by G. R. Lyons
That part always threw him. Adrian loathed abstract art. Couldn't even begin to understand the appeal. It all looked like random, utter nonsense. How the hells could someone appreciate drips and splatters? It didn't mean anything. It didn't look like anything. Art should tell a story, and all Adrian had ever been able to see in abstract paintings was chaos.
Of course, his father adored the abstracts. Had them hanging all over his office and his mansion, the only color enlivening the otherwise stark spaces.
Adrian shook his head. He just didn't get it.
But the few beads and drips of blood? That made perfect sense. Probably shouldn't, but it did. It eased an ache inside him, and that was enough.
Even with the medication locking him into a robotic state, he felt the urge to get the night over with so he could go back home and find some relief. He knew he was going to need it once the meds wore off.
Gods, this night could not be over fast enough.
The car came to a stop. Adrian blinked dumbly for a moment, looking around, then remembered they had to pick up his date. Lovely. Taking a slow, deep breath, he slid toward the door, waited for Rob to open it, then slowly got out and made his way up to the fancy house in front of which they'd parked.
Almost the last place he wanted to be, but he didn't have a choice. He had to make Daddy proud.
Adrian knocked on the door, thankful for the medication as he waited. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all. At least, not to the point that he could feel it. Sure, the whole night was ridiculous, but the medication tamped everything down to the point that he hardly cared.
The sight of a stern, older man answering the door barely fazed him.
“Ah, young Mr. Frost,” the man said. “Come in.”
Adrian followed the man inside and waited while the door was shut.
“I'm Mr. Dawsen,” the man greeted him, extending his hand.
Adrian shook it mechanically while he tried to place the man. Mr. Dawsen. Someone on his father's Board, if he recalled. He almost shook his head and scoffed at the further ridiculousness of the evening. Being on the Board, Mr. Dawsen was sure to be at the gala. So why the hells was Adrian picking up Miss Dawsen when she could have just as easily gone with her parents and met him there?
Still, he didn't say anything. Typical Sebastian Frost. Everything had to be done his way and without question.
“My daughter should be right– Ah, there she is.”
Adrian's empty stare followed Mr. Dawsen's hand as the man gestured at a grand staircase, a young woman slowly descending, dressed in an evening gown. She was exactly the kind of thing his father would pick. Beautiful. Classy. Demure. Probably the kind of woman Adrian himself would like if he were straight.
Which he decidedly wasn't. Not even a little bit.
So he was stuck pretending for the evening, as usual. Adrian dredged a hint of a smile out of nowhere, forcing it past the haze of his medication, and gave the young woman a slight bow. “Miss Dawsen.”
“Mr. Frost,” she murmured, inclining her head. “It's nice to finally meet you.”
Adrian gave a nod, his thoughts too slow to come up with any appropriate response.
“Well,” Mr. Dawsen cut in, “let's get you two on your way.” He paused and pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter's head. “We'll be right behind you.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She flashed her father a smile, then took Adrian's arm and followed him back out to the car.
Adrian handed her in, as he was expected to do, while Rob held the door open for them. Then Adrian slipped into the car, going stone still in his seat while Rob shut the door and darted around to the driver's side.
The entire rest of the ride was blessedly silent. Adrian kept his eyes forward, not so much as sparing his date a glance, though he could feel her eyes on him every once in a while. Thankfully, the medicated fog kept him from feeling the usual tingle of anxiety or embarrassment under her gaze. Otherwise, he'd probably be shaking and sweating already.
They reached the site of the gala, and Adrian went through the whole ridiculous process of getting out of the car, buttoning his jacket, pausing to smile and wave at the obligatory army of journalists and bloggers who lined the carpet leading toward the building—why his father insisted on all this fanfare for a business party, he'd never understand—then helping his date out of the car and walking her up to the door.
The ballroom was fairly empty. Adrian found his father, took Miss Dawsen over to introduce them, then saw his date led away by Mr. Frost's own date for the evening, the two women chatting away as they left the men in peace for a moment before the event really began.
Adrian stood still and silent beside his father. They would be the receiving line for the evening, standing there until the last guests arrived, greeting them each in person.
That would be the easy part. Relatively speaking, anyway. All he had to do was stand there, shake hands, and recite names. So much better than what came after, when he was expected to mingle and pretend to have a good time, pretend to take interest in all the people and conversations.
The first guests arrived, and Adrian's father snapped into fine form, putting on the friendliest smile Adrian had ever seen as he greeted each person by name.
“Lovely to see you,” Mr. Frost said, kissing a woman's hand before gesturing to his side. “You remember my son, Adrian.”
Adrian also pressed the woman's hand as she tittered over his manners and how much he'd grown since she'd last seen him.
Then a man was shaking his hand, though Adrian hadn't caught his name. “Gonna be taking over for your old man one day, eh?” the man asked, giving Adrian a knowing wink.
“He most certainly will,” Sebastian Frost answered before Adrian could say a word.
“Good, good,” the man said, flashing Mr. Frost a smile. “Keep it in the family, I always say.”
