Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (2 page)

“No, Sandy wouldn’t do it. He just stopped
seeing him. The bastard got off scot free.” The unfairness of it
made Leslie’s blood heat. He hated bullies and men who took out
their frustrations on someone else. “However, Sandy’s new
boyfriend, Alex, did corner Charlie in a bathroom a while ago and
they had a ‘chat.’” He frowned. “I don’t know what Alex said to him
but there have been no more beatings that I know of. Alex is a
bouncer at a nightclub, so I don’t think I’d want to mess with
him.”

Eddie nodded in satisfaction. “Glad someone
put him straight.” He chuckled. “In a manner of speaking.” He threw
Leslie a fond glance. “There was something wrong with one of your
last statements, Leslie.”

Leslie was puzzled. “What statement?”

“Eight inches?” Eddie laughed loudly as
Leslie’s face heated up. “I’ve seen it and I’m not sure that’s
true—”

Leslie pinched Eddie’s arm, causing him to
yowl in pain. “Shut up. It’s my fantasy and you have no right to
cast aspersions on it.” He grinned back at his friend. “Besides,
maybe it’s grown since the last time you saw it. I might be going
through a growth spurt, you know. I am only twenty-three.”

Eddie guffawed. “Yeah, right, you tell
yourself that.” They both fell quiet as the crowd around started
clapping and the auditorium exploded with a spate of quick-paced
and rather loud trance music as Tracy Trey walked onto the catwalk
with his models. Leslie started clapping with them. Tracy might be
a little eccentric, and his plaid wear didn’t appeal to Leslie in
the least, but he was sheer fucking genius when it came to
underwear and sexy corsets, one of his little pleasures. He owned
quite a few items with the chameleon logo.

The noise finally died down, and as Tracy
Trey strode off the stage, people started to get up and leave.
Leslie sighed and stood up. “Come on. I guess you’re anxious to get
back to that lovely man of yours and fuck his brains out. Or cook
something, depending on how you two spend your leisure time.”

Eddie pursed his lips as they joined the
throng of people leaving the venue, making their way to the exit in
front. “Well, in my opinion, there’s a way to do both at the same
time. One of my favourite pastimes is making my world-renowned
double chocolate mousse then smearing it all over Gideon’s dick.
Then sucking it off. Delicious…” He waggled his eyebrows and Leslie
felt his own dick rise at the image of his two friends getting it
on in that way.

“Oh,” he said enviously. “I imagine that
would be a lot of fun. Not that I haven’t done something similar
before myself, but I’ve never really had someone
special
to do it with like you…” His voice trailed off
and he knew he sounded a little wistful.

Leslie’s relationships tended not to last too
long. He was honest with himself. He was rather high maintenance
and boyfriends either tended to use him as a one-night fuck or got
tired of the whole overwhelming Leslie persona and went on to
someone easier to be with. Someone more malleable and not as
fiery.

They exited the hotel into the chill grey of
a January Saturday afternoon. Leslie shivered and wrapped his warm
pea coat tighter around his frame.

Eddie’s face softened. “Honey, you are a
complete catch for the right guy. So far you just haven’t found
him. You will, though. You’re beautiful inside
and
out, and these arseholes you date never seem to
realise that.” He reached out an arm and hugged Leslie close.

Leslie snuggled into his friend, enjoying
this rare PDA. He breathed in Eddie’s scent, feeling safe and
cherished. “Yes, well, they never stick around long enough. It’s
all wham, bang, fuck off, Leslie,” he muttered against Eddie’s
shoulder.

Eddie released him and planted a soft kiss on
his forehead. “More fool them,” he murmured softly. “There’s a guy
out there for you, I promise. You know I said you were a prince in
there? Well, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find
him.”

He hugged Leslie again then stood back. “Now
I’d better get back home, before Gideon finds someone else to lick
chocolate off.”

Leslie snorted. “That’ll be the day. That man
adores you. You know that, you shameless hussy.”

His friend’s facial expression changed to one
that Leslie called ‘Giddy Goofy.’ Dreamy, with a carnal glint to
the eyes. In his fanciful moments, Leslie thought perhaps that
description sounded like a delicious recipe.

