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“Get another hour or two of beauty sleep, babe.”
He’s back to his snores before I enter the bathroom, and I stare at the vision in my bed. And I love this. Everything about this weekend where we walked in Central Park, bundled up with our hats and gloves. Or the movie we went to, giving us time to recover from all the sex we had in almost every part of my apartment. We hit a few of my favorite dives in the city and ate in Chinatown. We were together, and though we didn’t hold hands in public, behind closed doors, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.
The shower is quick, and I return to the bedroom to change into my suit for the day. Xan isn’t under the covers anymore. Making quick work of brushing my teeth, I find him down the stairs, brewing coffee for me.
“Look at you, baby, forever the dutiful boyfriend.” But if Xan is anything like me, he loves doing stuff for me, as I love doing the same for him.
“You know it, babe.” He has it already poured in a stainless steel to-go cup, with just a touch of cream, the way I love it.
“Are you going back to bed?”
“Nah, I most likely will do a little work here. I’m meeting Nicolas at ten, then I have to go over the week’s schedule with Nina.”
I know he’s nervous about meeting a stranger who shares his DNA but he doesn’t show it.
“The offer still stands. I’ll be there with you if you’d like.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I appreciate it though. I’d like to have him over for supper soon, but…”
He doesn’t want to put too much pressure on me. “I’d love that,” I say, though I’m not ready to announce it to the world yet.
“I’ll feel him out, make sure he’s trustworthy.” I’m quiet and I wish I could say balls to the walls and be like Xan, and not care about the ramifications. “Clark, it’s on your timing, baby. Please know I’m not pushing you.”
I’ve never felt that Xan is pushing me, it’s the exact opposite.
“I know, baby. But yes, of course, I want to meet your brother.”
Calling this stranger his brother is weird, but as I catch a flash of fear in his eyes, Xan feels the same way.
Pulling on my winter coat because March in New York is still harsh, I drop a kiss on his forehead, and it’s perfect, leaving for work while he’s in my space. And with it all, I want him with me always.
28
XANDER
Elaine is the executive secretary for the New York office. After a long conversation this morning, I realize my father treated her the same way, as he had with Nina. On the weeks he’s not here, she sits and does absolutely nothing. She’d been honest that she’d been warding off his advances for months, and she feared she’d lose her job the next time he was in New York. As I did with Nina, I raised her salary, giving her a bonus, and assured her that our sexual harassment code of conduct would change. If I found anyone was complicit in my father’s extracurricular activity, I’d fire them on the spot. It prompted another hands-on meeting with the executive level both in New York and Minneapolis. She left my office, confident about her future with Lynol Inc and with actual work, coordinating the first round of meetings as I had conducted in Minneapolis.
I shoot off an email to the head of HR, in both offices, demanding a meeting here in New York. The HR executive in Minnesota replied, telling me he couldn’t clear his calendar, and after I replied with “If you value your job, you will be on the first flight to New York Wednesday,” he accepted the invite. I barely have a chance to breathe when I look at the clock and it’s nine fifty-seven.
“Sir,” Elaine buzzes through the intercom, “Mr. Starling is here for your ten o’clock meeting.”
“Send him in, and thanks, Elaine.” I push from my chair and button my suit jacket, and I find my palms are clammy. I’m nervous. I knew I would be but as my hands begin to tremble, I place them in my trouser pockets and lean up against the front of my new desk. I had them change it out last week before my arrival.
In walks the spitting image of my father, from the crooked Lynol nose I avoided, and the curly dirty blond shag of hair that my father wore under his ears. He’s dressed in a decent suit, something that makes him look sharp. His eyes are the same steel blue as mine, and it’s apparent we both inherited the color from our asshole father.
“Hello,” I say. And what do you say to a man who you share a parent with but is actually a stranger? The longer I stare at him, the more I recognize the man. He was the one person I couldn’t account for at the funeral and never had a chance to ask the gate guard his name. Someone would have had to put him on the list.
“Hello,” he returns, and where I wonder if I visibly look nervous, he’s as cool as a cucumber.
“I assume you know why I wanted to speak with you today?” I ask.
“Yes.” He’s matter-of-fact in his answer, precise, and holds no emotion in his voice.
“I remember you from the funeral. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get through? It was closed to the public.”
He clears his throat. “I got a call from the head of security, telling me I was cleared for the service. I didn’t want to make a scene and I assumed you hadn’t found out about my lineage at the time. I flew home after the funeral. Your family lawyer reached out to me after the reading, to let me know what our father had left me.”
His tone is almost cold, as if twenty percent of the company isn’t enough for him. It’s millions of dollars. And where I understand I’ve obtained controlling power, I’m not the one who wrote the bastard’s will.
