62. Silas
62
SILAS
I sleep on the train and for a few more hours after I drag my very well-fucked ass back to my apartment. At six, I get up when my alarm goes off, take a shower, and check my phone to make sure the plans for dinner didn’t change while I was sleeping.
There are three messages from Graham’s second phone.
Graham2
Did you make it back okay?
What time do you think you’ll be done with dinner?
Did you block me again? I can still see your dot. I know you’re home.
Someone’s needy…
Me
I was sleeping. Someone kept me up all night.
Graham2
Weird. Me too. Can I still call you later?
Me
I’ll call you when I leave.
Graham2
If you leave and don’t call me, can I call you?
Stalker.
If someone asked me to explain what I love about Graham, or why I’m still in love with him after everything, I don’t know what the fuck I would tell them. The fact that we worked for as long as we did makes no sense.
Me
Down, boy.
Graham2
Enjoy your evening, Silas.
I grin in spite of myself and put down the phone to finish getting ready.
Now. What to wear to your billionaire boss’s penthouse for dinner with your estranged best friend? It’s vaguely tempting to wear my Eastmoor uniform—it’s technically a suit. I’ve sold most of my nicer suits and both tuxedos, so it’s going to have to be business casual. If they’re both in shorts and t-shirts, I’ll be annoyed.
I settle on a long-sleeved white button-down, loose-fitting khakis, and brown leather loafers with no socks. Just as I’m about to try and decide how I want to get uptown, subway or Lyft, Chris texts me that he’s sending a car.
I roll my eyes and wonder what Drew would think about that. I guess I need to make the rounds with him before I leave the state for good, too. And yes, I’m still planning to leave. Whatever Graham and I are after last night—exes with benefits?—there’s no future there. I’d never ask him to change his life for me. Change that big for a maybe only leads to resentment. It might be harder to leave while I’m on good terms with him, but I’m telling myself it’s better to start a new life having ended the old one on a high note.
We’ll see how that works out.
The “car” is a limousine, and it looks wildly out of place on my street. I recognize the chauffeur as one of the doormen who used to work at the Eastmoor back when Drew did. “Killian, right?”
The shorter, muscular man smiles and shakes my hand. “How are you?”
“Good.” I point at the limo. “So, is this job better, or…?”
He laughs. “Depends on the day and the traffic, but between you and me, working for the boss in a personal capacity pays much better.”
“Can I sit up front with you?” I ask.
“Sure.” He opens the passenger door for me, and we head uptown.
By the time we reach Gramercy, I’ve learned a lot about living in Florida because it’s where Killian is from. I’m most interested in hurricane prep, so that takes up the majority of the ride. I feel much more knowledgeable as we’re getting out of the car, and I wave goodbye.
Though I’ve never seen the man before, the doorman on duty, like we all do, knows exactly who I am and exactly where I’m going. I don’t know how this guy does it, but I always stalk any guests my residents are expecting on social media. It really freaks out-of-towners out, and it’s one of the few simple pleasures of a relatively boring job.
He walks me to the special elevator himself. There’s another elevator next to it that leads to the other “penthouse:” Gibson’s elite sex club. Actually, I don’t know which is which, and this one better only be taking me to a normal apartment.
As it speeds upward, I run a hand through my hair and check my phone again. With no new messages, I open my photo app and look at the pictures of me and Graham from Philly. We both look sex drunk, exhausted, and rosy-cheeked. His warm, sweet smile stands in contrast to my placid expression. I might call it serene, but all I remember feeling in the moment was heartsick. I captured him well, though. His innocence and his raw sexiness. The sunshine to my grump. My sweet, naughty puppy.
The elevator stops, the doors slide open, and I sigh. The only way out of this night is through it.
Christian answers the door, and I’m happy to see he’s wearing jeans and a black polo. I pat his pec. “Looking good.”
He flexes for me and laughs, backing away like he’s ticklish. He’s an absolutely different person than the guy I lived with years ago. There’s a lightness to him now, and it makes me realize just how miserable he must have been back then. His blonde hair is already falling out of whatever style he tried to put it in, and the other thing I notice is the leather band around his neck with what I’m guessing is a diamond at the hollow of his throat.
I almost ask if it’s meant to be a collar, but it’s none of my damn business, and I don’t want to know. “I made margaritas,” he says. “They’re awesome.”
