His Broken Angel (Heaven's Ballroom Book 2)

by Aiden Bates

  “That’s the thing. I don’t.” I sighed, massaging my temples with my fingertips. Whatever high I’d been riding after doing so well on my exam was now officially gone. In its place, there was only dread left, curled up in my stomach like a cobra just waiting for the right moment to strike. “You and I have very different ideas of what constitutes as a favor.”

  “Okay, so enlighten me. What’s the worst that can happen here?” Anders sat down, perching on the top of the armchair’s stiff square back.

  “He responds and says yes,” I was quick to reply.

  “That. Is not. A bad. Thing!” Anders rolled his eyes, continuing to tap away at my screen. “He’s a sweetheart, Damon. Had you over at his apartment all to himself all night and he didn’t even try putting the moves on you? He’s a gentleman, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Just because he’s polite and handsome doesn’t mean he’s a good match for me.”

  Anders smirked. “So you think he’s handsome, huh?”

  “He’s…” I sighed, remembering the bright green of Nate’s eyes as he reassured me that I’d get to class on time this morning. “He’s okay. I guess.”

  “If you’re into the tall, dark and handsome thing, right? Seriously, Damon. He can’t be worse than any of the other guys you’ve dated. Your track record is worse than, like, Michael Jordan’s baseball career.”

  I laughed bitterly. “Garth Brook’s rock ‘n’ roll career.”

  “Kanye West’s political career.” Anders looked up at me, offering a sympathetic smile. “At least he doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who’s going to forget your name halfway through the date.”

  I groaned. “God, Kevin. I thought I was having a stroke when he started calling me Matt just before dessert.”

  “Can’t believe you didn’t correct him the first time he did it. And hey—at least Nathan’s not going to steal your cat or anything.”

  I groaned louder. “I mean, we don’t know that. I don’t have a cat to steal anymore.”

  “But you know what they say—your bad decisions of the past are the bricks that pave the road to your future.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Have you seen NYC construction lately? I’ll be lucky if that road’s done within the next decade, Anders.”

  “Maybe on your schedule. On mine, however…” He tossed my phone back to me, sending it up in the air with a tumble to its arc. “We’re on an expedited timetable.”

  “Anders…” I caught the phone and immediately flipped through my messages. Sure enough, there it was: a new text, just sent to Nathan Pleasedon’tdothis. “Holy shit. You really did it.”

  “You can thank me later,” he said, popping up out of the chair and moving to the kitchen with a spring in his step. “Want a beer while we wait for his answer? We’ve got some left over from last night.”

  Normally, I would’ve said no. But as I read over the text Anders had just shot Nathan—Hey, handsome. Had an awesome time last night. You free this next week? Let’s grab drinks. You’re buying.—suddenly, I felt a strong urge to see the bottom of an empty bottle.

  “Beer me, then.” I didn’t even look up as Anders raided the fridge. In fact, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the phone.

  Part of me was hoping that some little error message would pop up. Sorry, this number is no longer in service. Please try again. It would’ve been easier that way, I knew. I could forget all about Nathan Garnet if that happened—or at least, I could start forgetting. There would be no nagging sense of doubt. No worrying about whether he liked me enough to message me back or not. No fretting about whether I was good enough—or whether this was all some kind of bizarre long con that would only come to fruition a month from now when everyone finally popped out of their hiding places and shouted “April Fools!”

  But it was the other part of me that really scared me. The other part of me that was so dangerous, I didn’t even want to admit it existed at all.

  Because the other part of me that was staring down at my phone was waiting anxiously for a little vibration. The one that meant that he’d seen my text, taken time out of his day to read it and think of a response to it to it.

  That part of me was hoping beyond hope that Nathan Garnet would actually text me back.

  “To your love life,” Anders toasted, handing me a beer and clinking the neck of his bottle against mine. “May it be as ample as Dolly Parton’s bosom and as fruitful as her singing career. Since, y’know, you didn’t make a birthday wish last night. Might as well make one now.”

