Page 5 of The Devil's Detail
So I’d resorted to fucking blindfolds. He was the first man to say yes, and, as far as he said, wasn’t even gay. What he was was unafraid. Open to pleasure, and the world of possibilities. God, that was attractive. How must that feel? To be wild and free to live as you want.
I’d cried myself to sleep over the years. Tortured by failure in my work. Unsure of what I was doing and how things would be perceived.
Maybe I could take a leaf out of his book and just live and be myself.
I’ve been out as a gay man for the longest. Made sure that was the one thing everyone knew about me. No way was I ever being shoved back into any closet. Even if I lost work or jobs because of it. Having people rob, steal, and cheat me was bad enough. Being blackmailed due to my sexuality, as I’d seen happen to a few friends, was not happening to me.
But with him, I didn’t think I could be me. So I didn’t leave my details, and have regretted it every day since.
He hasn’t tried to find me, either. I checked a couple of days later. Told them if anyone came looking, not to give out my details. That they must speak to me first.
What was the point? It wouldn’t go anywhere. And besides, the elephant in the room, my biggest fucking problem—I knew exactly where he was. I could, in fact, go and see him if I wanted. But I daren’t go as Mr Bonney. If I did that, he would toss me aside. He’s not looking for what I’m offering. Who would be? It’s a car crash waiting to happen.
But, God how I wish. How I want him. And how I’m left wondering if I can withstand to stay away.
4
Jackson
“I've already setit up, stop harassing me.”
My sister is on the phone again, nagging at me to speak to her good friend Carter Maywood. Hollywood A-lister and global icon.
“Where are you? It sounds busy.” Her curious tone comes down the line, and I know she’ll be asking to FaceTime next to see where I am exactly.
“Shopping. I’m just in a fancy perfume place. I’ll buy you some of that perfume you like if you want. Text me the name.” Not sure why I told her that, but the next sentence comes as I knew it would, so a good job I wasn’t lying.
“FaceTime me,” she demands.
I click off the phone and call her back as she demanded.
“Wow, that’s the fancy store. Who are you shopping for, Jax?” Her eyebrows are doing crazy things. If I didn’t know she was trying to look curious, and not just being overly nosy, I’d think she was having a stroke.
“A friend,” I answer ambiguously. “And it’s none of your business.”
The fact that I have systematically been to every fancy perfume store in LA is a secret I am keeping to myself. If she or anyone else in my family knows I’ve been hunting a scent that is haunting my dreams, and on occasion daytime thoughts… Well, I’d never hear the last of it. I’m definitely fixated.
“Well, she’ll be a lucky lady to get a gift from there. Ohh, there’s mine behind you. The black bottle.” She’s pointing in earnest, and I spin around and smile at the assistant, indicating the largest bottle on the shelf. “I’ll let you go, but let me know when you give it to her, and tell me her reaction. And please see Carter. Kasey said he’s acting weird.” She tuts at that.
“They’re all weird. A-listers are a breed of their own,” I say laughing. “You should know, your sons are rocking that title.” I pause then put her out of her misery. “I’m meeting Carter tomorrow, at the Daisy Cafe.”
She looks confused. “The cute little place up the beach from your place and Kell’s?”
“I know it’s an out of the way place, but he suggested it. So I just agreed.” I shrug, who knows the mind of a Hollywood leading man. “I’ll bring your perfume when I come to Scotland. Let me know any signs of the baby and I’m coming straight over.”
She smiles at me. “I don't think it will be long. If I get another week I’ll be lucky.” She rubs her stomach lovingly. “Speak later, Jackson. Love you, brother.”
“Love you, Evie. Kiss the twins for me.”
I hang up and focus on the task in hand.
For days I have searched every perfumery in Los Angeles. Oud, Cardamom, and an array of spices. The instant the woman in front of me pulls out a tester bottle… Jackpot!
She informs me it’s sold here in very small numbers. The cost is eye-watering as it’s shipped in from the UK to order. Jameson Bonney was British, so he probably bought it over there. Even still, I try using various techniques to get a look at the list of purchases here, but no joy—the list is as exclusive as the scent itself.
Back in my office, I sit at my desk and mull over my afternoon antics. Another dead end. Who the hell chases a scent?
I’ve talked myself into and out of trying to contact Jameson Bonney via CAshO. Because at the end of the day, is it worth it? Was it all a dream? Have I blown up the encounter to epic proportions, embellishing it in my own mind?
