Leaning Into Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hayes, Lane

  * * *

  Okay, hell might be a slight exaggeration. Andreas and Delia Kostas were good people and doting parents. They’d uprooted their lives in Athens to immigrate to Canada almost four decades ago in the hopes of providing a better life for their family. And they’d succeeded beyond their wildest expectations. My father had gone from a struggling shoe salesman with a wife and two young daughters to support to a respected real estate baron with satellite offices across Canada and one in the US. He made a point of letting my older sisters and me know of the many hardships he’d endured to make it in a foreign land. His regular soliloquies about the importance of diligence and determination were a reminder to not take anything for granted. However, there was an edginess in his narrative that felt like a proverbial smack upside the head.

  If my sisters were on the receiving end of it too, I might have chalked it up to his unique brand of overbearing parenting style. But his intense, autocratic communication skills were only for me. We all knew it. My mom glossed over his brashness with maternal platitudes and more food than the average person should ever eat in one sitting. Their banter was like something out of a movie. Papa blustered around us, keeping strict order with a furrowed brow and biting words my mother softened with a kinder interpretation and a snack. Something like, “Gio, he didn’t mean it that way. You’re too sensitive. Now eat.”

  And because I was a good kid who avoided confrontation at all costs, I’d sit down at the kitchen table and do as I was told. Eat. I stuffed my face while my parents bickered in their native tongue somewhere above my head. Nothing changed, I mused with a sigh as I sipped my coffee and listened with half an ear to an updated version of the soundtrack of my youth. In Greek, no less.

  “We should go to the office soon. Are you wearing that?” Papa asked.

  I glanced down at my navy Armani suit and nodded. “Mmhmm.”

  “It might be too much. Too fancy, you know? There’s nothing worse than looking too slick,” the man wearing a three-piece suit paired with shoes so shiny I could see my reflection said.

  “I know how to dress appropriately for work, Papa. Trust me,” I assured him.

  The urge to add something about my vast knowledge of men’s fashion was strong, but antagonizing him would make everyone uncomfortable. And while his answering grunt could have meant absolutely anything, I chose to ignore the possibility that it was a subtly barbed dig at my masculinity. I was in survival mode for the following week. If I made it through with minimal weight gain and a little extra time with my therapist, I’d consider the visit a success.

  I lifted my mug and turned to cast a cursory glance into the living room adjacent to the family-style kitchen my mother had taken over. My minimalist decor of stark black and whites was now infused with multicolored accents. Pillows and throw blankets in every color under the sun dotted the black leather sofas and armchairs situated in front of my ginormous flat-screen television. It was definitely not my taste, but I didn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings by not displaying her gifts throughout my space. So I brought them out of storage and reminded myself a dozen or more times that it was only temporary.

  “I trust you. I wouldn’t have given you this branch to run if I didn’t trust you,” Papa said, sliding his empty cup in my mother’s general direction before taking a seat on the barstool next to me.

  There were so many ways to respond to his throwaway comment. None of them were conducive to maintaining sanity.

  “Right.”

  There. Placating but non-confrontational, I mused as I studied my father. He was a good-looking guy. And in spite of his prodigious potbelly and the omnipresent scowl on his face, he still turned heads. Papa was a tall, imposing man in his midsixties with bushy, dark brows and bright green eyes. He’d lost most of his hair when he was in his fifties and had proudly rocked the bald look with confidence ever since. When I was growing up, everyone would tell me I looked like him. I remembered thinking that was a big compliment, though other than our height and shared hair and eye color, I didn’t see it.

  My mother was his perfect counterbalance. She was a tiny woman with short dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin, and a beautiful smile. She literally glowed with warmth. My father’s commanding presence and handsome exterior may have attracted admirers, but they stayed because of Mama. He was hot-tempered and egotistical; she was kind and altruistic. Delia Kostas was the heart of our family. The quiet one who did whatever was needed to keep everyone happy. When my father first got his broker’s license in Toronto, she handled his paperwork. And when he started his own firm, she ran the office. Now that he was nearing retirement, she was able to spoil her children and grandchildren to her heart’s content and do what she loved most…cook.

