26. Chapter 26
Henrik
“T hat went well,” Benjamin says on the elevator ride up to my penthouse.
I nod. “It did. We had a great turnout.”
Benjamin and I spent the evening at the unveiling ceremony for the newest Larsen Co.
incubator. Despite the construction delays, the location came together superbly, and now, the entrepreneurs of Las Vegas will have more resources to turn their visions into reality.
It feels good, being able to provide that.
I’m especially looking forward to following the progress of a couple bright, new minds who have developed a portable real-time text-to-braille translator that’s supposed to be an improvement on previous designs. I invested in that project myself.
“Now how much time do we have to relax before the next big thing?” Benjamin asks.
When I huff a breath through my nose, Benjamin laughs.
“Right,” he says. “No rest for the wicked. And I know you’ve been wicked. Because you haven’t told me what’s going on with you and that snack of yours.”
The elevator opens, and I sigh, setting my cane aside and taking off my shoes. Benjamin removes his own and follows me into the penthouse. He goes right for the refrigerator, presumably pulling out a bottle of the bubbly soda he keeps stocked just for himself.
For once, Benjamin doesn’t push. He takes a seat at the island and waits for me to collect my thoughts.
Out of all the people in my life, Benji and Alma are the only ones I share personal information with.
I love my sister, but I don’t know how to talk to her about this.
Benji, on the other hand, would be the perfect confidant.
He’s known about my escorts from the beginning—from that very first call I made to Genevieve, when I lost that final piece of my vision and the loneliness threatened to take me under. Benji has been with me through all of it. And yes, he’s my personal assistant, but he’s also my close friend.
When he and Gary got married, I was there.
When Gary had an emergency appendectomy, I stayed in the hospital with Benji, providing moral support.
All those times I needed an extra hand, Benji offered his, never once making me feel badly or like I was less than whole.
We’ve known each other for years. We’ve been friends for years.
So yes, I could reveal to Benji how terrified I am to tell Mal how I feel, and I know he wouldn’t judge me for it.
He wouldn’t make light, not about this. I could tell him that I’ve planned out a dinner for me and Mal next week.
I already made the reservation. I’m going to sit across from the man who’s invaded my home and my mind and my heart, dare I say it, and ask him to stay .
I could tell all of this to Benji, and maybe he could help me feel more confident.
Maybe he’d have a word of advice for me.
But before I get a chance to say anything, my hand brushes over a pile of papers on the kitchen table, and my attention is waylaid.
“What is all this?” I ask, running my fingers lightly over the clutter, careful not to disturb it much. Mal ran out quickly earlier—before I left for the unveiling ceremony—saying something about Keith needing his help at the shelter. He must have left these out in his rush.
Benji comes over, picking up one of the papers and reading under his breath. “Loan and credit card payoff confirmations. Huh. Looks like several different accounts. Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth. For Adam. Oh,” he says a little louder, “these are Mal’s.”
“Wait, what?” I ask in confusion.
Who is Adam? And why is Mal paying off his debts?
With a sinking gut, I clutch the edge of the table, my mind supplying the most reasonable explanation. Mal told me he doesn’t have family other than his mother. So if this Adam isn’t family, he must be something else . Someone important.
A boyfriend. A real boyfriend.
Why else would Mal throw tens of thousands of dollars at him?
But no, Mal told me he’s never had a boyfriend. He wouldn’t lie to me, would he?
“Why is Mal paying off someone else’s credit cards?” I ask in trepidation, my tone uneven. Shaky.
Benji makes a sound of annoyance that catches me off guard. “I knew it. I was almost positive after that dinner with your family, but this clinches it. You never read Mal’s file, did you?”
“What?” I ask, frustrated with the change of topic. “No, I forgot. Why does it matter?”
“Because,” Benji says, clearly short with me, “Adam is Mal’s real name.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about? He said it’s Malibu.”
Benjamin clicks his tongue. “Malibu is the name he goes by for his job.”
