Chapter 12 #2
Graeme’s imagination immediately assigned a dirty meaning to “tag-teaming”. He had no idea if it was a real thing or not, but he imagined himself and Art taking turns fucking Ryan until they all came.
He had to swallow and shake his head to chase the wildly inappropriate image away.
“What I mean is, instead of grinding away in search of perfection, why don’t you just pick some fabric that you love and start there?” he asked, voice rough.
Ryan’s smile turned almost but not quite condescending. “It doesn’t work that way, love,” he said.
“Oh.” Graeme felt suddenly awkward.
“Come on,” Ryan sighed, straightening, reaching for Graeme’s hand, and pulling him to his feet.
“I’m due to meet with Gloria in fifteen minutes, and it’s a ten-minute walk from here.
” He must have seen the emotion in Graeme’s eyes, because he took Graeme’s hand, squeezed it, and said, “Picking fabric I like and starting from there isn’t a half bad idea, really.
Maybe that’s what I need at this point.”
He was just being nice. He didn’t really love the suggestion.
But there was something lovely about saying that anyhow.
It meant he was conscious of Graeme’s feelings, which was something Graeme had never been able to say about anyone in his life before.
Except Art. It felt good that Ryan didn’t let go of his hand as they left the fabric shop as well.
It was definitely a day for Graeme to be exposed to things he didn’t know about and that had never touched his world.
The converted warehouse Ryan took him to was a revelation about how clothing was made.
Gloria, a woman who ran a bespoke sewing operation—Graeme wanted to call it a sweat-shop, but he had the feeling that the dozen or so women and two men who toiled away there were paid far, far more than maybe even he was—ran a tight ship.
She was a short Asian woman who, Ryan explained, had a wealth of experience, not to mention an advanced degree, in textile design and construction.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Ryan said as he handed over the portfolio of designs he’d been working on. “Maybe you can make sense of some of this.”
Graeme stood aside and watched as Gloria hummed and pored through Ryan’s illustrations.
She made suggestions about construction of certain elements, but she didn’t once try to impose her style or make design suggestions.
Graeme thought that was incredibly professional of her, even though he also felt like Ryan was desperate for someone to give him direction.
They were just wrapping things up, and Graeme honestly couldn’t tell if the meeting had gone well or if Ryan was frustrated, when a stunningly attractive, silver-haired man in a perfect suit walked into the busy workshop.
The man had such a powerful presence that Graeme immediately stood straight instead of leaning against the table where Ryan and Gloria were talking.
He even smiled reflexively when the man looked his way.
It wasn’t until the man opened his mouth and said, “Well, well, what a lovely coincidence,” in a deep, Italian-accented voice that Graeme started to have a sense of looming disaster.
Ryan snapped straight so fast and turned to glare at the man with such emotion that Graeme knew at once he had to be Giorgio Esposito.
“You’re early,” Gloria told the man, more like she was irritated that he wasn’t keeping to a schedule than with any indication that she knew Giorgio and Ryan had a past.
“Only by twenty minutes,” Giorgio shrugged with typical Italian charm.
“Giorgio,” Ryan greeted the man frostily.
“Ryan Hawthorne,” Giorgio purred the name.
Graeme actually found himself stepping back to watch the two of them like they were on the telly as Giorgio reached the table. Giorgio hadn’t acknowledged him at all, and weirdly, Graeme was grateful for that.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan asked.
“The same question was on my lips,” Giorgio said, like he expected Ryan to answer first.
“I’m not going to have to turn the fire hose on the two of you, am I?” Gloria asked.
“Certainly not,” Ryan snapped, eyes still locked with Giorgio’s. “Never before and never now.”
Giorgio merely laughed, making it sound low and sexy, like he’d already won whatever battle the two of them had been engaged in.
Graeme’s mind filled in the blanks automatically.
Filled them in with Art’s voice, as if Art stood just behind his shoulder, whispering lewd suggestions to him.
There was heat between the two men, although most if not all of it seemed to be coming from Giorgio.
Clearly, the older man wanted Ryan. The hunger was there in his face.
But it was more like Ryan was a prize than a lover.
Graeme blinked and sucked in a breath. Giorgio was Damien.
He would have bet a million pounds on it.
