Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Julian Richards flipped off the shower and reached for a towel. A low murmured voice from the bedroom told him his client was on yet another call.
Does he never shut down?
He’d nailed the man as a hedge fund type the minute he’d walked into the lobby of the boutique hotel near Kings Cross. Mr. No Name had been charming but distant from the outset, and Julian had gone with wit and warm touches.
The guy might have been lacking in personality, but thankfully his dick made up the shortfall, and Julian had been well and truly fucked. Twice in two hours, to be precise, so apparently the guy had wanted his money’s worth.
With Julian’s prices, he could understand that.
He slung a towel around his hips and glanced at his phone beside the wash basin. He smiled when he saw Evan’s message:
We still on for coffee this evening? Usual place?
Julian was still smiling as he typed a reply.
Yeah. Meet you at six?
A moment later Evan responded with a thumbs up.
“Hey, do you think you could stay a while longer?” Mr. No Name called from the bedroom. “I’ll pay for another hour. Just cuddles.”
Well, what do you know about that? Hedge Fund Guy had a softer side.
Julian peered at the screen. He could manage that, and still be in Soho to meet up with Evan.
His bank balance wouldn’t complain either.
“I can do that,” he said as he sauntered into the bedroom, losing the towel. Then he spotted the guy’s boner.
Cuddles, my arse.
Julian strolled into Caffè Nero on Frith Street a little after five forty-five. As usual, the place was packed: even the tables outside were fully occupied. Then he spied a high table in the corner.
Perfect.
He ordered a pot of tea, then sat with his back to the wall, watching both the cafe’s patrons and the passersby who strolled up and down Old Compton Street.
This has to be the best street for people watching.
Across from him was a guy in a suit, on his phone. He glanced in Julian’s direction, and stilled, his eyes widening.
Julian gave him a polite smile, then got on with pouring his tea.
It’s okay, honey. You obviously hired me at some point, but your face has long since slipped from my memory.
Evan had once asked him how many men he’d been with since he’d begun escorting three years ago. Julian told him he’d given up counting a while back.
He opened Gallery and scrolled through his recent pics. One caught his eye, a photo he’d taken in another cafe. It was a red-and-black flier, with the words Hot Leather Guys emblazoned across the top.
“Leather and Lungs?” he muttered to himself. “Sounds like my Saturday nights.”
“Talking to yourself again?”
He looked up. Evan McAllister stood next to his table, grinning.
Julian chuckled. “Of course. It’s often the only way I can be sure of having an intelligent conversation.” He held his phone up. “Seen this? Guys in leather… Hmm, I might have to go check ’em out. When they eventually start performing.”
Evan pulled a high stool up to the table and sat. “Let me see that.” He took the phone from Julian and perused it. He smiled. “You should apply for this.”
Julian arched his eyebrows.
Evan handed the phone back to him. “You forget, I know you. I see right through you.” He sighed. “You miss singing. You miss doing it for you.”
“I sing,” Julian protested. “Recitals, masterclasses…” Being a classically trained tenor was yet another string to his bow.
“Sure—with rules, with pretension. You want to sing somewhere that doesn’t give a damn if you’re wearing eyeliner or a collar.” Evan pointed to Julian’s phone. “And maybe this will give you all that.” His eyes gleamed. “If you’ve got the balls to go for it, of course.”
Okay, that was a challenge, and Julian could never back down from one of those.
He glanced at the screen, made a mental note of the link, and typed it into Google. The audition link revealed the date and venue.
Tomorrow. Soho.
“That’s really short notice,” he murmured.
“Got many clients tomorrow? Anything you could re-arrange?”
“Actually? I’m free all day.”
Evan blinked. “Is business bad?”
He laughed. “No, it’s my day to get all my mundane jobs done. You know, shopping, cleaning, laundry, setting up appointments.”
Evan guffawed. “Appointments sounds so professional.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Which is how I always approach my work. Treat it like a business, and it’ll pay like one.” He glanced again at the screen. “Not sure about this, though.”
“Getting cold feet?” Julian didn’t have to look at Evan to know he was grinning.
“Fine,” he retorted. He clicked on the date, then added his details. He met Evan’s grin, his jaw set. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic. Now buy me a coffee. You earn more than I do.”
Julian rolled his eyes but slid off his stool to head to the counter. He’d met Evan four years ago in a bar in Soho. They’d both been eighteen, and Julian had just left Bristol, hoping London would give him what he was looking for.
So far, London had delivered, and Evan had become Julian’s closest friend.
Not that they saw a lot of each other—their relationship was confined mostly to chats and the occasional coffee or night out—but it worked for them.
Based on their conversations, Julian had the impression Evan’s dad was a bit of a grump, but thankfully not a homophobic one.
Julian already had a family full of those back in Bristol.
He returned to the table with Evan’s cappuccino.
“So, any idea what you’re gonna sing for your audition?” Evan’s eyes danced with amusement. “Or what you’re gonna wear?”
“I’ve only just applied, for God’s sake,” Julian groused.
“But it’s tomorrow.” Evan folded his arms. “I think you need to make them sit up and take notice, the minute you step into the room.”
