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My confusion must be written all over my face because he elaborates, “You…You’re a gentleman. The way you handled that woman in the elevator the other day who was crying… You’re discreet. Your workers love you.”
The number of personal things about Cameron Fairway that I know, aside from who his family is, is one. One huge fucking thing that I shouldn’t know. Why has he done homework on me?
“I’m not sure I’m understanding the point of these unsolicited compliments.”
Groaning, he sets his cup down on my desk and drops his face into his hands. “God, I’m fucking this up,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even explain yet…” Glancing back up at me, his expression is bleak, but then he sucks in a breath and squares his shoulders. “I… I think you’re very attractive, and I can tell by the way you carry yourself that you’d be…that you’re the kind of man I’d like to…”
The only thing I despise nearly as much as snot is when people can’t finish a sentence. If you don’t know what you’re going to say, then don’t speak. Inclining my head, I let him know I’m waiting for him to clarify what attractiveness has to do with anything.
“To explore my first…anything…with another man.”
He…
Did he just say…
“And I understand if you’d say no,” he blurts, holding out his hand. “It probably sounds like I’m prostituting you the way I just spit that all out.” Gripping his hair at the apex of his forehead, he swears under his breath. “Fuck. I’m nervous.” I gape, watching him shake his hands like he’s trying to wake them up. “I just…the opportunity never presented itself before, and now I’m twenty-five. I mean, how does that even happen? How can I be twenty-five and have never—”
He doesn’t finish again, but I’m grateful at this point. By all that’s holy, where is this tell-all coming from?
“I don’t want to go to a bar,” he adds with a sad finality. “I need a nice man who knows how to…how to…”
“Be discreet?” I remind him, although there’s ironically nothing discreet about the setting of his surprising proposal.
“Yeah and has more experience than me. You’re quite a bit older, so I figured—"
“Thirty-five,” I clarify, so he’ll know ‘quite a bit’ was a poor choice of words for our ten-year difference.
Except, instead of sounding abashed, he smiles and gestures to me like I agreed with him. “Yeah, exactly.”
I wait for more inaccurate assessments about myself, but his mouth has finally stopped moving. His shoulders lower on an exhale as he sits back in the chair, signaling the end of his speech.
Holy. Shit.
What just happened?
I feel like I’m in an alternate universe. One, apparently, where I’m a ‘very attractive, experienced, old gay man’. Nothing could be further from the truth. Now I know why they didn’t put him in charge of anything. Can you say non-perceptive?
And since when am I nice? My family is always pointing out how grumpy I am. As for experienced, that might blow me away more than the shock of him thinking I’m gay. Not only does he think I’m gay, but I’m an ‘experienced’ gay man? Is there another Pete Carver who works here that I don’t know about?
His gaze darts between me and my succulent pot as he fidgets. He should be nervous. Matthew and Sue are sneaking peeks through the glass from their cubicles. I know they can’t hear us, but I can only imagine John Fairway’s reaction to hearing his son hit on one of his staff. We are lesser life forms who don’t meet the social standards of the Fairways, and therefore not good enough to date them.
If Cameron is gay, why would he search for companionship here, of all places? His father doesn’t seem like the type of person who embraces acceptance. I’ve heard him make offensive slurs plenty of times. None of this makes any sense. How do I even respond?
Glancing at my computer screen, I pretend to stare at my inbox to give myself a minute to process. I need to figure out how to disappoint this delusional kid gently, so this doesn’t bite me in the ass.
Is that an email from Preston?
Hey Pete
Randy said your supposed to drop off your marketing plans id like them before the end of the day.
Thanks
Preston Rodgers
His typos and lack of punctuation are added fuel to the fire that Randy kindled. I’m being ordered to violate the non-disclosure agreement by the damn president of operations the same day his baby brother propositions me. I almost want to quit to go pick apples.
Fuck my life—it’s speaking again.
