“I want my phone. I have to call Tom back.”
“Absolutely. Please, let the porter take you to your suite. I’ll take this limo apart if I have to. And I promise to in no way interfere with your calls from now on.” Bernard lowered his chin like a servant soundly scolded by his employer. He leaned over Craig and pushed the door open. The porter warily took the handle.
“Porter,” Bernard said loudly, “this is Mr. Craig Batson, winner of the Georgia Lottery’s largest prize in over twenty years. Please show him to his suite in the penthouse.”
The woman smiled. “Of course, sir.” She extended her hand. Craig followed her through a crowd thick with whispers and pointing fingers.
“Did you hear?”
“That’s him.”
“Lucky dog.”
Craig’s heart beat rapidly as he entered the lobby. Winning the lottery was nothing like he expected it to be. So much had happened since last night, when he and Tom had had the worst fight of their time together. He wondered if Tom would even speak to him if he called him back. He probably thinks I hung up on him because I’m mad. I’ve got to call him back—but no. It’s probably best if I get through this and then try to make up. Maybe he’ll forgive me when I show up with enough money to solve all our problems.
Some of the crowd had followed him into the lobby, but the porter did her best to shield Craig from them as she directed him to the front desk.
“This is Mr. Craig Batson,” the porter said to the man at there. “A suite has been reserved for him.” Craig looked over his shoulder at the door. I don’t know what just happened out there, but Bernard seems so intent on helping me. Maybe he’s just overzealous or something.
“Sign here, Mr. Batson.” The desk clerk motioned for a bellman to approach, who asked Craig if his luggage was still in the car. Craig shook his head, his face pinched with worry as he dealt with the remaining details of checking in. He glanced toward the front doors once more as he was led toward the bank of elevators. Hang on, Tom. Everything’s going to be much, much better as soon as I finish this and get back home.
TOM STARED at his phone, trying to suss what had happened. The pest at the lottery office had confirmed that Craig was there earlier. Desperate, Tom had decided to try Craig a final time. And miraculously Craig had answered. And what did I do? I started a fucking argument.
The heat of the day was dissipating with the setting sun. Tom walked aimlessly until he came upon the little park where he’d taken a break earlier. When the thought came that it might be a good place to spend the night, he shook himself.
No. I’m no bum. And I’m not a quitter. Craig means too much for me to slink away. I won’t let go. He has to tell me to my face he doesn’t love me. And even then—
Tom checked the time of Craig’s call, then flipped to Google and searched for “Where is my last caller?” The first page contained only links to “Who Called Me?” sites that wanted money for reports. “Location of the last person who called me” yielded similar results. Other search strings were useless.
Where the hell did he call from? If I only knew, then—wait. He said it, right? The—
Tom googled “Ritz-Carlton, Atlanta” and got three locations. Not Lake Oconee; it’s seventy-five miles away. He called the other two and asked for Craig. It’s Buckhead. Tom googled it and checked his wallet. If I take a cab—no. I bet Uber’ll be cheaper. He downloaded the app, set up an account, and scheduled a ride.
“DID YOU find it?” Craig asked.
“Excellent,” Bernard said, walking to a fruit basket standing on a Queen Anne end table beside an elegant settee. He picked up a large pear and said, “Have you ever had a Royal Verano? So succulent, and they’re as smooth as butter.” Bernard took a huge bite and held his hand under his chin to catch the juice. “Mm….”
Craig frowned. “My phone?”
“In my attaché.” Bernard pointed at his leather case on the settee.
Craig examined his phone, then pushed the Power button. And again. And again.
“Isn’t it working?”
“What did you do to it?”
Bernard deposited the core of his pear in the trash under the kitchen sink and washed his hands. “Is the battery snugly in place?”
Craig opened the back. “It looks okay to me.”
“Could it simply be drained?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll have a replacement sent up.”
Craig sat on the bed. “I’ll use this one,” he said in a surly tone as he picked up the suite’s phone.
“Mr. Batson? Before you make your call, please let me apologize properly. I was—” Craig hung up. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know Tom’s number. He was always just an icon I tapped. Is, I mean,” Craig said. “Is.”
“I’ll order a charger,” Bernard said. “Is it an Android? And an additional battery. Two, actually.” Bernard was halfway to the bed when Craig lay down and turned his back to him. Bernard let a look of disgust slip past his carefully composed demeanor. He dismissed it and said, “Oh, Mr. Batson, I’m truly sorry. I would never have interfered if I had had any way of knowing that—is it Tom?—is someone you’re close to.”
Craig turned over. His eyes were moist. “I think maybe I’m the one who should apologize,” he said meekly.
Bernard offered a kindly smile. “Not one bit, sir. I’m the one who was out of line.”
“You’re right,” Craig said. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Let’s put it behind us,” Bernard said lightly. “I’ll call for a charger, replacement batteries, and a new phone as well. You have your contacts in the cloud, correct?”
“Uh….”
“To download them in the event that your current phone is damaged. I won’t rest until you’re able to speak with Tom as soon as humanly possible.”
