This day is worse.
The first thing I see when I enter my office is the smug face of the intern Brady, who rises from his seat and gives me a curt nod and a plastic smile. “Good morning, Mr. Gage.”
I give him a tight nod. “Morning. When Hawk arrives, make sure to buzz my office immediately. He arrives at four.”
“Will do. You can count on me.” He gives me another bright, million-dollar smile.
I pass through the office full of quick-moving bodies, giving the faces that look up an obligatory nod, a polite hello, and a tiny smile of greeting.
When I pass the intern table, I am surprised to find Trevor there. I don’t know why I expected him not to be—as if he’d quit overnight after the unfortunate tiff we had on the phone.
As if sensing my presence, Trevor glances up from his work. His eyes soften when he sees me. I don’t see anger in them, but I’m not sure I see anything inviting either. He makes no move to speak nor greet me. He just stares, distant and unemotional.
Despite that, I give him a nod of acknowledgement, then continue on my way to the office, ignoring the way my heart feels: crushed up like a beer can in my chest. My stomach feels as raw as a throat that’s screamed for hours on end.
I spend too much time in my office staring at the computer screen and reading the same sentences ten times. I can’t focus on anything. Nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to Hawk when he shows up. His image is a total disaster. The world only knows him as a self-indulgent, rebellious teenage pop star who keeps offending everyone with his social media presence and the totally awful, tasteless answers he gives during his TV and radio interviews. How the hell am I supposed to pour honey all over that and serve it to the internet?
But none of it matters. How can I focus on any of that when the real problem is sitting at the intern table outside my door? How can I bother to care about anything when the man I love just tried to rewrite history in the space of a phone call last night?
It pains me so much that, even in anger, he’d wash away all of that joy we experienced together. Doesn’t he realize that the first thing I thought of when I saw that article was how this might affect him and whether he was okay? Trevor was the first and last thing I worried about. I’m still worried about him.
I sigh, exasperated, then buzz for Rebekah. When she pops her head in, I tell her to get me an unoccupied intern from the intern table, someone to organize a filing cabinet. She disappears, and I wait anxiously, desperate to have an incidental excuse to chat with Trevor and sort my mind on the matter. We need to talk. But the next time there’s a knock at the door, it’s Jimmy’s bright red hair I see, not Trevor. I suppress an inward sigh, thank him for coming in, then set him to work on organizing the files, which totally don’t fucking need to be organized.
Twice, I give myself an excuse to leave the confines of my office and cut through the main floor. Both times, I discover that Trevor is either on the opposite side of the room or he’s busy with other interns at the computers. He’s never in a place where I can get to him.
The frustration is mounting. I have too much on my mind with the Jersey boy making his way here in a few hours. I need this settled between Trevor and I. Things between us have to be okay, and I need to see to that as soon as possible.
It’s one o’clock when Trevor takes his lunch. And it’s exactly at that same time that I intercept him at the door to the break room. “Trevor.”
He looks up at me, his eyes unreadable. “Mr. Gage.”
“I need you in my office to go over numbers you submitted yesterday,” I tell him. “I … found a discrepancy.”
Trevor’s eyes narrow.
“A discrepancy with my numbers,” I am quick to clarify. “Your work was flawless. I need to see where my numbers went wrong compared to … compared to yours.”
Really, this silly tap dance could be avoided by not speaking in annoying office metaphors. There’s a discrepancy in my feelings, I’d rather say, and I’m desperate to know where I’ve gone wrong and how I can repair this.
The next thing I know, Rebekah appears at my side—and with Brady, no less. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Gage,” she chirps excitedly, then turns toward Trevor. “Didn’t you clock out for your break?”
“He did,” I answer on his behalf. “I am taking him to my office to look over some numbers. Shouldn’t take long.”
It isn’t lost on me that Brady is eyeing us suspiciously.
