Play Along

by Mathilde Watson

  Mark's fond memories carried him through the rest of the ceremony, and finally everyone in the room relaxed. Nathan and Annabelle were escorted out of the room and across the hall to the large ballroom where the reception was being held. The front three rows then stood and exited by twos in a pretentious parade of pomp and finery. Once they had cleared the room, the rest of the guests began filing out, following the leaders into the reception hall.

  ****

  Chance ignored his father's glare and threaded his way through the crowded room to where Beverly waited with his mother. The people scheduled to participate in the upcoming ceremony milled about the room, reviewing their lines and going over which cues signaled what actions. The arrangements all seemed complicated and exaggerated, and Chance couldn't help but be relieved he had been spared an acting role in the ridiculous production.

  He had to make an entrance, of course. The family and close friends, along with select social figures, were to be escorted into the ballroom just before the ceremony began. His date with Beverly had been carefully set up to prevent any gossip, rumors, or embarrassment. His relationship with Alex had mostly been brushed aside, but it had not gone completely unnoticed by Nathan Marshall's cronies. His parents seemed to have the ridiculous notion that having their son appear with a woman at his side would preserve the appearances that meant so much to them.

  And, well, if they wanted to delude themselves like that, let them. Personally, he didn't care. He only chose to attend the ceremony because he knew he would get hell for it if he didn't show. He wore the suit his father had sent up for him, but he skipped the appointment with the in-house hairdresser. Instead he decided to be bold and pulled his hair back into a ponytail, knowing it would make his father furious and thrilling at the thought.

  Reaching his mother's side at last, he met her eyes dead on, daring her to comment on his appearance or his tardiness… anything. To his surprise however she graced him with what appeared to be a genuine smile, perhaps even an amused smirk before throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. Stunned, Chance returned her embrace, enjoying the unusual experience.

  "You look wonderful, dear." One of her hands cupped the back of his head, and Chance could feel her fingers toying with the ponytail at the nape of his neck. The tone of her voice was almost conspiratorial, and Chance could feel her smile against his cheek as she spoke. It pleased him to think that she might suspect why he wore his hair the way he did, and that she might even approve.

  Letting her go, he stepped back and looked into her eyes for confirmation of his suspicions. Her expression had become the usual schooled mask of cheerfulness she always wore, but there was a glint in her eye that suggested maybe he was right.

  "And you look radiant, Mother, as always."

  Chance placed a quick peck on her cheek and turned to Beverly, who stood next to his mother, wearing a glittering emerald green cocktail dress that made her look years older. He wondered fleetingly if his father realized that the date he'd arranged for him was under the legal drinking age, but he shrugged the thought off. His father probably just saw a beautiful young woman seated behind a desk. Seeing how she dwarfed his son would probably cause the man to burst a vein or something.

  "And you look more stunning than ever. Thank you for coming."

  Beverly laughed and offered her arm. "I look ridiculous next to you, and we both know it. But thank you for the flattery just the same." As Chance took her arm, he could see that the ushers were waving frantically in his direction, trying desperately to organize everyone for the grand parade to their seats in the ballroom.

  "Hey! You really are stunning. That dress sets off your eyes beautifully. I'm the one who looks ridiculous. Now, we'd better get moving." Beverly just shook her head and curled her hand around Chance's forearm. Chance turned back to his mother, offering her a quick smile.

  She just nodded and waved them away with a vacant smile. Disappointed that he hadn't been able to get more out of her, Chance turned and led Beverly across the room to where the ushers were waiting. As quickly as they reached the other side of the room the doors were opened and the line of special guests—significant business and political associates—were ushered to their seats on the front rows. Chance and Beverly were in the third row, behind the power-brokers his father considered more important.

  The purpose of this ceremony had nothing to do with love or family, and the seating arrangements proved it. Still, Chance was glad he wasn't on display on the front row. He couldn't help squirming in his seat, crossing his legs and trying to distribute his weight off his sore ass. It took a great deal of effort to keep the grin off his face when he considered his condition and the reason for it. Yes, he hurt a little, but the memories gave him such a thrill that he actually enjoyed the sensation and managed to maintain a dreamy smile throughout the ceremony.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mark held back and waited for everyone else to exit first. Once the room cleared, he bypassed the reception line and heading straight for the refreshment tables. He had already traded all the words he wanted to with Nate, and now he was determined to have a good time.

  The buffet was covered in hors d'œuvres and fancy little finger sandwiches, expensive, dainty snacks with little flavor. Along the far wall Mark spotted the bar, and he decided to visit that first. After sitting through two hours of boring speeches and revolting nonsense, he needed a stiff drink. He'd earned it, the same as everyone else seated in the peanut gallery.

  Mark found an empty space up close to the bar and turned his back on the crowd, waiting to catch the server's eye. A minute later he had a shot of whiskey in front of him, and downed it in one throw. Setting the glass back down on the bar he considered the merits of a second shot, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was a hangover when he met with Manny and Louie tomorrow.

