Chapter 4
The call came late in the afternoon, during a hazy nap sprawled on his bed. He was up though in seconds, answering.
“Get the car.” Click.
Fuck. Duncan rubbed at his eyes, but got on his feet, pulling his holster and jacket on. Thankfully, he could tie his tie whilst walking, so he hurried to the garage. The sun already drowned in its orange blood. How long did this fuck sleep?
Pulling up in front of the mansion, he didn’t even have time to get out, Spencer had already opened the door and slid in. He was dressed in red silk with flowery patterns in blue, and giant sunglasses, clutching his phone.
He buckled in, and gestured at Duncan. “Margot Nail Salon. Sunset boulevard. Not that shitty one.”
Duncan found it amongst the favorites, quietly blessing the previous guard for saving the essentials.
“Then… we’re going to a rehearsal because I have a show tomorrow…”
Can you walk straight? “Alright.” Duncan glanced at him, but Spencer didn’t ask for the divider to be up, so he set off, thankful a bit that he had stuff to do.
Lost a bit in that smooth driving, he jolted at Spencer’s voice. “What color should I get?”
Their eyes met in the mirror.
Spencer smirked. “My nails, dum-dum.”
“How would I know?”
“Not putting on nail polish?”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t have thought…” Flicking his phone screen. “Maybe black… black goes with everything. Should I get long nails? Pointy ones… maybe…”
He had pulled his sunglasses off, his eyes glinting, rimmed red. High, maybe. Duncan couldn’t tell.
“Up to you.”
“You’re very useful… Not.” Bored a bit, he tossed his phone on the seat.
“I have a shitty sense of fashion, right? So what did you expect?”
Spencer’s lips curled up. “Oh, I see… you sure don’t forget. That type, huh? Holding a grudge until you burst.”
Duncan’s voice froze in his mouth because maybe that little shit was right. Fuck.
“Thought so. Never mind, you are right. Park here, at the WIP spot. That’s me anyway.”
Duncan rolled his eyes softly, but parked the car.
This time Spencer waited until he opened the door for him. Offering his hand.
“Help me out. I feel a bit weak.”
Duncan took that limp hand and pulled him up, catching him when Spencer lost his balance. Meeting those eyes framed by his long lashes, that faint smell of alcohol on his breath laced with weed.
“Thanks…” He pushed himself away, even if that warm body had sent something down his spine. “I’ll manage from here.” Wobbling, unsteady, but he walked to that large glass door.
Duncan opened it for him, scanning the salon. There were two technicians in there and only one other guest.
A young man with ash blond hair walked to them and laced his arms around Spencer. “Spence! Honey, I thought you’d never come! How do those paws look?” He grabbed Spencer’s hands, running his thumbs on his fingers. “Nasty! What do we do today? Ooooh! And who’s sexy hunk here?”
Duncan’s face flushed despite himself and his discipline.
Spencer’s mocking voice. “Sexy? Wipe your glasses off. He’s my bodyguard.”
The man walked close, batting his eyelashes. “Does Mr Bodyguard want a manicure too?”
“No.” Duncan set his face.
“Tough too. Love it.” He winked at him and walked back to Spencer. “What can I bring you?”
“The usual, Marky.” He gestured at Duncan.
“And a coffee for him. He could use one.” Spencer plopped down in a golden armchair and gestured at a chair, close.
“Sit, sit. This might take a while and even I’m not such a huge jerk to make you stand for hours…
even if I could.” Grinning, he was lost in his phone.
Marky came back with a silver tray, a glass of champagne sparkling on it, and two large cups of coffee. He put it down near Spencer and took a cup to Duncan.
“Here you go, sexy.” Another wink.
“Thanks.”
Marky sat down at his table and asked for Spencer’s hands. “Let’s start with a good massage, honey. Long night?”
“We went out to party a bit.” He took the glass and sipped at the champagne whilst Marky massaged his other hand with some fragrant oil.
Switching his hands. “And what do we do today?”
Spencer’s dark eyes stayed a bit on his nails. “Black. Make them long a bit and pointy.”
“Rawr! Someone wants to get feisty in bed? Mhm? I like that.”
Duncan held back from rolling his eyes and sipped his coffee. Glancing sometimes at Marky working on Spencer’s nails, he was mostly scanning the street and guests coming in. Those sharp nails taking shape, like sparkling talons. Marky pushed a few, small glinting diamonds on that lacquered black.
“Might as well be classy on top of bitchy.”
Spencer chuckled, admiring his right hand which had been done. He showed it to Duncan, wriggling his fingers softly. “What do you think?”
Duncan parted his lips but before he could reply, Marky perked up. “I bet he’d love them raking down his back.” Grinning.
Spencer’s eyes met Duncan’s, noticing that faint red taint on his neck. Oh…
Duncan kept his voice level. “They’re very pretty.”
A mocking light in Spencer’s eyes, but he didn’t comment, and they waited until Marky finished his left hand too. Paying, giving him a generous tip. Kisses on the cheek.
“See you, honey, soon? Bring your hunk too.”
Spencer smiled. “He’s glued to my ass.”