Craig stood and toured the suite while Bernard spoke with the front desk. He opened a door. “A laundry room?” he muttered. “It’s as big as our bedroom.”
“Mr. Batson?” Craig returned to the main room. “Options will arrive momentarily.”
“Options?”
“Yes. Android, Windows, and Apple. Or should I have included a Blackberry?” Bernard reached for the phone again, turning when Craig laughed. “Sir?”
“Nothing, Bernard. It’s just I’ve lost count of how many surprises I’ve had today.”
“Here,” Bernard said, indicating a seating area near floor-to-ceiling windows. “Let’s take stock of today and what remains.”
As Craig sat, Bernard activated the drapes, revealing Atlanta’s skyline set against a multicolored sunset. “Now,” Bernard said, confident he had regained the upper hand, “we have but four things yet to accomplish, and then my job is done.”
“Done?”
“Why yes. My role is simply to—” Bernard’s phone sounded. “Yes?” he snapped. “I’m meeting with a most important client. I can’t— Hold on.” He covered the receiver. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Batson. I need a moment.” Craig nodded. Bernard went to a bedroom and closed the door.
V.
Wednesday evening
CRAIG STARED at the sunset and ruminated. What am I doing here? Why did I leave without telling Tom? Why did I walk away from Mr. Sanders so easily? And why did I decide to trust Bernard? What’s wrong with me? Craig twisted to stare at the phone by the bed. Who would know Tom’s number? He sighed. I don’t want to meet with bankers, and I don’t want to be “protected” from people I know. I want Tom.
“Sorry about that,” Bernard said as he returned. “As I was saying, there are four things left to do. Introductions to your new bankers—that’s in the morning, of course. And then—”
“I don’t know,” Craig said. “Maybe I should take a little time before making any decisions.”
Bernard ignored him. “The second thing—which actually comes first in time, though tomorrow is obviously more important—is wardrobe and makeover.”
“Makeover?”
Bernard smiled. “We want you looking like a million dollars. Or like two hundred and fifty-six million dollars, to be precise.” Craig was still dumbfounded by the amount. “A selection of business wear will be here shortly, and hair and makeup—”
“Makeup?”
“At least have your nails done?”
Craig looked at his fingertips.
“Then there’s dinner. My treat. You deserve to be appreciated for the person you are.”
“And after the meeting tomorrow?” Craig said in a daze.
“We’ll shake hands, I’ll thank you for letting me be of service, and you’ll be off to enjoy the new world waiting for you.”
“You said four things.”
“We’ll discuss the last item at dinner.”
“No,” Craig said. “I want to know now.”
“It’s but a formality,” Bernard said casually. “The earlier Letter of Intent grants me the authority to represent you. But as I said, it’s merely a promise to work out the details of an impending deal. The percentage I need is—” Bernard froze.
Craig tilted his head and said, “Percentage?” Then his eyes popped wide open.
“Now Mr. Batson, there’s no reason to—”
Craig stood and walked to the front door. Bernard followed.
“Mr. Batson. Mr. Batson!”
“I’M SORRY, sir,” the desk clerk said. “Our luxury suite guests are given a visitor’s code to share. If you don’t have one, I can’t help you.”
Tom did his best to remain calm. “Please, just call him. He’ll tell you who I am.”
“Sir….”
Tom slammed his palm on the marble counter. “Look, damn it, I’m—” He lowered his voice. “My name is Tom Rendelle. I’m Craig Batson’s p—” The desk clerk looked down. Tom followed her gaze to his sleeve, stained with sweat. “I’m Craig’s best friend,” he said tightly. “I know this is where he’s staying. He told me.”
“Perhaps you could call your friend and ask him to give you his code.”
Tom gritted his teeth. “I’ve called him over and over! His phone isn’t working.”
The clerk straightened her back. “I can’t help you with that.”
“Please just call his room,” Tom said. “He’ll tell you who I am.” The woman looked over his shoulder and nodded to the bell captain, who started toward the front desk. “Please,” Tom said, “just call him.”
The bell captain appeared at Tom’s side. “Do you need some help, Nancy?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Tom snarled. He whirled around and walked away.
BERNARD MOVED between Craig and the door.
“Move, Bernard.”
“Mr. Batson. Please, Whatever I may have said that upset you—”
“Stop calling me Mr. Batson,” Craig spat. “And I think you know exactly what you said that I don’t like. Now move!”
“No.”
“What?”
“Not till you sign the final agreement.”
Craig stepped back. “And what does that say?”
Bernard stepped back and smoothed his suit jacket. “I was trying to tell you,” he said, attempting to regain his composure. “It’s the simple matter of my fee for services rendered.”
“And what would that be?”
“As I said, Mr.—sir, the best venue for discussing that is at—”
Craig lunged for the door. Bernard tried to stop him. They tussled, and Craig broke free. He pushed Bernard out of his way and ran to the elevator. “C’mon, c’mon,” he whispered to the doors. When they parted, Craig jumped inside and jabbed the button marked Lobby. The doors closed just as Bernard arrived.
“Fuck,” Bernard screamed.
