Desmond jerked to stare at him again. “Yes, of course,” he said, then immediately doubted whether that was true. “You don’t understand. Angus is a competitor.”
Javier’s face twitched, like he was trying to put the pieces together but couldn’t quite work it out. “So, sleeping with the enemy?”
“You don’t understand,” Desmond repeated with more intensity, backing off a bit and pushing a hand through his hair. Or, at least, he would have if Javier hadn’t styled it with so much product earlier. “There were other things about that whole…tryst, too. Things that were—” Were what? How did he explain it? Most people didn’t understand the ins and outs of the financial world. Insider trading meant nothing to the vast majority of people, but it was punishable by fines or jail time in the worst of cases.
In a wicked twist of irony, someone turned on the mic at the front of the ballroom before Desmond could even begin to explain and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to take your seats, we can begin tonight’s program.”
It was the out Desmond needed, but he didn’t feel good about taking it.
“We should sit down,” he said, marching away from Javier with the pain of his failure wrapped so tightly around him that he felt like it might trip him.
“Desmond,” Javier called after him, striding to catch up. “Des, honey, what’s going on?”
Desmond didn’t have time to answer. He wasn’t sure what he would have said even if he did. He just wanted to get the nightmare of an awards ceremony over with so he could go back to the shambles of his life the way it had been before Javier had stumbled his way into it with glitter and a song. Because there was no way that he could, in good conscience, keep the full truth from Javier now.
fifteen
. . .
Javier was at a complete loss as he followed Desmond, winding through the tables that had been set up and dodging the catering staff as they brought out everyone’s salad.
“Desmond?” he whispered when they finally found their table and sat.
“Not now,” Desmond whispered back, barely meeting his eyes for half a second before turning to the grey-haired woman seated on his other side to glumly introduce himself.
Javier’s jaw was slack in shock as he sank gracelessly into his chair and stared at the pile of greens on the plate in front of him. He had no idea what had just happened. One minute, he and Des had been having a grand old time dressing for the event and flirting as they did, and the next, as soon as they’d arrived at the hotel, it was like someone had flipped a switch and the warm, funny, tender Desmond he knew had vanished.
“Are you Desmond’s date?” the stocky man in an expensive suit seated on Javier’s other side asked with a polite smile.
“I am.” Javier put on his most elegant smile and offered the man a hand. “Javier Rivera.”
“Harry Pickering,” the man introduced himself, shaking Javier’s hand. “Senior partner at Pickering Jones.”
Javier tried to make his smile friendlier. The man was Desmond’s boss. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, hoping he could make a good impression and reflect well on Desmond.
He would have done just about anything to reflect well on Desmond right then, and to make him happy. He felt like he was utterly failing at the last bit.
Because even though he refused to talk about it, there was something decidedly wrong with Desmond. Javier made small talk with his boss, but behind his feigned interest in the stock market and the nods he managed to throw in at appropriate times, most of his attention was on his boyfriend.
Desmond barely picked at his salad. When the main course was brought out, he pushed a few things around the plate and took a bite or two, but that was it. Des didn’t talk to the matron on his other side, and his posture was so rigid that Javier was certain he’d break something. He was like a powder keg about to blow.
Even worse than his worry, a seeping sort of guilt worked its way through Javier. Desmond wasn’t behaving like someone who had only just decided to turn squirrely. The more Javier thought about it as he sawed through overcooked chicken and nodded at the conversation he’d been drawn into, the more he shuffled back through the last few weekends and the sometimes odd looks Desmond had given him.
When had their boyfriend fantasy turned into something more real than the trials and tribulations he dealt with during the week? It wasn’t just him, he was sure of it. Their entire conversation at Kew Gardens came back in stark relief as Javier tried to sort through the things he was feeling now. He’d been so desperate to keep his failures from infecting their fun and making Desmond think less of him, but now Javier was startingto see that Desmond had very likely been doing the same with him.
They were both struggling, both hiding things, and probably both bending over backwards not to lay their troubles on each other.
It couldn’t go on. Whatever else happened, they’d already popped the bubble. The only thing to do now was to forge ahead and deal with it.
“Excuse me, Mr. White?” a young woman in a sleek, grey suit came up to the table and leaned down to speak quietly to Desmond. “We’re about ready to begin the presentations. Would you mind coming backstage so we can prep you on how to use the microphone?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Desmond said, rising and pushing back his chair quickly. He then fled the table, following the woman, like someone had dropped a bucket of mud from Kew Gardens on the centerpiece.
Javier excused himself to the man who was trying to talk to him and leapt after him. He managed to catch up to Desmond at the front corner of the room.
“Desmond,” he said, grabbing Desmond’s arm lightly.
As soon as Des turned back to him, he didn’t know what to say. Or really, he had so many things he wanted to say and so many questions to ask that he didn’t know where to begin, and he didn’t want to say everything with over a hundred people potentially watching them.
