28. Chapter 28
Henrik
I haven’t regretted much in my life, but allowing my emotions to get the better of me and hurting that beautiful man who walked out my door is one of my biggest regrets.
I haven’t heard from Mal since. It’s been over two days.
“What’s that?” Benjamin asks from beside me in the back of the Mercedes.
I’d been worrying a braille label between my fingertips—the message Mal left me the morning before he left. “ Butterfly and French. Six letters. ” Kisses. He was sending me kisses.
So simple. So goddamn sweet.
And what did I go and do? Blow up spectacularly. And Mal caught the shrapnel.
“It’s a message from Mal,” I finally answer.
Benjamin hums thoughtfully. “He leaves you braille messages? That’s cute.”
I don’t bother correcting my PA that Mal left me messages before—past tense—because even though Mal isn’t returning my calls, I refuse to believe it’s over. I refuse to believe I can’t fix this.
I just have to find the man first.
“We’re here,” Charles says, slowing the town car to a stop.
“Are you ready for this?” Benjamin asks.
I grip my cane tight. “Yes.”
Over the weekend, Benjamin filled me in on everything I’d failed to learn from Mal’s file.
And despite trying, I realized I couldn’t think of him as Adam because that man doesn’t exist. Not to me.
Adam may be his legal name, but Mal is the man who walked into my penthouse all those weeks ago and rearranged my entire world.
He changed what I thought I wanted. What I thought I needed.
I wasn’t looking for companionship beyond some vague figure to keep the loneliness at bay, but then I found Mal. And now, that vague figure has substance and form. Nothing else, no one else, will do.
I only want Mal.
It’s the way he smells irresistibly like coconut, despite the fact that he told me he’s never been to the ocean.
It’s how he feels under my fingers, warm and solid and true.
It’s the soft cadence of his voice and the tinkling laughter that lights me up inside.
It’s the feel of his lips under mine. The way I can taste my name, Hen , whispered into the air between us, like sweet honey and the loveliest tea.
It’s how, without a doubt, I know I’m in love with him.
That man who stepped tentatively into my life, whose confidence in me—in us —grew more and more over time.
That man who showed me it’s okay to lean on someone else every once in a while.
He trusted me with his vulnerability, and he taught me how to do the same.
And I feel it, on a bone-deep level, when I slow down and sift through all that transpired between us. I feel the whisper of Mal’s words, his touch, the way he always welcomed me with open arms and a soft heart. How transparent he was with me, how sincere.
I know that I didn’t fall alone.
It was never about the money. It was never a game.
As soon as I cut off my external reactions—namely, the jealousy and hurt—I recognized that.
Mal wouldn’t have been so upset by my words if he didn’t care.
His voice wouldn’t have crumpled. He wouldn’t have left if I was only a job to him. He would have stuck it out for the pay.
Whatever Mal and I built brick by brick over the last month and a half was real. And now…now I don’t want to live a day without that. Without him .
I have to win him back.
But I can’t do that with Mal as my escort. There’s no way to move forward if he doesn’t trust that my intentions are genuine and not contingent on the arrangement we made when we met.
Which is why I called Genevieve to cancel our contract. And it’s why I’m currently sitting outside his last-known residence.
After a little digging on Benjamin’s part, we learned the apartment Mal listed in his file belongs to his friend, Dixon. Or, as he’s also known, Dix. Because not only is Dixon Mal’s friend, but he’s also his coworker at Elite 8 Studios. As is Alex, or Tink, the other man who I met at my penthouse.
How I missed that fact is beyond me. Perhaps I was too caught up in the comfort of Mal sprawled half on top of my lap to pay close enough attention.
But after thinking back, I was able to recall a conversation about Dixon’s boyfriend, Niko, dressing as a sailor for his scene.
It makes sense in hindsight, the words that were spoken, but at the time, I didn’t think anything of it.
It’s beside the point now. I missed the signs. I fucked up. I hurt Mal. And I need to remedy my monumental error.
Benjamin opens my door, and together, we walk up to the front of Dixon’s apartment building.
Despite my conviction that tracking Mal down is the right thing to do—I can not let him continue thinking, for even one more day, that I meant those hurtful words I said—my hands are clammy, and I’m nervous about what happens next.
I’m afraid there’s a chance I can’t fix this.
But no, I refuse to go down that road. I spent enough time this weekend following dark paths. I need to focus on the bright point of light that refuses to let me give up. That refuses to accept that Mal was only one in a long line of people passing through my life.
I wipe my palm on my slacks and step forward.
“It’s a nice area,” Benjamin says, describing the scenery to me as he so often does. “There’s a park a little ways down the street. The building is six stories tall, well-kept, with covered parking spaces.”
I nod, stepping up when my cane finds a rise in the sidewalk.
I stop when Benjamin does, my hand on his bicep acting as further guide.
Benjamin presses the buzzer for Dixon’s apartment, and I jolt.
The silence is pressing as we wait, the only sound passing cars, the breeze drifting through some trees nearby, and my own blood rushing through my ears.
A minute goes by with no answer, and Benjamin tries again. Another buzz. Another minute of silence.
“Well, shit,” he says succinctly.
I take a deep breath. I already called Catty Commotions, and unless Keith was lying to me, Mal wasn’t there. I’d hoped we’d find him here at Dixon’s because if he’s not with the cats, and he’s not at home, the next most likely alternative is…
“Let’s try his place of employment,” I force out, jaw tight, the words not wanting to leave my mouth.
I tamp down my surge of jealousy because I have no right. Regardless of how much the burn threatens to consume me.
Benjamin sighs, as if he can tell I’m struggling. He turns around and leads me back toward the car. “Can you handle this?”
