Every time I work at an event with crisp white linen tablecloths, I think of that lonely kid freezing out in the cold.
A hidden past that could stain my reputation.
A past that’s best left behind locked doors.
I’ll carry that name with me to the grave.
It was years ago, it doesn't matter anymore.
I shove the thought from my mind.
All that matters now is making sure this night goes as smoothly as it can.
Especially for him.
Fuck, that man makes me weak at the knees.
Warm between my thighs.
Willing to cross the line.
Professional ethics be damned.
I need boy advice from someone who won’t judge.
???
Hooking my fingers into the sleeve of his jacket, I tug Porter toward the door before he has time to protest.
“Come here a second,” I grin.
“This better be good,” he huffs. “I have so much to do.”
He’s no stranger to late night requests for advice or favours.
But I’ve talked him through many boy dramas.
And girl dramas.
He owes me one.
I hold the strip of green silk between my fingers.
He’s not amused.
“You dragged me out here for wardrobe advice?”
I feel like a dumb teenager passing notes in class.
“Amos told me that if I want him to kiss me, I should wear this.”
Porter can’t help but laugh.
Turning the tie slowly in my hands, I already know what I want.
“Dude. He’s your client.”
“I know… I know. But damn, I can't help it. He keeps looking over at me.”