“How many have you had?” I ask.
“Two. On accident. You’ll see. Do you follow the Gay Tejano on Instagram?”
“No.”
“He’s this queer dude from Brownsville, Texas. He’s hilarious but he mostly cooks and throws huge parties. This is his recipe. It’s got beer in it, and it’s magical.”
I’m following him through the huge penthouse as he talks, scanning for Gibson so he doesn’t catch me by surprise. He might be my boss and the man responsible for ruining my life, but we’ve never actually met. He hired me on Chris’s recommendation alone—well, that and his own guilt. The whole process was done via email with one of his assistants.
I saw him at the wedding I went to with Lilah earlier this summer, and a handful of times over the years on the street, but we’ve never looked each other in the eye and shaken hands. I’m not nervous about it, but I’ll feel less awkward after a beer margarita.
Christian looks me over as I take a long drink from the frosted glass he gives me. The alcohol goes down all too easy, and I already know what he means by two on accident.
“I was surprised to hear from you,” he says as I swallow.
“Yeah. I have some news I wanted to give you in person. Nothing bad or anything, but…” I trail off because Gibson Hayes has entered the room.
I figure he’s Jason Momoa sized. Maybe an inch or two shorter, but otherwise—he’s a wall of a man, and judging by the way his clothes fit him, all muscle. He’s in his forties—according to Chris, but I wouldn’t know otherwise. He’s got no gray anywhere, a full head of thick, dark hair, and one of the more handsome faces on earth.
“Hello,” he says carefully, like he didn’t mean to interrupt.
Chris reaches back and urges him forward with a hand on his arm. Gibson slides his hand casually behind Christian to rest on the countertop, not touching his husband, but looming possessively, nonetheless. It’s too smooth by half.
I decide to be the asshole and hold out my hand. “Silas Manning.”
He flinches, jaw tensing before he gives me a handshake. “It’s good to see you,” he says.
I don’t like this. I need him to be less Superman, more Lex Luthor.
“I would have introduced you at the wedding, but you were pretending you didn’t know me,” Christian says.
“I was working that night.” I’m ready to tell all. Might as well. Keep the margaritas coming.
“Working?”
“As an escort. It was my side-hustle until a few weeks ago. The woman I worked for closed up shop in advance of some new laws. It paid well enough to be able to help out my aunt and mom as much as I could while I could, you know?”
Christian stares at me, baffled. “You know damn well I had no idea about that.”
“Well, it’s one of those plausible deniability things, I guess.” I don’t even know what I’m saying. My eyes keep darting to Gibson who has a thoughtful look on his face.
“How long were you doing it?”
“Years. I did it for years.”
“With women ?”
“No, no… that was a special circumstance. I can’t discuss it. Confidentiality. Anyway, I’m moving to Florida in a few weeks.”
“Wait—what?”
“Yeah, like I said—I lost that job, and even full-time at The Eastmoor I can’t afford it here, so yeah. My aunt lives in a retirement community down there, and I’d like to be closer to her.”
“I feel like I missed a lot,” Chris says. “Let’s sit. Somewhere.”
“Terrace?” Gibson suggests.
Chris looks confused. “Yeah.” He picks up the margarita pitcher and his glass.
“Should I leave you to it?” his husband asks.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ve got no secrets from you, do I?” There. I managed to get in one good solid dig. Now, hopefully, I’ll stop.
Gibson draws in a deep breath and takes the pitcher from Christian, pouring himself a full glass. “Terrace is just through here.”
Chris pinches the back of my arm, and I glare at him. “Ouch. ”
“Don’t be a dick,” he says once his husband is out of the room.
“I’m done. Promise.”
“He’s not like how you think he is.”
“What’s he like?”
“If you’re lucky and stop acting like a brat, maybe he’ll show you.”
“You understand where I’m coming from, right?” I ask sincerely. Because if he doesn’t, then my news is delivered, and I can skip dinner.
“Of course. Yes. Look, he’s very nervous, but he wanted to do this. He doesn’t expect you to forgive him, but he’s planning to apologize. You don’t have to accept it.”
“And if I don’t want to talk about it?”
“Silas…come on . Everybody deserves a second chance.”
I stare at him, his clear blue eyes pleading.