“Of course,” I reply a little tersely.
“You need to keep a calm head, Henrik. You can’t barge in there demanding to see Malibu—”
“Mal,” I correct.
“—and cart him away to your cave. He might not want to see you. He might be working.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap as I edge into the town car, the cool air inside the vehicle welcome against my overheated skin.
I wait for Benjamin to join me and shut his door before continuing at a more level tone.
“I know I fucked up, okay? I am perfectly aware. But it’s only been a couple days.
He still has funds.” I made sure of it. “He wouldn’t start up at Elite 8 again so soon, would he? ”
I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more—Benji or myself.
“You fired him, Henrik,” Benjamin states in an unimpressed tone.
“I had to! I couldn’t ask him out with that contract hanging over our heads. He has to know it’s real. He has to know it has nothing to do with money or how we started. That I want him. Specifically him. Not just an escort. Him .”
“We’re going to try the studio, Charles,” Benjamin says before sighing gently. The car sets into motion, and Benji shifts in his seat, presumably giving me his patented stare-down. “You should have waited.”
“You already told me that,” I grouse.
“And I’m telling you again. You should have waited to terminate your agreement until after you’d had a chance to talk to Mal.”
I grunt, but Benjamin goes on, determined to make me hear him out, even though we’ve rehashed this argument a couple times already.
“I’m serious, Henrik. As far as Mal is aware, you severed ties. He likely thinks you don’t want to see him anymore, which is exactly what I would assume in his situation. So why wouldn’t he go back to the job he had before you ?”
“Benjamin,” I groan, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Is he right?
“You fucked up on so many levels, and I’m not afraid to tell you that. So if we go in there and Mal is otherwise occupied”—he pauses to let his words sink in, and I swallow uncomfortably—“you don’t get to be upset about it.”
I nod rigidly. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight.”
We ride in silence for a minute.
“Be honest with me. Is it going to be a problem?” Benji asks.
I frown, pulling my head out of my own cycling thoughts. “What?”
“The porn,” Benjamin states, clearly exasperated with me. “You’re still tense about it, I can tell.”
I wriggle my shoulders, trying to drop the tension from my body as best as I can. “It won’t be a problem.”
“Really?” he asks incredulously.
“Really. It doesn’t matter. I won’t let it,” I say.
It was never the principle of the job that bothered me. I don’t like thinking about the men Mal was with before me, but I can’t judge him for having sex, whether through his personal life or through his job.
It’s the videos. I’m jealous over the goddamn videos.
“And what if he wants to keep his job?” Benjamin asks. I swallow roughly, my brain repelling the very idea. “Will that be a deal-breaker?”
“No,” I answer immediately.
Do I want him sleeping with other men? Absolutely not. Even the thought of it makes me feel violent. I want to rip the hands off any man who’d dare touch my Mal, just as I wanted to hurt that man who put bruises around his neck.
But it’s not my choice . I can ask Mal to stop, and I will. Politely. But if he wants to keep his job at Elite 8 Studios, I can’t, and I won’t, let that come between us.
I’ll figure out a way to tamp down my jealousy. I’ll talk to Mal about it, learn why he does it, understand his viewpoint. If it’s money, I can offer that, and maybe that’d be enough for him to call it quits. If it’s something else, well, then all I can do is keep an open mind.
Because I want Mal and everything that comes with him.
“We’re here,” Charles announces from the front of the vehicle.
“Thank you, Charles,” I respond.
“Here we go again,” Benjamin says before opening his door and stepping out of the car. Ten seconds later, he’s at my side, and I accept the arm he holds out for me.
It’s a short walk to the building, but when Benjamin stops and all I hear is a clunking sound, followed by his curse, my worry ratchets.
“What is it?”
“The door is locked,” he says. “There’s a keypad.”
“Is there another door?” I ask.
“Not that I can see. Wait here, I’ll check.”
Benjamin leaves my side, and for a few minutes, I listen to the sound of cars driving past and my PA’s retreating and advancing footsteps. My mind runs wild as I bide time.
If Mal isn’t here, I’ll try the cat shelter again.
And then I’ll wait at Dixon’s apartment.
He has to show at some point, right? I’ll try calling again, and sending another text.
Maybe I should be more explicit in my message.
I might have to lay it all out on the line through the impersonality of a handheld device.
I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to talk to Mal in person so he could hear the conviction in my voice and see for himself how sorry I am.
How much I mean it when I tell him how I feel.
But if Mal doesn’t want to see me, that may not be an option.
“No other door,” Benjamin confirms when he reaches my side. “I’ll try calling their phone number.”
“All right,” I say with a nod, twisting my cane in my grip as I wait impatiently.
“Good morning,” Benjamin says chipperly a moment later.
“I have a bit of an odd request, but I’m here with my friend at your facility, and we were desperately hoping to be admitted entrance in order to speak with Malibu, who we know personally.
My friend here fucked up royally, and he wants a chance to beg for forgiveness.
” There’s a moment of silence. “Mhm. Yes. I absolutely understand. We’d just ask for a few minutes of your time to explain the situation.
And if you conclude we’re not welcome, we’ll be on our way.
Yes. Thank you so much, sir. Yes, we’ll be waiting. ”
My breath expels from my lungs as Benjamin snaps his phone shut.
“You owe me so much for this shit,” he mumbles.
“Whatever you want,” I say sincerely, my heart beating hopefully now that I know there’s a chance. Now that I know, in a few minutes, I could be in front of Mal again. I could have the chance to apologize.
“I want a boat,” he says, and although I assume he’s joking, I’ll gladly get Benji a boat for the trouble he’s gone through to help me get here.
A moment later, the door clicks, and Benji squeezes my arm. “Here we go.”