“Whoa, are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just didn’t want to fuck anything up because I didn’t know.” Chloe comes toward me, her eyes wide.
“It’s fine,” I manage. “It’s… not widely known, that’s all. How did you find out?”
She eyes me carefully, seemingly concerned, but must be satisfied by what she sees, because she shrugs. “I guessed.”
“You… guessed.”
“Yeah. I don’t know, there was just something between you the other day.”
I think back to her interview. “You mean in the three seconds when he stood in the doorway, said hello, and asked me if we could talk later?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you read minds or something?” I’m only partly joking, but she laughs.
“No, but you looked at each other and… I don’t know, I got this feeling.”
Who am I to argue with a feeling?
“Well, your feeling is spot-on. It’s new still, and we’re not advertising it, really, but people know. I’m not sure if Dimi’s told his mom, though, so….”
“Don’t worry, I can keep my mouth shut.” She mimes zipping her lips.
“We’re also trying to keep it out of the office, so if you think we’re getting too personal on company time, feel free to drop a quiet word in my ear.” It can’t hurt to have someone else in our corner, right?
“Sure.” She hesitates again. “Does that mean John and Trav don’t know? I’m not asking because I plan to gossip,” she hurries to assure me, “but it helps to know who knows, you know?”
“Trav does. John hasn’t officially been told, but he’s sharp, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s worked it out. On the other hand, it’s only been a few days, and one of them was a vacation day, so he might not have.”
She nods sharply. “Cool. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. Let’s get moving; those actors won’t audition themselves.”
***
Our first fight comes sooner than I expected.
To be honest, I don’t know why I’m surprised. We’ve already clashed several times over work, and although we resolved to keep our personal relationship out of the office, we forgot to make a similar resolution about bringing work home. So when we argue over auditions, it’s not really surprising that it spills over into our personal life.
He’s in the wrong, of course. He gets a certain amount of say in casting, but the ultimate decision is up to me—I am the director, after all. The creative side of this company is my domain.
He, Trav, Pete the choreographer, and I are in the conference room, hashing out casting choices. We all agree on the leads—Trav is one of them—so that was easy. But some of the supporting roles are causing some strife.
“Okay,” I say thoughtfully, staring at the screen. The character names are at the top, with the casting choices listed in columns beneath. We’ve been discussing this for a while, and everyone’s put in their two cents. It’s time for me to make a decision. “For Minnie, let’s go with Simone. Tim, Parker. Janie, Lena. And for Josh…” I study the screen again. This one is a really close call on paper, to be honest, but my gut is pulling me strongly in one direction. “Mitchell.”
“Ummmmm….” Dimi makes a face. “I don’t know about that. I think Sam would be a better fit than Mitchell.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s Mitchell.” Sam is good—excellent, even—and I really like him, but I very strongly feel Mitchell is the one who should be Josh. Maybe my tone was just a little too abrupt, though, because Dimi goes kind of red.
In the next moment, he takes a deep breath and says, “I can see why you’re leaning toward Mitchell. He’s great, and he has an affinity for the role. But I think his performances tend to be a little uneven—”
“No, Dimi. Mitchell will be Josh.” Honestly, I should have let him finish his argument, at least. Or been more polite about interrupting. But he could talk all day and I still won’t agree, plus I have a ton of other stuff to do. He looks like he’s going to keep arguing, so I add, “The decision is mine to make. Creative control is completely in my hands as long as I stick to the budget and JU’s code of conduct. You need to accept it.”
The room is deathly quiet. It seems like everyone is afraid to breathe.
“Fine. Mitchell is Josh. I’ll arrange the paperwork and have the casting choices posted in the app.”
We sort out a few more details, and then the meeting wraps up. I need to grab Dimi, apologize for being so abrupt, but he’s the first one out the door.
My stomach sinks. This can’t be good.
I hear a sharp thud, and when I step out into reception, both Chloe and John are staring at his firmly closed office door.
“Is Dimi okay?” Chloe asks, and I hide a wince.
“Sure. Uh, I think he had some stuff to do urgently.” I smile weakly, and Pete mutters something about having to leave, then makes his escape. Trav prudently withdraws back into the conference room.
This is not good.
I go to my own office to work through the piles of crap on my to-do list, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of Dimi being pissed. He’ll get over it. We’ve argued a lot, professionally, and though in the past we usually managed to compromise, that couldn’t last forever. I’m pretty sure he’s going to shut me down hard on some of the things I want that will strain the budget, and though I’ll argue hard for them, if he still says no, I’ll accept that. He’s in charge of the business side of things, and for good reason. Once he gets over the way I shut him down in the meeting—which I will definitely apologize for—he’ll accept that I have creative control for a reason. It’s all going to be fine. He just needs time to be mad.
Maybe I should go apologize now. It’s been nearly an hour, and the longer I leave it, the less sincere it will look.
I’m just about to get up from my desk when my phone dings with a text message.
Dimi: Going to HQ for budget meeting. Don’t bother coming over tonight.
