Page 122 of Pretty Mess

I glance quickly around the room and jerk as I see a man gazing at me very intently. He’s someone I met my first time here. I rack my brains for his name—Ian Harris. He’s leaning against the fireplace, sweat standing out on his forehead, and when he catches my gaze, he lifts his glass in a mocking salute.

Ugh. Does he think I’m available? I look at Mac and Brandon who are talking intently and a horrible thought occurs. Why did Mac want to come here tonight? He’d been so strange about the whole affair. Was it to see Brandon? He seems to have forgotten my existence completely. Am I looking at my replacement? My stomach tightens ominously, and I’ve abruptly had enough of being on show.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I whisper to Julian.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

I walk out of the room and into the corridor. After entering the bathroom, I lean back against the door for a few seconds. “Fuck,” I breathe. My brain feels like a washing machine with all my thoughts tumbling around.

A door opens to one of the stalls, and a young man appears. He smiles automatically but when he sees how I’m standing, his smile fades. “Alright?” he asks.

“Oh yes, sorry. I’m blocking the way.” I jump away from the door and head to the sink, leaning on the counter and looking into the mirror. After the man leaves, I let out a long breath and watch my reflection do the same.

My appearance doesn’t look any different than usual. Odd, because I feel like a different man from the one who’d stood here months ago. I’ve fallen completely and irrevocably in love with the man I’d met that first night, and I know that’s changed my life forever. For better or worse, I’m not sure. Either way, I look very young and worried. With a heavy sigh, I push my hair away from my forehead.

The door opens and Julian enters the room. I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside standing to parade attention and polishing your bayonet?”

“Very funny. I think you’ll find it’s already polished to perfection.” He walks casually by the stalls, scanning the open doors. Satisfied, he perches his arse against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Spill. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

He blows a raspberry. “Try again.” He eyes me. “I have to say I was surprised to see you here.”

“Why?”

“Because Mac strikes me as being rather possessive of you. I wouldn’t have thought he’d want you anywhere near this cattle market.”

I perk up a little. “Really? He’s possessive?”

“Yes. Well, look at you. He met you and immediately wanted an arrangement with you. Within a few days, he had you in a flat he owned. Not something he’s ever done.”

I let those words soothe me a little. Mac’s never had this sort of arrangement with anyone else. Surely that has to mean something. I run my finger along the marble counter’s edge, letting the sharp, cool stone bite into my fingertip. “He’s special, Julian.”

He groans. “Oh my god, please, notthat.”

“What?”

“You’re in love with him.” He scans the empty stalls again, as if double-checking for eavesdroppers. “Tell me. When did you fall for him?”

I think about denying, but what’s the use? “I don’t know when. I knew for sure in Paris.”

“And that’s another thing. He took you on a work trip. He doesn’t seem the type.”

“It wasn’t only work. He took a day off to be with me.”

His eyes widen and something about his stunned expression gives me a sliver of hope. Maybe I’m being silly over Brandon. It’s just that I thought the connection I share with Mac was as different for him as it was for me. Seeing him with the other man has shaken me a bit—made me feel like I’m standing on uneven ground.

“That’s not normal behaviour, is it?” I ask hopefully.

He shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t happen to me anyway. I stay strictly in the bedroom when I go on work trips.”

“They make you stay in the bedroom all thattime?”

“It was an expression. You’re so fucking dramatic. Of course, I can go out. I just don’t go out withthem. They give me money, and I amuse myself.”

“Well, Mac gave me money.”