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“You do have a point. But if you want an introduction, I’m sure Marco would be happy to meet you.” Robin waggled his eyebrows. “He would love to claim he’d had the now out and proud Dorian Marsten.”
Dorian snorted. “No thanks. I’d rather not be stalked as prey, and also I’ve moved past the one-night stand phase. If I wanted no-strings sex I’d have stayed in the closet.”
For a while Dorian had bounced from one pretty blond man to another. Anonymous hook-ups had been the order of the day and it hadn’t been the healthiest way for Dorian to get over Robin. It had seemed to have run out of steam the last couple of months or so.
“Tonight is just full of good news,” Ben said raising his glass. “Dorian is finally out and has stopped banging all and sundry—which, take it from me, I know is fun at the time but ultimately soul-destroying—and Robin’s confirmed what we already knew, that he’s not a skanky bastard.”
Robin and Dorian both spluttered and started to argue, but Ben raised his hand to stop them. “I mean it in the nicest way. You’ve always been two of my favourite people, but you’ve given me a fair few sleepless nights over the years, and not in a good way.”
“From memory, we’ve given you a few sleepless nights in the good way too,” Dorian said, grinning.
Robin laughed and slapped his thigh.
“My point being, gentlemen, that we’re all older and wiser. That’s not to say there won’t be fuck ups in the future, but I do hope there’ll be a lot less of them.”
Dorian clinked glasses with him. “It’s easy for you to say, you’ve got Ashley, Robin’s got Simon, and I’m still on my own. I can’t help but think I might have been better having a boyfriend when I came out.”
Robin tutted. “You had that option with me, you great arse. Although I’m pretty relieved you didn’t, as Simon’s much better for me than you were.”
“Cheers for that.”
These were the sort of barbs Ben had been concerned about, and was why he’d agreed with Ashley that it was best for all involved he’d be here to play referee. Their friendship was still in a non-sexual infancy and could be easily destroyed with a wrong word or misstep.
“I’m not trying to be an arsehole,” Robin said with a huff. “It would have been hard to do what I want with Flint Industries with a movie star as a partner. This assignment is bad enough, and I don’t think I’d want any extended time away from Simon again. But if we’d stayed together, Dorian, you’d have constantly been off shooting somewhere and I couldn’t have followed. We’d have ended up splitting up—you must see that?”
Dorian shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. And I’ve decided to change direction a bit in terms of the sort of projects I want to do. I’m not rushing into anything, but I fancy doing a bit of theatre.”
“That makes more sense as to why you’re in New York then,” Robin said.
“I’m thinking London, to be honest. Not sure I’m up for Broadway.” He grinned. “At the moment at least.”
Robin threw his arm around Dorian’s shoulders. “That would be brilliant. You could branch out, ditch the rom-com leading man image and really do whatever you wanted.”
“I was even dabbling with the idea of retiring the Marsten stage name. Use Forbes—feels right. More authentic—especially now.”
Ben hugged the great lump. “Oh, Dorian, I’m so proud of you.”
The three of them ended up in a tangle of arms and legs, falling off the sofa into a heap. Ben managed to extract himself first, laughing, and Dorian swotted his arse as he did so. “As handsy as ever I see.”
Robin clambered over Dorian and back onto the sofa. “This calls for shots. Tequila and champagne.”
Dorian groaned and sat up. “You and your fucking Slammer Royales.”
He knew he would regret it in the morning, although his hangover was going to be a killer, it would be worth it. When Dorian and Robin had split, Ben had worried how he would be able to share his time with two of his best friends, thankfully he could now see a future where he wouldn’t have to step on eggshells or divide events they could be invited to. He relaxed, and let himself enjoy the night.
CHAPTER7
Some of Alex’s previous bosses had owned houses as big as Crofton Hall, not that they’d spent much time in them. No, they were too busy flying all over the world working, and neglecting their families. One of the reasons Alex had been so keen to accept the job with Ben, who had insisted he call him by his first name, was his lack of reasons to be away from his home. While he might be away at the moment, it appeared to be a rarity, and there had been assurances that, even if he’d already been working at the hall for a while, Alex would have not been expected to travel.
Technically he’d already started his job, having come in to spend the afternoon with Ben and organise his flights, and being given a rundown of Ben’s upcoming schedule. He’d got the feeling Ben might not have a full handle on everything he was supposed to be doing and Karl had offered to help sort through the stacks of unanswered letters, but Alex was certain the main issues would be lurking amidst the thousands of unread emails.
He parked up at the small staff carpark at the back of the property. Crofton Hall was a lovely red brick manor house, the sort of thing that turned up on BBC period dramas and, come to think of it, he was sure he read that a new production ofMansfield Parkhad been filmed here.
His little car was full and it was going to take several trips to shift his belongings once he’d found his rooms, so Alex thought he’d best go find Karl. He needn’t have worried as Karl headed towards him dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit. “Alex, let me show you your new rooms. I’ll have Val come and help you unload, I’d help myself but I’m on wedding duty. I’ve about twenty minutes until I need to get back.”
“Val?” He didn’t recognise the name from the lists he’d been given.
“One of the gardeners and my partner. I’ll text him so he can come over.”
