45
Benjamin is now his own scandal.
I stare through the car window at the crowd in front of my office building, numbed.
It doesn’t matter how many pretty words I string together, or how I can possibly manage to own the chaos I just inflicted on my company and my poor, unsuspecting coworkers, or what the world must think of me now.
None of it means anything if I can’t get Trevor back.
He isn’t answering any of my texts. He won’t pick up the phone, either. For all that I know, he’s already hightailed it out of town, unable to handle the stress of the invasive cameras. I can’t blame him, either. I brought this on him.
This is my fault. All of it.
How can he possibly forgive me for all of this shit I’ve put him through? It was my idea to pull him into my office. It was my dick that kept pushing us together, even when I’d promised myself to behave. It was me who pursued Trevor, who ignored the email that the Jersey boy Hawk would be arriving several hours earlier than planned, who accidentally hit the button that flipped open the blinds and unveiled us to over a million and a half viewers on YouTube, Twitter, Facebook—all the social media sites.
A million and a half.
Those are numbers that, in any other circumstance, I would frame and slap onto a wall.
But I don’t feel like slapping anything except myself today. I always have things under control, no matter the situation. I’m not the guy who hides to lick his wounds; I stay in the thick of it and suffer under the pressure until the problem is solved.
Yet here I am, clueless as ever, lost in a fog of doubt.
After the whole situation went down and Trevor ran out of the office, the employees were all sent home except for all of my department heads, who gathered for a meeting. Facing them was both easy and difficult—easy because I’d worked with these same people and suffered many missteps and awkward situations with them before, but difficult because I had no answers.
When we realized the media outlets had all been hit with a few videos and pictures, despite Rebekah’s efforts in confiscating and checking phones, it was deduced that the only person who could have been responsible—due to the particular camera angle of all of the leaked media—was Brady, whose efforts were likely intended to spite Trevor. I didn’t waste any more time on him than necessary, assigning the dealing of him to Rebekah and moving on to more important matters.
Namely, what this would do to Gage Communications, how to handle the employees and their feelings, and what steps we could take to control the “conversation” on social media. We discussed, we brainstormed, and we made a few decisions. Statements were sent out to the same media outlets that first debuted the material. We apologized, insisted that the scene was not a reflection of how we handle our clients, and the circumstance of the videos was pulled entirely out of context—which hopefully would debase the immediate reaction to the articles and instill doubt in the viewers’ and readers’ minds.
The effect, if anything, backfired. The comments sections filled up with some of the nastiest things that can be said about a person. My business was likened to a whorehouse of boys, all of whom are required to sexually please me or be tossed to the curb. My character has been mocked, spat on, and slathered with exaggerations of what really happened, with misquotes of things I apparently said in some past interview, and with outright lies.
Now I’m really in the game of salvaging a ruined public image. This time, it’s my own scandal.
“Are you ready?” asks Ian from the front seat.
I shift uncomfortably, then give him a curt nod.
Fighting through a crowd of snapping cameras, accusations, shouted questions, and screams is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And there is no way to shield your ears from the onslaught of terrible names, ridicule, and scathing mockery. And there is no way to shield your eyes from the looks of disgust, from the hardened eyes of greedy reporters, from the large circular eyes of cameras as they aim, focus, and flash.
Then it’s over as quickly as it started, the door to the building closing at my back.
Today is a day I am not looking forward to.
But when I step into the main office, I’m taken aback by what I see. Hawk, the Jersey boy himself, is sitting on one of the desks in the center of the room with one leg hanging off and the other hugged against his chest. He’s talking to everyone in the room—interns, employees, all of my supervisors—and making them laugh, making them listen, and speaking with an unexpected eloquence about his words. I almost don’t recognize who he is for a while as I stare and try to make sense of the scene.
He spots me, then interrupts himself to shout, “Well there he is, the boss man Benjamin himself! Give your boss a big round of applause, folks.”
Everyone in the room is led into loud, excited applause, all their eyes on me. I blink, completely confused by the scene before me. Why does Hawk have all of my employees gathered, why is he still here in town, and what the hell is he telling them?
