Reed
The door of his changing room almost hits my nose as he slams it in my face, and all I can do is stand there slack-jawed.
I mean hell, don’t they teach manners in that fancy racing academy that nepotism secured him a space in?
When his father tracked me down and asked me to interview his son, I thought it would be easy.
Everyone knows the Miles Family, their affinity for racing and stats are everywhere, and Wilder Miles is in the press every damn week.
There is always some new scandal where he is concerned, whether it be regarding his brother, or who he invites into his bed.
If there is a story with the Miles family, it’s usually guaranteed Wilder’s name will precede it.
Now, I’m no stranger to scandals myself, it’s just that mine are handled the same way all elite people’s scandals are.
They are paid off and covered up, as if they never happened in the first place.
Something I’m sure my father wishes he could do with me.
Someone as prestigious as him can’t have an openly gay son after all, especially not one who enjoys lace, leather, and makeup.
No, that coming-out party was canceled before it ever saw the light of day.
It doesn’t matter what I do to try and win him over, my sexuality will always be his biggest grievance, so it remains a sordid secret.
Not that he can cut me off, that would be an even bigger scandal.
So instead I am being paraded around in his shadow until my younger brother comes of age.
Since graduating with honors from Columbia University, with a degree in journalism and business, I have been looking for work that isn’t associated with my own family’s last name.
My father runs a huge corporation that is usually always handed down to the firstborn son, but much to his disappointment, he got me, instead of someone he actually considers worthy.
Now, we are both just biding our time until Freddie turns eighteen, which is going to be a long seven years.
Although that is his endgame, thanks to my degree, my father has afforded me the permission to pursue work that aligns with my field of education.
Don’t be fooled though, his choice isn’t one made out of love, no, my father doesn’t feel such fickle emotions.
The only reason I’m here is because he wants to paint himself as a perfect father among his peers, not that Prescott Lamont III would ever admit to having peers.
I spent the first few months of the year doing an internship with an NHL team, but the second the season was over I was looking for something new.
Not that I need the money, the size of my trust fund is too big to even fathom most days, but if I sat around and did nothing I would go out of my mind.
It’s why I started my social media accounts during my college years, and have amassed a heavy following since, thanks to my interest in reporting on a variety of sports.
When Cooper Miles slid into my DMs and asked for a meeting, I knew instantly what he wanted, and I was more than happy to oblige. Even with the rumors of Wilder’s behaviour, his father was convinced I was the right person for the job, but as the mahogany of his door skims my nose, I’m not so sure.
Stepping back, I contemplate knocking, demanding he answers my questions, or at least apologize for being a grade A dickhead, but it would be pointless.
Instead, I turn on my heel and head back down the corridor in search of his father.
It doesn’t take me long to find him, almost like he was waiting for me to appear, and when he looks at me expectantly, I shake my head in defeat.
“My apologies, Mr. Miles, but your son wasn’t in a very talkative mood.” I keep my voice steady and tone polite, despite how annoyed I am on the inside, and his father sighs.
“Don’t worry, Lamont, he’s never in the mood for fucking talking,” he snaps in exasperation, but I can see the sadness lingering in his eyes.
I’m sure it’s hard trying to manage one son, when the other is presumed missing.
“I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, why don’t you stay for the races and get some footage for your social media?
It’s the least I could do,” he suggests, and as tempting as that offer is, I’d be more inclined to punch his son in the face than take some Insta-worthy shots of him.
“Thank you, Mr. Miles, but I have another pressing engagement I need to get to.” I keep the smile I perfected at nine years old in place, as the lie rolls right off my tongue.
If there’s one thing my father taught me, it’s to always make yourself appear in demand.
“Okay then, well, I’ll call you later.” Cooper Miles nods with a smile, sounding as if he believes his words about as much as I do, but still I return his nod with one of my own, before politely excusing ourselves.
When I turn to head in the opposite direction, toward the exit, I spot Wilder coming from the changing rooms, heading the same way as his father.