  I considered it as I tipped a sip of beer onto my tongue. Technically, it was still my birthday week, I guessed.

  What the hell. A little hoping surely couldn’t have hurt.

  I closed my eyes as I let the beer slide down my throat, an unspoken wish on my tongue.

  Please text back, it went. Please, please let him text back.

  9

  Nathan

  My phone buzzed just after I settled down for lunch, an unknown number flashing on its screen.

  Fucking hell. Took him long enough.

  I chuckled as I shoved aside Mornington account records I’d casually flipping through to read what he’d written. Damon was more important than those anxious California idiots anyway.

  Part of me had been so sure that the moment Damon Bishop raced out of my penthouse that morning to catch his train, it would be the last time that I’d see him. And now, against all odds—a text.

  Hey, handsome. Had an awesome time last night. You free next week? Let’s grab drinks. You’re buying.

  That only made me laugh harder. Handsome? It might have been true, but it didn’t sound like Damon in the slightest.

  Hey handsome yourself, I typed in reply. Sounding pretty chipper, Mr. Bishop. Your midterm go okay?

  I paused before I sent it, mulling my own words before I put them out into the world. Normally, I never would’ve worried about it. I wasn’t the kind of Alpha that often found himself waiting around for a text from an Omega. If anything, it was the other way around. But despite Damon’s suddenly flirtatious vibe, I knew I needed to be careful not to spook him. If I’d learned anything from the night before, it was that he was always looking for a reason to turn me down. Why? It beat me. But dammit, he was. I had no doubt that I was one autocorrect error away from never hearing from him again.

  I sent the text anyway, unedited. Texting was like playing with fire sometimes—it could be hard to guess context and tone—but I hadn’t gotten where I was in my career without taking a few chances every now and then.

  Then, it was the waiting game all over again. I put the phone back on my desk as I returned to the salad I’d bought from the little cafe downstairs. Working lunches were kind of my thing—but as I felt the vibrations of Damon’s reply rattle my pen cup, somehow I suspected I wouldn’t be getting much work done during this particular meal.

  Pretty sure I aced it, thanks to you. Simple, short and sweet. The tiny hint of a compliment at the end—I was impressed. Damon was better at this than I’d expected.

  Maybe you’ll have to study at my place again sometime. I should’ve waited a few minutes before I sent it—but what the hell. Damon wasn’t like the other Omegas that I usually fooled around with, and frankly, I didn’t want to wait.

  Smiling, I broke another of my rules—double texting.

  There’s still leftover pizza in the fridge, you know. It’d be a shame if it went to waste.

  Looked like I was going full loose cannon on this. Somehow, I didn’t mind. Playing games with Damon didn’t feel right. For once, it was a relief to be communicating with someone who didn’t seem insistent on playing them back.

  Tempting me with leftover pizza, huh? Who told you about my one weakness?

  You were mumbling about it in your sleep last night, I sent back immediately. “Please, Nate! Save the pizza, go on without me! I’ll hold these hungry ninjas back while you escape!”

  Another buzz from my phone. Oh my God. You’re fucking with m
e. I did not!

  You did, I wrote back to him. I watched you do karate in your dreams for about half an hour before I finally passed out myself.

  There was a long pause after I sent it—which, to my horror, left my pulse racing and my eyes glancing back at my phone every few minutes.

  Shit. I’d lost him. That never happened—maybe I shouldn’t have strayed from my time-tested Nathan Garnet Texting Rules after all.

  But then finally, my phone vibrated with a reply.

  Do you think I got them all? My dream karate is a little rusty…

  I found myself laughing out loud, shaking my head as I wracked my brain for a clever reply.

  “What’s so funny?” A male voice called over my shoulder.

  It startled me so much, I nearly jumped in my chair. Turning, I found Duncan Rourke leaning over me, craning his neck to see what I was up to.

  “Just that viral video that’s been going around lately.” I lied with finesse—and considering it was Duncan I was dealing with, I absolved myself of the sin immediately.