I stare at the screen. What the fuck?
The sound of the main office door closing brings me back to my senses. He’s left? And he told me he was going via text message? My office is right fucking next door to his, and he couldn’t lean in the door to say he was going?
I’m tempted to race out and chase him down before he gets to his car, demand to know what the fuck, but I don’t want to cause a scene. Plus, that last sentence is playing through my head on repeat: don’t bother coming over tonight.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? We agreed no personal stuff at work, and I figured that would cut both ways and we’d leave work out of our personal relationship. Clearly, though, Dimi plans to punish me for our disagreement at work by… what? Cutting off sex?
Oh, hell no.
I was ready to apologize. I still am ready to apologize, because I shouldn’t have cut him off like that. Our working relationship has always been about mutual consideration and respect, even when I’m right and he’s wrong.
But this is not okay.
That text really pisses me off.
Also, I’ve just started having sex regularly again after a drought of nearly a year, and I’m not willing to give that up just so he can sulk tonight.
I settle back in my desk chair and get on with work. I have a lot to do, after all, and I’m not dropping the ball just because Dimi has a bug up his ass. I’ll deal with him later.
Don’t bother coming over tonight. He’s fucking high if he thinks I’m just accepting that.
Should I text him back? Something snarky so he knows he’s being a complete dickweasel and maybe pulls himself together enough to take it back?
No. Why should I give him warning?
By the time I finish up for the day, I’m completely amped up on adrenaline. I am ready for this battle.
So I go over to
his place.
I have to lean on his doorbell for nearly three minutes before he opens the door. It’s childish and petty—clearly he doesn’t want to see me—but it gives me an immense feeling of satisfaction after that text.
“What?” he demands, and I push past him—or try to. He seems determined to block the doorway, so we do this pushy-shovey thing with our bodies that’s definitely juvenile.
Eventually, I tell him, “Your neighbors are probably watching, and this is going to be all over town by morning.” I think I’m exaggerating, but from the speed with which he stops shoving and steps back, he obviously considers it a valid possibility.
Hmm.
He closes the door behind me. “What do you want, Jason?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t freeze me out because I made a decision at work that you don’t agree with.”
He glares. “You don’t get to say what I can and can’t do.”
We stare each other down. I am not going to give in on this. I’m in the right, dammit.
He looks so fucking sexy when he scowls. How did I never notice that before?
I’m still pondering if he’ll let me lick the crease between his eyebrows when he lunges forward and kisses me. I’m not ready, so I stagger back and we slam into the door. The handle jabs me in my right kidney, but I don’t care, because Dimi’s hands are in my pants (when did he undo them?) and his mouth is on mine.
What follows is a frenzy of grunting, grabbing, and clothes flying, until we’re both seminaked, our pants around our ankles, our dicks rubbing together in the tight circle of Dimi’s hand. We’re dry, so it’s a little uncomfortable, but not enough to stop the pleasure. That, and the adrenaline from our fight, means that we’re coming in record time, spurting all over ourselves and the entranceway.
My knees give out, and Dimi comes down with me, both of us panting and sweaty.
Much later, lying on the floor near his front door, half-naked with clothes strewn around us, he begrudgingly says, “Fine, no personal life at work, and no work stuff at home.”
“Agreed. I’m sorry I was so short-tempered today. I should have let you explain why you think Sam is a better choice.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his face turn toward me, and I roll my head to the side so I can meet his gaze. “Would it have made any difference to your decision?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. We need to be honest with each other if this is going to work. “No. They both look good for the role, and they both have strengths and weaknesses, but my gut says it should be Mitchell, and I’ve learned to trust my gut on these things.”
His lips thin slightly and he turns his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Fair enough,” he says finally. “Not saying I like it, but you do have creative control. This is your department. I have to trust that you know what you’re doing and accept it even if you’re making a mistake.”
Oho. Did you notice that little dig? Dimi’s a cheeky bastard sometimes.
I let it slide, because I know I’m right and he’s wrong, and time will prove it. In the meantime, I want to address something else.
“That text you sent really pissed me off.” I gather all my energy and drag myself up to a sitting position, then shuffle back to lean against the front door.
He winces and sits up. “I thought it might. That’s why I sent it. I was being a dick, and I should never have let work cross over to home… but I was so mad.”
“No more texts like that. Well,” I say, thinking about it, “not because of work stuff, anyway.” I’m sure we’ll fight again, and that text was a very effective weapon. Plus, the make-up sex after….
“Work stays entirely professional,” Dimi agrees. “Although one day we might want to negotiate a temporary pause in professionalism so I can do you on the stage in the theater.”
Hmm. I pretend to consider it, even though just the mention has my cock stirring slightly, something I didn’t think it would be able to do so soon.
“If you really want to.”
He leans over and licks my cheek. “I really, really want to.”