He grinned. “That’s a given.” If they didn’t like the look, they weren’t the right match for him.
He already saw it in his mind: a leather harness cutting sharp lines across sheer mesh, silk trousers that shimmered with every step, lips slicked cherry-red. Not the boy next door, and definitely not a choirboy, but a man who knew his worth and dared them to keep up.
Julian didn’t just want to be heard.
He wanted to be unforgettable.
Julian walked into the studio as if he was strutting a runway. He oozed confidence, even if beneath it all adrenaline spiked through him.
Two men sat in front of the mic stand. The fairer guy’s eyes narrowed, and Julian could read his scepticism from a mile away. The darker guy, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, his grin slow and predatory.
“I’m Theo Sinclair,” the fair guy told him. “And this is Max Rivers.” He arched his eyebrows. “You sing?” His tone seemed cool, unimpressed even.
Julian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Would I be here if I didn’t? He bit back the words and instead went for a full-on smirk. “Like a fucking angel.” He paused before adding, “One who swears.”
Max’s ripple of laughter broke the tension.
Theo crossed his legs. “Okay then, show us what you’ve got.”
Julian launched into the opening bars of ‘Toxic’ but didn’t take it at tempo.
He slowed it, savouring each phrase. His tenor rang clear and flexible, his chest voice rich on the low phrases, falsetto glittering at the top.
Trills tumbled from his throat with effortless agility, his breath control carrying each line into something lush.
And hopefully unexpected.
Midway through, he climbed into a crystalline high note, floated it, then broke the tension with a perfectly timed wink straight at Max.
Theo’s jaw tightened, his pencil biting into the page. Max’s grin widened, his dark eyes filled with obvious delight.
When the final note dissolved into silence, the pause lasted half a beat too long.
Max’s low voice was almost a purr. “We have to keep him.”
Julian resisted the urge to fist-pump.
Theo cleared his throat, and the spell was finally broken. “Your breath control is brilliant. But the ornamentation—those runs—border on indulgent.” He tapped his clipboard with his pencil. “Group singing requires restraint.”
Julian nodded, his confidence faltering for a heartbeat. Then the smirk was back, his armour fastened tight.
Max leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Have you ever sung harmony work?”
“Plenty,” Julian said, his tone casual. “Sopranos usually tried to out-sing me. I let them.” He shrugged. “Most of the time.”
Theo arched his eyebrows again.
Max’s grin deepened. “And do you play nice with others?”
Julian flashed his teeth. “If they deserve it.”
Theo scribbled something on his notes. Max appeared more entertained.
Julian knew the impression he’d left them with: not just a singer with a tenor’s brilliance, but a spark too wild to ignore.
Exactly what I was aiming for.
Theo thanked him for attending, and Max flashed that wicked grin. “Thanks for the performance.”
Julian returned the grin at full wattage. “You’re welcome.” He left the room, went down the stairs, and out onto the street. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he peered at the screen.
Evan: Well? Did you knock their socks off?
He typed a reply. Audition went well. I think I scared them. But in a good way.
His phone buzzed again, only this time it was an invitation. One of his clients was going to attend a high-end kink party that evening, and wanted to know if Julian would be free to accompany him.
He couldn’t think of a better way to burn off all the nervous tension still bubbling inside him. Especially when the guy inviting him knew Julian was a brat with a tendency to top.
Anything not to think about the outcome of his audition, because after meeting Theo and Max, Julian wanted in.
The door clicked shut behind Julian, leaving a faint trace of cherry gloss in the air.
Theo let out a breath. “Well.” He shut his notebook with a snap.
“Technically? Brilliant. The breath control, the ornamentation—yes, some of the runs were excessive, but he knows his instrument. My concern is the drama.” He frowned.
“He arrives in leather and lip gloss, sings Britney like Puccini, and then dares us not to roll our eyes. That kind of energy could throw the group dynamic off balance.”
Max’s grin spread slow and wicked. “Or it could make the group. Come on. He swaggered in, bratty as hell, and then he delivered. That’s not chaos. That’s a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Theo arched his brows. “You’re forgetting the flicker. The second he stopped performing, you saw it too. The gloss cracked. Underneath all that attitude is someone terrified of being left behind. Drama like that never stays offstage.”
Max tilted his head, his eyes glittering. “Which is why it works onstage. Audiences eat it up. Brats are irresistible. They push, they tease, they dare you to break them. And he can. He’s not just a singer, he’s a spark plug.” He locked gazes with Theo. “Tell me you didn’t feel it.”
Theo exhaled slowly, tapping his pen against the table. “Oh, I felt it all right. But sparks can burn down a house if we don’t contain them.”
Max leaned back, satisfied. “Then let him set a few fires. I’ll bring the extinguisher.”
Theo gave him a flat look. “This isn’t your dungeon, Max.”
“Maybe not.” Max smirked. “But Julian? He’s the kind of brat who makes an audience beg for the encore. We’d be fools to say no.”
Theo hesitated, then finally nodded. “All right. But he stays on a short leash.”
Max’s grin sharpened. “You know he’ll just pull against it, right?”
Theo rubbed his temples. “That’s exactly what worries me.”