Marshall left around lunch time. I wasn’t sure on the exact time because he’d left me in a crumpled mess on my bed, and I’d been so thoroughly had, I’d fallen back asleep.
Well, he’d slapped my arse on his way out and told me to have a happy birthday.
Believe me, after what he’d spent hours doing to me, I was.
My best birthday to date.
My ringing phone woke me up. It was Brooklyn, and I assumed she was just wishing me a happy birthday, but no, she had something to do in the city and said she’d call in when she was done. We’d do a late lunch, she’d said.
Sounded good to me.
I stripped my bed and washed everything—my god, what a mess—and showered again, smiling at the ache in my arse. I smiled as I tidied the kitchen, remembering how Marshall had laughed at my attempt to cook anything. I smiled at the flowers on my table and at the silly little balloon.
I smiled as I recalled what he’d done to me. Once on the back of the sofa, and the second time in my bed. I swear I could still feel him inside me . . .
I smiled as I got into my sister’s car.
“Happy birthday,” she said cheerfully.
“Thanks.”
She pulled out into traffic and glanced my way a few times. “You look happy.”
I almost laughed. “Do I?”
“Mmm,” she said. “Any particular reason?”
I snorted. “On grounds that I may incriminate myself, the defence rests.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed, but thankfully let it drop.
She took me to a place on the harbour for our late lunch, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Enjoyed the outing, enjoyed the sunshine, enjoyed the company.
It was just nice.
“Heard from Mum or Dad?” she asked.
I shook my head. “To wish me a happy birthday? Of course I haven’t. Are you surprised?”
She sighed. “No.” She scowled at the view. “Honestly, fuck them.”
I smiled at her. It was comforting to know we felt the same, that we had each other. Though it struck me as I looked out across the water that we really didn’t know each other well at all, either.
I had no idea what her closest friends were up to or even if she still had the same closest friends. I had no idea what she even did in her spare time.
Just like she knew very little about me.
I’d never even told her I was gay. Would she be okay with it? Probably. Would she even care?
“So,” she said, sipping her spritzer. “The other week you said you weren’t seeing anyone, but you were awfully smiley when I picked you up.”
“Am I not allowed to smile?”
She snorted. “Of course. It’s just not . . . it’s not a common look on you, that’s all.”
That was fair. I sighed and stabbed the fruit in my drink with the straw. “I might be seeing someone,” I said.
No idea why.
No clue what possessed me.
“It’s not serious though,” I added. “Just a bit of fun. And very much on the down-low. I can’t say much more than that.”
“Aw, not even a name?”
“No.”
“An initial?”
“No.”
“So not fair.”
“If it’s any consolation, you’re the only person I’ve told.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, so it’s a big secret.”
“Yeah, very much.”
She sipped her drink and looked back out at the view. “So can I ask you something?”
Oh, fuck. I didn’t like this at all . . .
“I can’t tell you any more than what I’ve said already.”
She chewed on the inside of her lip. “Would Dad disapprove?”
“Vehemently.”
She laughed. “Then good. Even better.”
I met her gaze and clinked my glass to hers, and both of us laughed.
She changed subjects then, talking about a work deal and another company contractor who was being difficult . . .
And all I could think about was telling her.
Five minutes ago, I’d have denied it and told her not to be ridiculous . . . and now I had to stop myself from blurting it out.
I wanted to tell someone.
No, not just someone. Brooklyn. I wanted to tell my sister. Not about Marshall, per se. Just the fact that the person I was seeing was a guy.
The words were right there on the tip of my tongue, but I choked them down with logic and fear. It wasn’t something I could ever take back, and what if she didn’t like it?
Then I guess I’d have no family at all.
The car ride home was quiet, and it was my fault because now I had these stupid thoughts in my head, and they wouldn’t quit.
My languid, blissed-out state of mind that Marshall had left me in this morning was now well and truly gone.
“You okay?” she asked. I hadn’t realised we were stopped, parked outside my apartment block.
“Oh, sure,” I said quickly. “Thanks so much for lunch. I really enjoyed it. We should do this more often. Not just on birthdays.”
She nodded but there was something in her eyes that looked a lot like concern. “Look, I didn’t mean to push earlier. If you can’t tell me who it is, that’s fine. I’m just glad you’re happy, that’s all. At least one of us is getting some—”
“I’m seeing a guy,” I blurted out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “The . . . the person I’m seeing is a man. So now you know why it’s a secret. It’s always been a secret. Christ, I have no idea why I told you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Then I made the mistake of looking at her face.
Shock would’ve been an understatement.
Fuck.
I fumbled with the door handle and pushed the door open. “I need to go,” I mumbled, getting out. “Thank you, again, for lunch or . . . whatever.”
