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The frustration is mounting. I have too much on my mind with the Jersey boy making his way here in a few hours. I need this settled between Trevor and I. Things between us have to be okay, and I need to see to that as soon as possible.
It’s one o’clock when Trevor takes his lunch. And it’s exactly at that same time that I intercept him at the door to the break room. “Trevor.”
He looks up at me, his eyes unreadable. “Mr. Gage.”
“I need you in my office to go over numbers you submitted yesterday,” I tell him. “I … found a discrepancy.”
Trevor’s eyes narrow.
“A discrepancy with my numbers,” I am quick to clarify. “Your work was flawless. I need to see where my numbers went wrong compared to … compared to yours.”
Really, this silly tap dance could be avoided by not speaking in annoying office metaphors. There’s a discrepancy in my feelings, I’d rather say, and I’m desperate to know where I’ve gone wrong and how I can repair this.
The next thing I know, Rebekah appears at my side—and with Brady, no less. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Gage,” she chirps excitedly, then turns toward Trevor. “Didn’t you clock out for your break?”
“He did,” I answer on his behalf. “I am taking him to my office to look over some numbers. Shouldn’t take long.”
It isn’t lost on me that Brady is eyeing us suspiciously.
“Oh, alright,” Rebekah returns. “Brady got a call from Melena wanting to thank you for recently handling a situation, but you weren’t in your office, so—”
“Brady, tell her I will return her call tomorrow,” I tell him.
A glint of self-satisfaction twinkles in his eyes before he gives me a curt smile, nods, and says, “You got it, boss,” then turns and heads back to the front desk. Rebekah gives Trevor and I both a bright smile before also heading off to do whatever it is she was busy doing.
And what are we doing? Trevor stares at me, and I stare right back, a hundred questions sitting in my stomach.
“Shall we?” I offer, gesturing toward my office.
Trevor clenches shut his eyes, then pops them open and gives me a short nod. He passes by me and heads toward my office. I pick up the sweet scent of his cologne, invading my nostrils and reminding me who this beautiful boy is who’s got his claws sunk so deeply into me that I can feel them every time I move a muscle.
And following him into the office proves that I still can’t pry my eyes away from the shape of his slender body in those tight pants of his, that fitted pink dress shirt, and that sexy black tie. Behave, I warn myself. Discretion is key, and if you have any chance of making this right with him, you’ve got to be smarter than your dick.
I close the office door behind us, flick on the lights, then tap the button under my desk, causing the blinds to snap shut.
“What are we doing?” asks Trevor despondently.
I lean against the front of my desk and face him, arms folded. “We’re going over numbers,” I answer.
Trevor narrows his eyes. “What are we really doing?”
My gaze drifts to his chest. “I … owe you an apology, Trevor.”
He studies me for a while, his face blank as a stone. “For what, exactly? And be specific,” he adds, folding his arms to match my own. “I want to know exactly what you’re sorry for.”
Trevor’s sassy little attitude is coming back. I experience an inner grin of satisfaction. We’re getting somewhere …
“I’m sorry for seeming like my image was my main priority.”
He purses his lips, listening.
“And,” I go on, “I’m sorry that your weekend was ruined by a greedy goblin with a camera whose identity we may never know. You don’t deserve to be spun into an article and spread across the internet.”
Trevor closes his eyes, then shakes his head. “This is stupid.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What?”
Trevor takes a breath and drops his arms to his sides, looking me in the eye. “You aren’t the one who owes me an apology. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I overreacted. My roommate thinks I’m banging my boss.”
“Well, you kinda are.”
“Shush. And he hates me for it. I’ve never lied to him, Ben, not ever, not about anything. And now it’s all I do anymore. Lies, lies, lies. I lie every day I come into this building. I lie whenever I talk to my parents on the phone about how my job is going or whether I’m still single. I lie to myself, most of all, insisting that I’m okay with our secrecy when really … I’m not.”
He closes the space between us, his eyes hardened and shiny with emotion. His plump pink lips are parted as he stares into my eyes, searching for something.