  The bartender returned and offered him another shot and he refused. The glass disappeared and the man moved off swiftly to deal with other guests. Mark stayed at the bar for a few more minutes, watching the servers with a professional eye and admiring the effortless way they maneuvered behind the cramped bar.

  Finally Mark decided he'd had enough. He only knew one person here, and he didn't particularly care to talk to Nate again. He'd gotten the closure he'd come for; he would never feel any more regret that the relationship was over. Now he just wanted to head back up to his room and get some sleep. He had a wake-up call scheduled for four in the morning and that wasn't very far off.

  Mark nodded his thanks to the head bartender and was about to straighten back up and leave when someone crowded up behind him. A heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and the noxiously sweet scent of champagne blew over his face as Nate whispered in his ear, "Still here, I see. I knew you couldn't keep away. You want to head back to your room, finish what we started the other night? If we make it fast, no one will even miss me."

  Nate was grinding against Mark's butt, right there in front of his wife and all their guests. Disgusted, Mark pushed him away and rounded on the arrogant prick. Before he could stop himself he grabbed Nate by the upper arms and shook him, whispering his reply back into Nate's ear. "It is never going to happen, you sick bastard! You got that? I don't want your hands or any other part of you on me ever again! If I never see you again, it will be too soon!"

  Mark gave Nate a shove and backed away as fast as he could. He raced through the crowd and out the door, thankful for the easy escape his size provided him with as everyone moved out of his way.

  He arrived at the elevators just as someone else was getting out. He climbed in, pressed the button for his floor, and willed the car to move faster. He didn't want to spend a minute longer under Nathan Marshall's roof, and if that meant spending the night in a hard plastic chair at the airport, so be it.

  ****

  The ceremony went off without a hitch and Chance rose to his feet, offering his arm to Beverly. Everyone had remembered their lines and cues and all the pa
rticipants moved perfectly in the finely orchestrated dance.

  Chance couldn't get out fast enough when the ceremony ended. Sitting through his father's arrogant display of wealth and power made him feel dirty. How could anyone live like that? It frightened him that he shared a name and DNA with that man.

  For the next half hour, Chance endured the sycophantic company of his father's guests. Along with the rich, famous, and powerful members of the city, Nathan Marshall had invited various other business people as well. Some were his competitors, but most were retailers or represented some form of business that catered to the hotel industry. They all hoped that by attending they could secure better contracts or more business from the more powerful people present.

  It seemed to Chance that everyone present had come to further their own agenda, their own business or social status, rather than to witness or celebrate the silver anniversary of a loving couple. Of course, not even the couple in question had come for that reason, and to Chance's mind, that only made it worse.

  The journey across the ballroom to the bar proved long and tedious. He could feel Beverly's weight dragging on his arm, and realized she too felt the drain of the evening. Turning to her, he silently thanked the gods for providing him with such an easy excuse to escape the wheeling and dealing. "Bev, would you like to sit down? I can get you something to drink, if you'd like."

  Beverly smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Chance led her to the closest table and pulled out a chair for her, waiting until she was seated before hurrying toward the bar, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. He didn't think he could take it if he had to listen to one more comment about how romantic it was to see two people still so much in love after all these years. Even the fools spouting those ridiculous platitudes knew them to be false, and Chance doubted his artificial smile could hold much longer.

  Reaching the end of the bar at last, Chance finally allowed himself to look around. He'd been looking dead ahead since he left Beverly, for fear of catching someone's eye and being stopped again. Now he scanned the people around the bar, looking for an opening large enough to get in while still avoiding conversation. His gaze landed on a tall, imposing form towering over the rest of the crowd at the end of the bar, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

  It was Mark. Even with his back turned, Chance recognized him. There couldn't possibly be two such men in one hotel, could there? His salt and pepper hair had been combed back neatly, and his body was now showcased in a tuxedo rather than jeans and leather, but there was no mistaking that body.

  Chance's heart raced, and all the blood in his head immediately rushed to his groin. Every other thought fled Chance's mind as he slowly worked his way toward the object of his desire. All he wanted in that moment was to wrap himself around Mark and hold on. He couldn't believe he'd found him again. This time he wasn't going to let him get away without at least learning his last name.

  Chance pushed his way through the crowd, anxious to reach Mark and desperate not to lose sight of him. He had to weave around a large group of ladies, dodging their hands as they gestured animatedly, and forcing his attention briefly away from the prize. When he looked back his view of Mark was blocked by another man, standing much too close behind him.

  At first glance the newcomer appeared to be leaning around Mark to get the bartender's attention, but Chance's eyes, which had been instantly drawn to Mark's ass, recognized the grinding motion of the other man's hips. Neither did he miss the hand that landed on Mark's thigh or the close proximity of the other man's lips to Mark's ear…

  Chance raised his eyes to the other man's face, his father's face, and he had to fight down a sudden rush of nausea. Those were his father's hands groping his dream lover. It didn't matter that his father knew nothing about the other night. Mark belonged to him, damn it. What he had with Mark was the only beautiful thing he had going for him, and he couldn't let his father's grubby hands taint that.

