Chapter 2
TWO
Rage. That was the main emotion Desmond had felt as the unfortunate, and astoundingly attractive, singing Cupid delivered his Valentine’s Day “gift” from Matthew. Pure, undiluted rage.
Well, not entirely undiluted. Because underneath the rage was a tiny grain of fear. That fear had given all of Desmond’s other emotions just enough bite to make him furious and headstrong.
“I have given you more than enough leeway to mend your ways,” he lectured Alan as he walked the man out of his office and supervised him packing his things.
“I discussed my separation from Mr. Evers with you in more detail than I should have, but all with the intent of impressing upon you how thoroughly and justifiably over that relationship is.”
“Yes, Mr. White,” Alan said, cowering as he packed God only knew what into the cardboard box Desmond had handed him.
“This sort of behavior is intolerable,” Desmond went on. “I trust that you will never repeat it, in whatever new position you find for yourself.”
“No, Mr. White,” Alan said, straightening once his box was packed. “I just thought it would be romantic for you and Matthew, I mean, Mr. Evers, to get back together.”
Desmond narrowed his eyes at the man. “Are you still in contact with Mr. Evers?” he asked. “After he was dismissed from this company and instructed never to set foot on the premises or interact with any of Pickering Jones’s employees again?”
Alan gulped. “Y-yes, sir,” he admitted sheepishly.
Desmond stood taller and glared at the man. “So you understand why you’re being dismissed, then?”
Alan sighed and lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
As he’d promised, Joe from Security arrived to escort Alan out of the building.
Desmond was too angry with the man and too irritated with the situation to say much more, only that HR would be in touch to complete his termination paperwork.
He walked back into his office as Alan was escorted away, tempted to slam the door behind him.
He did not slam the door. Instead, he leaned back against it and rubbed his face with both hands.
Breaking up with Matthew had been a nightmare and a minefield.
It had been absolutely necessary. The relationship had turned utterly abusive more than a year ago.
He’d been a fool not to cut things off the first time Matthew shouted at him, then stolen his bank card and withdrawn the maximum daily amount.
He’d been weak to take the man back out of pity, and because of the things he knew.
What had been truly unforgiveable was that he’d gone through that same dance of abuse, betrayal, forgiveness, and abuse again over half a dozen times before finally growing the spine he needed to end things.
And now Matthew was resorting to ridiculous stunts in an attempt to win him back.
Today, it was a singing Cupid. Tomorrow it might be blackmail.
That’s where fear cut through Desmond’s fury. You didn’t spend years with someone without them discovering some of the skeletons in your closet.
He shook his head and pushed away from the door. He needed to get out of the office. He needed to go home, or even better, out to the country, where he could attempt to hide from the inevitable. He just needed a few seconds of peace.
He grabbed his phone and briefcase from his desk, slipped into his coat, and by the time he made it downstairs, he’d called his office manager to let her know the situation with Alan and that he would be gone for the rest of the day, and had his driver waiting with the limo already warmed up in the basement parking garage.
“Home, sir?” Hasan asked as he held the door.
“Yes, please, Hasan,” Desmond sighed as he sank into the car. “But take the long way. I need a few minutes to breathe.”
“Understood, sir.”
Hasan sent him a sympathetic smile as he shut the door, then climbed back into the driver’s seat.
If there was anyone in the entire world Desmond could trust, it was Hasan.
Not only had his driver been there with him through the entire Matthew debacle, he knew more about Desmond than anyone.
Des had offered him a desk job, an impressive one at that, but Hasan had insisted his dream was cars, not desks, and he was happy where he was.
“Tough day?” Hasan asked as he maneuvered the long car out of the parking garage and up to the dreary, London light.
“I had to fire Alan,” he said.
“Alan?” Hasan asked, glancing at Desmond in the rearview mirror. “Puppy-dog Alan?”
Desmond pursed his lips and blew out a breath through his nose. “Alan who turned out to be more loyal to Matthew than to me,” he said.
“Ouch,” Hasan said. “What’d he do?”
“He let a Valentine’s Day singing telegram person sent by Matthew into my office in a vain, and I mean that in more ways than one, attempt to win me back.”
“Unbelievable,” Hasan said, shaking his head.
“I’ll say,” Desmond laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.
He might have said more, but he happened to look out the window to see none other than Cupid himself, albeit in ordinary clothing, standing on the curb, looking as miserable as he felt.
