Love And The Real Boy - Coming About, Book 2 (22 page)

Over the last week, he’d painstakingly combed through all of the photographs from the shoot with Patrick, choosing the ones that he thought best personified the brand—and tucking away the ones of Patrick and himself into a private folder to enjoy later. After choosing his favorites, he spent hours cropping, color correcting, retouching—not that Patrick needed much enhancement—and adding some subtle effects to achieve the desired result.

Once he’d gotten the photos as close to perfect as he could, he imported them into his graphics software suite to create some ad mock-ups. It was those final images that he had blown up and mounted on boards for the presentation. A lot of their clients were old-school too, so they liked hard copies that they could look at and touch. Still, Rich would show the enhanced photos as a slideshow on the wall-mounted monitor, controlled by his computer, in case one of the clients preferred a different pose. He could then drop a different picture into the mock-up and show it on the big screen.

The night before, Rich had gone over all of the original photographs again, one by one, to make sure he’d chosen right. The clock had been hovering around four a.m. when he made his final last-minute decisions, and moved all of the presentation materials into their own folder. He was sleep deprived, anxious, and a little nauseated, but he was satisfied that he had a great pitch.

However, sitting there in the boardroom under the harsh fluorescent lighting, Rich wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He flinched when Terry Cavanaugh crashed into the room with his usual clamor, followed by a man and two women, all in business attire. The three of them took seats at the long side of the conference table, directly across from the display monitor.

Louise came in and offered them all coffee, but Rich barely noticed her. As much as he loved coffee, he was afraid anything would sour his gut right now. He vaguely listened as Terry made the introductions, but he was inside his own head most of the time, going over the pitch. After his three team members had shown their work, Rich honestly couldn’t recall a second of it. He hoped he wouldn’t be drawn into conversation about how the different approaches compare—he’d surely come off looking like an idiot.

“Langston.” Terry’s drill sergeant voice startled him out of his panicked thoughts.

“Huh? Yes, sir.”

“You’re up. We haven’t got all day.”

“Of course.” Rich straightened his tie from when he’d been tugging on it. Funny, he’d always felt more comfortable—safe, even—in suits, but today he just felt suffocated. He stood up and discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks.
Christ, what a fool
. He felt like a ninth grader wearing his father’s suit to his first school dance—sweaty and uncomfortable, and on display…not that he’d ever done either of those things.

Hoping these executives didn’t see him for the imposter he felt like, Rich began hooking his laptop up to the monitor. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, trying to center himself and remember what the hell he was supposed to be saying. Clearing his throat, he turned the first board around, revealing a mock-up magazine ad. He then pulled up the corresponding photograph on the monitor as a starting point.

“Ladies, gentlemen, let me introduce you to
Essedarius.
”

The image he started with was the one he’d begun to think of as ‘The Archer.’ Patrick stood with all of his muscles as flexed as possible, poised as an archer in mid-draw, though the bow was imaginary. Water droplets beaded on his oiled skin, which reflected the soft glow of the ambient light. His face was a mask of concentration.

“The name of your product,
Essedarius
, struck a chord with me. The
Essedarii
were Roman gladiators—charioteers—who were fierce and lethal warriors. I wanted to capture the idea of a modern day warrior, fierce in his everyday pursuits, protective over all that is his, over the lifestyle he’s worked for.”

Rich clicked through a few more images in the slideshow and then moved onto the next board, explaining how he would build the brand and implement his vision; how he wanted to appeal not only to men, but the women who buy for them. When he got to his last board and photoset, he sneaked a look at the clients. Thankfully, they looked rapt, so he kept going.

“We could even take the concept one step further and include a female model in the ad with our warrior. She’d be worshipping at his feet, or he at hers, depending on the particular outlet for our ad.”

Rich couldn’t help but think back to when he’d knelt before Patrick, clinging to him and staring up at him in exaltation. Distracted, he clicked to the next picture in the slideshow without looking. His stomach plummeted and waves of nausea consumed him when he saw matching looks of shock on the faces of the three client reps—and that of Terry Cavanaugh.

Whipping his head around, Rich’s jaw dropped when he saw which image he’d put on screen. It was one of the set with him in it—he must have missed one, or accidently moved it into the presentation folder. It was as tasteful as could be expected for what it was; which was himself and Patrick mostly nude. At least all their bits were covered.

Patrick had his hands behind his head, flexing all that powerful muscle, and was looking off to the side. Rich was on his knees as in all the shots with the two of them, clutching Patrick’s tree-trunk thigh and staring up at him with a look of pure, naked lust. That was something that couldn’t be faked.

Rich froze, imagining public floggings and a ceremonial firing, not necessarily in that order. He was afraid to turn around, to see those shocked expressions morph into disgust. He could feel himself vibrate, his muscles coiled with the instinct to bolt, to just run the hell away.

But…then he got angry.

I am Rich goddamn Langston. I’ve pulled myself up from
nothing
, and I refuse to let this ruin me. I can be a cold, unfeeling bastard on a good day. These assholes can’t touch me.
He needed to use that; that ability to not give a fuck what anyone thought of him, and do what he did best—spin.

He concentrated on making his face blank before turning around to face the firing squad. “And then we have the largely untapped angle of appealing to young, gay men. The world is changing, folks. Gay men have always been out there, buying things, contributing to the free market just like everyone else. The difference is most companies are either too scared, too uncomfortable, or too closed-minded to capitalize on that.”

He angled his body and gestured at the photograph, pretending that it was just an ad with two models and not an intimate moment between him and his lover. “There isn’t a gay man I know who wouldn’t want to look like the gladiator—or smell like they think that guy does—or who wouldn’t want his boyfriend to.