  Outraged, he struggled to force his way through the unrelenting crowd. He nearly bowled over an older couple in his haste to reach the pair, and had to make himself to stop and steady the gentleman before he tumbled to the floor.

  After making his apologies he looked up, just in time to see an equally outraged Mark push his father away. Mark leaned down to Nate's ear and grabbed his shoulder. He gave Nate a shake and said a few hasty words before turning to storm off across the room and out the door to the lobby. Nate's expression didn't falter, his self-satisfied smirk remaining in place, but Chance didn't spare him another thought. Instead he turned and followed Mark, wanting to feel his arms around him and needing an explanation.

  The crowd had parted swiftly to make way for Mark's towering form, but it was not so kind to Chance. Shorter than many of the people around him, he had to shove and weave his way through the throng. A few people tried to speak to him, but he rudely ignored their remarks and continued to fight his way toward the door.

  When he reached the lobby his progress was stopped by Beverly grabbing his arm and pulling him over to a corner. He went with her reluctantly, scanning the room and hallway for Mark. A few people were lounging on the plush sofas or standing in small groups, talking and laughing, but he saw no sign of Mark anywhere. It didn't matter, though. He knew Mark's room number.

  "What are you doing, Chance? Where are you going?"

  Beverly shook him by the arms, demanding his attention, and Chance raised his gaze to her worried face. He took one of her hands and squeezed, grinning up at her. He was so excited about seeing Mark again he was shaking. "That was him Bev! He's still here. I need to go after him!"

  Beverly's brows drew together and her mouth turned down in a frown as she studied him, and Chance grew anxious.

  "Him who? Do you mean to tell me that the old guy you just chased out here is your prince charming?"

  Chance laughed at her horrified expression. Sometimes she seemed far wiser than her years, and then, at times like these she would remind him that she was only nineteen. "He's not old, Beverly. … he's experienced." Chance grinned but Beverly's frown deepened.

  "Yeah, well, his experience includes a nice long history with your dad."

  Beverly's remark stung like a slap to the face and Chance dropped her hand and stepped away, frowning back at her.

  "What are you talking about? When my father tried to talk to him just now he told him off and tore out of here like he had the plague." Chance crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over the bruise above his left nipple.

  Beverly sighed and shook her head. "But he was here wasn't he? At your parents' party. Think, Chance. All of the guests here are 'by invitation only.' They didn't just meet. In fact, when he checked in, your father met him in the lobby and called him an 'old friend.' He personally showed him up to his room, so they could catch up, and he didn't come back down to the office that night. He's one of your dad's 'friends'."

  Chance leaned back against the wall and let Beverly's news sink in. Mark was one of his father's fuck buddies? But how could that be? He was so strong, confident and sure of himself, not to mention kind. There had to be some mistake. "No, you're wrong. There has to be some other explanation. You didn't see how he reacted in there, when my father tried to grope him!"

  Chance's voice had grown louder with every word, and Beverly reached out, placing two fingers over his lips. She smiled and moved closer to him, stopping with her face only inches from his. "I'm just saying be careful, all right? Get all the facts and take it slow."

  Chance smiled and rocked forward, placing a kiss on his best friend's cheek. "I'll be careful, but I'm not leaving empty handed this time. This is all just some big, horrible mix-up, you'll see." He headed down the hall for the elevator, determined to see Mark and get some answers.

  "I hope you're right." Beverly called out, as the door closed between them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the elevator reached his floor, Mark tore out of it like it was on fire. He shrugged out of h
is coat, throwing it over his arm while he struggled to open the door with his key-card. God, how he missed real keys. When the light finally flashed green he barreled through the door, slipping off his shoes before it even closed behind him.

  Mark shoved his shoes and his suit coat into his open duffel bag, not bothering to fold them. They would have to be laundered when he got home anyway, so why bother? Most of his packing was already done, and he was ready to get out of there. Only his toiletries waited to be packed, and his clothes for the next morning were laid out in a chair next to the dresser. He worked open his belt and the fly of his dress pants, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. He stepped out of them and scooped them up, shoving them into the bag with his coat and shoes.

  Mark was too furious to care about niceties. He couldn't believe that Nate had propositioned him again, right there in the middle of his anniversary party, not six feet away from his 'loving' wife. Annabelle had stood idly by, watching them, understanding clear on her face. She just watched as her husband fucked people over in more ways than one without lifting a finger to stop him or uttering one word of reproach.

  Mark loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt before making a quick round of the room, checking to be sure he had everything. He wasn't going to spend another night in Nathan's hotel. His flight left at six in the morning, he could nap at the airport. Satisfied that he had everything, Mark went into the bathroom to pack his shaving kit. He gathered his things into the kit and splashed cold water onto his face, trying to wash away the lingering scent of Nate's breath.

  He carried his things back into the bedroom and set them on the dresser next to his bag and went back to work unbuttoning his shirt. His progress was interrupted by a knock at the door, and he almost refused to answer it. It had to be Nate. Who else could it be? But ignoring the now insistent banging wasn't really an option. Oh well. If Nate couldn't take 'no' for an answer, perhaps a fist to the chin would convince him.