Chapter 15
The days were long but the weeks felt short as work at Alarie continued in a steady rhythm.
The quarter wrapped up, which meant compiling financial reports from other departments, performance metrics from their client services department, and having to coordinate on investor marketing strategies with Junie’s department.
Spring was well upon them now, with scattered showers and gloomy skies giving way to near endless days of cloudless blues and wildflower blooms in the hills of Irvine.
On the surface, not much had changed in the weeks since Connor invited Nate over, since his decision to end things between them had become a decision to stay together.
Together was a strange label, one that felt like it shouldn’t apply to them. Nate and Connor worked together, yes. And they had slept together, certainly.
Going together was new territory, but it felt like a natural extension of what they already were, the partnership that had formed in the time since Nate joined Alarie.
To anyone on the outside looking in on the two of them, it would appear that not much changed at all.
Connor still liked to come in bright and early, starting his day with the rising sun. But he felt less pressure to do it all without pause or mistake. Some mornings, he even started letting himself come into the office as late as 6 AM.
Nate often brought in breakfast for them. There was a Dunkin Donuts near his place in Santa Ana, and little else brightened Connor’s morning like Nate kissing his cheek and setting an avocado bagel down on his desk.
Often, they’d eat in relative quiet at their respective desks. Nate needed a few minutes to shift gears in the morning–it was one of his quirks that Connor had come to learn.
But some mornings, Nate would perch himself at the edge of Connor’s desk and they’d talk over shared pieces of bagels and hashbrowns. Sometimes, they’d talk about work. Connor would show Nate his proposal-in-progress, of the record, of course.
Other days, they’d talk about their lives.
Nate would talk about growing up in New York, his mom, his step-dad.
And he’d ask Connor about Ohio, his parents, even about surfing.
Connor liked those mornings most of all–until someone inevitably came to interrupt them, often another department needing Nate’s signature on something.
Every now and then, that interruption would come from Isaac Berkshire. The temperature always seemed to drop a few degrees when he was around these days. His glare had a certain iciness to it that Connor was sure hadn’t been there before.
Connor did his best to make himself scarce when Berkshire came down. Staying out of sight seemed to keep his mood towards Nate more evenkeeled.
Sometimes he’d come in with forms for Nate to sign–Berkshire was especially attentive towards Nate when he needed something from him, holding affection as a carrot to lead him down a particular path.
“Fast turnaround, no bullshit, that’s why I need my son close. You’ll join me for our investor lunch tomorrow.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
But he always had a way of undercutting it, leaving Nate just on the precipice between feeling like he’d nailed it and like he couldn’t measure up.
“And Nathan? I suggest you tone it down tomorrow.”
“Tone it down?”
“I think something simple. Not so fruity. We’d like to set a standard of dependability, I’m sure you agree, Nathan.”
“Of course,” he said in a strained voice. And then Berkshire left, leaving Nate hovering awkwardly between his desk and Connor’s. Connor, of course, had hidden himself away behind the bookshelf, nose buried in a brief from legal while he tried not to eavesdrop.
Hard not to, sitting ten feet away from that.
“For what it’s worth,” Connor found himself speaking up, “They expect you to dress the way you do.”
Nate whipped around, almost slipping on the corner of the rug, like he forgot Connor was there.
“What?”
“Your suits.” He gestured at what Nate was wearing today, a stylish crimson ensemble with a distinct iridescent sharkskin sheen to it. “You dress like a young executive who cares about investing in his wardrobe. They’ll see that, take it to mean you’ll take care handling their investments.”
Fine. He hated seeing the way Nate would deflate after a comment like that from Berkshire–and he’d hate even more to see him start dressing as plain as some of the other executives at Alarie.
For being a French company, a sense of style was lacking among leadership. Connor had always thought so, but then again, that had made fitting in a little easier at the start of his career. That was why Liam Reyes’s suits would never hold him back.
But Nate looked unconvinced enough that Connor found himself closing his laptop, giving him a long look.
“I wouldn’t lie to you about that. You've got a good sense of style, you know.”
That got a smile out of Nate.
“I rent them, you know.”
“Really?” Connor was surprised–but then again, he supposed he shouldn't have been. Few of those suits had made more than a few appearances. He smiled, more to himself than to Nate. “And here I was, just thinking you had good taste.”
