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~ Gage ~
Seated at the table in one of the conference rooms, I downed the last cold dregs of my coffee and sighed.
He was late.
It didn’t surprise me. Frankly, I would have been astounded if he had been on time. As the clock ticked closer to the hour mark, however, I began to lose my sense of humor about the situation. Even reminding myself that I was getting paid whether he decided to show up or not didn’t help.
For the past three years, I had built a reputation for working with some of the most difficult clients to walk through the doors of +One. Nearly all of them had come to the agency in critical need of rebranding—usually accompanied by a PR representative.
Musicians, professional athletes, influencers, and a wide range of other public figures had graced the halls of the office. Some only needed to soften their image. Others needed a complete overhaul. To that, I had played a range of different roles.
The boyfriend. The best friend. The mentor. The savior.
Despite the differences in their ages and backgrounds, every single client I took on had one thing in common. None of them wanted to be there.
I didn’t anticipate that Nathan Fairfax would be any different. In fact, with his mommy footing the bill, I expected him to be an even bigger challenge. No matter how difficult a client was, though, I had never walked away from a job, and I didn’t plan to start now.
I glanced at the time on the lock screen of my cell phone. He was officially an hour late.
Nathan Fairfax was the youngest child and only son of Senator Esther Fairfax. With her bid for re-election to the United States Senate in full swing, it seemed Nathan’s extracurricular activities had put something of a snag in her campaign efforts.
Parties, fights, and public intoxication were some of the more minor offenses on his roster. At just twenty-two, he’d already done two stints in rehabs. Add the endless parade of men and women tied to him, and it didn’t exactly align with the platform the senator had built on “family values.”
That was where I came in.
Of course, I only played a small part, and I damn sure didn’t babysit. Keeping the kid out of trouble fell on someone else’s shoulders. I was just there to create the illusion of a happy, stable relationship. Whether my efforts succeeded or not, however, depended entirely on Nathan.
At the end of my patience, I pushed away from the conference table and stood. I was still reaching for my empty coffee cup when the frosted glass door swung open. Dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a black sweater jacket, a young man strode into the room and headed straight for me.
I stood straight and waited, rearranging my face into a neutral expression.
He didn’t meet my gaze, though. He didn’t greet me or introduce himself. Grabbing the back of the chair across from me, he rolled it back from the table and fell into it, slumping down so low he looked in danger of sliding onto the floor. Eager to further express his displeasure at being there, he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed loudly.
If he thought his little tantrum would dissuade me, I had bad news for him. Besides, he didn’t appear angry or disgruntled. Not even brooding, which was probably what he had been striving for. He just looked like a petulant child.
I waited, expecting someone to enter the room after him. A secretary. An assistant. Possibly someone from the senator’s public relations team. When seconds passed, and no one followed, I mentally shrugged and resumed my seat. Sure, it was unusual, but it didn’t change anything.
Folding my hands together on the table, I didn’t speak right away. Instead, I sat back in my chair and studied him.
I estimated him to be average in height, only a couple of inches shorter than me. From what I could tell beneath the baggy clothes, he had a lean build, and despite the sharp lines and hard angles, his face still held the softness of youth. Soft, chestnut curls hung loosely around the tops of his ears, while the sides and back had been cropped short.
“What?” he snapped when he finally deigned to look at me.
“Gage Ramsey.” Maintaining a neutral expression, I extended my right hand across the table.
He gave it a withering glare but didn’t reach for it. “Whatever.”
Most people would have probably smiled politely and changed the subject when confronted with his rudeness. I wasn’t most people.
“Look, kid.” I lowered my hand and rested my elbows on the table. “I get that you don’t want to be here.”
“I’m not a kid.”
He was technically right, even if his attitude suggested otherwise. “If you don’t want me to call you kid, maybe you should give me your name.”
“You know my name.”
