Page 57 of I Think They Love You

“Also…” Denz ignores Braylon’s indignant expression when he plucks a single, drippy fry from his pile. “People who wear socks in bed are monsters.”

He chews vindictively, frowning even though—fuck him—the vinegar’s sharpness with the fries’ saltiness is delicious. God, he’s never telling anyone.

Braylon coughs. “Would that be before or after…”

Denz waits for him to finish. Spots of color flood his cheeks the second Whit marches back inside, ducking into her own cubicle, phone to her ear. Braylon chugs the last of his Varsity Orange, gathering their garbage.

He says, “Would you like a tour?” his previous sentence forgotten.

Afternoon sunlight glitters in from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the upper level. Beyond the sizable meeting table, a small study area, and rooms dedicated to mental health counseling is a corner office with aBORN THIS WAYrainbow flag on the door. Engraved on the gold plaque is:

NORA BRIDGER

FOUNDER & CEO

“She’s on a trip to California,” Braylon explains. “Business stuff.” He doesn’t elaborate. Denz doesn’t ask any questions.

The buzzing phone in his back pocket alerts Denz that, technically, lunch is over. He should return to the office. But he’s too captivated by Braylon reciting the nonprofit’s history. He decides to record a video of Braylon talking about the fenced-in recreational space behind the building. The minute-and-ten-second clip reveals one important detail to Denz: this is where Braylon’s meant to be.

He’s a leader here.

Denz wonders if anyone at 24 Carter Gold sees him that way.If that same fire is in his eyes when he discusses social media numbers and company buzz and what he wants their next steps to be. If anyone thinks of him as the next Kenneth Carter. Can they picture him sitting at his dad’s desk? How wouldChief Executive Officerlook under his name in an email signature?

Does anyone see him as a man on the verge of greatness?

Kami’s the strategist, the press darling, even when they try to break her. Nic is the rebellious prodigy, who never lets anyone see what cards she’s holding. Denz is… the fun one. But does enjoying life mean no one will ever view him as a leader?

It’s all he thinks about when they’re downstairs again. “And don’t mess with the espresso machine,” Braylon is saying in the hybrid lounge/kitchen, a shared space for staff and the teens, “or Whit will properly end you.”

“It’s true!” Whit shouts from her cubicle.

Braylon stage-whispers, “Once, she made an intern cry. Over not cleaning it properly.”

“And I’d do it again!”

Denz laughs.

“Oh,” he says, remembering why he’s really here, “what’re you wearing to the gala?”

Braylon leads them back toward his cubicle.

“A suit? Something… black?” Braylon pauses, a knot between his eyebrows. “Should I wear a bow tie?”

Denz can already hear Auntie Eva the moment Braylon walks into the ballroom:A basic, boring black tux on the biggest night of your boyfriend’s career?He doesn’t need that kind of stress in his life.

“Don’t wear red. Too cliché,” Whit warns from somewhere near the front.

“What are your measurements?” Denz unlocks his phone. If he hurries, maybe Eva can work anotherDevil Wears Pradamiracle.

“Why?” Braylon crosses his arms, clearly aware of what Denz is attempting. “What areyouwearing?”

Denz hasn’t decided. He’s leaning toward the Mikah-approvedivory single-breasted Tom Ford blazer with coral slacks. “I have options,” he tells him, swiping through outfits on his phone. “Nothing gray or black or—”

“Boring?”

“I-I didn’t say that.” If he stammers, it’s not because Braylon’s firm chest is suddenly pressed against the wings of Denz’s shoulder blades. His chin hovering over Denz’s taut shoulder.

“Your face implied it.”

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