I closed the door and almost ran to my building. What had I done? What had I been thinking?
Christ, Valentine. That was stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid . . .
I thumped the elevator button until the doors opened, and my hands were shaking so bad, I struggled to get the key into my door. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
This wasn’t good.
Second panic attack in two days. This wasn’t good at all.
I took a long, deep breath, trying to rein everything in.
But then my intercom buzzed. I could see Brooklyn on the screen. She was looking at the camera, her hand jammed to the button. The buzzing was like a drill, never ending. I hit the intercom just to make it stop.
“Valentine, open the door,” she said.
I still couldn’t speak.
“If you don’t let me in, I’ll yell what I have to say to you from here. Everyone in the building can hear me.”
Fucking hell.
I pressed her through and watched her get into the elevator.
My chest felt all tight, my lungs were squeezing, and I felt cold and hot at the same time. I opened my front door for her and barely made it to the couch by the time she walked in.
I needed to sit down.
She took one look at me and frowned. “Oh, Valentine,” she whispered.
“I’m not seeking your approval or validation,” I said, my voice weak.
She came and sat down beside me and patted my knee. “You can relax,” she said gently. “I don’t care if you’re gay. Actually, I always kinda wondered if you were gay or bi, but I never knew for sure. It’s not my business anyway. It’s not anyone’s business.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“I’ve never told anyone,” I managed to get out. I tried to take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. It took a few goes to get it right.
She waited for me to look at her. That took a while too. “Because of Dad, right?”
I laughed sardonically; tears burned in my eyes. “Right.”
She growled under her breath. “Valentine, listen to me. You can’t live your life in fear of him.”
What the . . . ?
“Easy for you to say. I mean, thanks. If only I’d known that before.”
She made a face. “I know. I’m sorry. What I meant to say was I don’t want you to live in fear of him. You shouldn’t have to. I know how controlling he is of you. And I know I got off lightly. I mean, I basically don’t exist because his firstborn wasn’t a son and I have the audacity to be female. He hates all women, especially in corporate. And yeah, that’s shitty, but I got off easy compared to you. I know that.”
I nodded, wiping a stupid tear from my cheek. “I hate him.”
“Then quit.”
I looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I couldn’t. I don’t even know if I’d want to. I like my job. I just . . . I hate him. I live with this constant disappointment. I’m on eggshells the whole fucking time, needing everything to be perfect because, god help me if it’s not. He’s priming me to take over one day and god, I don’t know if I want that. I don’t want that responsibility. That pressure.” I shook my head. “And he’d flip his shit because I’d do everything different to him. I’m not like him. He wants me to be a replica, a mini version of him, but I’m not like him. I refuse to be.”
Brooklyn put her hand on my back and patted me. It was awkward and she was uncomfortable having to comfort with physical touch. God, we were so alike, so emotionally fucked up, it would have been funny if it wasn’t so sad.
“You’re nothing like him,” she said. “Nothing.”
“I can’t ever come out,” I said, fresh tears welling in my eyes. “Not to him, and not in public, because it’d ruin his company’s image.” I imitated his voice. “God forbid.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Valentine, let me ask you one thing.” She paused for effect. “What does he know about you? About your personal life, that is. What does he know?”
I shrugged, trying to think. “Nothing. He knows I play rugby. That’s it.”
“Nothing personal, though. Not your friends, your favourite food, your hobbies. Even your birthday. Does he even know where you live? Has he ever been here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“So why would he know who you date?”
I stared at her. I mean, I knew what point she was trying to make. And it was valid. “Pretty sure he’d know if I was dating a guy.”
She shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t.”
“I’d be photographed with a man. I can’t go out on a date. I can’t be seen in public. Christ, just this morning Mar—” Shit. “The guy I’m seeing wanted to take me out for breakfast. But I can’t. I can’t even do that for him. And believe me, it’d be a thousand times worse if Dad read about the heir of Tye Corp on a date with a man instead of hearing it from me. I mean, could you imagine the fallout? He’d have a fucking stroke.”
She gave me a sad smile and nodded because we both knew I was right. “I get it,” she offered gently. “I’m just saying he wouldn’t know. Dating in public, maybe. But what you do in private, he’d have no clue. So enjoy that, at least. And thank you for telling me. If you want to bring him for lunch at my place, you absolutely can. You don’t need to hide from me, okay?”
I got teary again. “Thank you.”
She let out a sigh. “So, Mar . . . You almost said his name. Mar, Mark? Martin? Is it Martin?”
I laughed. “No. And I’m not telling you.” I put my hand to my forehead. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. At all, to be honest. I never . . . I never thought I’d tell anyone.”
She made a sad face. “No one knows at all?”