THE ELEVATOR chimed as Tom marched through the lobby. He turned as Craig ran out. “Craig!” he yelled.
“Tom! What are you doing here?”
“I came for you.”
Craig smiled for an instant, then said, “We have to hide.”
“What?”
“Trust me. We have to—”
The bell captain appeared. “Are you a guest?” he asked Craig.
“Yes, I’m in the suite in the pent—”
“May I see your key card?”
“Um….” Craig frantically searched his pockets. When the elevator sounded, Craig took Tom’s hand and ran to the front desk.
“Wait!” said the bell captain.
“There’s a man after me,” Craig said to Nancy. “Please help us.”
“Are you saying you’re in danger?” she said.
“I must see your key card,” the bell captain said.
Craig found it.
“Mr. Batson!”
Everyone turned to see Bernard striding toward them.
“Mr. Batson,” Bernard said, “I simply must apologize for—”
The bell captain stepped in front of him. “Mr. Batson is our guest, sir. He seems to think you’ve threatened him.”
Bernard drew himself up to his full height. “That’s preposterous. I would never—”
“Please,” Craig said to Nancy again, “just call the police.” He put his key card on the desk.
“Do you have a key card?” the bell captain said to Bernard.
“Of course I do.” Bernard searched his pockets. I’m sure… I know I….”
Craig smirked as he showed the second card to Tom, then put it back in his pocket.
“The police are on their way,” Nancy said.
“The police?” Bernard said. “Mr. Batson….”
One by one, the bell captain, Craig, and Tom faced him and crossed their arms. Bernard blinked twice, then turned and walked out of the hotel.
VI.
Friday morning
“HOW’S YOUR truck?” Craig said.
Tom took another sip of coffee and set his mug on the table, unconsciously turning the chip on the rim away from him. “Sal’s going to be fine,” he said. “I gave Mack the go-ahead to put in a new carburetor. He says I can pick her up on Tuesday.”
“Good.” Craig slurped grapefruit juice through puckered lips.
Tom slid his butt forward and laced his fingers behind his head. “So what’re we doing today?”
“I figured I’d go for a run, then come back and shower.” He hooked a finger under the top of Tom’s T-shirt and snapped it. “And then see where things take us.” He smiled seductively. Tom returned a coy look.
“You want to get funky before noon?”
“Why not? Making love to my man is the best way I know to, um….”
“Relax? Celebrate? Shed stress?”
Craig reached for Tom’s T-shirt again. “All of the above.”
Tom took Craig’s hand and pulled it to his lips, licking his fingers one at a time.
“Mm,” Craig said, “nice.”
Tom released Craig’s hand. “But there’s something I have to do first.”
“Oh God,” Craig said, “please, not again.”
Tom sat up. “Yes, again.”
“I told you, you don’t have to apologize anymore.”
“Yes, I do. I didn’t trust you. I was so insecure, I thought you’d leave me just because you won the lottery.”
“Okay,” Craig said evenly, “fine. Tell me why you think I’d do that in, like, twelve forevers.”
Tom rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not—”
“Desirable? Attractive enough?”
“Not man enough to hold a decent job,” Tom whispered.
“You’re man enough for me,” Craig said. “More than man enough.” He leaned across the table and kissed him. Tom pushed into the kiss, and Craig fell backward into his chair. They laughed.
“Maybe we could do this without the table?”
“Yeah,” Craig said.
Tom led Craig to the couch and pulled him into his lap.
“Listen,” Craig said with his arms around Tom’s neck, “if anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I’m t
he one who left without saying anything. I’m the one who—”
“You wanted to surprise me.”
“Not what I mean,” Craig said. “I’m the one who spent our savings on lottery tickets. That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“It worked out, didn’t it?”
“Not because it was the right thing.”
Tom caressed Craig’s neck. “So why’d you do it?”
Craig rubbed moisture from his eyes. “Because—because I didn’t know what else to do. You’re out there working, and I’m at home dabbing pretty colors on canvas, not bringing anything in over the summer. And—”
“Shh,” Tom said, putting a finger on Craig’s lips. “You’re doing something more valuable than that.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. We agreed that you’d take the summer off to work on your art. Right?”
“I guess.”
“And we agreed I’d work to support you.” Craig ducked his head. Tom lifted it with a finger under his chin. “Didn’t we?” Craig nodded. “And who suggested that?”
“You did.”
“Craig, you have a gift I’ll never have. You can bring beauty into the world that I’ll never stop being in awe of. And the fact that I lost my job—we both know that wasn’t my fault.”
“Maybe if I’d gotten a summer job, we could have gotten your truck repaired before it broke down.”
Tom poked Craig’s chest and said, “Enough. It’s a moot point now.”
“But—”
“No more words,” Tom said. He kissed Craig deeply. They tipped over, and Craig spread out above Tom. Craig fumbled for the hem of Tom’s shirt.
“I thought you were going for a run.”
“Thought wrong,” Craig mumbled. Tom raised his arms as Craig pulled off his shirt, then threw his head back to give Craig access to his neck. As they got active, Tom slipped off the couch but caught himself before they both hit the floor.
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