Chapter Twelve
Dimi
It takes only another week for me to admit defeat and concede that Jason is my boyfriend. To be honest, I’ve never really been a fan of that word—it seems so ageist. I’m not even thirty yet, so I can’t by any stretch of the imagination be called old (unless you’re my nephew, who thinks thirteen is old), and yet for the last five or so years, I’ve felt foolish referring to the guy in my life as my boyfriend. And now that I’m with someone twenty-four years older than me, it seems especially stupid.
What are my other options, though? Partner? That could easily label us lawyers or accountants, not lovers. Significant other? What a mouthful. Plus, neither fits right for me. So I’m sticking with boyfriend for now, even if it seems weird.
Anyway, by mid-January Jase and I have spent exactly zero nights apart. I’ve been to two Monday night dinners, and both times have had to bite my tongue to keep from mentioning him. I think my sibs know something is up, though, because I’m getting a lot of weird looks. Honestly, they could already know and just be waiting for me to tell them. I’ve already said that the gossip mill at JU works in overdrive, and it often spills over into Joyville. Jason and I haven’t exactly been hiding at work—it’s widely known that we’re together, especially after Derek and Trav’s New Year’s Eve party. There weren’t that many people there, but if gossip were an Olympic sport, they’d all be champions.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Derek knocks on my office door, looking his usual smiley, relaxed self. The only time I’ve ever seen Derek look even slightly ruffled was last year when his reputation was being dragged through the mud in the national media. Ordinary crises just don’t faze him.
“Hey, Trav’s in the theater,” I tell him, but he shakes his head and comes in, closing the door behind him.
“I already saw him. Jason kicked me out for being a disruptive influence. I felt like a naughty schoolboy.” A reflective look passes over his expression, followed by a wicked grin. “I think I like it.”
I laugh and gesture for him to sit down. “Do you want a drink? We’ve got soda and water, I think, but for coffee we go to the Arabica Bean.” The coffee shop in the Village is damn good. I’d gotten used to drinking the stuff from the coffee cart in the HQ building, which was more than decent, but clearly the stuff we sell to guests gets a higher priority.
“Nah, I’m good. I just wanted a quick word.” He slouches into the chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. “You know I think you and Jason are great together.”
I raise an eyebrow. This is not what I expected. “Sure.” Jase and I had dinner with Derek and Trav last week, and it was a great night. I’ve known Derek for nearly four years—I would have known if he wasn’t feeling it.
“Right, and because you’ve been so open about being together, the betting on you guys has been fairly restrained.”
I groan and roll my eyes. “I heard. There are odds on if we’ll have a screaming fight in the theater and when we’ll break up. I’m pissed about that one.”
“I would be too,” Derek agrees. “Although we wanted an option about whether you’ll break up, but we couldn’t get any takers. I mean, if someone bets that you stay together, there’s no way for them to ever collect unless one of you dies.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, not sure whether to be glad or not. Although…. “Wait, we? You’re running the pool?”
His gaze slides away. “No, of course not.”
I open my top drawer, pull out the Joy Bear-shaped stress ball inside, and throw it at his head. He ducks, but it still glances off his ear.
“I probably deserve that,” he admits. “Anyway, what I was saying was, given how public you are about being together, you need to suck it up and tell your family. T
racey nearly gave it away to your gram the other day—it was just dumb luck that I was there and could distract them both.”
“Pharmacy Tracey?” I ask, mind racing. Crap. Gram would really be unhappy to find out I’m seeing someone through the gossip mill.
Derek nods. “You know what she’s like. It would never occur to her that maybe you want to keep part of your life private.”
“Yeah. Okay. You’re right. I’ll tell them tonight.” I’ll stop by after work; that way next Monday, I can bring Jason to dinner.
Hey, that works out great.
“Really?” Derek sounds kind of surprised, and I focus back on him.
“Of course. Jase and I are happy together. I don’t really know why I haven’t already told them—probably because it’s easier not to answer all the questions. But I can’t keep pretending Jason and I are just casual, can I?”
He smirks. “Nah. Good for you. I’m glad you’ve found someone.”
We talk for a few minutes more before he heaves himself out of the chair and declares he’s going to the park to do some surprise visits to new staff. I wave him off, thinking about how different he’s been over the last five or six months. Derek has always been a “happy” person, never without a smile, but since he and Trav settled down together, that happiness has taken on a new dimension, gained a depth that made it evident how superficial his previous happiness was.
I get happy butterflies when I realize I feel that way about Jason. It’s still so early in our relationship, but everything seems brighter and more meaningful now.
Ugh. I’m turning into a lovesick fool.
***
After work, I wait until we’re in Jase’s car, headed back to my place, before I raise the topic of telling my parents.
“So, I thought I’d go round to my parents’ house and tell them about you.”
The car swerves slightly.
“Oh.”
I look over at him. “Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad one?”
“It’s a surprised one, but I think I like it.” He sounds considering now. “I haven’t had to meet a boyfriend’s parents for… hell, nearly thirty years, I think.” He paused. “Is boyfriend the right word?”
Follow My Lead: A Joy Universe Novel Page 13