When I don’t say anything for a minute, he adds, “Okay, maybe not everybody, but he does. He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”
“I get it. You love the guy. I loved a guy once, too.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, sounding mildly desperate.
“No,” I tell him. “Let’s go drink. I’ll play nice.”
“Go ahead without me,” he says. “I’m gonna bring out some food.”
“Nice trick, friend.”
He shrugs and turns back to the kitchen. Following the windows, I figure out where the terrace is, spot Gibson, and choose a seat from the outdoor furniture arrangement, which consists of two couches and two chairs. He’s on a couch. I take a chair. “Nice penthouse,” I say flatly.
“Thank you.”
A very Manhattan silence settles. Quieter up in this part of town, but not noiseless by any means.
“I really regret it,” he says after a minute .
I don’t speak.
“I knew I would, and while it was happening, I knew it was worse than I thought, and afterwards I haven’t gone a day without wishing I’d just said no. And then when I saw what happened to you?—”
“Don’t.” I say softly. “I don’t want to rehash it.”
“Me neither, really. I just wanted you to know that it didn’t occur to me—not once until I was sitting across from him—that what you two had was anything more than a sex thing.”
“A sex thing?”
“Sure. All I had at that point in my life were sex things. He was married. I assumed he was cheating. I didn’t know it was?—”
“Love?” I finish for him.
“Yeah.”
“And now that you do?”
“Now? Now that I have him ?” He gestures in Christian’s general direction. “Now that I can understand what losing someone I love would do to me? I’ll put it this way—I don’t know of very many ways to deal with problems money can’t fix. It’s one of those things I’ve had to learn to live with because I can’t change it.”
“So you’re sorry,” I say.
“Beyond that. If there were anything I could do—if there’s ever anything I can do, please know I’ll do it.”
I sigh. “Just keep an eye on the Lawthers,” I say. “Can’t have a bunch of rich Catholics with a questionable agenda running the city.”
“Speaking of this law you mentioned.”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me more.”
It as good a time as any to change the subject. Christian arrives, senses the calm, and sets down a tray of food.
I grab a pretzel, sit back, and talk politics until I’m so drunk I start talking about Graham.
“I think I can speak for both of us when I say I had no idea the two of you were so…” Christian hesitates. We’re still on the terrace, and the moon is full overhead, heavy with light, despite the city trying to outshine it.
In love? I want to finish for him, but don’t because I don’t say things like that to Christian. He might be a former cuddle partner and close friend, but we both had secrets we kept, and even as drunk as I am, I’m not trying to cry tonight or be sappy about the situation with Graham. It’s ending—it’s been over. “Yeah,” I say, letting the sentence remain unfinished.
“Past tense doesn’t feel accurate,” Gibson says, not letting it go.
The guy isn’t so bad. He’s guarded, but he’s got huge stars in his eyes when it comes to Chris. Jealous doesn’t even begin to describe it, but alcohol dulls my bitterness. I’m entirely self-focused at the moment.
“I just mean it surprises me that his family is that important to him,” Chris says.
“That’s the thing about generational wealth,” Gibson says. “I swear I’ve seen this a million times. Like the arranged marriages—look at Ollie and Elodie’s for example. It probably would have happened to Marianne, too, if I hadn’t impressed her parents.”
Christian doesn’t even wince at the woman’s name, but I do. “At least Ollie has a spine.”
“Olivier was a spoiled, only child, prone to acting out. Graham’s an eldest son with a different set of expectations and a very different kind of family. I wouldn’t call him spineless. He had a lot to lose and probably no clue how to navigate a scandal like that on his own.”
And just like that, I hate Gibson even less. Because while he’s alluding to the blackmail situation, I can already tell he’s not going to get into it. From his one meeting with Graham, Gibson also seems to have gotten a great read on my ex. I’ve pictured what that lunch must have been like a million times—Gibson, the villain, threatening a bewildered senator with his closest kept secret. Graham, panicking and defensive.
But Christian’s immediate concern afterwards over tapas should have been a huge hint that Gibson left the meeting genuinely worried about Graham’s welfare, and the regrets he’s expressed tonight are sincere. He’d cornered Graham, and he sensed his fear. By now, I understand that wasn’t the way he prefers to use his influence.
“Since you’ve been seeing each other again, what do you think is gonna happen between you now?” Chris asks.