“No. No one knows. I mean, Lleyton knows I’m gay, has done since college, but not even he knows who I’m seeing. It’s . . . complicated.” I let out a long breath. “Actually, it’s a whole big mess. Destined to fail from the start.”
She studied me for a long moment. “But you like him.”
My gaze cut to hers. “I, uh . . . I’m not exactly dating material. Let’s be real.”
She did the double-stare thing. “But you like him.”
I slumped back on the sofa, my hands covering my face. “Fuck.”
She patted my knee. “Then you gotta make it work. That’s the only big sister advice I can give you. Like I’m a relationship expert,” she snorted. “My longest stint was barely a month. How long have you and not-Martin been not-dating?”
I snorted and tried to think . . . “Uh, two months, maybe.”
“Jesus, Valentine. That’s practically married in gayville.”
I wasn’t even bothering to reply to that.
“So you have feelings,” she said. “And you and I both know feelings are like . . .” She made a disgusted face.
“The worst thing ever?”
“Exactly. But who knows . . . they can’t be all that bad. Other people seem to enjoy feeling . . . emotions.”
I laughed out a sigh. “Don’t believe the lie. The whole thing is completely terrible.”
“I could tell by your smile this morning how terrible it was.” She smiled and patted my knee before she stood up. “I should get going.” She looked at the dining table. “Oh dear. Did he buy you those flowers? Those are dreadful.”
I gasped. “Leave them alone. They’re the only flowers I’ve ever been given.”
“They’re the blokiest flowers I’ve ever seen.”
“He got them from the supermarket.”
“I can tell.”
“When he went there at sunrise to buy stuff so he could make me breakfast.”
She pouted. “Well, that is sweet. But the balloon . . .”
“Is the best part, so shut up.”
She laughed. “Yeah, okay. I can tell how much you don’t like him.”
I sagged, back to square one. I wasn’t about to tell her about the cake in the fridge. And then my phone rang. I pulled it out, half expecting it to be Lleyton, when I saw the pizza emoji.
He was calling me?
“Is that him?”
“No.”
“Answer it.” It rang and rang again. She waved at my phone. “Answer it!”
Panicking, I hit Answer. “Hello?”
Before Marshall could say anything, Brooklyn leaned down closer to my phone. “Hello, is this Martin? Mario? Mark? I know it starts with an M.”
“Christ, Brooklyn. Really?”
Marshall was quiet. “Uh, hello?”
“Sorry, it’s my sister,” I said. “She was just leaving.” I pointed to the door.
She grinned on her way out, but as she opened the door, she looked me in the eye. “Make it work,” she said, and was gone.
I sighed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry about that,” I said into the phone. There was only silence. I looked at the screen and it was still connected. “Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m . . . who the fuck is Martin and Mario?”
I laughed. “No one. I almost let your name slip earlier. I got the M out. Actually, it was more of a Mar—before I caught myself. She thinks your name is Martin. I’m so sorry.”
More silence. “You, uh, you told her about me?”
I laughed again, starting to sound a little hysterical. “I came out to my sister today.” More laughter, more tears. “Whew. Fuck.”
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Are you okay? What did she . . . I mean, are you okay?”
I laughed and shook my head and fought ridiculous tears again. “I think I am.”
“Would you like me to come over? I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m good, actually. It went better than I could have expected. She was great.”
“Are you sure? It’s a big deal, Valentine.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “It is. But I’m okay. I . . . I could use some alone time, to be honest. It’s been a busy week, with work and with you. Sorry if that sounds harsh. I just need some time alone with this.”
“No. Not at all. I get it.”
I put my hand to my forehead. “I can’t believe I told her. I was going to, then I wasn’t, then I absolutely wasn’t going to tell her, then I blurted it out.”
“And you almost said my name?”
I groaned. “Almost. But she doesn’t know who it is.”
“Why were you talking about me?”
“She asked me if I was seeing someone. I said no, not really.”
“Holy shit.”
“She also said I was smiling when she picked me up at lunchtime. I had to tell her something. I could hardly say it was because you’d just reamed and creamed me.”
“Oh my god!” He barked out a laugh. “Ream and cream. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Believe me, I won’t let you forget it.”
He snorted. “Right.”
“So I had to placate her with something. I said maybe I was kind of seeing someone, but it wasn’t public.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t think for one second that it’s because I like you.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said. He was definitely smiling, I could tell.
I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to get my head around everything that had happened.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
I realised I was smiling. “I feel good. Lighter than I have in a long while.”
He made a happy sound. “I’m happy for you.”
I was happy for me too. And then I remembered that he’d called me. “Did you call me for any particular reason?”
