CHAPTER 17
Will
The rest of the seminar took up all of Sunday, and I was more than ready for it to be over. I would much rather have been back in the room with Vaughn, rolling around on our six-million thread count sheets and drinking champagne. The thought made me smile down at my notes and smooth the front of my new suit. At least I knew I looked like a million bucks in it, even if I was doing so in a sea of green and purple that was starting to turn my stomach. Every time I thought about how it was a gift from Vaughn…and that he loved me, it went a long way in making the end of this seminar bearable.
But even thinking about those three words that Vaughn had murmured again as he fell asleep with his arms around me didn’t have the power to make Lawson disappear.
“So, did you bring your boyfriend as some kind of example?”
Jesus Christ. Though we had one every other year, Lawson had decided that my being gay was the reason we were having this diversity training, and he clearly had no problem punishing me with passive-aggressive commentary for his trouble. I just wished he’d go away, and spent a moment fantasizing about him being transferred somewhere else. Somewhere very cold and without viable public transportation. Or any of the sports teams he was so invested in.
“I’m not sure why you’re asking me this,” I said to Lawson, doctoring my terrible coffee at the refreshment station. The problem with my amazing birthday dinner was coming back down to earth and eating normal-person food.
“Just curious, is all.” Lawson’s eyes glittered at me and his smile was snide. “If the taxpayers were paying for it, or what.”
Was he kidding? The idea of Vaughn depending on the taxpayers subsidizing his bill for the La Quinta Inn made me snort. “Or what,” I answered flatly. “Excuse me.” I was trying to move past him, but he stopped me.
“Look, I don’t have a problem with what you do on your own time, Fox. But when you go and do this, shove it in my face?” He was still talking quietly, and I was starting to get pissed off.
It’s what he wants, I told myself. “I didn’t realize my boyfriend staying in the same hotel as you counted as shoving it your face, Lawson. Believe me. I don’t want to shove anything of mine anywhere near you.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have added that last part. But I was pissed, and Lawson’s continual attempts to rib me about my sexuality at a diversity seminar were getting old. I sipped my coffee, found a seat, and vowed to ignore him.
Of course, he was perfectly appropriate during the actual training. That was the problem with people like Lawson. It wasn’t like he wasn’t aware that it was frowned upon to be a homophobic dick. So he just toed the lines, aced the tests, took his certification hours, and never applied a single thing to his actual life. Lawson would not become a less homophobic, less racist, or less misogynistic person because of this stupid waste of time seminar, no matter how sound the intentions behind it. I wished I’d gone on vacation with Vaughn instead.
The futility of sitting here, knowing that for so many of my coworkers it wouldn’t change anything, was making me crankier than usual. Or maybe it was because it was Sunday and my boyfriend had told me he loved me and I had to sit here breathing the same air as Fuckhead Lawson. I resisted the urge to send Vaughn dirty text messages and calmed myself until we were finished with the seminar by daydreaming about him fucking me in those sheets.
The last thing we had to do was a team-building dinner, and then I was free. At least I had Monday off for travel.
“All done being diverse for the day?” Vaughn asked when I returned to our room.
“I know we technically have this room until the morning, but we can just leave after dinner?” I sat heavily on the bed.
“That good, was it?” Vaughn was reclining on the bed, reading a book. I wondered what he’d done all day. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him watch television. And while he liked movies, I didn’t think I’d ever heard him reference watching a particular show. The TV was off, and his phone was on the bedside table, and I guess he really did love me to put up with this voluntarily.
I leaned over and kissed him. “If you want to skip out on dinner, I won’t blame you.”
“But you won’t, will you?” he said against my mouth, hand settling at my neck.
“Blame you? I already said I wouldn’t. Oh, skip out?” I smiled and nipped at his bottom lip, sucking it lightly into my mouth. “You know I won’t. Besides, Lawson was being an ass and I don’t want him to think I’m afraid of him.”
“My William,” Vaughn murmured, resting his forehead on mine. “Of course I’m going with you. Unless you’d prefer I didn’t.”
