Page 12 of Mad for Madison

I barely had time to take it all in before my eyes landed on a face I recognized. And then another. And another. A strange mix of awkwardness and giddiness bubbled up inside me as I realized I was surrounded by men whose work I definitely shouldn’t admit to knowing. But hey, I was a busy guy. The films these guys made were my escape. There was the guy who’d once starred inNate’s Great Eight—a pun I still couldn’t get over and the content of which still had me blushing. And that was the couple fromSailors Knot. They were…taller in person.

Madison must have noticed my sudden stillness because he leaned close again, his voice smooth and calm. “Relax,” he murmured. “You look great, and no one here bites. Unless you ask nicely.”

I huffed a laugh and gave him a sidelong glance, but he was already tugging me further into the crowd. Everywhere we went, people greeted him warmly. It was like watching a light switch on—Madison transformed into someone effortlessly charming, confident, magnetic. He introduced me casually, always with a touch: his hand brushing my arm, a slight press of his shoulder against mine. It was physical but never overbearing, and it left me feeling like I was the only person in the room.

It was disorienting and thrilling all at once. No one seemed to look at me like I didn’t belong, even if that was exactly how I felt inside. Madison was a master at weaving me into the fabric of the evening, his charisma smoothing over any of my awkward edges.

When someone stopped him to chat—an older man in an impeccable suit with a name I instantly forgot—I caught myself watching the way Madison gestured as he spoke, the easy way he smiled. The kind of ease I could only dream of. And then, as ifhe could sense my thoughts, Madison turned his gaze back to me and winked, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second.

That giddy awkwardness I’d been fighting off came rushing back, but this time, it wasn’t because of the crowd or the cameras or even the celebrities. It was because of him.

“I want you to meet someone,” he said, and for a moment, I believed that it was pivotal to him that I should meet someone he admired, almost as if what I thought mattered to him.

He put his hand on the small of my back and gestured around the place with a champagne glass in his other hand, pointing to Ricardo Santana, who I recognized instantly from Madison’s hottest video from last year. He pointed at a couple of other men and three women in a group, explaining those were the directors of his various projects.

“You’re not introducing me to directors, are you?” I asked, my throat dry.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Madison said, chuckling. He nudged me to the right, where two men stood side by side, chatting, although their eyes scanned the room. An air of importance and satisfaction enveloped them, but delight came to their faces when they spotted Madison.

The taller one was a blond, handsome, lean man, while the shorter one was dark-haired and very well-built. “Bradley, these are my old friends Austin James and Luca DiMarco,” Madison said. “Austin heads Crimson Nights organization. This is his gala.”

It took me a moment to recover, and Luca saw it. The adopted son in the DiMarco family was not a man you could easily miss, but I turned to Austin instead. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand. “You put together a wonderful event.” Then came Luca’s turn, and I feared that my nerves would betray me.

Madison’s hand on my back rubbed me in a slow, lazy circle and offered courage. “Luca has an organization offering protection to abuse victims with shelters across the country. Was it Rainbow Hearts?”

“Precisely,” Luca said.

It tickled my memory as Luca and I shook hands. “One in Beacon, perhaps?” I asked.

“Do you know it?” Luca asked.

“Oh, I think a friend of mine is performing there later this month,” I said.

Austin’s brow wrinkled in thought. “That would be Vivien Woodcock, right?” A grin split his face when he saw the confirmation on my face. “We don’t do these events often, but Viv’s been making a name for herself.”

Mama Viv had been performing at charity events for years, but her involvement had intensified in recent years, especially now when the community showed up at Neon Nights to stop the demolition.

“The world is one small village,” Luca said.

“I can’t believe you know Mama Viv,” I said, turning to Madison to see his reaction.

Madison beamed with pride, almost as if he was watching his boyfriend make a good impression on the people that mattered to him. It was a lie too easy to believe.

Madison

I picked Bradley’s champagne glass when he emptied it, leaving him with Austin and Luca to find out just how Austin got to hosting an event like this. The mental health of sex workerswasn’t exactly a burning topic for most people. So, while Austin told Bradley about the work he had done as an escort before meeting Luca, I walked over to the bar and ordered two light cocktails, figuring it was time to taper off a little.

As I waited for the drinks, I looked across the ballroom to where Bradley was engaged in an animated conversation about something. Curiosity erupted in me. I wanted to be there and hear what he was so excited about. Whatever it was, it made Luca put a hand on his stomach and throw his head back, laughing.

Taking Bradley here had been a brilliant idea, but it just added a whole new set of problems. How would I ever explain to Austin and Luca that we had broken up? I would have to make myself the bad guy. The only other believable thing to say would be that Bradley couldn’t look past my career choices—a thing so obvious nobody would doubt it. But I couldn’t paint Bradley that way.

Perhaps I would just drag him to parties and have him role-play as my boyfriend from time to time and keep the lie going. He was definitely buttering up the right people. Luca DiMarco was not just an incredibly rich son of a questionable family or a protector of the bruised and wounded with his network of shelters; he was a patron of erotic art, too. I had seen Levi Bartlet’s portraits of Austin. Luca had practically turned Levi into a sensation with his connections and honest appreciation.

I tucked these thoughts away. They were daydreams. I wasn’t nearly as good as Levi. My stuff referenced a much more classical era of art, the sort that peaked with Henry Scott Tuke a hundred years ago.

The bartender was crushing ice when a deep purr sent chills down my spine. “I must be hallucinating. Madison Masters is standing alone without his human shield.”

I turned to my left and stood face-to-face with the very person I had been trying to avoid by bringing Bradley along. “Dane,” I said, my voice far from calm. I hated how he used my real name to imply power over me.

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