The Intern: An MM Office Romance

by Akeroyd , Serena

  “Far more important,” he concurred with a hum. “I’ll tell Harvester to get things started. Should take a while for the paperwork, you know.”

  “Can’t take that long,” I pointed out softly. “You already look like death warmed up.”

  His nose crinkled. “You’ve grown decidedly frank in your old age, Devlin.”

  My lips twitched. “I suppose I get that from you.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Want me to help you next door?” I asked. “Next time, just call and I’ll come over.”

  He wafted a hand. “Wanted to speak with you anyway.”

  “About?”

  “Saw you and Micah go running off together this afternoon.” His mouth firmed into a line. “You were laughing. Don’t think I’ve heard you laugh like that ever.”

  I blinked. “He makes me happy.”

  “Can see that,” he agreed. “Made me happy to hear it though, to watch you together.” Awkwardly, he shifted on the seat, before he murmured, “Chase that happiness, son. Too much bitterness in the world. Don’t let yourself end up like your mother and I. Fools to the last.”

  “You could have changed things—”

  He cleared his throat, and for a second, his eyes were fixed on mine before he dropped them to his lap. “Not if—”

  “Not if, what?” I groused.

  “Not if I had other inclinations.”

  My eyes flared wide as the ramifications of those six words hit home.

  Was he telling me he was gay?

  I blinked at him some more, then rasped, “No, that would change things.”

  “Clarice never understood. How could she? Bitter, very bitter, you know?”

  A million memories cascaded into being, and through them all, the sight of Father with Hendry was one that resonated.

  “Hendry?” I choked out.

  He cleared his throat again. “Loved him for forty years. Met him that last year I was in the army. Left the regiment with me.”

  “He’s been your servant all this time!”

  “All we could have together.” Uneasily, he patted the sofa cushion at his side. “Better than nothing.”

  “The women? They were a front?”

  He shrugged.

  “Mother knew? Or was she bitter because of the cheating?”

  “We never talked about it. She led her life, and I led mine.”

  “I-I...”

  It was official.

  Now, two people had robbed me of speech.

  Micah and my father.

  “Just wanted to tell you, Devlin, that I think you’re very brave.” He coughed. “Glad times are different for you.” Then, his gaze turned to mine for the first time, and he murmured, “You could always have a surrogate.”

  And like that, he popped the bubble.

  Just as I knew, he always would. But for the first time in my life, I didn’t resent him for it.

  Couldn’t resent him for it.

  A life led tangled in a lie was no life at all...

  So, because I was insane, or because he’d pushed me off the edge, I said the only thing I could:

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Thirty-Four

  Micah

  Two weeks later

  As we strode toward the car, I peered at a moody coastline that I appreciated more than I could say.

  The past two weeks had been interesting to say the least. I loved London, and knew that if Devlin wanted to move back here, I’d be more than willing. The city itself was incredible, and I loved the house, even if we hadn’t stayed there for more than four days.

  The salty sea air brought with it the tang of Devlin’s aftershave, and as he lifted his arm to cup my shoulders, I moved into him as he leaned back against his Jaguar.

  “You like Port Isaac, don’t you?” I asked him softly.

  “We have property nearby. I used to spend summers here sometimes. Lots of good memories.”

  My lips twitched. “You just made a good memory for me. I can’t believe you had Kyrian Trevelyan fly in just so I could meet him.” I shook my head. “Especially now everyone’s all over him.”

  “I told him you were pivotal to making Twisted Love the success it was.” He shrugged. “Plus, I saw how happy it made you to meet Kurt when we first arrived.”

  “So the plan to cheer me up is to let me meet all my favorite writers?” I grinned. “Serena Akeroyd’s a Brit. I wonder if you can arrange a meeting with her.”

  “I didn’t know you liked smut.” He arched a brow. “The things we learn.”

  I grinned at him. “Indeed,” I mocked, using his cut-glass British accent against him, “the things we learn.” I reached over and tugged on his lapel. “Please be advised that I’ll knee you in the balls if you call that kind of thing smut again.”

  His lips twisted. “Advice taken and put into practice.”

  “Smart move.” I frowned. “Didn’t you like Twisted Love?”

  He shrugged. “Not my thing.”

  “Funny that, considering you’re a romantic in your own way.” I laughed when his eyes bulged.

  “Me?”

  I nodded. “I did say in your own way.”

  He still stared at me like I’d gone crazy—but maybe I had. For him. “Do you like the Classics?” he asked, his desire to change the subject coming across loud and clear.

  “Why? Going to dig up Charles Dickens so I can meet him too?”

  He snorted. “If memory serves, she lives in Yorkshire. Close to where the Bronte sisters were born.” He pursed his lips. “Top Withins is where Emily Bronte set the Earnshaw family house in Wuthering Heights.”

  Interest sparked in me. “Really?”

  He hummed. “If you want to meet her, I’m sure it can be arranged, and we can visit there as well.”

  His easy compliance, his eagerness to make me happy, had me sighing as I burrowed my face into his throat. Coming to the UK had been an amazing idea.