I clear my throat. “Would anyone like to explain to me what this is all about?”
“You,” answers Hawk simply, crossing his arms.
I lift my eyebrows patiently, then spread my hands. “Can we elaborate a little more?”
Hawk turns to the others in the room, cocky as ever, his eyes bright and his chin lifted with authority. “Can anyone tell me what the first thing is that comes to your mind when you think of the great and infamous Benjamin Gage?”
For a moment, the office is silent. Then, like a bird chirping in a nest, tiny, almost not there, the intern Ashlee speaks up. “He’s bold. He’s confident. He makes no apologies.”
“Fuck yeah!” agrees Hawk. “Anything else?”
One of my guys at the computers, Rob, speaks next. “He is unconventional in how he deals with celebrity scandals.”
“His methods are unpredictable,” puts in Lacy, another office worker, an inspired smile on her face. “He is brilliant. He is sharp. He is relentless.”
Hawk nods. “That’s right. You got it.”
“He’s a bad ass motherfucker,” shouts one of the interns, inspiring a tittering of excited laughter in the room. “He doesn’t answer to anyone. People answer to him.”
“And,” Hawk puts in, “when photos of his ass—which is a really beautiful ass, by the way, it’s like a fucking Rembrandt—make headlines twice in the same week, what does a bad ass motherfucker like Benjamin Gage do?”
“Sends them a third,” calls out another employee.
“He posts his workout routine and tells the world what kind of beef you gotta eat to get an ass like that,” states Julian, his voice deep and masculine, inspiring a wave of laughter.
“He owns the fucking web!” throws in Samantha, then lifts her eyes, surprised at her own outburst. “Wow. He really does own the web.”
Hawk faces me finally, a proud smile spreading across his face. “That sounds more like the Benjamin Gage I know.”
I purse my lips, studying the faces in the room as they look back at me. After skimming so many ugly posts and comments and remarks overnight, the effect of seeing so many friendly, warm, hopeful, inspired faces is humbling.
“Well then,” I say, straightening up my spine and taking a cue from Hawk as I address the room. “What’re we doing sitting on our asses when we got work to do?”
The room cheers, erupting into a wave of enthusiastic banter as everyone starts splitting off, asking the supervisors questions, consuming the computers and the boards and the desks. Life and morale is restored to the office in an instant, and I feel the first flicker of hope burst inside my heart. Maybe everything isn’t lost.
Except one thing.
Hawk struts up to me, proud of himself. “I couldn’t leave town after seeing your pitiful apologies online,” he explains. “I may not have the expertise and the finesse that you do, but I have more to thank you for than anyone else in the world. You’re the only person who puts up with my shit. I figure the least I owe you in return is my support.”
I nod appreciatively. “Thanks a lot, Hawk. But this still doesn’t solve the fact that I’m a—how did they word it?—power-toting monster who took advantage of an innocent waif who worked in my office, abusing my authority.”
Hawk tilts his head. “Well, he’s not just some little ‘innocent waif’, though, is he? Hell, you took him to Mexico. You worked together for weeks here. There’s a fuck of a lot more going on between you two. I heard the story from your supervisors when you gave them the 4-1-1 yesterday after clearing the office.”
I nod. “The last thing Trevor is to me is some kid I dicked with. He means … everything to me.” I can’t believe I’m speaking so openly about all of this to a cocky teenage pop star, who pays me to babysit his image.
“Then the world needs to see that,” Hawk states. “What the hell did I just get done proving to your whole staff? Own it, Benny. Own all of it. Own this business, own your brand, and own what you got going on between you and this Trevor kid.”
I give Hawk an assured nod, feeling more motivated now than ever. “You may have just saved me, Jersey kid.”
Hawk chuckles at that. “After how many times you came to save my ass after I kept pissing on your advice? I owe you.”
The electricity of inspiration rushes up my veins. With a glance over my office, watching all of my employees hard at work and brainstorming new, brilliant ideas, I dive right in, answering questions and getting straight to work on managing the situation. Instead of burying myself in my office, I’m on the floor fielding the activity and engaging with my staff more in the space of two hours than I do normally in a whole month.