“I’d prefer neither of us going, but.” I shrugged, some of my tension easing. I was still a bit giddy remembering last night. The knowledge that I loved him, and that he loved me, filled me with a happiness as bubbly as the champagne we’d shared last night. “Some of the other people brought their significant others. No one else is queer but me though.”
“No one else is anything like you,” Vaughn said, and I felt my face heat. He was charming, and for a long time, when he said things like that I’d thought he was being glib. Now I knew he wasn’t.
“Well, you either.” I pulled back and grinned at him. “My coworker Lawson thinks the taxpayers are footing the bill for your half of this splendor.” I gestured around us.
“Then they’re all fired,” Vaughn said, looking around the room.
I laughed. He was such a snob, but I’d slept pretty well on those sheets. It might have been the sex and the champagne though.
“Where are we going to dinner, dare I ask?”
“Ryan’s Steakhouse,” I answered.
“Is the steak decent?”
I laughed, then realized my joke had gone right over his head because—well, because when would Vaughn ever have been to a Ryan’s Steakhouse? “I was joking. Look it up on your phone,” I teased. “I’m gonna change.”
“You didn’t tell me where we’re going,” Vaughn said, picking up his phone.
“Conference Room B,” I answered. “It’s catered. Sorry, I thought I told you that yesterday.”
“Ah, Conference Room B. Right.” He waved a hand at me. “Get out of that suit before I take you out of it.”
“You like this one,” I reminded him. “I thought you only wanted to get me out of the bad ones.”
“I want to get you out of your clothes ninety-nine percent of the time I’m around you,” Vaughn informed me, not looking up from his phone.
“And the other one percent of the time?”
The look he gave me and my new suit was covetous, filthy, destructive. Then he winked.
I was finishing up in the bathroom when I heard him say, “A buffet steakhouse? William. You’re an FBI agent. That should be illegal and you know it.”
I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. “They have good yeast rolls.”
“I don’t know you,” Vaughn said huffily, and I laughed.
* * *
We made our way down to the conference room. It was nearly identical to the one that had housed the seminar, only with linen-covered round tables instead of the long, rectangular ones we’d been forced to sit at for the last two days.
“My sister would be horrified at the pleating on these table linens,” I murmured to Vaughn as we found our table.
“As well she should be,” Vaughn murmured, and pulled my chair out for me in a ridiculous, gallant gesture that should probably have made me mad. It didn’t, especially as I realized we were sitting at the table with—who else?—Brett Lawson. There were almost a hundred and fifty agents here, from both HQ and field offices close to the area, and I had to get stuck with Lawson. Of course.
Also at the table were a guy whose name I didn’t catch from Organized Crime, my colleague from Art Crimes, Cindy Maloney, and her husband, Trevor Sandy from White Collar Crimes, and his wife, Amy. I might not have been the only one who’d brought a significant other, but I’d bet mine was the only one who’d brought his own sheets.
I introduced Vaughn to the table. When I got to Cindy, Vaughn shook her hand and said, “I believe William’s mentioned you.”
I hadn’t, ever. I was sure of it. But she smiled at Vaughn and then at me, clearly pleased.
“This is Brett Lawson,” I said. “Lawson, this is my boyfriend, Amory Vaughn.” I couldn’t help the thrill of pleasure I felt at using the word “boyfriend” to his face.
Vaughn shook his hand with a polite smile and a “Lovely to meet you,” as if I hadn’t spent the last two days bitching about what an asshole he was.
Of course Vaughn would never be so crass as to express how much he loathed someone directly to their face. But I was sure the handshake he gave Lawson was a shade too firm, and his gaze was direct, his smile and eyes equally chilly. Vaughn was taller than everyone at the table, including Lawson. To macho types like Lawson, I was sure that mattered.
I knew there were plenty of people Vaughn didn’t like, but I’d never watched him systematically cut someone to ribbons with the sheer force of his disregard. By the time the catering staff was filling our water and iced tea glasses, Vaughn had charmed the entire table, and my fellow agents and their significant others were putty in his hands.
