CHAPTER TWO #2
“Hey, ziz is not America. I have rights…you’re infringing my ‘uman rights,” he complained his hands pushing on one guards chest as he tried to get through the doorway and into the main hall.
Roz was shouting at her phone. “Avery, where the hell are you? Get back here, we have a 911.”
I did not hang around for the oncoming explosion.
One of the burly guards let me pass. I quickly strode down the short corridor, and out onto the pushily carpeted hallway of this cream, gold, and powder-puff-pink French hotel.
My press agent Benji Moss was still nowhere to be seen.
It was fucking typical of him to vanish in a crisis.
I was with the Freiberg talent agency of Covent Garden, a boutique LGBTQ-friendly agency owned by Lucy Freiberg.
Lucy saw me in a Shakespeare production, one of my first gigs when I was fresh out of drama school.
She offered to personally represent me and take my career to the next level.
For junkets and events that Lucy couldn’t fit into her schedule I was allotted a press agent to represent my interests.
Benji Moss was possibly the worst press agent I’d dealt with during my career.
I’d asked Lucy if I could have someone else, but still, I was stuck with this public school tosser with a marketing degree.
The guy couldn’t bullshit his way out of a paper bag and he didn’t have a clue about the entertainment business.
Turns out, nepotism was making my life hell, because I’d discovered something my agent kept quiet—that Benji was Lucy’s wife’s little brother and the job was a favour!
I reached the elevator and stabbed insistently on the up button.
My current priority was to find Nate and ensure he was okay.
I already knew there was no way Nate was anywhere near the galaxy of okay, but still I wanted to be there for him.
His perfectly constructed world was falling in and I couldn’t stand the thought of Nate dealing with it alone, especially in a foreign country.
Yes, it could be a purely selfish notion, as admittedly, in my deepest, most private self I craved time with Nate as much as I did fresh, clean air.
But I put my personal feelings aside. Impatient, I wondered why the hell elevators took so fucking long to arrive when you were in a rush.
I noted the doorway for the emergency stairwell at the same time I heard Roz bark out my name.
I hurried through the doorway and I shuddered as if I’d dodged a bullet.
I took the stairs up to the fifth floor, three steps at a time.
Nate’s suite was opposite mine. I tapped lightly on his door. No reply, so I knocked again, more insistently this time. I heard Nate roar on the other side of the closed door.
“Can I not get five god-damn minutes?”
“Nate, it’s me, look…If you need a friend I’m—“ I didn’t get time to finish my sentence because the door was wrenched open, Nate’s hand fisted my shirt and he dragged me into his room before slamming the door closed and flicking the bar lock.
I stood in the hallway of his suite, a little stunned as Nate then pulled me into his arms and hugged me, clinging on as if I was the only thing keeping him afloat—I was a log in the middle of a stormy ocean.
“Oh god, Jack,” Nate breathed my name as if asking a hundred questions at once.
“Mate, I’m so sorry, there, there,” I cooed as I rubbed up and down his back, giving him the comfort he clearly needed.
Feeling the shape of him, the delicious ripple of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt was delicious…
in turn, I was giving myself something too!
In an instant something changed between us, a switch was flicked ON!
My stomach did this swoop and dive thing, and my heartbeat quickened.
I loved how desperately Nate clung to me and I couldn’t resist the warmth of Nate’s familiar, hard chest pressed to mine.
I turned my face into his nape and inhaled his spicy sandalwood scent.
Nate turned into my neck too, and I felt the tip of his nose rub circles against the sensitive skin there.
“Jack,” he breathed against my skin, and I let out and involuntary groan.
On hearing that sound a rush of need seemed to make him hold me a little tighter, ensuring every—single—part of us was touching for the longest, and briefest moment.
But then, just as swiftly Nate pulled out of the embrace.
I was confused by this burst of what seemed like mutual longing, but my friend wasn’t in his right mind.
Nate was trembling, probably with anger at discovering his husband was a cheating bastard.
As his hand worried over his mouth Nate’s glance was fleeting.
He didn’t meet my eyes. He turned away from me and strode down the short hall and into the open plan lounge of his suite.
Pensively, I followed, giving him a moment to compose himself.