“It’s the name he uses for escorting?”
“No. Malibu is the name he goes by for his career in porn,” he answers, shaking my foundation.
I plant my palms on the table, exhaling loudly. “His career in porn?”
No .
“Yes,” Benji says in a clipped tone. “Which you would have known about had you read his file. Not that it should matter , by the way, but now you have that face going on like you don’t want to believe me.”
Because I don’t .
“Mal works in porn?”
“He does. Or did. Before you hired him,” Benji says.
Before I hired him . “Oh god.”
I sink down into a chair, confusion, anger, and fear warring within me.
Confusion because I truly don’t understand what’s going on right now.
Anger at myself for forgetting something as basic as reading the file Genevieve sent over on the man staying in my home.
Maybe I simply wanted to trust him. And fear that this changes everything.
“Explain,” I say.
Benji pulls out a chair next to me, the feet of it scraping across the ground.
He plops down, and a whiff of his expensive woodsy-apricot cologne puffs over me.
“Mal’s legal name is Adam Jones. Apart from working for Genevieve for the past half year or so, he’s kept a career at Elite 8 Studios here in Las Vegas for four plus years.
They produce adult entertainment videos, and in them, Adam goes by the moniker Malibu. ”
My lungs squeeze tight, and I can barely breathe.
“What part are you having trouble with?” Benji asks me.
“All of it,” I wheeze out, my heart beating too fast, my palms starting to shake.
“Jesus,” Benjamin clips out.
“What are you upset about?” I ask, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“You,” he spits back. “As soon as I realized you hadn’t read his file, I knew you were going to react like this. Because you care for him. You like that boy, and now you’re being all pissy because your feelings are hurt. Mal doesn’t deserve that.”
“Mal lied to me,” I grit out.
“He didn’t ,” Benji says vehemently. “It’s your fault you didn’t learn the relevant facts. They were all there, waiting for you. Mal isn’t responsible.”
“He lied about his name,” I point out, rubbing over the ache in my sternum.
“Not really,” Benji shoots back. “He does go by the name Malibu.”
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut tight. My heart won’t stop pounding, and it’s making me dizzy. “I can’t believe this.”
“You’re overreacting,” Benji says.
I push out of my chair, pacing to the window and setting my shaking palm on the glass.
“He’s the same person,” Benjamin says at my back.
Is he?
My fingers curl against the pane. Apparently, there’s a hell of a lot about Mal— Adam —I don’t know, and it’s difficult seeing past the metaphorical red in my vision to sort through it.
“People can watch his videos?” I ask, voice raw.
I need the confirmation. Even though I don’t want to hear it, I need to know the scope of what Benji is telling me.
“Of course,” he says softly.
“Have you?”
He sighs. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
I shake my head rapidly. “ Fuck .”
“He likes you, too, you know,” Benjamin says.
I shake my head again. “Don’t.”
“He does . It shouldn’t matter what’s in the past. Don’t let this wreck things, Henrik.”
“How can I—” I cut myself off, not liking the direction my own thoughts are headed. I don’t want this to fuck things up, but I can’t even make sense of the things running through my head right now.
“You’re angry,” Benji states.
Am I angry? Yes, of course I am. It’s not because Mal has been with other people or because he works in the sex industry.
I always knew that was the case, and how could I possibly judge?
I’ve been with a plethora of men and women, too.
I can’t condemn him for his past, nor for the occupations he chooses.
I chose him for his occupation, at least at first. We wouldn’t have met otherwise.
And I’m hurt. That’s painfully obvious. Because even though Benjamin is right—that it’s my own fault for not knowing this ahead of time—an irrational part of me insists Mal lied to me. Insists he should’ve made it clear.
But why would we have talked about his career in porn? Or have we, and I completely missed the signs?
And then there’s the fact that I don’t know how much else I don’t know. I hate not having all the facts, all the figures. What else is in Mal’s file? Does it matter?