He wanted to conquer Ryan, but he didn’t actually want him.
Was that why Ryan hadn’t said anything about what had happened?
And what had happened anyhow? Had Ryan been as foolish as he’d been, fallen for the sexy promises, and been dumped on his arse?
“If you’ll excuse me, Gloria and I are still talking about my collection,” Ryan said. “You can wait your turn.”
“What, like you waited yours?” Giorgio said, his grin turning derisive.
Graeme hated the man then. He was smug and gloating, not smooth and charming, like he’d first thought. He was a snake in snake’s clothing. Art would have hated him, too.
“I can come back some other time,” Ryan told Gloria, turning to block Giorgio out entirely. “I think we’ve sorted everything that we can sort together anyhow.”
“I’ve got you blocked on my schedule,” Gloria said, nodding to Ryan and peeking at Giorgio.
“Thanks,” Ryan managed a small smile for her, a glare for Giorgio, and a quick glance to tell Graeme they were leaving.
“Best of luck with your show,” Giorgio called after them. “I hear you’re going to need it.”
There was no mistaking the hostility in those last words. What struck Graeme even more was the flush that painted Ryan’s face as they exited the workshop. It wasn’t anger so much as shock.
“He knows about my show,” Ryan said as they walked down a flight of stairs and exited the building.
Graeme waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t. “He can’t do anything to interfere with it, can he?” he asked.
Ryan sent him a sideways look as they left the building, but it wasn’t until they were halfway down the sidewalk that he said, “I don’t know.
Giorgio knew that I was the best designer working under him.
He told me so several times. He thought he had me where he wanted me right up until the moment when I said I was leaving to start my own line and hopefully my own fashion house someday. ”
“And he didn’t like that,” Graeme said.
“No.” Ryan rubbed a hand over his face and picked up his pace, like he couldn’t get away from where Giorgio was fast enough. “That’s why he threatened to destroy me before I got started if I left him.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It’s more than horrible, it’s manipulative,” Ryan said, his voice tight and sour.
“I don’t think he actually cared about me in any romantic sense.
I think his offer not to crush my career if I slept with him was just added humiliation for what he considered a betrayal.
He wanted to see me groveling with his dick in my mouth for even thinking of independence. ”
“I can’t believe people are actually like that,” Graeme said, shaking his head.
“Well, they are.”
“But you chose the third option,” Graeme said, referring to their conversation the month before.
“I did,” Ryan said. “I stood my ground and told him to go fuck himself.” He was silent for so long Graeme started to worry before he said, “And now I wonder if that was the biggest mistake of my life.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Graeme reassured him.
Ryan sighed and rubbed his face with one hand.
“He ruined me in Milan,” he said as if he disagreed.
“He called in favors to have the backers for my first independent line cancel their investments. He spread rumors about how I demanded models sleep with me in order to get prime placement in my show, which was one hundred percent projection, I might add.”
“He seems like the type to do that,” Graeme said.
Ryan huffed a humorless laugh. “He’s the reason I was forced to return to Hawthorne House with my tail between my legs. All that integrity, and what do I have to show for it?”
“You have everything to show for it. Your tail isn’t between your legs,” Graeme pointed out. “You’ve got a show at London Fashion—”
It hit him then, the reason why Ryan was fighting to do something impossible, the reason why he thought it was his last shot.
Even if he was successful at putting out an okay collection, even if he got his foot in the door, the damage Giorgio Esposito had already done, the further damage he might do, could push him right out the door again.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Graeme said once they were back in the car, as Ryan turned on the engine.
“Whatever you need from me, on the day of the show and before, I’ll do it.
I’ll learn to sew if I have to. Or I’ll distract you now and then so you can stay focused in the long run. Whatever it is, I’ll be there for you.”
Ryan glanced his way with a weak smile, looking tired, grateful, and hopeless. “Thanks,” he said, then focused on driving.
Graeme still wasn’t sure what the full story rattling around in Ryan’s head was. He knew the bones of the story now, but there was probably more to it.
Art would know how to help. He would be able to drag the full story out of Ryan, and he would probably come up with a dozen ideas for how to kick Giorgio Esposito in the balls, too. But if Art was more useful to Ryan right now than he was, where did that leave Graeme?