With all of the gentleness I could muster, I asked, “Have you…eh…spoken to Erik?” Facing away from me Nate shook his head,
“He’s…eh…not taking my calls,” he said stiffly.
“Don’t lose heart, mate. You’ve no idea where the photo came from or even if it’s real. It could be an AI deep fake or…or Photoshop or something,” I suggested trying to sound upbeat.
“Huh, I…hadn’t thought of that. And what does it say about me that I jumped to the conclusion that the photo was real?” he sighed dejectedly.
“You were hijacked during an on-camera interview, and you’re spiralling.
It’s a perfectly normal reaction in the circumstances, mate,” I reassured.
The thing was, I knew the photo was real.
Erik Thorne was known to me, something I’d neglected to mention to Nate because I hadn’t wanted to hurt him.
Then we were both pulled from the moment by someone hammering on the door.
Nate pivoted and glared down the short hall at the hotel room door as if it too had wronged him.
He was an earnest, honest guy, but Nate had this entrenched almost child-like belief that people were intrinsically good.
When he trusted, he did so with his whole heart, which made his unfolding devastation hard to watch.
“What do you want me to do? It’s your call,” I said softly.
Nate turned and looked at me then; catching my gaze directly for the first time since he’d dragged me into the suite.
Even though I was sure he’d deny it, I could tell he’d been crying.
His cerulean blue eyes had lost their magical sparkle and were now the colour of a frigid, dull winter lake.
His shoulders sagged in resignation, “God damn it. Roz won’t stop, let her in,” he groaned.
I stepped up to Nate and cupped his stubbled cheek, pinned his wounded eyes, then insistently I said, “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Take a breath. I’ll stall for as long as I can.”
Nate gripped the wrist of the hand that cradled his face. The spark of connection in our eye and skin-to-skin contact sizzled through me.
“Thanks Jack, you’re a good friend.” Nate then turned on his heels and headed for the bedroom. I followed and closed the double doors behind him. Then I strode down the hall and opened the suite door. But before Roz could begin ranting, I raised a halting hand.
“Nate’s in the bathroom, he needs a moment to regroup so please respect his wishes. You’ll have to wait to speak with him,” I stated. Roz ignored me and barged past calling,
“Nate honey, get out here and talk to me. I’m all over this. We’ve got a crisis meeting with the studio in twenty minutes.”
I stood aside as the whole merry band of Maritime Studio representatives piled into the suite, lawyer Mason De Luca, publicist Avery Grant, intern Anja Baker, and finally, my useless press agent Benji Moss. The guards remained on sentry outside the suite.
“Where have you been?” Benji exclaimed as he sauntered in, all innocence. I gave him my death stare.
“Where the fuck were you? You’re supposed to observe interviews and shut them down if the interviewer steps out of bounds!
” The fine white powder around his left nostril did not escape my notice, nor did his dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes.
I continued to glare derisively at him. He sniffed guiltily, pinched his nose, and then wiped it on the back of his hand.
“Call of nature,” he justified with a nonchalant shrug.
Fuck nepotism. I didn’t give two shits if his sister was married to my agent.
One thing I’d been adamant about when I signed with the Freiberg Agency was that I was drug-free, and I expected the same of those who worked to represent me.
Drug use in the entertainment industry is a Cancer, and I was determined that there would be zero tolerance of substance abuse for my team.
Lucy was taking the Eurostar train in the morning and would be in Paris to accompany me to the première.
I’d happily tell her about Benji and his all-too-regular ‘calls of nature’ and then demand a new press agent for the final two destinations on the European tour.
I gritted my teeth, then grabbed Benji’s arm and pulled him towards the French doors.
I opened the doors and we stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the Champs Elysee.
Paris was experiencing a heat wave. It was a scorching late June afternoon and the air was stagnant and thick with fumes.
As it was rush hour, the wide boulevard was bumper to bumper.
Impatience is a French national sport, and the blare of horns assaulted my ears. I could feel a headache coming on.
Benji stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, like a tardy schoolboy as he casually asked, “So, what did I miss? No one would tell me what’s going on.”
“You missed a car crash interview. The dude had a photograph of Nate’s husband in a compromising position with another man.”
“Nohh!” Benji breathed out. “Wow, sucks!”