I’ve never felt more alive.
But there is still that hole in me that no amount of work can fill. I have to come to a decision about what I’m going to do about Trevor, and I think I know what it is.
When half the interns are at lunch—including the one I need to speak to—I make my way for the break room. The conversation they’re all having across the tables, however, brings me to pause at the entrance.
“I mean, it’s not that I think less of Trevor necessarily, but if I knew that Mr. Gage was fair game, I might’ve flirted a bit harder this whole time,” teases Brandon.
“Agreed, me too,” shoots out Isaac, inspiring a couple of the other guys to laugh. “I mean, I don’t swing that way, but hey, for a little recognition from the boss, I could stand taking a trip to Mexico and playing the role.”
“At least Trevor was smart about it and did everything behind the scenes,” Caleb throws in. “I had no idea. None.”
Quite suddenly, Elijah slams his hands down on the table and rises from his chair. “None of you know what the fuck you’re talking about. None of you!” he shouts, silencing the room at once. He takes a deep breath, then goes on in a calmer voice. “Trevor doesn’t have a mean or manipulative bone in his whole skinny-ass body. Trevor met Mr. Gage before he even knew who he was. Their connection was real, and it tormented Trevor for weeks when he found out who he really was. I can’t imagine it was any easier for Benjamin himself, who had to hide his feelings too. Who the hell are we to judge what’s going on between them? Maybe you all fail to notice the intern who is not with us today—the former intern named Brady who wouldn’t think it’s beneath him to seduce Mr. Gage, to ruin Trevor and compromise this business by publically humiliating him, and to leave the office with a smirk on his face. Rest assured, he just buried his own career too, and if you want to sit here and mock Trevor and Benjamin instead of supporting them, then you’re no damned better than Brady.”
The silence in the room is thick after his spiel, an air of deep thoughts cutting through the minds of the other interns.
Finally, Elijah picks up his lunch, then leaves the room. On his way out, he almost crashes into me, not having seen me around the corner of the doorway. “M-Mr. Gage,” he murmurs, surprised.
I nod. “Elijah. How are you?” I ask stiffly.
He gives me a tight-lipped smile and an awkward shrug. “I’m alright, Mr. Gage. Thank you for asking.”
I glance back at the break room, noting that all the employees have gone back to chatting amongst themselves. No one else is around us, so I figure it’s safe enough to be candid with him. “You and I should talk.”
His eyes gloss over. “Us? Why us? What’s wrong?”
I go for humor. “Other than everything?” After a chuckle that earns me nothing, I straighten my face. “Nothing’s wrong, Elijah. But you, most of all, I think I owe an apology to.”
He looks stunned. “I … M-Me? Why me?”
“With Trevor trying to keep our secret, it put this … wedge between you guys. You mean the world to him, and it was shitty of me to compromise your friendship like that.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“No, I do.”
“Really, though. I mean, maybe he kept things from me and lied a lot, but … I knew he was seeing someone,” Elijah explains, “and I knew that someone was giving him a little hop to his every step. Now that I know it’s you, well …” He smiles. “You’ve done more for him than anyone I know. You made him happy.”
I can’t help but feel a stroke of glee at hearing those words. If only Trevor knew how much he’s done for me … “I’ll still apologize anyway for any strain on your friendship. It wasn’t intended.”
Elijah considers it, then reluctantly nods at last. “Alright. I accept your apology, Mr. Gage. Th-Thank you.”
“On a related note …” I lean toward him and lower my voice. “Where is Trevor? He hasn’t come in, which I understand, but he’s also not answering his texts or his phone. I’m worried about him.”
“He’s … He’s at our place.” Elijah licks his lips, nervous. “But I don’t think he wants to see anyone or speak to anyone. He’s waiting out the storm. I … honestly don’t know if he’ll come back.”
Those words hit me the strongest. “Elijah. Please look out for him. And keep me updated, will you? It’s killing me, this silence.”
“I will,” he promises.