To: Dylan Mitchell

From: Gabe Foster

 

Over the next few weeks, Jude asked me repeatedly about the situation, and I reassured him that things had gone back to normal. Gabe had got better quickly, and was soon back in the office, throwing his weight around and issuing dictates left, right, and centre. I was lying.

I should have been relieved the first time he called me a moron, but I wasn’t. Things weren’t the same, and something had changed in our relationship. The same way an earthquake erodes the foundations of a building, the underpinning of who we were was shifting, with previously firm stones breaking up and rolling away.

It’s a rainy afternoon in late November when I give up on trying to decipher Gabe’s handwriting. I throw my pen down on the desk and stare blindly into space.

The trouble I’m beginning to think, is me. I have changed from the person who had coped with his sarcasm and pickiness and thrown everything back at him, because now I feel that I know something more about him. Now, when I look at him, I don’t see the arrogant shithead. Well, I do see that, but I also see the man who needs a home but can’t seem to let himself have it. I see the vulnerable, grumpy man who isn’t used to having anyone look after him.

However, I don’t think the whole blame rests on me, because underneath the sarcasm and caustic tongue, Gabe is different too. The sarcasm is a little less biting, his tongue a little softer, and although the first couple of times I caught him staring at me from his desk I’d dismissed it as coincidence, the third and fourth time it happened, I couldn’t.

I sigh and then jump as Gabe breezes past me dressed in a grey, three-piece suit. “I’m glad you’ve decided to take up part-time fly swallowing, Dylan, but maybe concentrate on your full-time job for a bit.”

I rise to my feet and trail after him into the office, taking the briefcase he shoves at me. “Why are you back now? I thought the meeting wouldn’t finish for another hour?”

“We just blitzed through everything. It was amazing, like one of those days when you’re driving to work and it’s green lights all the way.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say morosely. “There are no green lights on the tube, only red lights and interminable delays.”

“While I’m always glad to hear about the little people’s problems, maybe not now,” he drawls, a smile tugging at his lips as I huff indignantly. He shrugs out of his jacket and flings it on the sofa, so I make sure he hears me sigh heavily as I hang it up. His full mouth quirks.

“Can I do anything for you at this moment, beyond picking up the detritus that appears to follow you around?” I ask.

He looks up at me as he loosens his royal blue tie, and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt. “Yes. Look, do you want to sit down?”

Trying to avoid staring at his tanned forearms, I lower myself gingerly into the chair opposite his desk.

“Why are you hovering like you’ve got fucking piles?” he asks curiously.

“Well, you don’t always invite me to sit down, Gabe.”

He looks at me, flabbergasted. “Yet your arse always seems to make its way to that seat.”

“Hmm yes, but that’s my usual response to your orders. It’s not normally a request.”

He stares at me. “So, you’re telling me that you obey all my orders, because honestly, that would be news to me.”

“I always obey your orders,” I say indignantly. “I am quite possibly the best assistant in history.”

“That would certainly be true, if you were the only assistant in history.”

I huff. “When have I ever disobeyed a direct order?”

“Let’s be charitable and call them polite requests.” I stare at him, and he smirks. “Okay, let’s not. Hmm, let me see.” He rests his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers together. “How about the time when I specifically told you to book a five-star hotel, and because you had a few drinks at Samuel’s leaving party, you did what?” I mumble something, and he puts his hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I booked you into a youth hostel.”

“Yes,” he purrs. “That was a very interesting experience.”

“Why?”

“Well, I spent twenty minutes outside the place waiting for the valet parking.” He pauses, and then suddenly laughs out loud. “Oh my God, but Fletcher’s expression when he saw the bunkbeds was priceless, I have to give it to you.”

“My verbal warning when you got back was a similarly hilarious occasion,” I say sourly, which makes him laugh even harder. I can’t help but smile at him, because Gabe’s laugh, on the rare occasions that it happens, is seriously contagious. Deep and booming, it seems to come from deep inside him, and when he looks at you with his eyes creased in amusement, it can make you feel like you’ve won an Olympic medal.

“Well, I didn’t realise that work was such a happy, jovial place, Gabe.” We both jump and turn to see Fletcher leaning against the door with a very sour expression on his face. “I had gained the impression from your daily list of complaints about Dylan’s work rate and constant cock-ups, that work wasn’t particularly enjoyable at the moment.”

He saunters into the room and rests his arse against the back of one of the leather sofas, crossing his arms and regarding us in a very hostile manner.

I shake my head, a wry look on my face. If he thinks that Gabe hasn’t made me aware of any cock-ups, he’s very wrong. It does sting to think of him going home and complaining about me, because I really am very good at my job. However, I’ve experienced enough of Fletcher’s passive aggression, or just plain aggression, to not lose my temper.