  My mother pulled some amazing-smelling muffins from the oven and turned to wave the pan enticingly under my nose.

  “Tsoureki. You weren’t home for Easter, so I made this batch special for you, Gio. Do you want me to drizzle extra sugar on them?”

  “No thanks,” I said with a tight smile.

  “You should eat more. You’re too skinny. Take these to the office.”

  I set my mug down and nodded my acquiescence. Resistance was futile. I could claim to be a gluten-free, carb-free herbivore, but my mom would insist on feeding me the way she had when I was a kid. We didn’t do diets in my family. My mother was a firm believer that food was more than sustenance and fuel. The creation of any meal, big or small, was an expression of love. To pass up muffins made with love because I wanted to avoid love handles would have been the ultimate insult. At least now I could take them to my office and foist them on my cousins. No doubt they’d be gone before noon.

  Cousins? Well, of course. Our San Francisco branch was staffed entirely with family members. Kostas Realty was a family-owned business in the strictest sense of the word. My dad made a point of hiring every niece, nephew, cousin, second cousin, and in-law on the family roster. He nearly had a heart attack when he found out I’d hired Josh to do clerical work for a short stint last year. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Josh. It’s just that he wasn’t…one of us.

  My family was friendly and generally kind to everyone, but the unspoken rule was always in effect. Blood came first, and fellow Greeks came second. Josh wasn’t a blood relative, he wasn’t Greek, and worse yet, he was out and proud. Josh joked that my dad blamed him for my gayness. I usually laughed it off, but he wasn’t completely wrong. My parents didn’t think my sexuality was anyone’s fault necessarily, but they definitely thought my desire to “come out” was influenced by outsiders. Like Josh.

  Papa cleared his throat noisily, ripping me from my reverie. “Something is on your mind this morning. What is it?” he asked.

  Now that was a loaded question. However, bemoaning my lack of privacy and the luxury of enjoying a damn cup of coffee in peace and quiet wasn’t a polite response. But it was easier to stomach than the truth.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Miles.

  I shifted on my barstool uncomfortably when my cock twitched against my zipper. Down, boy. I willed my traitorous dick to behave. My dad was sitting two feet away from me, for fuck’s sake. I could tell without looking that he was giving me a serious once-over. He was probably wondering if I had what it took to close a major sale and lead his company when he retired. While I sat beside him, thinking about every naughty thing Miles and I had done the other night. And all the things we hadn’t. Like fuck. We should have fucked. Right?

  Holy crap! What was my problem? Parental interference was the best cockblocker known to man. How could I think about Miles with so little caffeine in my system and my parents hovering over me like dual helicopters? Something had to be wrong with me.

  “Gio?” Papa bumped my elbow and gave me an inquisitive sideways glance.

  “Yes? Oh. Yeah, I’m—just thinking about the presentation,” I lied.

  “What is your plan?”

  “Papa, we went over this last night. I showed you the slides and ga
ve you the speech highlights. Twice. You know the plan,” I said with more force than intended.

  “Yes. All right. It’s a good plan, but I think I should take a more active role. You didn’t leave room for me to talk.”

  “That’s because I didn’t know you’d be part of this,” I countered before hurrying to adjust my tone to something conciliatory. “Look…I’ll introduce you before I begin and after I’ve fielded any questions they may have, you can add a closing message. Sound good?”

  “You’re giving me permission, eh?” He knit his eyebrows together and fixed me with his signature glare. The one that had made me literally shake when I was a kid.

  It still made me nervous, but I wasn’t as easily intimidated now. I held eye contact as I stood and took one last sip of coffee.

  “No. I’m making a strong suggestion.” I set my mug on the island and stepped away. I thanked my mother for breakfast before turning back to my dad with a lackluster smile in place. “I’m going to finish getting ready now. We should leave in ten minutes.”