Is he still the same person now that I know the truth?
In theory, of course. But what scares me is wondering if I would have felt the same had I known all along.
If I’d known Mal worked in porn, would I still have allowed myself to feel something more?
That’s a thought that unsettles the ground at my feet because I’d like to think my feelings aren’t that fickle, but it’s no secret I’m a possessive fucker, as Mal so aptly put it once.
Which brings me to what’s needling me most. The simple fact of the matter.
That an indeterminate number of people have seen, and will see, Mal naked.
They’ll see him giving pleasure. See him taking it.
Anytime they want, they can watch the man I love—because fuck , yes, I love Mal—in the most intimate of acts.
They can see his lips. His cock. The curve of his shoulders.
The dips in his abdomen. Whether or not his blue irises darken or sparkle when he falls apart.
They get a piece of him I can never have.
And that knowledge—that truth—is what jabs under my ribs like a hot poker, burning and sharp.
I’m angry, and I’m irrefutably jealous.
“This is unbelievable,” I mutter, pacing away from the glass.
“Come on, Henrik,” Benji practically pleads. “You need to think this through calmly. Work through the facts.”
“I am working through the facts!” I spit. “The fact is Mal is a goddamn porn star, and I had no idea!”
“So?”
“ So ? Anyone can see him stripped down, Benjamin,” I retort, pointing out the part of this I’m having trouble coping with.
“Anyone can pull up his videos and watch him have sex. They can see the way his eyes transform in passion, watch the expression he makes when he comes. They know what he looks like at his most vulnerable. And that’s something I have never seen,” I say hotly, my own words coming out so choked, I have to clear my throat.
“That is something I will never see. I will never see that, Ben.”
“Oh, Henrik,” he says softly.
“So yes, I’m goddamn angry that Mal—or Adam , as is apparently his name—is a porn star.”
“Henrik,” Benjamin says a little more seriously.
“No, I’m allowed to be upset, Benjamin. How can I trust him? What else don’t I know? What else hasn’t he told me?”
“Henrik.”
“It’s the money, isn’t it?” I say, gesturing toward the table as my mind runs dark paths.
Telling me everything was a lie. Telling me everything I thought I had with Mal was a show.
“That’s why he’s doing this. I must pay better than porn.
That’s the only goddamn reason he’s here. That’s the only reason he wanted me.”
“ Henrik .”
“What?” I spit out.
It’s only then I hear a faint sound in the foyer. A soft shuffling of shoes. A rough, shaky inhalation.
My heart flatlines.
“I thought you knew,” that familiar voice says, ever so quietly. Mal . It’s him, but it’s not the same. He sounds gutted, like I scooped out his insides and deposited them on the floor. “I never meant to lie to you, Henrik.”
He takes a couple steps before stopping, and part of me is screaming to say something. To apologize. To run forward. To fix this .
But the other part of me is frozen in shock. My anger, jealousy, fear all mixed into one, cementing me to the floor.
“For what it’s worth,” Mal says calmly, taking a deep breath, “I needed your money, but I never wanted it.”
With that, the elevator doors close, and I’m left in silence so loud my ears ring with it.
“Oh, Henrik,” Benjamin says quietly.
“I know,” I breathe out.
“You fucked up.”
“I know ,” I say, finally moving into action.
“He won’t be there by the time you get down,” Benjamin points out.
I groan in frustration, tugging at my hair. Then I pull out my phone, voice commanding to “Call Mal,” but unsurprisingly, he doesn’t answer.
“Fuck. Fuck .”
I drop to a crouch, feeling unsteady on the balls of my feet, my prior irritation dissolved in the face of my current panic. How much did he hear? What did I say? Goddamn it, I was just so angry. I don’t remember half of what came out of my mouth.
“You can fix this,” Benji says, walking up and squeezing my shoulder.
“How? What do I do?”
Benjamin sighs. “You tell him the truth, Henrik. All of it.”