Chapter -10-
Denz is too busy after Valentine’s Day to think about… other things.
Things like tripping and almost falling off the stage before introducing the mayor at the gala.
Things like watching Uncle Tevin drunkenly convince half the guests to join him in doing the Cupid Shuffle after the speeches.
Things like The Kiss.
The work doesn’t end after the last toast, and the venue is cleaned and the reviews from “Denzel Carter’s biggest night yet”—as stated on TFW—pour in.
On Monday, the follow-up emails begin. Assignments for his dad’s retirement party land in his inbox before 10:00 A.M. Getting an early start on finding a band, bargaining with the photographer for a better rate, coordinating the guest list is key.
By Friday, he’s buried in new tasks.
There’s no time for freaking out over nothing. The Kiss is in the back of his mind. It’s the Florida of his thoughts—he knows it’s there but refuses to acknowledge it.
Except when he checks his social media. After exiting the Orion Ballroom’s stage, he wrangled Braylon into taking a photo of their clasped hands next to a half-eaten slice of red velvet cake. The comments are nonstop.
@yessskstew: we love to see gay men happy and committed! who is he? #cute
@denzelcarterstans: omg did u give him ur other cake later???
It’s fine. He’s still a perfectly functional adult. Until his phone buzzes with a new text from Braylon.
On a scale from 1 to 10, you’re a 9.
And I’m the 1 you need.
Denz can’t stop the snort that escapes him. It’s fucking adorable . He never expected Braylon to follow through so thoroughly on this part of their agreement.
Braylon never misses a day. Always has the daddiest of dad jokes. Denz almost wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to put in this much effort. He doesn’t have to make Denz smile like this—big and cheek-aching, eyes scrunched. But he doesn’t want it to stop either.
He immediately texts back: do you steal all your material from Russell Brand?
Braylon’s reply hits a second later: No. James Corden. He’s funny, right?
you can’t be serious, Denz sends.
Deadly.
Denz’s monitor chimes with a new email: a list of caterer suggestions from Eric. He’s supposed to be working. Which he will… just as soon as he sends one more message to Braylon.
did i tell you kami has a secret boyfriend?
I think the rules state you’re not supposed to TELL people if it’s a SECRET.
Once Denz replies to Eric with the name and contact information for the caterer from his parents’ last wedding anniversary—the one his mom couldn’t stop raving about—he texts, fine. dont get mad when i dont share any embarrassing pics from his archaic facebook with you.
I won’t. Because then he’d still be a SECRET.
Denz’s email chimes again. He texts, you’re no fun .
It’s two minutes before Braylon’s next answer comes in.
You’re a dreadful brother and fake boyfriend.
Denz laughs so loud, he doesn’t hear the knuckles rattling against his office door. Eric steps inside, eyebrows high on his forehead. Denz knocks over his candy bowl trying to recover.
“I was just about to—”
“Your dad sent me,” Eric interrupts. He loosens his tie, his expression grim. “He wants to talk to you. Sounds serious.”
Denz’s gaze leaps to his monitor. The last unread email isn’t from Eric. It’s from Kenneth Carter, the subject line in all caps.
MY OFFICE NOW
It’s 3:52 P.M. when Denz slides onto the lavender love seat in his dad’s office.
Thick, battleship-gray clouds gather outside the windows.
In the distance, the early rumbles of thunder.
It matches the sound of Denz’s heartbeat.
Silence stretches like taffy as he watches his dad roll up the sleeves of a rose-pink shirt from behind his desk.
Kenneth clicks away at his keyboard.
Denz resists his left leg’s urge to jiggle. Other than during meetings or at events, his dad’s not a big talker, a trait none of his children inherited. However, when he’s this quiet, it’s never a good sign.
Two more clicks. A curious hum.
Denz stops breathing.
“‘A visually stunning atmosphere, from the custom Love Potion martini to the ballroom showered in glitter following inspiring speeches in support of local charities,’” Kenneth reads from his monitor, pushing his glasses up.
“‘Mayor Reynolds’s annual Valentine’s Day gala was a dazzling, not-to-be-missed celebration.
On a holiday soaked in over-the-top commercial ism, the gala managed to impress its hundreds of guests with the right hint of magic thanks to Denzel Carter, from premier event-planning company 24 Carter Gold.
Reynolds eagerly credits Mr. Carter for delivering the electric pulse to a night meant for hearts of all kinds. ’”
Denz rubs his knees anxiously.
“A review from Malcolm Givhan,” Kenneth says, pointing at the screen, “in By Invitation Only.”