Gabe however, isn’t subject to the same control, and I stare at him in amazement as his face clouds over angrily. “Fletcher, that’s fucking out of order. I have never, ever complained about Dylan to you, and you know it. He’s the best assistant that I’ve ever had, and I’d be lost without him, because he goes above and beyond what’s expected of him.”

I turn to look at Gabe, my mouth open in amazement and a warmth filling my chest, but he’s staring hard at Fletcher with a look that could kill. I check Fletcher. Damn, it hasn’t worked.

Fletcher glares back. “Yes, he does go above and beyond. I think we all know that. I mean what secretary stays at their boss’s house, and nurses him back to health?”

“I’m not a secretary,” I mutter, but I’m shouted over by Fletcher.

“I mean that’s true dedication, Gabe.”

“I appreciated it,” he says stiffly.

Fletcher’s expression instantly morphs into one of faux sympathy, as he does an abrupt volte face. “I know babe, but it just blurs the boundaries. At the end of the day, he’s an employee. You don’t want to take advantage of someone’s good nature, and I know that when you were better, it worried the hell out of you in case he got the wrong idea about you and him.”

“Still here,” I say clearly, wanting to punch him in the face and break his fucking nose. Gabe’s face has lost all traces of the earlier laughter, and now he looks vulnerable, as if Fletcher is stepping on a nerve that none of us can see. I hasten into speech. “And I was quite happy to help my boss. I’m fully aware that he is my boss. If I wasn’t, the day that he came back and called me a clumsy twat would have reminded me.”

Gabe doesn’t even break a smile. “I’m actually embarrassed, Fletcher. You have completely embarrassed both yourself and me. I presumed my conversations with you were private, not something to throw in the face of a member of my staff. Especially when that member of staff has never done anything to deserve such treatment. I’m actually very ashamed of you.”

His face is cold, and both Fletcher and I shift in our chairs awkwardly. Although it’s spectacular to see Fletcher get a bollocking, it’s still embarrassing in front of me, and I know Fletcher will get me back for it.

Fletcher, however, seems unperturbed. “Oh Gabe, I’m so sorry,” he says softly, pinning a sweet smile on his face. “You’re totally right. It was out of order, and I’m sorry, Dylan.” The last bit is thrown over his shoulder at me, and then he stands up and goes to hug Gabe. “I just felt bad because I didn’t stay to help you. I was worried about you all week.”

I rub my fingers over my lips to stop the words tumbling out. I’d bet he didn’t worry at all, seeing as Jude saw him at a club on the same night I had stayed at Gabe’s house.

Gabe remarkably seems to swallow it, and his frame relaxes slightly. “Okay, that’s fine. Why are you here?”

Fletcher perches on the arm of Gabe’s chair, and leans against him. “I came because I had a fantastic idea.”

Gabe looks worried, which is justifiable. Fletcher’s ideas are rarely fantastic, such as the time he decided to give up taking taxis and bought a mountain bike to get around London. He’d found out too late that he didn’t have a great deal of balance, and had been involved in a heated war of words with a taxi driver, when he stopped to take a phone call in the middle of the road.

I jerk out of my thoughts as Fletcher carries on. “I was thinking how jaded you’ve looked since you were ill, so I wanted to make you feel better, and I decided …” He pauses dramatically and I sigh a bit too loudly, earning me a glare from Fletcher and a quirk of Gabe’s lips. Fletcher turns back to him. “How about going away for a few days skiing?” Gabe looks like he’s going to argue, so Fletcher hurriedly carries on. “We could rent a chalet in Verbier, and get away from everything. The snow’s fantastic at the moment, so we could ski all day and then exercise all night.” He waggles his eyebrows lecherously at Gabe, which makes me want to throw up in my mouth a bit.

“Babe, that sounds wonderful, but I can’t go at the moment,” Gabe interjects.

Fletcher jerks and pouts. “But why?”

“Because I have the conference to prepare for.” Fletcher looks oblivious and Gabe sighs. “The one in Amsterdam next week. I’m the keynote speaker, and I haven’t got anything ready yet.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Fletcher whines. “Gabe, you’re clever. You can rustle that up in a couple of hours today.”

Gabe and I share a look because it’s going to take a few days’ worth of work to get this ready. He still hasn’t written his speech, and I have a thousand things that need arranging.

Fletcher catches the look, and it seems to make him angrier. “For fuck’s sake, Gabe. We need this. I need this. We haven’t seen much of each other lately, and I don’t want that to carry on and damage us.”