“Is Avoir Lieu a progressive company? Are you innovative, forward thinking, sophisticated? If you are, then you should show the world that you aren’t afraid to use
every
avenue, to sell to
every
customer who might be interested in your product. If you do that, you are guaranteed a return on your investment.”

There was nothing but silence in the boardroom when he finished his speech. Rich wasn’t sure if he should see that as a good sign or a bad one. He hadn’t been expecting a spontaneous slow-clap, but was a little facial expression too much to ask?

Finally, Terry addressed Rich and his coworkers. “Thank you, Langston. Why don’t you all wait in the office while I confer with Miss Richter, Mr. Arnaud, and Mrs. Pelletier about their impressions of the pitches?”

None of them spoke or looked at each other as Rich, Johnson, Wigmore, and Davis filed out and went to their respective desks. Rich sat at his own desk, staring off into space. He hoped he’d gotten them on board and that he’d made the showing of that photograph seem intentional, but he was still mentally cataloging all of the contents of his desk in case he needed to pack up and make a quick getaway. He wasn’t proud of it, but it
was
pragmatic.

He barely heard Terry showing the clients out, and he couldn’t focus on anything until his boss was standing right in front of his desk. His eyes were wide and earnest, and he gave Rich his best man-eater grin. “You goddamn brilliant bastard,” he said.

Rich let out the breath he’d probably been holding since he left the boardroom. “Does that mean they’re interested?”

“That’ll teach me not to screen the presentations first. You damn near gave me a heart attack. I don’t know where you came up with that idea—‘tapping’ into the gay market, pun intended—or how you got the stones to pose in that photograph yourself, but Avoir Lieu is lining up to be considered a progressive company. You made them feel like they couldn’t afford not to. Impressive.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rich croaked, all but shaking with relief.

“And how on earth did you find a guy who looked like that who was willing to pose with you…like
that
?”

Terry had given him an out, whether it was intentional or subconscious—a way to shove this mistake under the rug and not be ‘out’ at work. Rich considered taking it for half a second. Wouldn’t it be so much easier just to keep up the pretenses? But for once in the last few miserable months, he wanted to do the right thing—no more hiding, no more lies.

“Um, sir—Terry…That’s my boyfriend, Patrick.” Rich went with the easiest term to describe Patrick, even if it wasn’t
entirely
accurate. He didn’t think Terry would appreciate hearing ‘lover’ or ‘fuck-buddy.’ He was scandalized enough already.

Terry paled, and his mouth hung open; it would have been comical if Rich’s job wasn’t on the line. “Really? But…
you
? I mean, I never would have guessed. I mean you’re always in the suits and everything. You’re just so…normal.”

Oh, Jesus Christ
. Rich closed his eyes and mentally grounded himself, gathering his patience. Terry wasn’t a bad guy; Rich didn’t even think he was a bigot…he just wasn’t very savvy when it came to the politically correct. Sometimes when a person wasn’t familiar with something, it made it easier to buy into stereotypes.

“Jesus, Terry, there’s more to the gay community than the Johnny Weirs of the world, for God’s sake.”

“Who?”

“Some silly queen—never mind. Terry, is this going to be a problem for you?”

Terry’s eyes felt like they were boring into Rich’s soul, but they didn’t look angry or disgusted. “Langston, the state of Washington says this
can’t
be a problem for me.”

“I’m aware, but what you think matters to me. I’m asking if this is going to be a problem for me working for you.”

Terry heaved a put upon sigh and winced as if he’d rather be talking about anything but this. “Look, I certainly don’t want to know the details about what you do with guys…”

He shuddered dramatically, and it was all Rich could do not to laugh.

“…but let me put it to you this way. I could be banging a one-eyed hooker, but
I
know that that wouldn’t affect my ability to do my job—it wouldn’t affect anything outside of the bedroom.”

This time Rich did allow himself to laugh. It looked like this might actually turn out okay. Maybe he wasn’t going to lose his job. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Banging a one-eyed hooker?”

“Jesus Christ, Langston, you missed the whole point!”

“I’m not hearing no.”

Terry grunted as Rich remembered how much fun it was teasing the guy. He actually reminded him of Patrick’s dad with his big, gruff persona.

“Why, Langston, my sexual exploits are none of your business.”

“Well, tell Trixie I said hello then,” Rich said, his lips twitching as he stood up to collect his things. He hadn’t realized it was five o’clock already. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Terry.”

Rich was ready to get the hell out of his office and put this whole disaster of a day behind him. Maybe this would be a funny story he told his fictional friends at some future time, but at the moment, all he wanted to do was get home. But Terry stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“By the way, it’s
with
.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You asked me if it would be a problem for you working for me. It’s ‘with,’ not ‘for.’ I’ve approved your promotion. We’ll have to deal with all the paperwork to make it official but just between you and me—you’ve made senior executive. Congrats.”

He gave Rich another pat before retreating to his office, chuckling. Rich stood there for a full minute gaping at Terry’s closed office door before his legs finally floated him to the elevator and out of the building. The first—the only thing on his mind was how much he wanted to tell Patrick the good news.

Chapter Nineteen

In the weeks since Rich had first met Josiah, they’d set up a steady routine. The tiny house John-Michael had rented was conveniently just a few blocks from Rich’s, within walking distance. The place was definitely a fixer-upper, but it was so much better than one of those boxy apartment buildings.

Once a week, Josiah came to hang out at Rich’s house during one of his work-from-home days. It gave them a chance to get to know one another, and it helped to cut back on daycare costs for John-Michael. Rich also visited Jos at daycare during his lunch hour whenever he was in the office.