Except for Lawson. Vaughn managed to just keep him out of conversation, managed to give a slightly dimmer smile, an obviously polite laugh, any time Lawson thought to contribute. I was watching Vaughn destroy a man through microaggressions, and I was so turned on I was hard under the table and wanted to get on my knees and blow Vaughn right then and there.
Lawson was an irritating human being but he wasn’t oblivious. There were tells we were all taught to look for, but while I believed Vaughn to be capable of completely fooling Lawson, I didn’t think he wanted to. He wanted Lawson to know exactly what he was doing.
“…from, Mr. Vaughn?”
I blinked, realizing Cindy was speaking, and turned my attention back to the table. Cindy was smiling at Vaughn in a way that made me think she might have had a little crush on him. She wouldn’t be the only one.
“Just Vaughn, please,” he corrected with a smile. “Falls Church, Virginia.”
“Huh,” said Lawson, who’d had a few drinks by now and was staring at Vaughn with enough ill-concealed dislike that I hid a grin in my glass of iced tea. “That accent, I would have thought Alabama.”
“Would you?” Vaughn asked. “It’s common to be unfamiliar with the intricacies of Southern accents. From your accent, I’m guessing you’re a midwesterner? Missouri, maybe?”
I snorted before I could stop myself. Lawson was from L.A., and he definitely wanted everyone to know it. He didn’t sound at all like he was from Missouri.
“Hell, no,” Lawson answered. “The armpit of America? I’m from L.A.”
“Ah,” said Vaughn. That was it, nothing else, and yet there was a wealth of feeling layered in the simple syllable.
“I’m from St. Louis,” Trevor’s wife, Amy, said. She gave Lawson a bit of a frosty smile. “It’s a very nice city.”
“Flyover country.” Lawson laughed, but no one else did.
I reached down and surreptitiously rubbed my hand over Vaughn’s knee as he referenced Tony’s, an Italian restaurant on the Hill in St. Louis with which Amy was familiar. It once again cut Lawson out of the conversation and I noticed him shooting a glare at Vaughn, which I knew Vaughn couldn’t care less about. He was probably enjoying every minute.
I slid my hand up a little higher in his lap. Oh, yeah. Definitely enjoying himself.
He turned his head slightly, winked at me, and went back to his conversation.
Dinner was delivered a few minutes later, and I noticed that Vaughn and I were not served the chicken I’d signed us up for. Instead, the server came over with two plates and presented them to us with a flourish. The man glanced at Vaughn, who gave a polite nod and discreetly tipped him. I had a moment to wonder why Vaughn had gone behind my back to choose the vegetarian meal, and then the smell hit me. Vaughn had ordered food in from Luna, the restaurant we’d eaten from last night. He must have had it delivered to the kitchen and served on the same plates as everyone else. For a moment I was shocked by his audacity, not to mention his effort—the restaurant must have been who he’d texted in the room. But shock quickly gave way to head-shaking because, of course he had. Of course.
Suddenly, even with Lawson glaring daggers at me across the table, dinner was looking up, just a bit. Vaughn being a snob definitely had its benefits. Every bite I took would remind me that we were a team.
“What on earth did you get?” Amy asked, leaning over. “It smells way better than this chicken.”
“They were kind enough to accommodate my dietary restrictions,” said Vaughn. “I’m abstaining from meat at the moment.”
I raised my eyebrows, since “dietary restrictions” meant “desire not to eat the tasteless slop you caterers call dinner.”
“Doesn’t seem like a compliment to poor Fox,” Lawson said. It was a cringeworthy attempt at a joke, like most of Lawson’s barbs.
Vaughn gave Lawson a sharp, cold stare and said nothing. Lawson had the grace to flush, and I forked up some of my…whatever it was.
“It’s barbeque jackfruit,” Vaughn murmured as I took a bite.
“It’s delicious.” I recognized the side of hominy mac-n-cheese. “This is from the same place as last night, right?” I kept my voice low.
“You liked it,” Vaughn said simply. “And I have wasted too many taste buds on bland banquet roast beef.”
“I signed you up for the chicken,” I told him, closing my eyes in bliss at the jackfruit. It was the consistency of pulled pork, with an earthy bite, and the tangy barbeque sauce was heaven. The hominy was salty, cheesy perfection, and the kale with smoked salt and slivered almonds a thousand times better than the boring green beans and new potatoes everyone else was eating.