  I was pleased with my no-nonsense tone and curt delivery but dammit, I hated that he still made me sweat. It was remarkable that he was able to get under my skin so quickly after all these years. I stopped in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room, because of course, I’d moved out of the master suite for my parents like any good and respectful son would for his special guests. My suit was a perfect fit, my hair wasn’t sticking up, and I didn’t have food stuck in my teeth. On the outside, I looked like a confident, well-heeled businessman ready to kick ass and take names. On the inside…I was shaking and afraid of falling short. Again.

  * * *

  The purpose of our meeting with Stockton Associates was to introduce ourselves and wow them with our knowledge and expertise of the San Francisco real estate market. Then we’d present our sales strategy for selling their impressive portfolio. They owned five high-rise multi-purpose zoned buildings in the downtown area that were in various stages of major renovation. Once the units were complete, each would be sold to individual buyers or corporations looking for office or restaurant space in one of the most prestigious zip codes in the US.

  The stakes were high; there were hundreds of condos and quite a few commercial units involved. It wouldn’t be difficult to sell their prime inventory in the current market, which meant there was a lot of competition to win this deal. The projected cumulative commissions were astronomical. It was by far the biggest deal our firm had ever sniffed. My goal was to win the contract assigning Kostas Realty as the sole broker in charge of selling every inch of space.

  A couple of years ago, I might not have been as motivated. I was a model turned fashion designer who’d been guilted into helping launch this branch of the family business. It wasn’t my dream job by any means. And let’s face it, any idiot could sell in a market where Silicon Valley execs with more money than sense didn’t think twice about offering a hundred grand in cash over the sales price to win a seller’s favor. Even me.

  So I shoved my sewing machine and sketch pads to the back of my closet, dusted off my best designer suits, and immersed myself in all things real estate. I shocked the hell out of myself, and certainly my father, by being pretty fucking good at the art of selling. Maybe it wasn’t a total surprise. I had a business degree from Stanford. I understood the importance of marketing and making the customer believe they couldn’t live without my product or service.

  Okay, so I hadn’t used anything I’d learned until I joined the family firm, but I was a quick study. And whether or not my father verbally acknowledged my success, the numbers spoke loud and clear. The San Francisco team outsold every other branch of Kostas Realty by a long shot. If this morning’s meeting with Stockton was any indication, we were poised to quadruple our sales over the next year.

  “So? Don’t keep us in suspense. What happened? How did it go?” Talia asked the moment I pushed open the office door.

  Talia was my second cousin on my mother’s side. She was a petite brunette in her early forties with dark eyes and olive skin, with a keen sense of style and a soft spot for Jo Malone perfume. Today she wore a floral wrap-around dress with five-inch heels that brought her to my shoulders. She’d been the office manager at this location since my father opened it five years ago. And she took my mother’s plea to look after her only son very seriously. Talia made sure to bring me authentic Greek food often and insisted I join her family for dinner every Sunday. In many ways, she was more like a third sister than a second cousin.

  I winked and tugged her hair playfully as I headed toward my corner office. She swatted my hand away with a glare and crossed her arms.

  “It went very well,” I replied.

  “Never a doubt. Where’s Uncle Andreas?”

  A moment later, my father flung the door open with gusto and entered the office, clapping his hands and singing the first few lines of a celebratory Greek song I barely remembered the words to anymore. Suffice it to say, he was happy.

  “You want to know how it went today, dear Talia? It went well. Very well indeed. When the CEO says your firm is their first choice, I say that’s a decent beginning. But…there is much to do. Right, Gio?”

  “Right. We’ll celebrate once the contract is signed,” I replied dutifully.

  My dad tapped his temple and grinned. “Smart thinking. They liked us together, Gio. Am I right?”

  “Right.”

  He slapped my back companionably then squeezed my shoulder. “Well…maybe a little celebration is in order. Ouzo!”

  “Papa, it’s one in the afternoon on a Monday. This isn’t the time for—”

  “If I say it’s the time, it’s the time,” he said dismissively before turning back to Talia. “Gather everyone! We celebrate!”

