Chapter 9
“What’s the purpose off all of this? Is it supposed to be blackmail?
How did it get to you? I agree with Drake that it’s not a real photograph.
It can’t be. I’m hardly the spank someone till they come sort of guy, especially not another man.
You know my career is more important to me; you told me to ditch the gay, so I have,” Rafe says, almost lazily.
If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d believe him.
An uncomfortable looks flashes of the face of Grant’s lawyer.
Why would he feel that way? Is he gay and objects to it being dismissed, or does he know more about this photograph, or the room it’s been taken from?
I doubt I’ll ever get the answer from him.
Grant is looking uneasy again, probably because Rafe has exposed his homophobic views.
“They’re asking for half a million pounds, or it will be published, Rafe.” He folds his hand on the desk.
“Don’t you think you should’ve started with that? For chrissake, Grant, is this a matter for the police?” Rafe asks, standing up. He looks at me. “Isn’t this where you come in, Drake? What are you going to do?”
“Leave it with me. Grant, just sit on that. Don’t do anything until I’ve spoken to some of my people. Rafe, let’s go. You should stay at home.” I look at Grant. “Call me if you have anything else sent to you. Me, not Rafe,” I reiterate.
As soon as we leave the office and go down to the basement garage, Rafe clings to my hand. “Who, I mean who the fuck did this?” He struggles to find the words.
“Wait until we’re in the car,” I growl, my anger now able to show.
I bundle him into the front seat and walk around to the driver’s side.
As soon as the engine is running, I hit the accelerator and race out, the wheels spinning as I get traction.
Once we’re out on the road, I collect my thoughts.
“This is an inside job. Someone in Bent did this. I need to talk to Warwick, one of the owners. I need to know who was in the security rooms that night and see a copy of all the recordings.”
“Was it definitely a photo from this week?” Rafe asks, fear and doubt creeping in to his voice. “Fuck, Drake. What are we going to do? This could be all over the gossip mags by tomorrow morning. Can you imagine what will happen? I’ll be fucking ruined. What the hell was I thinking?”
I know he’s just freaking out, but the idea that he’s now denying what we have, what we’ve done, and the thought that he’s regretting us and what we’ve become is not happening.
I’m shooting that one down. “Calm down, babe. All of this is fixable. We can get to the source of this. I bet it will be cleared up by the end of the day.”
I pull up to the gate and punch in the code and wait the couple of seconds it takes to open.
Rafe gets out as soon as we’ve stopped and goes through the front door.
I follow, but instead of looking for him, I go to my office, closing the door firmly behind me.
I’m tempted to lock it; I’ve got some tricky conversations ahead of me.
I sit at my desk and open my laptop, then with a heavy sigh, search through the contact list on my phone for Warwick’s number. I don’t expect him to answer and have a thought-out message planned to leave.
Instead, he answers. “Barclay.”
I swallow hard, ready for a very uncomfortable conversation. “Warwick, it’s Drake Foster.”
He pauses, and I imagine he’s trying to place my name; it doesn’t take him long. “Ah, Drake, it’s good to hear from you. How are things going?”
“Yeah, everything was going well. I have a problem and need your help. Have you got time to talk now?”
“I do. I’m having an early finish today. You sound serious, are you okay?” I remember he’s a full-time Daddy to his husband, Felix. It’s no surprise he’s showing concern.
“I’m in a Dom/sub relationship with a man very much in the public eye. He’s new to the scene—it’s only been a year. We had our first unsupervised scene this week at Bent. Today, we found out someone has taken a photograph from the security camera and sent it to my partner’s manager.”
I hear Warwick curse softly. “Tell me everything.”
I fill him in on everything, including me trying to persuade Grant it was an AI or Photoshopped-doctored image.
I take a deep breath. “It’s Rafe Quartermaine, every teenager’s fantasy.
You can see the damage this could do to him.
Also, you can understand the implications this has for Bent.
If members hear about a privacy breach, they’re going to leave in droves. ”
He’s quiet for a while. It’s a lot to process, but his analytical mind will already have a plan in action. “Can you meet me there? I’ll need to go home and speak to Felix, and Lucien will need to know, of course.”
I’d forgotten the name of the other owner. Lucien is more hands on with the club, whereas Warwick is a silent [er1]partner. “I suppose I should’ve gone to Lucien first, but I don’t have a connection with him other than a couple of conversations at Bent.”
“No, you did the right thing. I’m guessing you don’t have his details. Can we meet there?” He pauses. “In an hour? Just you. I doubt you’ll want to bring your Dom.”
I think about that and decide that exposing him in daylight going in and out of a sex club is too risky.
Add the comment he made earlier that sounded very much like regret, and it’s a bear I very much don’t want to poke, for fear of the answer.
“No, it will just be me.” Didn’t that sound fatalistic, am I self-prophesying the end of us or being overdramatic? I’m not sure of the answer.
An hour later, I’m walking up to the back of the club, using the staff entrance to gain entry. Before I can knock on the door, it opens to Warwick standing in front of me. “Good timing. Lucien will be here shortly. He’s not a very happy man.”
“I know the feeling,” I say without any humour.
“Honestly, I can’t believe it’s happened.
It was a very special night for both of us, and now it’s ruined and has the potential to ruin more than my relationship with Rafe.
This will end his career; no parent is going to let their young teenage kids go to see him if this gets out.
He’s a teen idol, not Alice Cooper. This is my fault; I suggested trying this.
He was going off the rails, partying every night, too much booze and drugs.
I noticed he slept alone, though. None of the beautiful models that threw themselves at him, no one. ”
The irony of losing his career over something that saved him isn’t lost on me. That the whole debacle of his life would’ve have been more acceptable than loving a man is a travesty.
Lucien arrives as we talk, and thankfully, Warwick has already explained it all, saving me the hassle of doing it again.
He’s all business and immediately takes us through to his office.
“This isn’t the security room, but it has the same camera set-up.
” He points to a large flat screen that, when he presses a few buttons on his computer, lights up to show twelve different camera views.
“As you can see, we have a camera in each room, as well as the demo areas and behind the bar. We video digitally and keep them for six months. It won’t take long to bring up the video and the security roster for that night. ”
I move back from the desk area, leaving Warwick and Lucien to talk through the implications a leak of privacy could have on the business. Pretty catastrophic, in my opinion. Not that it would come from myself or Rafe.
It’s easy to tune the two men out and concentrate on Rafe and how I can comfort him and explain that all this is being dealt with and with minimal fuss.
There’s no way whoever did this will survive the wrath of Warwick Barclay and all his contacts.
It’s not until I hear a low but very audible expletive.