When he spots me, he smirks. It’s not playful or inviting, no, it’s full of pure malice and satisfaction, and as if my hand as a mind of its own it snaps up, tossing him a firm middle finger.
Even from across the room I can see his eyes narrow in amusement, before he blows me a kiss and disappears out of sight.
What a conceited fucking jackass.
Huffing, I make my way outside and back to my car, undoing my suit jacket and tossing it on the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel.
The drive back into the city is a long one, and by the time I make it back to my apartment it’s almost 5 p.m. I know Eloise is already inside, because I can hear her music blasting when the elevator doors open into our penthouse, and I shake my head with a smile.
I head straight to the kitchen, knowing that’s where I will find her, already pouring herself a deep glass of wine as I enter.
“Honey, I’m home,” I tease with a smile, stealing the glass from her hand and taking a deep slug, as I drop into the stool beside her.
“That bad, huh?” she laughs, grabbing herself another glass and filling it up, as she waits for me to elaborate on my day.
Eloise Hartwell, to the public, is my long-term best friend turned girlfriend, not that we have ever confirmed our relationship.
We didn’t have to, a few well-timed photo ops and sharing a penthouse did that for us, and kept both our families off our backs.
To me however, she is just my best friend, my very queer best friend who has been forced as deep into the closet as I have.
The Lamonts and the Hartwells are long-standing friends, which is how our friendship began in the first place, and within a few years our families were already talking about marriage.
That’s when I first knew I was different, because what straight, red-blooded male wouldn’t want to marry Eloise Hartwell?
She’s beautiful, smart, elegant, kind, and more importantly to my father, a well-known name.
Any man would be lucky to have her, but to me, she is just Eloise.
When I tried to kiss her when we were twelve, during the time I was trying to convince myself that’s what I wanted, she broke down in tears and told me she liked girls.
I then broke down right after her, and told her I was pretty sure I was gay.
It didn’t take long for that pretty sure to change into certain, when we got to high school and I started playing lacrosse.
The changing rooms were hell for my walking hard-on, and for some stupid reason I thought I could talk to my father about it.
That night he beat me so bad I couldn’t play lacrosse again for six weeks, and with the blood still spilling from my nose, Eloise and I made a pact.
Us two against them.
It’s been that way ever since.
“Wilder Miles is an arrogant prick,” I seethe, after swallowing the full glass of wine and shaking it at her for another.
“Noooo, you mean the gorgeous soon to be racing superstar isn’t a sweetheart?” she asks in mock surprise, and I roll my eyes at her.
“Everything the fucking press says about him is true, babe. Cocky, check. Moody, check. Thinks he runs the fucking world and everyone in it, check, check,” I reel off each one with a matching finger, as Eloise tops up my glass with a knowing smile.
“Hot as hell, double check,” she teases, arching a perfectly-sculpted brow at me, and I scoff.
“Please, I’m still not convinced he’s not the Devil himself,” I snap back, and her smile only grows.
“The Devil has to be hot to be so tempting,” she declares, picking up her phone as it dings, but still eyeing me closely. “Seems like he got under your skin.”
I scoff again. “No, I just hate self-absorbed nepo babies with no class.” I take another sip of my wine, this one more slowly, savoring the taste, as I try and chase away the bad one Wilder Miles left in my mouth
“You’re a self-absorbed nepo baby,” Eloise snorts, tapping away on her phone, no longer giving me her full attention.
“Yes, but I have class and manners, so that makes me better than him.” I don’t care how good he is at racing a car in a circle, or how famous he is in his world, it’s clear he doesn’t know a thing about being a decent human.
“Does that mean you’re going to say pretty please when you ask him to fuck you?” Eloise’s question has me barking a laugh.
“Please, he is so not my type.”
Okay, that’s a lie and we both know it, and now it’s her turn to roll her eyes, but thankfully she doesn’t call me out on it. “We’re going to a party tonight,” she says instead. “We’re leaving in two hours, so go and get ready.”