Chapter 1
ONE
Javier Rivera always looked good in glitter, but his current look wasn’t even close to what a young business owner should be wearing in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.
“You can do it,” he told his reflection as he touched up his eyeliner, giving it a flirty lift at the sides of his eyes. “You’ve faced much tougher crowds than this at Milan Fashion Week.”
The pep talk wasn’t helping much. He finished with the eyeliner, then leaned back from the sink in the well-known London office building’s executive restroom he’d been shown to by the giddy assistant earlier.
His face was perfect, of course, but none of this was anywhere close to what he’d had in mind when he’d gotten the call that morning.
“I won’t be able to make the job this afternoon,” Gordon had said in a guilty rush. “I, er, I have another gig, a magazine shoot for British Gentlemen.”
“You have a what?” Javier had questioned, his heart sinking fast and hard into his gut.
“I don’t remember setting anything like that up for you.
” He’d been working like mad to put together some sort of partnership with British Gentlemen, and its parent company, Forester Entertainment Group, but so far, all his efforts had fallen flat.
“You, um, didn’t set it up for me,” Gordon had told him. “Edwin at Two Ace Talent arranged it all.”
“But you’ve signed with me,” Javier had said. “There is a non-compete clause in your contract.”
“A contract which expired last week,” Gordon said. “I’m with Two Ace Talent now.”
Javier felt the same pit of dread in his stomach as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he’d felt that morning.
He hadn’t realized Gordon’s contract had expired.
He hadn’t had the first clue that yet another of the models he’d signed a year ago, when he’d launched Rivera Talent, had bailed on him.
He could blame it on Maisy, his assistant, for having her head in the clouds and not keeping up with things, but truth be told, it was on him for fumbling all the balls he’d been juggling to get his agency off the ground.
“Not that you’ve been fumbling many balls lately,” he told his reflection in a grim voice.
Before the words were even out of his mouth, the restroom door opened and a middle-aged, balding man in an expensive suit that didn’t fit him right marched in. The man stopped like a deer in the headlights when he saw Javier standing there.
Standing there in nothing but a very small pair of puffy shorts designed to look like a nappy and large, feathery wings that he’d stapled to a white leather harness.
And the glitter, of course.
“I beg your pardon,” the man said, eyes wide, face going red.
He raked Javier from head to toe with a look that said he most definitely did not approve…
of his own reaction to a tall, model-fit, olive-skinned Cupid taking up his executive bathroom space.
Then he dashed into the closest stall, slamming the door closed as if he needed to hide there for the protection of his own errant libido.
Javier would have laughed if he wasn’t so mortified with the situation he was now in because of Gordon’s defection.
He sighed and started gathering up the last bits of his make-up, shoving them into the carry-all that held the clothes he’d walked into the building wearing.
Absolute silence came from the occupied stall, not so much as a tinkle, as he gripped his bag tightly and headed for the restroom door.
He had to turn sideways to exit the room, his wingspan was so large.
In retrospect, he might have overdone it with the feathers.
The costume had seemed like a fabulous idea at the time.
Now he wasn’t so sure, especially as he walked down the short corridor with a view of the cube farm of employees on his way back to Alan Mamet’s desk.
“Great!” Alan said, getting up as Javier approached. “You look fantastic. This is going to be so awesome.”
“If you say so,” Javier said with a friendly smile that stopped short of being flirtatious.
He might have been going through the most epic dry spell of his life, but he wasn’t about to start flirting with an overly excitable executive assistant who kept eyeing him like he wanted to eat him for breakfast.
“This is going to be perfect,” Alan went on in an almost-whisper, stepping around his desk and inching toward the door to his boss’s office.
“Mr. White doesn’t suspect a thing, of course.
I can assure you that this is the most romantic gesture anyone has ever made in the history of gay love stories.
Cher, Gaga, and T-Swift couldn’t come up with something half this amazing if they put all their heads together and made a sacrifice to Judy herself. ”
“Great,” Javier said, fighting to keep a positive attitude about the whole thing. At least his humiliation would be for a good cause.