  I bit the inside of my cheek hard and let out a ragged breath. It was pointless to argue with a veteran steamroller. I pushed my hands into my pockets and leaned on Talia’s desk while she bustled through the short hallway separating the executive suite from the main sales office.

  Papa perched himself beside me and nudged my elbow companionably. “One sip won’t hurt you. Besides, it’s important to let everyone be part of the journey. It’s how family works, Gio. After you marry and have a family of your own, you must remember these are your roots. This is what you build on.”

  I hid my exasperation like a pro. Marriage, family of your own, roots…I’d heard it all a million times. But it was funny that he never heard me. I opened my mouth to respond but was interrupted by raucous cheering, complete with rhythmic applause. I gritted my teeth and curved my mouth into something resembling a smile as Talia handed me a small plastic cup.

  “Why do we have Ouzo in the office?” I asked in a low voice.

  Talia glanced toward my father who’d moved to hold court in the middle of the room with our employees. AKA friends and relatives. “Your dad asked me to make sure I had it on hand…just in case congratulations were in order. And they are. Good job, Cuz.”

  “Thanks, but you know I—”

  “Shh. I know. Just go along with it.” She handed me a cup then whispered in my ear. “It’s water. And if he does another twelve toasts, I got you covered. Yamas!”

  I smiled my thanks just as my father called for silence. A phone buzzed in the background, but otherwise the room went ghostly quiet because when Andreas Kostas spoke, people listened.

  “Today, we make history,” he began in his deep baritone voice signaling the start of one of his famously long-winded speeches.

  Everyone in the room had heard a variation of one of my dad’s “pump up the crowd” talks. He had a way of commanding a crowd with a well-timed, intense look and a raised brow that added a level of intimacy, as though he was speaking directly to each individual rather than a large group. It was fascinating.

  I wished I’d inherited a portion of my father’s unrelenting confidence. But I was infinitely more reserved. One-on-one situations or small groups were my specialty. If there we
re more than five people in a room, I tended to go quiet or stick close to friends. Needless to say, in the past couple of years that I’d acted as head of this branch, I’d never called an impromptu powwow. Ever.

  Knowing he’d probably turn some measure of attention my way made my palms sweat. Literally. I swiped my right hand over my pant leg and tried to think of something to say when he addressed me. And ideally, not stutter. Clipped words and phrases floated in the air: “chance of a lifetime,” “hard work and determination,” “the beginning of an important new venture,”…blah, blah, blah. His pitch deepened as he enchanted our rapt employees with verbal magic like a wizard reciting a complicated spell. He swayed on his feet with his arms spread wide, picking up momentum with every syllable. And just as he reached a building crescendo, the door swung open.

  “Who are you?” my father bellowed.

  I couldn’t see who he was addressing from my end of the room, but when the intruder opened his mouth, I nearly had a fucking heart attack.

  “I’m Miles, and I’m looking for Grant. Who are you?”

  Oh, fuck.

  I froze in place with my eyes bugged out like a fish caught in an electric current. What the hell was Miles doing here? Talia furrowed her brow and shot a curious glance at me then hurried to intercept our guest before my father skewered him alive. And I was right behind her.

  “Hello. Grant is in a meeting at the moment. Can I help you with something?” Talia asked politely.

  “Actually, I—”

  “Hi. We had an appointment, didn’t we?” I forced my right hand into Miles’s and shook it until his arm waggled like a limp noodle.

  “Well, I…yes. We did,” he agreed, narrowing his gaze slightly as he pulled his hand away.

  He looked amazing in a well-cut navy suit and matching striped oxford shirt. The blue contrasted nicely with his lovely hair and the sweet freckles across his nose. He wasn’t wearing one of his signature quirky ties today. The first two buttons of his oxford shirt were undone, and the hint of skin where his collar parted did things to me. None of which were conducive to maintaining a professional vibe in the workplace. I grabbed Miles’s elbow and steered him through the doorway before turning to address Talia and the curious bystanders behind her. Including my exasperated-looking father.