  Out of everyone in my office, he was the last one I wanted to reveal Damon’s existence to. The last time Duncan had found out about an Omega I was texting, the poor guy had received one of Duncan’s infamous dick pics hardly an hour later. Not something that I wanted Damon to worry about—or suffer through.

  “The one with the cat and dog that play piano together?” Duncan continued to lurk over me, straining to get a better look at my screen. “It was pretty funny, Garnet—but not exactly anything to crack up over.”

  “The one with the Russian baby riding the husky,” I lied again. Narrowing my eyes, I tucked my phone away. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”

  “Probably.” Duncan shrugged. “But whatever you’re doing is usually more interesting.”

  “Yeah, well, go bother Sterling for a while,” I suggested. “I’m busy over here.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Watching YouTube videos? Yeah, sure, Nate. Sounds like it.”

  I leaned back in my chair, planning my next move with care before I spoke. It wasn’t just Damon’s pretty blue eyes I was trying to save from Duncan’s fuckboy Alpha nature, I realized. Duncan and I could get pretty competitive—in our profit reports and our love lives alike. But as far as I was concerned, Damon was mine. Off limits entirely.

  The easiest way to tell Duncan so was just to let him know point blank, I decided. We might’ve been competitive, but Duncan and I were also friends. He’d understand that I didn’t want him fucking around with this particular Omega as long as I told him so. Boundaries were important when you traveled in such similar circles with someone you worked with. If I told Duncan to back off, he would, I was sure of it.

  “Okay, look. I’m texting this guy.” Seeing the smile spread across Duncan’s face, I held up a finger immediately to put that grin of his on pause. “But I don’t want you digging up his number and showing him your cock, okay?”

  “He’s something special then, huh?” Damon waggled his eyebrows and licked his lips as he perched on the edge of my desk. “Tell me more.”

  “Met him at the club last night. Special…” I shook my head. “He’s something else, Dunk. Special doesn’t even begin to cut it.”

  “Pics,” Duncan insisted immediately. “Let me get a look at him and maybe I’ll find reason to keep my dick to myself. Just this once.”

  I groaned—just like any other dealing with Duncan, I’d managed to open a can of worms here. But evading his line of questioning, I knew, would just dig me into an even deeper hole.

  Turning to my computer, I pulled up Heaven’s Ballroom’s Facebook page. Whoever was running the place’s social media was a genius—there was Damon, flexing and winking at the camera that had taken the picture for the page’s header.

  “There,” I said, pointing him out for Duncan.

  Duncan whistled. “Holy fuck, Garnet.”

  I leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath and nodding in agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

  “Well, now that I know you’ve got such a gorgeous Omega on the line…”

  I saw Duncan’s fingers twitch for his own phone in his pocket and was quick to swat his hand. Bad Duncan. Scram!

  “Ouch!” he yelped, pulling his hand away.

  “I want to hear these words out of your mouth,” I told him sternly. “Repeat after me: I, Duncan Rourke…”

  Duncan sighed. “I, Duncan Rourke…”

  “Will not, under any circumstances, bother Nathan’s gorgeous Omega friend.”

  “Will not, under any circumstances…” Duncan’s face contorted in a pout. “Seriously, man? Not even after you’re done with him?”

  “Say the words, Dunk.”

  He sighed again. “I will not, under any circumstances, bother your gorgeous Omega friend.”

  “Good.” I nodded, then shooed him back to his cubicle. “Now get lost. I’m trying to set up drinks with him for tonight.”

  “Should send him a dick pic,” Duncan suggested in a teasing little sing-song voice. “Omegas love dick pics.”

  Cue eye roll on my part. “Dunk, even if you had a cock half as gorgeous as mine—and I know from last year’s office Christmas party that you don’t—”

  “Oh, Jesus. A man slaps his junk on the copier one time…”

  “A gentleman only sends dick pics when asked,” I finished, feeling particularly proud of myself. I might have had just as much of a storied past with Omegas as Duncan did, but at least I had some fucking manners about it.