  I’d left New York feeling oddly isolated, trapped inside myself, and that goddamn claustrophobia rearing its ugly head because I felt as if I was the small space. No room to move, to breathe.

  A few sessions with a counselor had told me it wasn’t for me, but it didn’t mean I wouldn’t try again when we were back in the States.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, knowing that even if what happened with Rhode remained a dark blot in my memory, this time here, with him, a time of utter acceptance, would always outweigh it.

  “For what?”

  “Wanting to give me the world.”

  He laughed. “The world is easy when your bank account is deep enough.”

  I hummed. “I know that. How couldn’t I?”

  He reached for my chin, cupping my cheeks before he pressed our mouths together. I sighed into his kiss, loving it and loving him as he whispered, “My heart isn’t easy. It doesn’t fit in a bank account. And for the longest time, it was in cold storage.” His smile was shaky. “It’s only right that the man who made it beat again gets all his heart desires.”

  “And what if I said that all I want is you?”

  His lips brushed mine again. “I’d say that can be arranged as well.”

  “Good.” I pressed my forehead against his as the salty breeze whipped at us, making our coats flap around, dampening our jeans and boots. “I-I think I love you, Devlin.”

  He rocked his head from side to side. “Only think? I know I love you, Micah.” His grin was quick. “I’m more patient than I was before. I can wait for you to know how you feel.”

  I slipped my arms around his waist. “Would you do one thing for me?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Meet my family? I know I said—”

  He tensed, but pressed a finger to my lips to stop me rattling on. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.” I released a sigh as I stared deeply into his eyes. “I have a feeling I’m going to spend forever with you, Devlin.”

  “Forever can be a
rranged too.”

  I smiled. “Good.”

  Epilogue

  Devlin

  Three weeks later

  In comparison to the UK, California was boiling hot, and because my British body had become accustomed to the damp of home, it was miserable. Which meant I was grouchy.

  Even after sleeping off the jet lag in a five star hotel, I was grumpy, which was saying a lot.

  I’d woken up with Micah’s lips around my cock, and I was still in a mood, but I knew that was probably forecasting how bad today was going to go.

  It wasn’t just the weather, but the upcoming meeting.

  I had to be strong for Micah’s sake, but after what he’d told me about his coming out, the lengths he’d gone to to protect himself, I couldn’t imagine this day ending with anything other than my knocking the bastard who called himself Micah’s dad out.

  The drive to the house took place in silence.

  City and Colour played on Micah’s playlist, and I thought it was fitting that the track, ‘Coming Home’ throbbed through the speakers as he veered out of Portola Valley and to the hills where he’d been raised.

  We passed a half-dozen homes, each tucked away amid trees and sheltered to give the owners privacy, but the drive we stopped at was the largest of them all. Palm trees popped up everywhere, shielding any view of the main house from the road.

  A small stand was at the side, just in front of the gates, and Micah pressed a button on it.

  “Who is it?”

  Micah sighed. “It’s Micah.”

  There was a hesitation—I practically felt it coming through across the speaker.

  “George, I’ll take the blame.”

  The gates rolled inward.

  “Who’s George?”

  “He’s my dad’s assistant,” was the wooden retort as we drove up a pleasant drive that was reminiscent of a day trip into a jungle with the mass of flora that overtook the yard.

  In the middle of it was a colonial house with bright blue shutters that was painted a blinding white. It was only two stories, but wide—the windows were all French doors, all leading out onto an upper or lower verandah that snaked around the house, and there were over twelve sets of doors on each floor.

  "You grew up here?" At his nod, I said, “Must have felt like an adventure."

  A ghost of a smile whispered across his lips. "It did. I had a treehouse over there." He pointed into the chaotic tangle of trees. "I loved it."

  "I'll bet." I eyed him, aware he was under stress and not entirely sure why he was putting himself through this. But I'd be there for him, with him as we maneuvered this next obstacle together. That was all I could do, and it was, I knew, all he needed from me.

  To be there.

  Well, I was.

  I always would be too.

  As he pulled up to the house, switching off the engine, we just sat there.

  Him staring up at it, me watching him and wondering what he was going to do.

  Nothing about this felt like the right move, but it was his choice. His decision. And I'd stand by him.

  His hands tightened around the wheel as he murmured, "You know that counselor I saw in London?"

  He'd gone three times, but after the third, he'd returned home angry. I hadn't pressed, knowing he'd tell me in good time...

  "Yes."

  "It was strange. She wanted to talk about everything but the rape." His brow puckered. "It made me think about stuff that I didn't really want to."

  "What like?"

  "Random things, really. I called Cassandra, you know, Rhode's EA?"

  Surprised, I asked, "Why?"

  "I wanted to know why she was a bitch to me."

  Snickering a little, I queried, "Did she tell you why?"

  "She said she was sorry." He cut me a look. "I didn't expect that. I just felt I deserved to know why she was so horrible to me."

  "What was her reason?"

  "She said she was stressed. Remember I told you how she kept disappearing to the restroom all the time?"

  "You thought she was pregnant," I confirmed.