Gabe stares at him. “You’ve booked it already, haven’t you?”

Fletcher sags. “Yes. We’re booked into Tommy’s chalet in Verbier.”

There’s a long silence. “And I suppose that Tommy is joining us, is he?” Gabe asks in a cold voice.

“Yes, but it’ll be brilliant,” Fletcher says imploringly. “I know you don’t get on, but it is his chalet, and it was his idea. Please, Gabe, it’ll be great, and it’ll give you the chance to get to know him better.”

“Fletcher, I would rather get to know Slobodan Milosevic better.”

Fletcher is instantly diverted. “Is he the new Abercrombie model, the dark-haired one?”

I snort and then cover it brilliantly with a cough, or at least I thought I had until I look up and find Gabe staring at me, a dark look of humour in his eyes. Still staring at me, he speaks to Fletcher. “So, when are we going?”

“Thursday.”

“For how long?”

“Four days.”

“I see.” Fletcher stares at him, and Gabe gives a small smile that instantly makes me nervous, as it never presages anything good. “So, it’s just you and I and Tommy?”

Fletcher looks nervous. “And Will and Jamie.”

I look up because I know that Gabe hates these people. I’ve heard him on the subject many times through his door. I’m amazed, however, to find instead that half-smile playing on his lips again, and he looks at Fetcher challengingly. “Well, Tommy’s chalet is big, so Dylan and I will fit in nicely.”

My incomprehensible gabble of shock is drowned out by Fletcher’s what the fuck, and Gabe leans back, a pleased smile playing on his lips. “Fletcher, I explained I have work to do that can’t wait. You took it upon yourself to book me out of the office, and I’ve given in with good grace. The problem is that my work will have to come with me, as will Dylan because he assists me in my work.”

“Erm I’m really not sure -” I start to say, but he shakes his head fiercely at me and I subside, albeit with a glare on my face that I make sure he can see. As normal any sign of rage from me is treated by Gabe as if I’m putting on his own personal show to entertain him, and I see him suppress a smile. He is the most contrary man that I’ve ever met.

Fletcher rises to his feet. “So he’s coming with us, is he?”

“That’s what I said,” Gabe says slowly and clearly, making me want to laugh. Fletcher opens his mouth, but Gabe beats him to it. “I will go skiing with you and do some of what you want, but the simple fact is that I have to work and Dylan is a part of my work.” He pauses and then says silkily, “I presume I am paying for this trip anyway?” Fletcher flushes, and Gabe smiles coolly. “Then it will be no problem if I add Dylan to the bill, will it?”

I dig my fingers into my arms to avoid asking him angrily if I’m a pound of bananas that he’s added to his trolley, or an actual person, but manfully stop myself. Although from his expression, I know he’s guessed what I’m thinking.

Fletcher steps back with one of his complete changes of mood, that manage to make me dizzy within just five minutes of his company. “Okay, then it’s decided.” He cups Gabe’s face. “We’ll have a fantastic time, babe. Do you remember the last trip away with Will?” He lowers his voice, but I hear the last comment because I’m meant to. “My ass was so sore I couldn’t sit down for most of the holiday.” He grabs the lobe of Gabe’s ear in his sharp, white teeth, making Gabe shudder, and me want to gag. “Don’t forget to let Dylan go out at night though,” he says softly. “You can’t monopolise all his time, and at night you’re mine.”

Gabe stares at him, and I take the opportunity to mutter an excuse and leave the room, resisting the urge to slam the door off its hinges.

Ten minutes later, he finds me as Fletcher leaves, giving me a poisonous glare that Gabe misses.

I tap away on my computer, ignoring Gabe completely. He shifts from foot to foot almost nervously, before perching his arse on the corner of my desk. “Dylan,” he says softly. I switch the pencil I’m chewing on to the other corner of my mouth, and keep typing. “Dylan,” he says a bit louder. “I know you can hear me.”

If I wasn’t so angry, I would want to smile, because he hates to be ignored. He’s like a small child in that regard. Finally, a minute later, he loses patience, and reaches over and switches off my monitor. “That’s better,” he says. “Now you can talk to me.”

I swivel to look long and hard at him, and he squirms slightly. “Oh, you want me to talk?” I say in a tone of amazement. “That’s a surprise. I wasn’t aware you needed any sort of input from me anymore.”

“Dylan, please,” he groans. “I know you’re a bit angry.”

“A bit?” I hiss. “I’d be a bit angry if you put olives on my sandwiches. This is beyond that.”

“You’d really be angry about the olives?” he says, trying to be charming. “Good grief, I wasn’t aware that you took lunch so seriously.”