“Enjoy the party,” Mr. Frost said, giving the man a friendly nod.
The man smiled and walked off, only to be replaced by another guest. And another. And another. The stream of people seemed to be endless.
In a break between guests, a waiter came by with a tray of champagne glasses, offering a particular one to Adrian before Mr. Frost accepted one of his own.
Adrian held the glass carefully between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and shot his father a skeptical glance.
Mr. Frost leaned over and whispered, “It's virgin.” A stern look crossed his face so quickly, Adrian wasn't quite sure he actually saw it, but he knew what it meant.
His father knew he was medicated, and knew that alcohol didn't mix.
Adrian shrugged and took a sip, then quickly lowered the glass as the next guest arrived to shake his hand.
“My son, Adrian,” Mr. Frost said.
“Ah, so this is the young man I've heard so much about,” the man said, smiling at Adrian as they broke their handshake. “Your father speaks very highly of you.”
Adrian almost frowned. He does? Then again, he'd have to. No way would Sebastian Frost ever let it be hinted, especially by his own words, that his only son and heir were anything less than perfect, anything less than worthy of the Frost name.
If only he'd show some of that praise directly to Adrian himself.
Not that it would ever happen.
Adrian was nothing better than a failure in his father's eyes. No matter how well he did in school, no matter how intelligent or capable he showed himself to be in his studies, the simple fact of his social anxiety was a black mark on his existence that nothing could erase.
Damned good thing the old man didn't know Adrian was gay. It would make the disgrace of his social anxiety look like nothing in comparison.
The line of guests continued, a monotonous stream, until Adrian heard a change of tone in his father's voice.
“Ah. Mr. Cinder.”
Adrian blinked and looked over. A handsome young man, probably only a few years older than Adrian, was shaking his father's hand and inclining h
is head submissively. “Mr. Frost. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“And this lovely lady?” Mr. Frost said, indicating the woman on the man's arm.
“My wife…”
They went through introductions, then Mr. Frost looked at Adrian with a smile that looked almost calculating. “Adrian, might I introduce one of my new employees, courtesy of the merger, Milo Cinder. Mr. Cinder, my son, Adrian Frost.”
Mr. Cinder shook Adrian's hand, offering him the same smile he'd given Adrian's father. “Mr. Frost. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Sir? Adrian almost laughed. He never could quite get used to that.
“You, too,” Adrian murmured, still trying to be polite while also trying to make sense of the look in his father's eyes. There was clearly something here Adrian was missing.
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Cinder,” Mr. Frost said.
“Thank you, sir.” Mr. Cinder inclined his head, offered another shy smile, then headed into the ballroom.
Adrian glanced sideways at his father, but Mr. Frost merely grinned at him briefly before turning away to greet the next person.
Finally, the last few guests trickled in, and Adrian was released to mingle and return to his date. Not that he wanted to. Still, Father's orders couldn't be ignored.
He slowly made his way through the room, pretending to look for Miss Dawsen while also trying to avoid the elegant crush of bodies all around him. Just about the time he thought he was safe, thought he could escape to the bar and just idle there for a while, he stepped past one group of businessmen chatting about emerging technologies and almost walked right into Miss Dawsen.
So much for avoiding her.
“Mr. Frost.” She curtseyed prettily.
Adrian braced himself, knowing what was expected of him whether or not he could physically manage. “Would you care to dance, Miss Dawsen?”
“Thank you. I'd be delighted.”
Forcing a smile, Adrian took her hand and led her out to the dance floor. The woman felt tiny and fragile in his arms as Adrian assumed the proper frame and led her amongst the other dancing couples, the steps coming back to him from the depths of his memory. It was one of those things his father had insisted upon when Adrian was growing up. Perfect social etiquette at all times. He'd been drilled in everything from how to dress properly to how to utilize place settings, as well as how to dance. It had been rough going, Adrian having always been a bit of a big, clumsy oaf, but his father never let up, and Adrian had been trained and drilled until he could dance like he'd been born in a ballroom.
Though he didn't need to, he focused on the steps to the exclusion of all else, forcing awareness of the crowd out of his mind as he mentally recited and counted. He barely noticed the flirtatious smiles Miss Dawsen kept sending him. Hardly experienced the brush of other bodies near his. Only vaguely felt the weight of all the noise around him.
They finished out the dance set, then he obediently followed when his date asked if she could introduce him to someone. He stood there in the group that formed, only half listening. Somehow, he managed to offer nods and murmurs in all the right places, but didn't really participate in the conversation otherwise, his thoughts too sluggish to do him any good.
Someone handed him a drink, and he sipped at it idly while he continued to stand there, a mere accessory to the glamour all around him.
The glass in his hand was half empty when the room started to turn noticeably blurry. Adrian squinted at the bubbling, golden liquid in the glass. The hells…
Slowly, the noise of the ballroom started crashing through his head, the heat wrapping him in an oppressive blanket, the crowd of other bodies squeezing him until he thought he couldn't breathe.
