Page 143 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

“My…my deal?”

While the temperature has dropped, it’s still as warm as can get in the summer, which only begs the question: why on earth did I opt for a formal dinner for my first date with Milo?

Well, there are a lot of things that beg questions about my decisions tonight.

I planned tonight to perfection, dropped the intel with the tabloids, did some clever social media posts…

So why did I abandon my perfect plan for Greek street food and a stroll around Little Italy?

It’s because Milo is so…

He’s so petite, handsome, and charming being himself that I keep forgetting this is not real.

Then there’s the whole keeping him hungry thing. The menu at Jean-Paul today was atrocious by any standards, but that doesn’t excuse keeping your date—fake or real—hungry.

Yeah. That’s what it is. I’m just being chivalrous. I can be chivalrous with my fake date, can’t I?

“Yeah, like, why are you doing this? Why Cinderfella? Why Elite? You know. Your deal.”

“Oh. Straight with the hard questions, huh?” I ball up my greasy paper wrapper and find the nearest trash can.

It’s a fair question. I’m asking him to give up a year of his life. He probably should know. But it’s one thing sharing it with my sister. It’s a whole other ball game to share it with a stranger.

A male stranger at that.

A handsome, male stranger I could never in a million years get on my own. As is evident by our current predicament.

“Well, we don’t have the press around us, and we do have to discuss the details eventually. Usually, that happens before I’m flaunted around.”

“Ah. That.”

Again, he’s got every right to wonder why I’ve been so unconventional about this whole thing. And I can’t keep pretending this is anything more than a fake date, I guess.

Despite his questions, he doesn’t appear offended or come off as rude. If anything, he’s carrying himself in an even more relaxed manner than he has the whole night. Even his tie has come undone at this point, and I can’t blame him. Those things are chokers, and not always the good kind.

Maybe he appears more at ease because I’ve fed him proper food. But I also can’t help thinking this is who he is in his real life. He doesn’t strike me as a person who spends much of his time playing pretend, despite his profession.

I have a feeling I’m hanging out with the real Milo right now, and I appreciate it more than anything. Being fake is the hardest thing. I should know.

“Cinderfella is not doing great. The shareholders want me out, the stock is on a downward trend—or was when I started this—and the only way I could think to help save my company and my place within it was to get Cinderfella trending again.”

God, why do I sound so clinical and pathetic when I explain it like that? I wouldn’t blame him if he thought I was a coldhearted suit who gets horny for numbers.

“And putting yourself out there was the best way to do that? Since when does a CEO care that much?” He slits his eyes as he stares at me, and I don’t miss the way they twinkle in the ephemeral city lights.

I wonder if he’s truly twenty-five, as his profile claims. He looks younger and more innocent, except for when it’s dark and the shadows contour his face. Then he looks…not older, per se. More mature. More alpha.

Like the kind of guy who can tie you up, rough you up, breed you, and you’d thank him after.

I wonder how long he’s been with Elite and how popular he is with the people who use their services. If how he makes me feel and what he’s making me think are any indication, I bet he’s their most sought-after escort.

“Since I developed, programmed, and launched the app myself more than twenty years ago.”

Milo whistles.

“You did? I assumed it was something you ordered or handed off to someone.”

“Nope. All me. It all started as a dating website before we moved to the app scene. You know the deal back then,” I say before I look at him and realize he doesn’t. He was probably a toddler back then.

Damn. Am I a cradle robber, or what?

Good thing this isn’t real.

“Impressive. I wouldn’t have thought…”

“That a guy like me wouldn’t be hands-on with something like that?” His eyes widen, but I smirk so he knows he’s not offended me.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I don’t blame you. But I’m not like that. Despite what it may look like.”

Milo stops in front of the Greek food van, since we’ve come full circle, and orders a soda.

“Would you like one?” I nod, and he orders a cola for me as well before we resume our stroll.

It’s nice. Walking among people, not caring about work, life, or my image. In a way, being with Milo offers me some kind of anonymity bubble I wouldn’t be enjoying on my own, and for a change, I don’t feel the heavy weight of my situation.

“So you’re trying to sell a romance to save your ass?” he asks before he takes a sip of his fizzy drink.

I nod since he’s explained it perfectly.

“Okay. That tracks, I guess. But why did you take so long to use Elite? You said I’m the first one.”

I sigh.

“Because I thought maybe, just maybe, I could really find Prince Charming out there, but alas, I could not.”