“It would have been indistinguishable from the roast beef,” Vaughn said. “Trust me.” And I’d been to enough FBI events to know he was right.
I made it a point never to drink too much at these things because I didn’t want to let my guard down, and it always surprised me that a bunch of FBI agents—who should be paranoid, given the crimes we investigated on a daily basis—would feel comfortable getting soused around each other. Or maybe they figured since we were the good guys, it was all right.
They weren’t sitting with a drunk Lawson though.
“Have you two been together long?” my colleague Cindy asked, as we had post-dinner coffees and Lawson had yet another beer. I was vaguely offended that he was getting bombed off domestic beer, but hey, I wasn’t dating him. Vaughn and I each had each stuck to a glass of what Vaughn muttered was “dregs of bottles mixed and called table wine.”
“A few months,” I answered.
“You were dating someone else when we were at the Academy, weren’t you?” Lawson interjected.
He must have been drunk if he wanted to talk about my love life. “Yeah,” I said.
“Didn’t work out?” Lawson prodded.
“We broke up ten years ago, Lawson,” I answered, sipping my coffee.
“He wasn’t into dating an FBI guy?” Lawson continued, sounding snide.
Actually, no. But I wasn’t going to get into that with Lawson, for fuck’s sake. “He was a great guy, but things ran their course,” I said, shrugging it off. Let Lawson make an ass of himself.
“I heard somewhere gay guys date a lot,” Lawson said, emphasizing the word date in a manner that suggested he meant something else entirely. “That true?”
The rest of the table looked just as uncomfortable as I felt with this line of talk, and I thought for a moment about how to deal with it. He was clearly going for attention, either by getting a rise out of me or having me ignore him and look like I was bothered by the conversation.
“Are you the victim of a recent breakup, perhaps?” Vaughn asked without missing a beat. “I notice most men who are overly concerned with other people’s romantic situations and drunk off cheap beer at dinner are usually nursing a broken heart. Or simply being rude.”
That made everyone quiet, but I could see Amy smile as she ducked her head. Trevor met my eyes and glanced upward. It was gratifying to know I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like the guy.
“Hey, man,” Lawson said with a fake laugh. “No need to be a dick. Even if you’re into that.”
“I’m mostly into manners,” Vaughn said smoothly. “You might find them a bit of an acquired taste, but I’d suggest looking into them instead of another glass of beer.”
Lawson muttered something and pushed away from the table without a word, stomping off to the bar.
“Ugh,” Trevor said. He gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”
“You don’t need to apologize for him,” I said. “He hasn’t liked me since the day we started at the Academy. I’m used to it.”
Vaughn gave me a sharp look, but didn’t say anything.
“Still. We’re at a diversity seminar,” Cindy huffed. “What the hell is his problem?”
“I’m gay.” I shrugged. “I guess it offends him that I get a gun? I have no idea. I’ve never asked. Whatever it is, it’s his problem.”
We didn’t stay long after that, and Lawson didn’t come back to the table. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and on the way back to the table, saw that Vaughn wasn’t there. I scanned the room and found him on the other side, talking to Deputy Director Rice and laughing his fundraiser-laugh. I wondered how he knew Elizabeth—but then, he knew everyone.
Cindy leaned in to me, her eyes wide. “You didn’t mention he was one of those Vaughns.”
My guard was immediately up on Vaughn’s behalf and I resisted the urge to ask Cindy if she’d thought to tell me what her husband did. As Vaughn finished talking to the deputy director and made his way back over to me I realized how exhausted I was.
“Are you ready?” he asked politely, hand on my lower back. I felt his touch all the way to my bones, and I wanted to be out of that room, naked, and on my back in as little time as possible.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning against him for a moment. “More than.”
I couldn’t wait to get back between those ridiculously expensive sheets.
The expensive sheets that, after Vaughn’s not-so-subtle comment that they were much nicer than the ones I had at home, I later stripped off the bed, folded neatly, and put in my suitcase.