Clenching his free hand into a fist in an attempt to ground himself, he turned to his date and inclined his head. “If you'll excuse me a moment…”
She nodded, but before she could speak, Adrian turned and strode away, searching frantically for the washroom. He headed directly for it and ducked inside. Thank gods the room was empty.
Adrian set the glass aside, freeing his hands to clutch one of the sinks. He gasped in a breath, then yanked at his bowtie until it came free, hanging loosely around his neck while he tried to get some air.
The washroom door swung open and shut, followed by the distinct click of a lock.
Adrian looked up into the mirror and saw his father glaring at him.
“Now what?” Sebastian Frost spat.
Adrian sucked in a few breaths before he could speak. “I don't…I…”
“What is it, Adrian?” his father insisted.
Adrian let go of the sink with one hand and gestured at the glass.
Mr. Frost's eyes narrowed as he crossed the room, picked up the glass, and took a sip. He slammed the glass back down. “Where did you get this? You know you're not supposed to drink while you're medicated!” he hissed.
Adrian nodded slowly, the room spinning. “A waiter…I don't know…”
His father grumbled something under his breath about someone being about to get fired, then met Adrian's eyes again. “You have two minutes to compose yourself, then I expect you back out there. Do not embarrass me.”
Adrian wanted to argue. Unless one had Tanasian genetics, body chemistry wasn't exactly something one could just shut off or change at will. His father wouldn't care about such a point, though, and Adrian didn't have the energy—let alone the nerve—to debate the man. It left him with no choice. He'd just have to fake his way through the rest of the night somehow.
Without completely losing his shit.
And in front of all those people.
He tightened his grip on the sink. Gods, how badly he wanted his razor right then.
“You will not make this night worse than it already is, do you hear me?” his father went on. “Bad enough we're short a waiter and the music is shit– If only that other group hadn't been so damned obstinate, especially with the money I offered them…”
Adrian blinked slowly. Treble. The violinist. The thought was just enough to seep through his anxiety and bring him some semblance of calm even as a shiver of desire ran through him. “Yeah?”
His father was on such a roll that he didn't even correct Adrian's use of yeah instead of yes. “There's just no life to the damned music out there.”
The man rambled on, continuing his complaints, and Adrian almost smiled even as he kept trying to compose himself. For once, he could agree with his father. The music, while all technically correct, lacked the sheer passion that Treble always infused into their sound. He could almost hear it, picturing that violinist up onstage at Underground, spilling his life into his bow and the strings, stirring Adrian in a way that nothing ever had.
It really was a good thing they weren't there that night. There would have been no hiding his appreciation, not of the music nor of the musician.
“–but they wouldn't 'compromise their sound' or some such nonsense,” his father spat, his tirade apparently and finally coming to an end.
Good for them, Adrian thought. He fought the urge to smile. Someone had stood up to the great Sebastian Frost.
If only he could be so brave.
Mr. Frost let out a huff, his hands on his hips, and looked down at Adrian, still braced on the sink. “Are you going to shame me?”
Adrian slowly straightened, squaring his shoulders as much as he could under his father's scrutiny. “No, sir.”
Mr. Frost narrowed his eyes, then let out a scoffing sound as he stepped forward and made quick work of Adrian's bowtie, restoring it to rights before taking a step back and giving Adrian a thorough once-over. He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Let's go, then.”
He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, throwing the lock back with a snap that echoed around the tiled room. Adrian took a deep breath and followed him.
When he was finally free for the evening and got home, he couldn't get out of his confining clothes fast enough. He dumped them in a heap, dove i
nto the washroom, and threw himself on the cold, tile floor. Almost naked, panting and shaking, Adrian grabbed his razor.
The first sharp bite was utter bliss.
Chapter 7
ZAC BRACED himself as he sat down to Solday brunch with the family. He'd been trying all week to figure out how to tell them about the offer he'd turned down.
The money he'd turned down.
Now, the moment was almost upon him, and he still wasn't sure he had the words for it, let alone anything else he could share. That offer had been the only thing on his mind all week, to the point that he couldn't think of a single other thing that had happened that was worth sharing. Surely there was something, but he drew a complete blank.
And he really should tell them about it. He knew he should. But he wasn't sure how they were going to take it.
They went around the table, like always, one person after another, slowly but surely counting down until it was almost Zac's turn.
Merik finished, and Milo was up next, a sense of anticipation settling over the table before he could speak.
Oh. Right. Frost. Milo had said, last weekend, that he would be meeting his new boss, the same man who had indirectly offered Zac an obscene amount of money. Still, it was Milo's entire job on the line. Zac held his breath, waiting for his brother to speak, hoping against everything that it was good news.
“So…I met Mr. Frost,” Milo began.
Zac tensed, and everyone else seemed to as well.
Merik kicked his twin under the table. “Go on already.”
Milo took a deep breath. “He gave me a promotion. Over and above what I was told to expect.”
The table was silent for a moment before nervous chuckles and gasps overlapped one another.
“What?” Kaelie asked.
Milo nodded. “We all had private meetings with him this week. Department heads, I mean. Just me and him in his office…” He shook his head. “That man is just as cold and stern as he's made out to be, I swear.”