He’d taken the gig as a gigantic favor for a friend of a friend—one who was paying the agency double what most magazine shoots or runway shows paid—and since it was all in the name of love, when Gordon had canceled on him that morning, he’d swallowed his pride, learned the song, and taken the job himself.
It was a far, far cry from the serious modeling business he was trying to grow up to compete with the best agencies in London.
When he’d left his former agency to set out on his own a little over a year ago, determined to manage others instead of putting himself through the grind of the business, he’d envisioned calling in favors and using what he’d thought were extensive connections in the fashion world.
He’d thought it would be easy to do what he’d seen countless others do for him.
Boy, had he been wrong.
“Mr. White will see you now,” Alan said, turning back from where he’d stuck his head through the doorway into his boss’s office. He had a game face on and was trying to be the serious executive assistant, but his eyes gave away his manic excitement.
Javier took a deep breath to get into the right headspace.
He set his carry-all on a chair then rolled his shoulders as best he could with his wings.
He’d spent nearly a decade near the dizzying heights of the fashion world.
He’d walked for Versace, Dior, Ryan Hawthorne, and Michael Kors.
He could deliver a singing Valentine’s Day telegram to some stuffed shirt financial guru.
“Let’s do this,” he said, mostly to himself, grabbed the small bow with its heart-shaped arrow, and marched into the office as Alan held the door for him.
The first thing that knocked him sideways was the size and poshness of the office.
It was one of those corner deals with an astounding view of London out both sides.
Every detail of its decoration was immaculate.
The color scheme was warm, with bespoke, wooden furniture that was polished to a high shine.
That single room probably cost more than Javier’s entire studio apartment.
The second thing that stole the air from Javier’s lungs to the point where he forgot his name, let alone the words to the cheesy song he was about to sing, was the man sitting behind the polished desk.
He was far younger than Javier had imagined he’d be, probably in his early-to-mid-thirties.
He had chestnut hair with a slight wave to it that was tamed by too much hair product used incorrectly, and a strong, neatly shaved jawline.
His lips were pressed in a line, though, and his hazel eyes bored into Javier.
Bored with a distinct hint of interest, but that was secondary to the stiff set of his shoulders and the tension in his hands as they gripped the side of his desk.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked in a wary tone.
Javier swallowed. He could practically hear the screech of the train that was about to crash.
“Go on,” Alan whispered.
Javier could either turn tail and run or forge ahead with the worst idea anyone had ever had.
He forged ahead.
“Mr. Desmond White?” he asked, smiling despite his embarrassment.
“Yes,” Mr. White snapped.
Javier took a breath and threw himself into the abyss.
He hummed the first note, then launched into the song his client had composed especially for this horrible moment. “Oh Desmond, my Des, I love you! Desmond, my Des, I miss you!”
Mr. White’s eyes narrowed.
Javier fought not to lose his nerve, “Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn’t mean it,” he switched into the part that probably had some serious copyright infringement to it, “I just want you back for good.” That transitioned into, “If I could turn back time, if I could find a way,” which then blended into, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me! ”
The color drained from Mr. White’s face, and his jaw went so tight that Javier was shocked his teeth didn’t explode in a puff of smoke, like some cartoon.
He belted his way through the rest of the verse of nonsense mash-ups, then threw everything he had into the final plea.
“We were so good together! Please take me back, Des, I love you! Let’s spend Valentine’s Day together this Saturday! From Matthew!”
Javier held the last note as long as he could, arms stretched out, bow in one hand, pretending that everything was as beautiful and glorious as Alan certainly thought it was. Alan had his hands clutched together and held in front of his face, where he bit his knuckles in anticipation.
As soon as the final note faded, the office went dead silent.
Not the good kind of silence that preceded a standing ovation either.
Javier wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire building had sunk into the ground.
It seemed to go on forever as Mr. White glared at Javier like beams of ice would shoot from his eyes.
Then he picked up his phone from where it rested to the side on his desk, tapped it a few times, then held it to his ear.