He was shocked beyond speech when one of the back windows rolled down and none other than Mr. Desmond White leaned forward, face a surprising mask of sympathy, to cautiously ask, “Could I give you a lift somewhere?”
two
. . .
Rage. That was the main emotion Desmond felt as the unfortunate, and astoundingly attractive, singing Cupid delivered his Valentine’s Day “gift” from Matthew. Pure, undiluted rage.
Well, not entirely undiluted. Because underneath the rage was a tiny grain of fear. That fear had given all of Desmond’s other emotions just enough bite to make him furious and headstrong.
“I have given you more than enough leeway to mend your ways,” he lectured Alan as he walked the man out of his office and supervised him packing his things. “I discussed my separation from Mr. Evers with you in more detail than I should have, but all with the intent of impressing upon you how thoroughly and justifiably over that relationship is.”
“Yes, Mr. White,” Alan said, cowering as he packed all of the silly trinkets from his desk into the cardboard box Desmond had handed him.
“This sort of behavior is intolerable,” Desmond went on. “I trust that you will never repeat it, in whatever new position you find for yourself.”
“No, Mr. White,” Alan said, straightening once his box was packed. “I just thought it would be romantic for you and Matthew, I mean, Mr. Evers, to get back together.”
Desmond narrowed his eyes at the man. “Are you still in contact with Mr. Evers?” he asked. “Afterhe was dismissed from this company under litigious circumstances and instructed never to set foot on the premises or interact with any of Pickering Jones’ employees again?”
Alan gulped. “Y-yes, sir,” he admitted sheepishly.
Desmond stood taller and glared at the man. “So you understand why you’re being dismissed, then?”
Alan sighed and lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
As he’d promised, Joe from security arrived to escort Alan out of the building. Desmond was too angry with the man and too irritated with the situation to say much more, only that HR would be in touch to complete his termination paperwork. He walked back into his office as Alan was escorted away, tempted to slam the door behind him.
He did not slam the door. Instead, he leaned back against it and rubbed his face with both hands. Breaking up with Matthew had been a nightmare and a minefield. It had been absolutely necessary. The relationship had turned utterly abusive more than a year ago, even before the Angus interlude. He’d been a fool not to cut things off the first time Matthew shouted at him, then stolen his bank card and withdrawn the maximum daily amount. He’d been weak to take the man back out of pity.
And then because of the things he knew. Namely, the Angus interlude.
What had been truly unforgiveable was that he’d gone through that same dance of abuse, betrayal, forgiveness, and abuse again over half a dozen times before finally growing the spine he needed to end things. All because of his ridiculous,embarrassingly cliché worry that if he ditched Matthew, no one would ever want him again.
And now Matthew was resorting to ridiculous stunts in an attempt to win him back.
Today, it was a singing Cupid.
Tomorrow it might be blackmail.
That’s where fear cut through Desmond’s fury. You didn’t spend years with someone without them discovering some of the skeletons in your closet. Or without throwing a few additional skeletons in with the others.
He shook his head and pushed away from the door. He needed to get out of the office. He needed to go home, or even better, out to the country, where he could attempt to hide from the inevitable.
He just needed a few seconds of peace.
He grabbed his phone and rucksack from his desk, slipped into his coat, and by the time he made it downstairs, he’d called his office manager to let her know the situation with Alan and that he would be gone for the rest of the day, and had his driver waiting with the limo already warmed up in the underground carpark.
“Home, sir?” Hassan asked as he held the door.
“Yes, please, Hassan,” Desmond sighed as he sank into the car. “But take the long way. I need a few minutes to breathe.”
“Understood, sir.”
Hassan sent him a sympathetic smile as he shut the door, then climbed back into the driver’s seat. If there was anyone in the entire world Desmond could trust, it was Hassan. Not only had his driver been there with him through the entire Matthew debacle, he knew more about Desmond than anyone. Des had offered him a desk job, an impressive one at that, but Hassan had insisted his dream was cars, not desks, and he was happy where he was.
“Tough day?” Hassan asked as he maneuvered the long car out of the parking garage and up to the dreary, London light.