“Well, I’m going to my folks’ place for an early dinner—I’m in my car, that’s where I’m driving to right now—and I wondered if you’d eaten anything. I assumed you wouldn’t have, because you’re you, so I was going to order you a birthday pizza. But do you know how hard it is to find a pizza place that will deliver a nine-inch pizza? Not an eight- or ten-inch, specifically nine inches.”
I laughed at that.
“They think I’m weird.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
He laughed. “So have you eaten? I wasn’t even sure you’d be home.”
“I had a late lunch. And yes, I’m home, and while I appreciate the sentiment, and a nine-inch-deep pan pizza would have been funny. Honestly, I’m not hungry. And if I feel peckish later, I have cake in the fridge.”
He was quiet for a second. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you want me to come around, just so you’re not alone . . .”
His offer settled in behind my ribs, a warm feeling I wasn’t quite prepared for. “I’m fine, but thank you.”
“Okay,” he said. “Just don’t think for one second that it’s because I like you.”
I snorted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He ended the call and I sat there for a good five minutes, smiling like an idiot. It made me feel all giddy and silly. Not feelings I’d normally appreciate, but for some reason, today, I didn’t mind.
The Monday morning meeting was short and to the point. It was a busy time for everyone, and I appreciated the full attendance. The little chats afterward were productive and informative, and it did foster a team environment.
Something I could thank Marshall for, though I wouldn’t. I’d already told him it had been a good idea. If I told him again, he’d get a fat head.
Just like when my assistant walked in with a slab of cake with the candles lit. “A little birdie told me it was someone’s birthday yesterday,” she said.
I didn’t need to ask who the little birdie was. Because he stood there at the back of the room with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.
Arsehole.
It was horrifying when people sang happy birthday to me. Horrifying.
But it was also kind of nice.
Not that I’d ever admit that, and I sure as hell would never tell Marshall that.
He made a point of fixing himself another coffee beside me as I was handed the first piece of cake.
“I take it you’re to blame for this?” I murmured.
Not looking at me, he smiled as he stirred his coffee. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
When everyone was done and leaving, I helped clear everything away, just catching Marshall as he was walking out.
“A moment, Mr Wise. In my office, if you don’t mind.”
I didn’t wait to see if he followed. I knew he would. I held the door for him and closed it behind him. He sat in the chair opposite my desk. “Anything I can help you with? Mr Tye?”
“Hm,” I said, fixing my jacket button as I sat down. “Wednesday night.”
“What about it?”
“I thought perhaps we could meet at your place.”
He looked around quickly, then eyed me cautiously. “Why?”
I knew he’d ask that and I had no valid reason. None that I’d admit, anyhow. “I thought people might begin to recognise your ute, seeing as though it’s become a regular visitor.”
He smirked. “Pretty sure no one notices a dual-cab work ute anywhere. Your car at my place would be a different story. It’s gonna get noticed. And possibly stripped of tyres and rims.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “I can Uber it.”
His gaze met mine. “You wanna see my place so bad?”
“No.” I raised my chin, defiant and adept at lying, apparently. “Why would I care what your place was like?”
Or not so adept, because he snorted. “Yeah, okay, fine. You wanna come to mine, that’s great. Be there by seven, because you’ll be cooking us dinner.”
“That was not . . . that’s . . . we can order in.”
He levelled his don’t-try-me stare. “Seven o’clock, and we’re cooking.”
I sighed, hating that it actually sounded fun. God, what had I become?
Marshall made a face. “I thought we were to never discuss this at work.”
“I could have texted,” I admitted. “But I also wanted to not-thank you for telling Shayla it was my birthday.”
He grinned. “You’re not-welcome.” Then he shrugged. “Feeling special is part of the birthday experience.”
I rolled my eyes. “And I’ll need your address.”
“You could look it up. You have it on file.”
“I could. But I won’t. You either give it to me yourself, or I don’t get it. I won’t use anything, information or otherwise, that you’re not willing to give me. I’ve told you that.”
He tried not to smile. “Fine.”
He took out his phone and thumbed out a message, my phone beeping a second later.
Then he held up his phone. “Oh, and I changed your name to the peach emoji.”
I glared at him. “Nice.”
He grinned at me. “You should be grateful. I wanted to make it the washing machine emoji, but there isn’t one.”
“A washing machine?”
“Yeah. I put loads in it.”
I barked out a laugh. I had to make myself not smile, trying to seethe at him instead. “I hate you.”
He stood up, and with both hands on my desk, he leaned forward, smiling. “I hate you more.”
He turned and walked out, and I sat there smiling at my door. God, he was such an arsehole.
Shayla came in and stopped. “Everything okay, Mr Tye?”
I schooled my face. “Yes, it’s fine.” I opened my schedule. “Okay, this week . . .”