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s mutual.” He turned
to lope down the pavement, waving as he made his way to the tube
station across the road. “Speak to you later, Leslie. Thanks for
the afternoon and the company.”

“No, thank
you
,”
Leslie called after him. “For putting up with me and a bloody
fashion show.”

Eddie shot him a wide grin across his
shoulder and crossed the street, striding toward home and no doubt
Gideon.

Chapter 2

Leslie watched his friend depart and heaved a sigh.
“And there we have it,” he muttered. “Alone again.”

He started walking, clutching his coat around
his shoulders, his underwear still uncomfortable. He’d change it
when he got home and throw this beastly thong out. His small but
comfortable flat wasn’t far, one of the reasons he’d chosen it. It
was close to the Mystique Hotel where most of their company fashion
events were held. It was also close to his job at Debussy Fashion
in Hackney, where he worked as a trainee fabric buyer and general
factotum to his rather high-powered and sometimes scary as hell
boss, Laverne Debussy-Smith.

Leslie had been living in his new home for
three months, ever since both of his previous housemates had moved
out of the Kennington house they’d shared. Eddie had of course
moved in with Gideon to the palatial flat above their restaurant,
Galileo’s, and Taylor had moved in his with his fiancé, Draven.
Both his housemates had been apologetic about the turn of events
and deserting Leslie, but he’d been philosophical about it.

“I knew it would happen one day,” he’d sighed
when they’d taken turns staring at him with anxious eyes. “I’m
really happy for you guys. You deserve this. It’s about time I
moved my arse and found somewhere closer to work anyway with the
amount of time I’m spending there recently. Gives me an excuse to
find a nifty flat and put my stamp on it.”

Just before Taylor had moved out, they’d
given their notice. Taylor’s boyfriend Draven had found Leslie
somewhere suitable to live, for which he was grateful. He was
certainly paying less than he’d expected and suspected Draven had
pulled someone’s strings. Also, thanks to an unexpected but decent
raise from Laverne when hearing of his predicament, Leslie had been
able to afford the compact (euphemism for tiny box room, he
thought) studio flat in Shoreditch.

Five minutes into his walk home, he passed
work and on a sudden impulse, he decided he’d pop in and see if
anything was going on. Often there were spare pieces of sample
fabric and clothing items left over in the staff recycle bin for
them to take home. Leslie desperately wanted a piece of frilly lace
for a fancy dress party he was attending soon. He was going as Adam
Ant and needed lacy cuffs sewn onto on his royal blue jacket.
Perhaps he might get lucky going into the office when there were
not too many eagle-eyed and needy employees around.

He made a quick stop for a coffee at the
small café next to work and, as he left, he waved cheekily at the
construction workers working on the scaffolding above the café.
There was one burly young soul called Frankie whom he rather liked
and who always wolf-whistled when he walked past. He wasn’t there
today but Leslie waved anyway. There were a few hoots and comments
and he waggled his arse in return.

Normally he wouldn’t have been so
flamboyantly camp in the vicinity of what he imagined was mostly a
heterosexual encamp—apart from Frankie, who’d made his desire to
have Leslie known—but they’d been working there for months and he’d
gotten to know them. He was still on the fence about taking Frankie
up on his offer. The guy seemed very sweet but a bit innocent.
Leslie rather liked them a little more experienced, even older.

Laverne made it a habit to send coffee and
cake over to them every now and then to keep them sweet. She was
philosophical about the noise and dust that swept through their own
offices. “At least if I keep them a bit happy, they’re happy to
return the favour,” she’d said one night. “The other evening, I had
an important gentleman from Japan here and they stopped twenty
minutes earlier with all the drilling and stuff so I could have my
meeting in peace. They scratch my arse, I scratch theirs with
treats. It works well.”

The lobby of the quaint old office building
was quiet, with only the elderly concierge sitting behind the worn,
scratched desk as he read his copy of
The
Sun
. Stuck on Page 3, Leslie noticed with a grin. The man
waved at Leslie, who walked over to the old lift, the one that
still had the pull-down metal gate, which creaked ominously as it
travelled to the third floor.

“Afternoon, young Larry. You do know it’s a
weekend, don’t you?” He scowled. “Not that them lot next door care.
Bloody noisy gits, the lot of them. Why they have to work on a
weekend, I don’t know.”