“I don’t, but you know what I do take seriously, Gabe?” He swallows and tries hard to maintain eye contact as my voice rises. “I take managing my own time seriously. I take the ability to say yes or no to a request very seriously. I mean, what’s next? You’ll be telling me how to fucking shave or put deodorant on next.”

He looks at my stubble. “Well, that might not be out of the ball park.”

“It’s not funny,” I hiss. “I’m bloody furious. How dare you, Gabe. I actually imagined that you thought more of me than to use me as a tool in your argument with Little Lord Lubeship.”

“Who?” he asks, with a gleam of absolute hilarity.

“Never mind,” I say quickly, unable to believe I’ve let Jude’s and my nickname for Fletcher slip out. “I’m serious, Gabe,” I say sharply, standing up and grabbing my jacket from the hook, and my bag from beside the desk.

“Wait, where are you going?” he asks anxiously, jumping to his feet.

“Home.”

“No, wait.”

I walk past him, and he takes the opportunity to grab my arm, staying my progress and sending sparks down my arm so quickly I can’t help but gasp. Immediately his expression darkens, as he looks down at his hand as if feeling it too. I’m unable to stop the shudder that runs through my body, and suddenly we’re closer than we had been, with our chests almost touching. He sucks in a sharp breath.

“Jesus,” he says hoarsely. “Jesus, Dylan.” He reaches up slowly, as if the gesture is beyond his control. Time seems to slow as he grabs my other arm, bringing me into him, but a sudden bang from the corridor outside the open door makes us both jump back.

Gabe stares at the open door, as the post boy walks in with his arms full of envelopes.

“Afternoon,” he says cheerily. “How are you, Dylan?”

“Hi -” I stop and clear my throat. “I’m fine. How are you, Mark?”

“Great. Thanks for that tip about the college course. I -” He suddenly catches sight of Gabe. “Oh hello, Mr Foster,” he stutters.

“Afternoon,” Gabe says, turning to his side and showing a forced interest in a picture of a sailing ship on my wall. I stare hard at him, and then suddenly notice the reason he’s moved is to cover a massive erection.

A shudder runs through me, and I’m glad of the concealing folds of my coat. Mark looks curiously between the two of us, and I rush into speech.

“Just put them on my desk, Mark. Thank you.”

He hastens to do as I ask and hurries out of the room, leaving a silence loud with something.

I stack the envelopes for something to occupy my hands, wondering when he’s going to look at me. Finally, he sighs heavily and turns back, his face once more wiped clean of expression, and not a sign of the heated, slack intentness of before.

Sighing, I grab my bag from the floor where it’s fallen and go to move past him. “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” I say coolly. “I’m sure that’s okay with you, because you just decided that you would requisition my time for four whole days and nights.”

“Wait.” The thickness is still in his voice, but now he sounds nervous. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Yes,” I say patiently, and he whitens slightly. I catch his meaning and sigh. “I’m not leaving my job, Gabe.”

He looks up too swiftly to totally guard his expression, which for a minute I could swear shows blinding relief, but he clears it quickly. “That’s good,” he mutters, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking back on his heels almost nervously. I stare at him, wondering who this stranger is in front of me these days. He bears little resemblance to the man I’ve worked for, for such a long time.

Catching my gaze, I see a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“What did you say? Could you speak a bit more clearly?”

He looks at me crossly. “You heard me.”

I lean back on the desk and cross my arms. “No, I really don’t think I did. Repeat it. Pretend that I’m a moron, and you’re dictating your letters again.”

“Bastard,” he says almost admiringly. Then. “I. Am. Sorry,” he says through gritted teeth.

I stare at him, seeing him squirm and enjoying it for a brief, joy-filled minute. “Okay,” I say coolly.

His head shoots up. “What do you mean, okay?”

“I mean okay. Thank you for your apology.” I lean forward. “But don’t you ever think that you can speak for me, and make arrangements for me without my consent again. I’m not your boyfriend.” He stares at me, silver-grey eyes locked on me in what looks like fascination. “I mean it, Gabe,” I say sharply. “If you ever do that to me again, not to mention in front of people, I will lose my shit in a big way. And then I will leave.”

He nods his head quickly and anxiously, then jerks as I move past him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Out. I’m taking the rest of the day off, Gabe, and it will not be coming out of my holiday pay.” His eyes threaten some form of retribution, so I make sure to fling my scarf around my neck with jaunty abandon. “After all, I’ve got to go and find some ski gear.”

The last thing I see is the look of relief on his face as I leave the office, making me smile when I know he can’t see me. However, when I get into the elevator, I lean back against the wall with a sigh. What the fuck have I committed to?