  "Yeah, I did. She isn't. She just went to the bathroom to cry."

  My eyes flared wide. "Jesus."

  He nodded. "Rhode made her so unhappy that she had to keep escaping to cry." His brow puckered. "Isn't that horrible?"

  "It is." My jaw worked as I thought about all the changes I'd be forcing on HR when I returned to Astley Publishing. It was quite clear to me that we'd been letting down our employees for a long time. Only fuck knew what else was being brushed under the carpet. "Did you feel better for knowing why she was that way to you?"

  "No. It made me feel worse. Rhode did a lot of damage to a lot of people. It made me think about how many toxic people I know who are just like her."

  Warily, I eyed the house. "Your dad?"

  He nodded. "That's why we're here. I want to see him one last time before I cut him out for good."

  "Okay," I said slowly, still not sure if that was the best idea.

  "You don't think it's wise?" Micah asked.

  "Not really, but we'll do whatever you need."

  His lips twitched, a smile forming for the first time today. "Who'd have thought you could be so supportive when, that first time I went to your place, all you could do was talk about soup, fruit, and the Stock Exchange?"

  I grumbled, "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

  "Nope," he agreed, and I had to laugh because he sounded so fucking cheerful that I was left with no alternative.

  Though I didn't want to upset him, I was curious. "I thought you loved your dad?" I asked.

  "I do. I did. But it was only with distance that I saw how he controlled Mom. Like, she wasn't religious when I was a kid. She only went to church because of him, because she thought it would help save her marriage." His brow puckered. "I wonder if it was worth it."

  "Would she still be with him if it wasn't?"

  "I guess not."

  I cleared my throat. "You haven't heard from her, either? Not since—"

  He shook his head. "No. Not since that last time."

  "Maybe she agrees with him?"

  "Maybe she does." He reached up and plucked his bottom lip. "I never liked leaving home. I was always happy to be with Mom, and every year, Dad made me go to Summer Camp. I hated it, but I had to pretend to love it because that's what you do, right?"

  "Fake it 'til you make it," I agreed.

  He nodded. "So, this one year, we started to learn how to use canoes. This prick, a kid called Joseph, he really didn't like me. I don't know why, but he just didn't. He tipped over my canoe and he and his cronies held me under the water. I managed to get out of the harness but I bobbed under water for a while, using the little air trap to breathe because I knew they'd just push me back under again."

  "Jesus," I breathed.

  "It was bad. Their parents were called in, mine were too. I wanted to go home—"

  "Of course you did."

  "Dad wouldn't let me. Said it was a character building exercise."

  "Fuck."

  He hummed. "I only remembered that when I talked to that counselor." His brow puckered. "I've hated small spaces ever since. The water too. Swimming was always hell for me. But being in elevators was even worse. I remembered the canoe thing, just not what Dad said afterward."

  "I really want to break his nose."

  Micah cut me a look. "You want to break my dad's nose?" At my growl of assent, he snickered. "I'd love to see that."

  "Then shift your arse," I retorted, "we're at the right place for the shit to hit the fan."

  His smile died as he reached out and covered my hand with his. "Neither of them called even though they had to have heard about Rhode."

  I bit the inside of my cheek as anger pummeled me. "I know."

  "They were quite happy to throw me to the wolves, because they knew I would never be granted Financial Aid."

  "I know."

  He blinked. "They don't
deserve me."

  "No," I agreed softly. "They don't."

  His smile blossomed out of nowhere, and though I expected him to unfasten his seatbelt and to get out of the car, he didn't.

  Instead, he turned on the ignition, pressed the button that let the roof retract, and put the car into drive. For a second, I could have sworn he was about to drive into the front of the house, but he didn't. He went close, though. Close enough for me to jerk in surprise, before he pulled into reverse and started the ride back to the hotel.

  “Are you sure you want to leave without seeing them?” I asked, noticing the gates were wide open, as if George was waiting for us to leave.

  “I’m positive,” he confirmed, then, when we were outside the drive, and the gates pulled inward, he braked, and leaned over the center console.

  Knowing what he was doing, I pushed into him, and pressing my lips to his, I let him own this moment as he kissed me. Gently.

  With love.

  With feeling.

  All in full view of the cameras that were mounted onto the walls either side of the drive.

  “You’re the only family I need,” he whispered, and those words, more than anything else, resonated with me.

  I pressed my hand to his knee as he started the car again, and laughed when he raised his arm and flipped the bird at the gate before he got us the hell out of there.

  Epilogue

  Micah

  Two years later

  “Goddamn bitch,” Devlin snarled, and I watched him, storming from one side of the room to the other, his rage spewing from his pores as he moved. Jesus, the man was like poetry in motion.

  For a second, I was more interested in that than why he was angry.

  Two years with him, and I still felt like he could snatch the air from my lungs. I knew he felt the same too, because, every now and then, he’d look at me and sigh.

  I knew how the Mona Lisa felt, but I didn’t mind being treated like a world class painting when he’d break that sigh, move into me, and would kiss me like today was our last day.