“I wish that was me. There’s this, uh, subscription you can get.
Couple hundred bucks a month. They ship everything I need each week.
” Nate’s smile faded as he considered what he wore now, running his fingers over the fabric.
“I guess I… I mean, you see colors like this all the time in–I dunno. Is it, you know, fruity?”
Nate’s voice wobbled over that word, and Connor wasn’t going to pretend like he didn’t know how that felt.
“No,” he said firmly. But the creases between Nate’s eyebrows didn’t fade.
“I dunno. I’ve got this, uh, blue suit I used to wear for class presentations. Maybe I’ll–”
“Do not wear your old college suit to an investor lunch,” Connor said firmly. “If you need to leave early to get something you feel good in, do that. But Berkshire only said that to cut you down.”
Nate only made eye contact with the flat top of his desk.
“He wants me to do well.”
Ultimately, Connor let it go, and Nate took a half day to go shopping. The suit he showed up in the next day was a simple gray number, and Connor kept his thoughts to himself. Nate’s relationship with his father was his to navigate, and not Connor’s to comment on.
And still life continued.
Connor accepted a Friday night invite from Junie for drinks and appetizers at their usual restaurant near the Irvine Spectrum, happy to listen to her unload about the last month under Elle Thornton.
Well, she was “Ellie” tonight.
“Ellie’s just in a fit about who could replace Simmons,” Junie was saying, sipping her margarita with a roll of her eyes.
“Hopefully someone easy to work with,” Connor offered. He didn’t tell her that he was hoping to be the one to replace Simmons–but then again, there was a lot that Connor wasn’t telling her these days.
“Here’s hoping.” She raised her glass before finishing it, immediately tabbing in another on the table kiosk. “You seem happy today.”
“Do I?”
“Things going well with Santos?”
“Yeah. Yeah, Santos is–” Connor cut himself off, trying to think of something safe to say. “Santos is great. Better than Devore.”
“Hm.” The look Junie gave him had Connor feeling a little unsettled, her brown eyes studying him. He’d never been able to keep things from her for long, and even if she didn’t ask directly, he knew she would hold her suspicions close to her chest. “Better how?”
Because I feel like more than the hot young thing on his arm, Connor didn’t say. He swirled his straw around his drink a moment before answering.
“He’s not so bad,” Connor said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Brings in breakfast most days. Better perk than most execs.”
“Does he?” Junie sounded casual enough, but the way she arched a brow at Connor said otherwise.
Their water came by with her margarita, which she thanked him for profusely before taking a too large sip and nearly choking. Connor passed her a napkin.
But she still hadn’t dropped the subject when she recovered, giving him a long look.
“So. Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not lately,” Connor said. “I like being single.”
“Not even casually?” Junie asked, giving him a lot. But Connor shook his head.
“Nope.” He hesitated for a moment before asking her, “Are you?”
“I wish,” Junie swirled her drink around her glass before taking a sip, chewing on a shard of ice. “Not like we have time.”
“Yeah.” Connor made a face without meaning to–hard not to separate the idea of having not enough time to date from what Dawson had said to him before they’d split up.
“I didn’t give up everything I ever knew just for you to treat me like the dog waiting at home, wagging my tail.”
They were quiet for a moment, Junie stealing the cherry out of Connor’s drink. He let her, feeling more than a little guilty for not telling her the truth about Nate.
Or Devore.
Not once over the two years that he was involved with Devore did he ever mention it to Junie. Some days, he would have wanted nothing more than to get a drink with her, just like this, and open up about the way that man treated him.
The way he had loved him all the same.
He wondered if there would be a day when he’d be feeling like that for Nate, just as helpless. He hoped not.
Junie had high standards–she always had. She was the kind of woman to swipe left on a profile because she didn’t like the way someone would center themselves in a group photo. If she had ever known about Devore–
Connor wouldn’t have heard the end of it.
So he never told her. He couldn’t bear knowing that she’d look at him like he was making a mistake–because he was. Connor had been well-aware of that at the time.
But Nate didn’t feel like a mistake. Nate was…
He didn’t want to say like Dawson, because it wasn't true–Dawson had been just like his father, in all the ways Connor would never have wanted to admit. Just as content to live a quiet life, just as happy in simplicity.
The kind of peace he envied, the kind he’d never been able to have for himself.