“I think I’m gonna move to Florida, and he’ll miss me for a while and then find a way to keep himself busy.”
“You think you’ll be able to do the same thing?”
“Sure,” I say boldly. “Why not?”
“Because you’re fucking him like nothing ever happened.”
I glare at him. “Did I mention how good the sex is?”
Gibson snorts.
I think I’ve probably mentioned it a lot. I’ve been uncharacteristically talkative tonight.
“You’re still in love with him,” Chris says, like the wet blanket he is.
“Yeah, well, sucks for me.”
“Sounds like he still loves you, too.”
“Do you have a point?” I ask.
Chris’s mouth hovers over the rim of his drink. “It just sounds like you want to be together. Both of you.”
I shrug. “I don’t know what he wants. I don’t think he does either.”
“So you’re not ruling out the possibility of working it out?”
“I’m not optimistic,” I say. “And as for what we’re doing right now, it’s more like…closure. ”
“Closure? It sounds more like pouring salt in a wound.”
Okay, maybe it is a little more like that, but the sex… “Forgive me for wanting to live in the moment.”
“Is that what you call it?”
It’s what it is. I’m not deluding myself about that, at least.
“Because it’s not what it sounds like,” Chris adds.
“Well, I’m not you, and he’s not a U.S. senator.” I gesture at Gibson. “I didn’t get into this with any expectations, not even at the beginning. What happened, happened. It sucked, and it can’t be undone. I’m not trying to wait around for three years for a maybe. I can’t do that. And I don’t think he knows he’s capable of living without his safety net.”
“Do you think he is?”
“Of course he is,” I say, exasperated.
“Maybe he just needs someone to believe in him,” Gibson says.
Christian slides his hand into his husband’s and gets a firm squeeze in return. I look at them, a little stunned when the words manage to puncture my thick, drunken haze and sting my heart. Because it’s not like I don’t believe in Graham. I believed in him too much, and he broke that trust. “It’s up to him,” I say, “I can’t say no to him, so…”
“You need to be able to say no to him.” Chris says. “As much as I believe in second chances, you deserve someone who’s going to put you first.”
“I don’t know about deserving it,” I say, “but yeah. That’s definitely new criteria for anyone I decide to take a chance on in the future.”
“Good. Out of all the problems I had with you seeing him in the first place—beyond his shitty politics—it was the idea of you being his guy on the side.”
“It was never?—”
Christian holds up a hand. “Yeah, I get that now, but good partners prioritize each other. They become each other’s family. I mean, maybe that’s not what you want, but it’s what I would want for you. Because it’s great to have.”
Gibson’s smirk is more charming than it is smug.
“You two make it look good,” I concede. “I should leave you to it.”
“I wasn’t trying to run you off.”
I stand, mildly shaken by the turn the conversation has taken. “It’s late. I appreciate the drinks and dinner.” I gesture widely at the terrace. “If I don’t catch you again before I leave, stop by the next time you’re in Florida.”
They rise to join me. Chris gives me a hug, and Gibson shakes my hand. “I assume this is your notice?”
I laugh. “Right. Yeah. I guess it is. But don’t take me off the schedule yet, I’ve still got a couple weeks.”
“Of course,” he says. “And don’t be surprised if your final paycheck is a little higher than usual. I’ve made some salary adjustments.”
I begin to call bullshit or object, but don’t. He owes me. “Great,” I say instead.
“I’ll walk you out.” Chris puts an arm over my shoulders and leads me inside, just the two of us. In the foyer, he turns to me. “I wish you weren’t leaving.”
I nod, knowing that I’ll be homesick for New York in the not so distant future. “I’ll miss the pizza.”
“I can always have one delivered if you give me a few hours’ notice.”
That makes me laugh.
He hugs me again, holding me longer this time and sighing. “I hate it, but you’re being smart. Not at the moment, obviously, but by getting away from here.”
I nod, my chin digging into his shoulder. “Thanks,” I say.
“This isn’t goodbye.”
“If you say so. ”
He pinches my arm before letting me go. “Asshole. I’d say don’t be a stranger, but…”
I laugh, and after a few more stupid exchanges, he sees me onto the elevator. Killian deposits me at my apartment, and the moment I step inside, Graham calls like he was waiting for the dot representing me on his app to settle.