Milo grimaces with a cheeky grin, and I stare at him.

“What?”

“Well, you know everyone is using Cinderfella just to hook up, so I’m not surprised.”

“I couldn’t even find that, but yeah, I know. I’m cursed.”

He shrugs and bumps his shoulder to mine.

“I think it might have more to do with putting them on blast than you being cursed.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I say.

I hadn’t thought of that. I just assumed no one wanted to speak to a nasty billionaire heir because that’s always been the case. I didn’t think it could be more than that.

“So, how fast do we fall in love? When do you propose? And how long before we divorce?”

I choke on my soda, and it takes me a moment to compose myself.

“What? I just want to know how much thought you’ve put into it. If this is going to work for both of us, we need to have open communication and crystal-clear targets, or we’ll fuck up. Here.” He pats my shirt with a napkin, and it’s only then I realize I’m wet.

I attempt to take the napkin out of his hand, but all that happens is I end up cupping his hand and feeling the soda-soaked shirt cool my chest, which in turn tingles from the effects of his touch.

“I…I can send you an email.” My voice comes out croaky and pathetic, which seems to entertain him if his wide grin is any indication. “Although those can be leaked, so maybe not. Maybe…text messages?”

“Or we could keep talking. Unless you’re bored of me.”

He gently takes his hand off me, leaving the napkin in my hand and staring at me without blinking.

“No. Of course not. I…erm, I didn’t want to bore you.”

“I don’t bore easily. Plus, this is work. We should be on the same page, right?”

Work. Of course. This is work. How could I forget?

“Right,” I answer him.

I pat the wet patch on my shirt a few more times before I throw the napkin away, accepting that the stain won’t go away any time soon, and we cross the street to Chinatown.

“So, how romantic are you? How many dates are you going to take me on before you get lucky?”

This time, I pull the soda can away before I can choke and glare at Milo, who’s smirking gleefully.

“I don’t know. A couple? Three? What’s the norm?”

He laughs.

“The norm? There’s no such thing. People fuck on hello, on first dates, or after marriage. It depends how much of a prude you are.”

“Me? A prude?” No one’s ever called me that before.

“So you wouldn’t mind getting lucky tonight?” he asks.

My throat strains a bit and my cheeks get warm, but I shake my head.

“You do know I’m talking about our story, right? Not real life.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. I know.”

Of course I do. Even if I’m acting like the prude he thinks I am, but…is it crazy that I want to fall in love before I fall into bed? I remind myself that’s not in the books for me, not anymore, so I just swig more soda to help swallow the feelings down.

Why do I keep forgetting this is business? I’m usually very good at keeping my professional and personal fronts separate. Why does Milo make them bleed into one?

“You do want this to just be a story, right?” He stops in his tracks and faces me with his full body.

A guy bumps into him, but as usual in New York, he barely stops to register the accident or apologize.

“What do you mean?”

“Gracie said you want a very public love story. Do you…do you want the boyfriend experience with it?”

A knot forms in my throat and I can’t clear it no matter how much I swallow.

“The boyfriend experience?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I can pretend I’m your boyfriend even when we’re alone. And that comes with sex privileges, you know.”

“Sex…?”

“Yeah.”

I shake my head, unsure how to respond.

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

He waves at me dismissively.

“You wouldn’t. I don’t let anyone take advantage of me. But you’ve got me for a year, and I know I can’t be with anyone else in case the story leaks. And probably the same goes for you unless you’ve made other arrangements with Elite?—”

“I haven’t.”

I’ve never used Elite for that kind of company, and I’m not about to start now, especially when I’m trying to save my company with a very public stunt.

“Cool. So what I’m saying is, if you want, we can take care of each other’s needs while we’re at it. Because I don’t know about you, but if I go a year without sex, I may just go crazy.”

“Oh. Um…I hadn’t thought of that.”

And is it a surprise? I’ve gone so long without it that I’m used to lonely blue nights.

“Well, think about it and let me know.”

I clear my throat and nod. Milo turns away and starts walking again. I follow him, trying to tame the strain across my body. A strain I’m just realizing has turned into a very hard cock.

“How…how would we even approach the subject? If I said yes, I mean.”

Milo watches me as he sips his drink, and I can see the cogs turning in his head. This is definitely his territory, and he has no shame about it.

“Well, we can go home and discuss what we both like and come to an agreement.”

My cock twitches in response.

“Or…” he adds.

“Or?”

“How viral do you want to go?”