“Oh, alright,” Rebekah returns. “Brady got a call from Melena wanting to thank you for recently handling a situation, but you weren’t in your office, so—”
“Brady, tell her I will return her call tomorrow,” I tell him.
A glint of self-satisfaction twinkles in his eyes before he gives me a curt smile, nods, and says, “You got it, boss,” then turns and heads back to the front desk. Rebekah gives Trevor and I both a bright smile before also heading off to do whatever it is she was busy doing.
And what are we doing? Trevor stares at me, and I stare right back, a hundred questions sitting in my stomach.
“Shall we?” I offer, gesturing toward my office.
Trevor clenches shut his eyes, then pops them open and gives me a short nod. He passes by me and heads toward my office. I pick up the sweet scent of his cologne, invading my nostrils and reminding me who this beautiful boy is who’s got his claws sunk so deeply into me that I can feel them every time I move a muscle.
And following him into the office proves that I still can’t pry my eyes away from the shape of his slender body in those tight pants of his, that fitted pink dress shirt, and that sexy black tie. Behave, I warn myself. Discretion is key, and if you have any chance of making this right with him, you’ve got to be smarter than your dick.
I close the office door behind us, flick on the lights, then tap the button under my desk, causing the blinds to snap shut.
“What are we doing?” asks Trevor despondently.
I lean against the front of my desk and face him, arms folded. “We’re going over numbers,” I answer.
Trevor narrows his eyes. “What are we really doing?”
My gaze drifts to his chest. “I … owe you an apology, Trevor.”
He studies me for a while, his face blank as a stone. “For what, exactly? And be specific,” he adds, folding his arms to match my own. “I want to know exactly what you’re sorry for.”
Trevor’s sassy little attitude is coming back. I experience an inner grin of satisfaction. We’re getting somewhere …
“I’m sorry for seeming like my image was my main priority.”
He purses his lips, listening.
“And,” I go on, “I’m sorry that your weekend was ruined by a greedy goblin with a camera whose identity we may never know. You don’t deserve to be spun into an article and spread across the internet.”
Trevor closes his eyes, then shakes his head. “This is stupid.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What?”
Trevor takes a breath and drops his arms to his sides, looking me in the eye. “You aren’t the one who owes me an apology. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I overreacted. My roommate thinks I’m banging my boss.”
“Well, you kinda are.”
“Shush. And he hates me for it. I’ve never lied to him, Ben, not ever, not about anything. And now it’s all I do anymore. Lies, lies, lies. I lie every day I come into this building. I lie whenever I talk to my parents on the phone about how my job is going or whether I’m still single. I lie to myself, most of all, insisting that I’m okay with our secrecy when really … I’m not.”
He closes the space between us, his eyes hardened and shiny with emotion. His plump pink lips are parted as he stares into my eyes, searching for something.
I dare to touch his tie, gripping it gently. He lets me. “This past weekend showed me a few things.”
Trevor lifts an eyebrow. “Did it?”
“Number one, it showed me that my life … is empty.” I fidget with his tie in my grip, like it’s the only thing keeping Trevor near me—our tether. “Number two, it gave me a glimpse of what my life could be like if it was fulfilling. But most importantly, number three is …” I bring my eyes to Trevor’s and find them glistening, bright and aware. “That you are the one who fulfills me.”
“But Ben … where do we go from here?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. “Preferably somewhere without any cameras.”
“There aren’t any cameras here in this office.”
The suggestive tone in his voice sends blood rushing down my body and straight to my dick. I promised I’d behave. I promised. “Somewhere without watchful eyes would be nice,” I add.
“Yours are the only ones I see.” Trevor gazes into mine with longing.
I grip him suddenly, unable to contain myself, and pull our hips together. When I do, I make the discovery that I’m not the only one getting hard. “I don’t give a fuck where we go from here, Trevor, as long as we go together.”
Trevor swallows hard, the wetness in his eyes trembling with excitement. Then, in a voice that’s barely there, he chokes out these words: “Ben, I think I’m falling for you.”