“I wish he was glued to mine.” Laughing, both of them, and Duncan averted his eyes, waiting with his hands laced.
Driving Spencer to that other place, a hotel where that fashion show would take place. Frantic preparations all around the lobby, the various rooms. A man rushed to them, chubby and bald, in a red suit and blue shirt.
“Hurry up! You have to be dressed now!” French accent tainting his words.
Spencer just waved him away and walked to where the models were being prepared.
The bald man huffed. “Petit con!”
Duncan smiled. “Oui, il l’est.”
The bald man looked at him, surprised. “Vous parlez francais?” Scared a bit too.
“Mon père était francais, oui.”
“Ah… ben, ravis de faire votre connaissance. Je suis Jean-Marie.”
“Duncan…”
“Le garde du corps? C’est évident.” Giving him an apologetic smile, he hurried away, and Duncan walked where Spencer was being dressed behind a mobile partition.
He was arguing with the staff dressing him, throwing clothes all over the place, until they managed, and brought him to the make-up table.
Spencer didn’t look at Duncan, his eyes closed as they started putting foundation on his pale face. “Get me something to eat.”
“I can’t leave you here.”
“Fuck!” His hands trembling a bit, he laced them together. “Order it then. And more coffee. There’s a machine there. You can go that far?”
“Sure.” He didn’t even ask what he wanted, just ordered cheeseburgers, fries, large Cokes, and went to buy two large coffees. Waiting until the coffees churned out, he brought a burning paper cup to Spencer.
“Your coffee. Food is on the way.”
“You didn’t ask what I wanted.”
“With you being an ass? No.”
“Taking charge?” He smiled, but it was bitter, almost a resentment in all that hate veiling his voice.
“That’s my job sometimes.”
Spencer opened his eyes, admiring his make-up in the mirror.
Smoked eyes, and dark brown lipstick. It matched his hair, let loose.
The hairdresser was fluffing his waves up, and spraying some stuff on it.
Spencer had tight white pants on, knee high lacquered boots, laced up and a large shirt, almost from another century.
He could be pretty, without that shitty fuckface he has all the time… Swallowing at this thought which shouldn’t have existed at all. “Uh… Food is here soon… I’ll go and get it.”
Spencer just nodded, half listening to Jean-Marie who had appeared out of nowhere. His eyes went to Duncan when he walked back, that nasty twist in his soul, seeing that brawny man’s large hands holding the paperback, with that veiled grief in his eyes. Easy to destroy. So easy.
Spencer gave him a smile. “I need something to cover my clothes.”
Duncan found a large sheet and pulled it on him, leaving his hands free on the sides. “Fine?”
“Oh… is that cheeseburger I smell? How did you know?”
“You wanted some last day. Figured I couldn’t go wrong.” Cautious, because that sudden shift in his shit behavior was unexpected.
Still, he gave him his food, and watched him eat, making sure he ate it all, drank that large Coke. Colors creeping back on that pale face, flooding his lips.
Spencer patted his belly. “I shouldn’t eat so much… but this was good.”
Jean-Marie appeared then, clapping. “En scène!”
Spencer wiped his hands on the sheet and tossed it to the ground, standing. In those high-heeled boots, he was even taller, almost matching Duncan in height. “You can watch if you want.”
He walked away then and Duncan had no idea how he could walk with those heels when he was still hangover and had downed three glasses of champagne too at the nail salon.
He followed to the side of the catwalk, watching with some other staff and designers as the models walked down to the music.
He had to admit though that out of his floppy clothes and shitty mood, Spencer was stunning, in a way.
Even his ass looked great in those tight pants.
Fuck. Crossing his arms, he was trying to conjure Trent, of all things, his bear body to chase his thoughts of Spencer’s ass out of his head.
Lanky, twink twat… Feeling a bit better, but the next outfits didn’t help, tight black leather clothes, elbow high gloves, barely dressed on top, and somehow, he had muscles, even if they seemed so lean, there was a body there which Duncan could not see before.
Waiting until his make-up got wiped and he changed back into his silk clothes. He seemed restless, fidgeting with his phone.
“I need a drink. I hope the bar is stocked up.”
“It should be.” Keeping quiet about how he shouldn’t drink.
Spencer sat in and went straight for the mini bar in the middle, taking a small bottle of wine out, he opened it and drank straight from the bottle.
“Ah, heaven. Home, and fast. I have to smoke this shit afternoon out of my system.” His mocking eyes went to Duncan’s in the mirror. “Liked what you saw?”
“It looked like it’s going to be a great show.”
“Mhm…”
Not elaborating further, he sipped at his bottle, his eyes lost on the streets as the car crawled in that thick traffic.
Glancing at Duncan sometimes, but he was focused on driving and other drivers’ behaving like asshats.
A tiny idea in his mind, so he swiped his phone open and started typing a few messages.
Waiting. Until files got sent to him. Opening one, a fact sheet with Duncan’s photo on top.
His standard info sheet from the company.
His sharp nail scraped down that stern face, reading the sheet.
Opening another one, one that was not available to the public on their website.
Reading, his lips curling up, his dark eyes going to him. Bingo.