Leslie sighed as he waved hello. Sid’s
constant moans at the workforce next door could get a little
wearing. “Yes, Sid, I do. I’m just here to check something
out.”

The concierge insisted on calling him Larry.
No amount of conversation to explain that his name was actually
Leslie had ever got Sid any closer to remembering it. It was easier
to simply accept the name change even though Leslie hated it. It
reminded him of a game called Larry the Lounge Lizard his older
brother Nathan had used to play years ago.

“Well, beware. The cleaners are working up on
your floor, and you know what that young Adrian is like. Bloody
handsy little bastard, wasn’t he, at the last Christmas party? If I
recall, he was all over you like bloody ants on a picnic
blanket.”

Leslie paused. He did indeed remember that
night when Laverne had needed to extricate Adrian’s tongue from
Leslie’s mouth and his greedy fingers from his crotch. Leslie had
been a little under the weather that night and his reflexes at
fending off unwanted attention had been somewhat impaired. The
words ‘voracious octopus’ sprung to mind.

“Oh, thanks for the warning. I’ll do my best
to avoid him.” Leslie pressed the button for the lift and waited.
When it opened, he stepped inside and listened to the sound of
cheesy music as the lift arrived at the third floor.

Leslie waited for the doors to open then
peered cautiously out into the corridor. It was empty. He tried to
tiptoe quietly down the corridor so as to not to attract anyone’s
attention, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he got to the main
office unscathed. He slipped in and closed the door behind him,
locking it for good measure. Let Bad Breath Adrian try and get
through that, he thought with a smirk. As he turned, someone loomed
in front of him and he shrieked like a cat being disembowelled. His
heart pounded and he pressed himself back against the door,
wondering for an instant if Adrian had found him after all.

“Leslie, dear, really?” Laverne
Debussy-Smith’s husky voice sounded pained. “My fucking ears are
now ringing like the bells of Notre Dame.”

“Well, jeez Louise, forgive me for thinking
someone was about to murder me,” retorted Leslie snarkily, bearing
in mind this
was
his boss and trying to
tone it down just a bit.

Laverne’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as
she drawled, “What are you doing here, anyway? On the scrounge
again?” Her words belied the affectionate glance she directed at
him as Leslie huffed.

Laverne Debussy-Smith was a law unto herself.
She was owner and founder of the company, as well as being a
talented clothing designer. Her own suit label, simply titled
‘Debussy,’ was highly prized, made for both women and men. Leslie
had one in his closet but doubted he could ever afford another.

Laverne was also a man who’d been born Lenny
James, but decided that Laverne was definitely more fun in the
office. The man behind the woman was just as treasured by the
staff.

“Ha-ha. If you must know, I was coming in to
check that delivery for Monday. The suit for that guy in Waterloo,
the one who spent a bloody fortune on it. Oliver somebody or the
other.” Leslie felt gratified that he’d remembered the delivery he
was supposed to do and could use it as an excuse. Laverne’s comment
about scrounging had rather wounded him, even if it
was
true.

Laverne nodded and Leslie didn’t like the
glint in her aqua eyes. It looked…cunning. That could be a bad sign
of things to come, knowing her. He moved away from the door, going
toward the open-plan office, and, coincidentally, the recycle
bin.

“Not so fast, my little bit of sex on legs.”
Laverne’s tone became playful and sexy and Leslie’s stomach
plummeted. He just knew he wasn’t going to be investigating the bin
for his lace anytime soon from the sound of it. Slowly, he turned
to face the woman dressed in a form-hugging, deep blue tailored
pants suit, mock breasts pushing up the stressed fabric. Leslie
wondered idly if it was screaming for release as the mounds pressed
against it like sponge being forced through the fabric tear of a
stuffed animal. A ripple of apprehension flooded his body.
Laverne’s favours came in two distinct flavours. One was the
innocuous, ‘Could you make me a cup of tea, darling?’ to ‘Could you
just rip your first born from your womb and give it to me?’ There
was no in-between in Leslie’s opinion. Perhaps he was being a bit
of a drama queen but these ad hoc requests always made him
nervous.