By Invitation Only is the People to The Final Word’s US Weekly . Equally reputable, depending on the kind of content you’re looking for. Personally, Denz is way more into “Who Wore It Worse?” than “The 40 Most Beautiful Atlantans Under 40,” but whatever.
A smile pokes at the corners of Kenneth’s mouth. “They haven’t reviewed one of our events in three years .”
Denz knows. Getting Malcolm to even glance at one of his emails was a week’s worth of work.
“Nice job, son.”
The knot between Denz’s shoulder blades begins to fade.
It’s been nonstop around the office for almost two months.
The beginning of the year is always busy for them—everyone needing to celebrate something after coming off several of the biggest holidays for proposals.
He hasn’t had a moment all week to recap the mayor’s party with his dad.
“Thanks,” Denz says, sitting taller.
“The numbers on socials look good too.” Kenneth rocks back in his chair, tugging off his glasses. “I’ve been waiting for things to slow down so we can talk.”
“Dad, are things ever slow?”
“Never.” Kenneth rests his glasses on the desk. Folds his hands. “Your boyfriend made quite the impression on your aunts.”
Another thing Denz knows. Auntie Cheryl didn’t even wait until Sunday morning to spam the group chat with her review of Braylon.
Tall! Handsome! Intelligent! she wrote. Works at a nonprofit for LGBTQ teens. Perfect for the family image. Better than the other sketchy guys Denzel’s been seen with.
“Eva didn’t hate what he was wearing,” Kenneth jokes.
“And… you—?”
Denz leaves room for his dad’s thoughts. The sudden tension in his jaw is the only answer Denz needs.
“I didn’t call you in here to talk about him,” Kenneth says. “The gala was one of our best showings in a long time.”
Denz nods. He hasn’t given himself a minute to take in the success.
His first major solo event. “A dazzling, not-to-be-missed celebration,” apparently.
Hearing the review read by his dad, in the office where all his dreams began, where his next dreams are forming, is a euphoric kind of high he never imagined reaching this young.
“And yet it was almost a complete disaster,” Kenneth goes on with a deep frown. “You failed to read the email about the mayor’s husband’s dietary restrictions.”
Oh, hello Other Shoe. Thanks for finally dropping .
“About that,” Denz attempts. “I—”
Kenneth cuts in. “You clearly weren’t the one who handled the issue. Thankfully, nothing awful came of your mistake.”
“Did Kami tell you?”
She’s the only one who knew, he thinks.
“What? No.” Kenneth scowls. “You thought I didn’t catch on at the party? That I’m unaware of what’s happening at my own company? Out of everyone here, Kami would be the last person to sell you out.”
Denz bites the inside of his lip. He’s an asshole for assuming his sister would do that. Even though she did go behind his back to fix things.
“What had you so distracted?” Kenneth asks, sighing. “Your relationship?”
“No.” Denz can’t explain the slight edge in his tone. His defensive posture. “It’s not Braylon.”
“I didn’t say it was him .”
Denz tries not to crumble under the weight behind that one sentence.
“Dad, it was one mistake.”
“One mistake can cost you clients,” Kenneth says, frustrated. “Thousands of dollars. Your reputation. Someone’s health . More importantly, the trust and belief of your staff.”
Denz doubts a bad case of diarrhea or bloating is going to influence how Kim, or an intern, looks at him, but he doesn’t voice that aloud.
“Being in charge means taking every small, simple, tedious detail seriously,” Kenneth tells him.
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Kenneth challenges. “Having Carter as your last name won’t save you when you mess up.”
“I don’t need it to,” Denz says quietly.
Kenneth exhales like someone who’s spent an entire day in shoes two sizes too small and has had enough. “Son, I’ve had amazing clients. I’ve also had plenty who used any excuse to shit on all the hard work we’ve put into this world.”
Denz’s knuckles ache from squeezing his fists so tightly. He stares past his dad. To the charcoal sky outside.
He thinks about his favorite 24 Carter Gold event:
His parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary. He was ten, watching everything through the gilded banister of a rented mansion. His mom’s dream was to have the Cinderella-inspired wedding reception they never got the first time around.
His dad didn’t disappoint.
He remembers lush gowns and crisp suits.
Dancing and drunken giggles and a table full of pumpkin desserts.
The sparkle of his mom’s “glass” slippers matching the one in her eyes.
Heady magic sprinkled in the air. The thud behind his tiny rib cage as his dad handled every second with a seamless energy, wanting nothing more than to leave a lasting impact on everyone’s memories.
Denz saw himself being that great one day.
Today’s not that day.