Page 33 of What You Own
Our “You’re Never Fully Dressed” duet went over well at his class last week, so I’d volunteered to help again this weekend.
Fridays were usually busy days at LQF with everyone trying to get their work done before the weekend, so they didn’t have to take anything home. I shuttled from office to office, back and forth to the copy room, making good use of every second of my time. It kept me from thinking too hard about Ryan and our one o’clock date.
At twelve fifteen I was putting another stack of contract copies on Lacey’s desk when my father’s voice stopped me cold.
“Adam, do you have a moment?” He loomed in the doorway of Joe’s outer office, his expression blank, almost bored.
For a moment, I panicked. Had I forgotten to file something? Copy something? He rarely spoke to me at the office. Hell, he rarely spoke to me on the rare occasion our paths crossed at home. Either he was working or attending to clients, or I was with Ryan. We were strangers living in the same house, working in the same building. Sometimes I felt as valuable to him as his expensive office desk, but he was my father, and all I wanted was for him to be proud of me.
“Of course, sir,” I said.
He paused in the short corridor that separated his outer office from Joe’s. “I’d like us to have lunch at Milano’s when your time ends today,” he said.
I blinked. Hard. “Lunch?”
“Yes. You’ve been home from college for weeks, and we’ve yet to sit down and have a formal meal, just the two of us. I have some free time today, and I’d like to take advantage of it.”
“Okay.” I was too stunned to do anything but accept. I couldn’t very well say I had plans to get fucked in the ass by my gay lover, who was also the guy you railroaded back in high school. And the simple fact that my father was interested in a meal with me, in spending time talking to me only, sent an unexpected flash of warmth through my chest.
“Good.” The matter settled, Father went into his office.
I stared at the corner of Jesse’s desk, barely able to see his shoulder while he typed something. It took me a moment to get my motor going again. I fled to the men’s room on this floor and shot a quick text to Ryan, apologizing for bailing on our time.
No prob. You need dad time. Good luck.
I sent back a heart and smile, grateful for his support. I’d need all the luck I could get to survive this one-on-one with Raymond Langley.
Milano’s was across the street from our building, one of those places that require reservations and ties after 3:00 p.m. I didn’t feel as out of place as I expected. Outwardly, nothing about me had changed. I was still Adam Langley, born with a trust fund and a family name. I wore a suit and tie like most of the other men already seated having a three-martini lunch. And I was with my father, who received polite, personal greetings from the hostess, the server, and two men at a table near us.
Inwardly, I was a different person, and the only one who could see the new me was Ryan.
Dad ordered his signature gin martini, dirty, two olives, while I asked for a Diet Coke.
“So,” he said once the server went to get our drinks, “how are things working out with your double life?”
My heart slammed into my ribcage. “Double life?”
“Splitting your time between the internship and the benefit.”
“Oh.” Of course that’s what he meant. I worked to get my racing pulse under control before he noticed my momentary flare of panic. “It’s going very well. I’m getting my hours in at LQF and learning quite a lot from Lacey. She’s an excellent teacher.”
“When she’s at her desk. I swear, pregnant women are useless for anything except complaining and bathroom breaks.”
The familiar words still stung. Lacey was a nice woman, and she really was a great personal assistant for Joe. He’d be lost when she began her maternity leave. Defending her to my father was pointless. His views on certain things made Ann Coulter look reasonable and progressive.
“She’s teaching me the ropes, as are some of the other office assistants,” I said instead. “I never really appreciated how many people keep this company running.”
The server returned with our drinks, and Dad ordered a stuffed mushroom appetizer before she left again. I didn’t miss the long look he gave her ass. The uniforms at Milano’s were basic black skirts (pants for men) and white shirts, so I didn’t see the appeal. Then again, I never really saw the appeal in women’s asses.
Ryan’s ass, on the other hand—
“Adam?”
I snapped to, embarrassed at my wandering thoughts. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you’d decided what to order? I want to flag the server the next time she comes by.”
“Oh, no, sorry.” I skimmed the offerings, then settled on blackened salmon with wild rice and steamed broccoli.