“Stop the car, Hasan,” he said, perhaps a bit too suddenly.
Hasan stopped immediately. “Sir?”
“That’s the singing telegram,” he said, gesturing to Cupid.
“Do you want me to pick him up or run over him?” Hasan asked.
It was exactly the twist of dark humor Desmond needed to diffuse the maelstrom of anger, regret, and anxiety in his gut. “Pick him up,” he said. “But I’ll do the talking. Just get me closer to him.”
“Yes, sir,”
As soon as Hasan drove the limo up to the curb, placing it perfectly, Desmond rolled down his window.
Guilt immediately eclipsed every other emotion that had been fighting inside of him at the sight of the man.
He still had a full face of make-up, which had always been Des’s kryptonite, and even though he’d changed clothes, the glitter that had painted the man’s incredibly impressive body was still there.
The icing on the cake was that, despite it being the first half of February, Cupid wore only a thick, long-sleeve shirt.
That shirt was now soaked and plastered to his chiseled body, hiding nothing.
“Could I give you a ride somewhere?” Desmond asked, hoping he could be kind enough now to make up for his atrocious behavior earlier.
Cupid stared at him like Des might bite his head off. He then glanced up at the downpour, sighed, then said, “Yeah, thanks.”
“Sir, do you want me—”
“No, I’ve got it,” Desmond rushed over Hasan. He shifted toward the door, then opened it, beckoning for Cupid to jump inside. He even grabbed the man’s bag so he could move faster.
Cupid settled stiffly into the car as Hasan pulled away from the curb and turned up the heating. “I’m sorry I’m ruining your car,” he said, picking at his wet clothing and looking supremely nervous. “And I’m sorry I ruined your day.”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Desmond said, shifting to the other side of the seating area to grab a towel from one of the discreet compartments.
He handed it over to Cupid, who looked surprised.
“I’ve been caught in the rain a few times myself, he explained, gesturing with the towel for Cupid to take it. “I travel prepared now.”
Cupid accepted the towel and dried off as best he could in the cramped space. He was especially careful not to smear his make-up all over the white towel, dabbing like he knew how to preserve his face instead.
“You did not ruin my day,” Desmond said, watching the tall man awkwardly as he dried off. “Matthew Evers ruined my day.”
“I’m sorry about that, then,” Cupid said. “If I had known more about the situation, I never would have taken the job.”
Desmond grunted in acknowledgement. “If I had suspected Matthew would pull a stunt like that, I would have tracked you down and warned you. I do hope he paid you fairly for that…that….”
“Debacle?” Cupid said, moving on to drying his torso. “Humiliation? Travesty of song?”
Desmond smiled. He couldn’t help himself.
If Cupid had been weepy and apologetic, it would have turned him off.
If he’d oozed apology and tried to kiss Des’s boots out of some sense of shame, he might have stopped at the nearest Tube station and kicked the man out.
But the way Cupid immediately acted like the two of them were in the mess together was… intriguing.
“You do have a lovely voice,” he said instead.
Cupid smiled tiredly. “Thank you.”
“I’m just sorry you had to use it like that.
” And then, because he couldn’t stop his perpetual need to explain and cover his ass, he went on with, “Matthew and I were together for more than five years. We worked together for part of that time at Pickering Jones. As with most relationships that flame out, things were good at first. Then Matthew was fired. I refused to resign in protest, and that’s when everything started to go downhill. ”
“Tale as old as time,” Cupid said, finishing his toweling off process, then moving so he could put the towel across the seat, like he was concerned about spoiling the leather.
“Boy meets boy, boy falls in love with boy, boy gets fired, then throws a fit because other boy won’t leave what I assume is a lucrative dream job for boy. ”
Desmond almost laughed. “Some parts of that are right.” The lucrative part, at least. Dream job? Not quite.
“We’ve been done for months,” Desmond went on. “Since before Christmas. If you think hiring a singing Valentine’s telegram is bad, you should have seen what he did at New Year’s.”
“Do I want to know?” Cupid asked, one immaculately shaped eyebrow raised.
“It was a pun having to do with ‘dropping the ball’, and I changed all the locks and security codes in my flat the next day.”
Cupid’s eyes went wide. “Did he assault you somehow?”
Des’s gut did another, strange lurch. Everyone else he’d told the story to had laughed. “No,” he answered, “but he was…insistent until I was able to get him out of the apartment.”