  “If he’s really special, you know, you oughta skip the drinks and take him to Central Park,” Duncan suggested—possibly the first helpful suggestion of his life. “Some off-Broadway company has been doing Drunk Shakespeare out there every night for the past week or so. They’ll have both of you in stitches. More creative than going to some overrated martini bar.”

  “Hmm.” I reached for my phone, typing in the suggestion for Damon’s approval.

  Forget the drinks. Drunk Shakespeare in Central Park Wednesday night?

  He replied right away, like he’d been waiting by his phone and holding his breath all this time.

  Sounds perfect. Pick me up at eight?

  Shoot me your address and you’ve got it. I typed the message with a smile.

  He sent it over promptly—a place up in the Bronx. Rough neighborhood, which surprised me. After all that talk we’d had the other night about the likelihood that I was a serial killer, he was probably in more danger getting picked off on his way home by some random drive-by. It worried me a little to know that Damon was living in a place that the people at Sterling Financial wouldn’t even set foot in after dark, but I’d deal with that later.

  For the moment, I owed Duncan an apology—or at the very least, my appreciation.

  “Thanks for the tip, man,” I said, shooting him a thumbs-up.

  “Don’t sweat it. Just remember me later when you’re slipping Prettyboy your tip…”

  “Dunk, the only time I think about you while I’m getting laid is when I’m trying to last longer.”

  He grinned. “But you do think of me. Warms my cold little heart.” He patted me on the shoulder before finally wandering back to his desk—to flip through Grindr on his phone trying to find a Damon Bishop of his own to harass, I had no doubt.

  Duncan’s teasing aside, I had to admit that this was a step in the right direction for Damon and I. It had taken me nearly twenty-four hours longer than normal to win him over—a new record, but not an unwelcome one. I was changing my game for Damon. Hell, I wasn’t playing a game at all anymore.

  As I closed out of Facebook on my browser and turned back to my real work, I had to admit…

  I was looking forward to seeing him again.

  Not playing at all was turning out to be kind of nice.

  10

  Damon

  Nathan threw his head back as he laughed, the roar of it bouncing off the leaves of the trees overhead and scaring the birds th
at had been roosting there off into the night.

  “God—and when the Puck actor forgot his lines, started doing the Hamlet monologue instead?” He threw his arm around me, tucking me safely beneath it as he pulled me close. “I haven’t seen an ass that drunk since my fraternity brothers tried to master the butt chug sophomore year.”

  “Ew,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes as I massaged my aching cheeks. “You can’t be serious, Nate.”

  “Wish I wasn’t.” He shook his head mournfully. “For a bunch of Alphas, they sure were eager to stick the tube of that beer bong up their butts.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t partake,” I said with a little giggle. Nathan obviously had a wild past, but I was having a hard time imagining him trying to drink beer in such an…inventive manner.

  “Nah. But I like to call them up around election season and remind them of that particular evening.”

  “Election season?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lots of big political aspirations in that circle.” He smirked. “I like to think it keeps them humble. Reminds them what it feels like to take it up the ass, lest they forget how the working class feels.”

  “Noble of you.” I cuddled a little deeper into Nathan’s chest as we strolled through the park. The conversation was warm, but he was warmer. Like a walking, talking space heater there by my side, guarding me against the chill of the night.

  “What about you? NYU has some fraternities. You ever join up?”

  “Nah, never. The whole scene…not really my style. Besides, I’m too old for those shenanigans anyway. I got kind of a…late start to my college career, you could say.”

  “Yeah? How come?”

  “Not everyone has trust funds waiting for them when they turn eighteen, Mr. Garnet,” I reminded him.

  Nathan had never said explicitly that his family came from money, but he’d never really had to. If his casual mention of nannies and etiquette tutors hadn’t revealed it, the way he carried himself was a dead giveaway. He acted like money was no object at all—something I was reminded of once again as he pulled out his wallet for a homeless woman huddled on a park bench and handed her two crisp hundreds from the folds of the leather like it was nothing at all.