He put the movie on and then settled back against the sofa, smiling as Mac’s hand draped lazily over his shoulder. So far, things didn’t seem to be weird between them, but he’d hold back judgement on that until Mac recovered from his orgasm. For now, Mac seemed happily satisfied, which made Russel feel content.
*
Russel’s stomach was heavy as he approached Gerald’s office. He had the article he’d written in two formats—hardcopy and on a pen drive, which also contained the best photos—but he didn’t think it would be enough. Gerald wanted the scoop with Remy Lawrence, which meant Russel’s well-written article was going to end up tossed aside. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, only to get called in immediately.
“Gerald!” He breezed into the office and sat in the chair, radiating confidence as he handed over the hardcopy of his article. “The party was amazing. Some fabulous outfits and I got some juicy titbits of gossip from the guests. It’s all in here.”
Gerald was smiling as he started to read the article, but that smile quickly faded. “I thought you were getting an interview with Mr Lawrence?”
Russel cringed. “I am, but we had to take a rain check until Wednesday.” He raised his hands in a small shrug. “What can I say? Remy is a very busy man.”
“Wednesday…?”
“Evening.”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed. “That’s after our printing deadline.”
Russel forced himself to smile but knew it had to be coming across as fake. “Sorry.” He held out the pen drive. “I’ve got an electronic copy of my article too.”
Gerald didn’t take it. He tossed the hardcopy towards the bin, but the two stapled-together pages floated to the floor instead. Russel could have cried.
He straightened his back. “I worked hard on that article.”
“There’s no room in this week’s edition, and by next week, the party will be old news.” Gerald began to shuffle papers on his messy desk, which Russel would normally have taken as a cue to leave. But not today.
“But you’d have had room if it had been an interview with Remy?”
Gerald didn’t even look at him.
“If Gwen had gone to the party, you’d be publishing her article.” He hated that he sounded whiny, like a petulant child, but he was trying to stand up for himself.
“Gwen isn’t the layout guy.”
Russel gritted his teeth. “Nor was I when you needed someone to fill in for her. I wrote the article you sent me to the party for.”
Gerald clasped his hands and leant over the desk. “And then you promised me an exclusive interview with the most reporter-shy man in Yorkshire. Frankly, you shouldn’t be surprised that I’m pissed off with you.”
Russel blinked fiercely. A lump was forming in his throat, making it hard to speak. “You haven’t even read it.”
Gerald leant down and plucked the article off the floor. He glanced at it for about forty seconds before turning his steely gaze on Russel again. “The writing is amateurish and sloppy. I wouldn’t publish this trash, even if I were desperate.” He crumpled the report up and threw it at the bin; this time, it hit home.
Russel gasped, which was the most office-safe sound he could make. What he wanted to do was scream blue murder. How dare Gerald throw his article into the bin? He’d spent hours on that. He’d slaved over it. It was a wonderfully crafted piece of writing, and Gerald had thrown it away? Tears stung his eyes. How pathetic would he look if he cried over an article?
Gerald glared at him. “Now, run along back to your desk, layout guy.”
“What about my interview with Remy?”
“What interview? For all I know, you’re talking crap. If he gives you an interview, we’ll talk. Otherwise, crawl back to your desk and get on with the job I pay you for.” Gerald’s voice had risen to a fearful yell by the end of the sentence, making Russel shudder.
He stood, teeth clenched as he tried not to cry in front of his boss. There were times that he hated wearing his heart on his sleeve, and this was one of them.
Instead of going back to his desk, he went straight to the bathroom. Relieved to see he was alone, he leant on a sink and let himself cry.
“Are you okay?”
Russel about jumped out of his skin at the sound of Sonya’s voice. He straightened and swiped at his eyes; a quick glance in the mirror told him they were red and puffy. “Honey, you shouldn’t be in here.”
She glanced around. “No one else is here to chase me out.”
Russel let out a watery laugh. “I take it you heard Gerald shouting at me?”
“Everyone heard him shouting.” She hugged him from behind. “What happened?”
Russel sniffed. “Remy Lawrence promised me an exclusive interview, and I made the mistake of telling Gerald before I’d got it.”
“And?”
“And then Remy blew me off.” He leant on the sink again, laughing at his own stupidity. “We’ve rearranged, but I’m not holding out much hope of it actually happening.”
“Why not?”
“I think it’s an excuse for Remy to spend time with my fake boyfriend.”
“He’s trying to break you up?”
Russel shrugged. “No clue. All I know is, we spent hours at his place yesterday afternoon. Remy spent most of the time staring at Mac, and I didn’t get my interview.”
“Mac? That’s the stripper guy?”
“Yes, keep up.”
Sonya gave him a sour stare via the mirror. “I’m trying.”
“Now Gerald is pissed with me, and he threw the really fucking good article I wrote into the goddamn bin.” He broke down again, sobs making his chest hurt. Russel knew he was upset because he hardly ever swore that much.
Sonya rubbed his back soothingly.
“If I don’t get this scoop, Gerald’s never going to give me a chance again.”
“Maybe not, but someone else will. You’re a good writer, Russel.”
“Which is why I’m stuck doing layouts, obviously.” Russel lifted his head and stared at his messy face in the mirror. The mascara and touch of eyeliner he’d put on were smeared halfway down his cheeks. His foundation was running too. “I’m a fucking mess.”
Sonya slipped into a cubicle and returned with a fistful of toilet roll. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Alone, Russel dabbed at his eyes and tried to make himself look more presentable. What he actually did was make even more of a mess of his face as he worked the running foundation and streams of black mascara into his skin.
Luckily, Sonya came back quickly with her make-up bag. She started by removing all his make-up. Normally, Russel would have been horrified to let anyone see him without foundation on, but he was too upset to care.
“Have you stopped crying now?” Sonya asked
Russel sniffed. “I think so. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Not letting me have a pity party.”
Sonya smiled at him as she started to apply a fresh base of foundation with a brush. “We don’t have nearly enough alcohol for a pity party. Let’s put your face back, then you can go out there and show Gerald how fabulous you really are.”
Russel choked out a laugh. “I’m not sure he’s ever going to appreciate my fabulousness.”
“Gerald’s a jerk.”
“Well, yes, but we all knew that.”
Sonya pulled concealer and a smaller brush out of her bag and began to work on masking the puffiness around Russel’s eyes. “Give it a week or two; he’ll forget he was ever pissed off with you, and then he’ll give you another chance.”
“I doubt it. He only gave me this gig because I was gay.”
Sonya gasped. “You’re fucking kidding me?”
“Nope. Remy’s gay, so he wanted to send a gay reporter.” He sniffed. “I guess it sort of paid off, didn’t it? I mean, I got promised an interview. It hasn’t materialised—”
“Yet.”
Russel sighed. “Yet. But I did get
to talk to him, and he invited Mac and me over.”
“Twice.”
“But yeah… Gerald didn’t give me the gig because he thought I could actually write.”
“I’m sorry; that sucks.”
“Not your fault.” He looked up as Sonya started to apply his eyeliner. “Honey, take my advice: don’t let people walk over you. Once they’ve done it once, they’ll do it over and over. I should have said no to Gerald as soon as I realised why he’d picked me, but I was too busy having stars in my eyes to care. That makes this whole sorry situation my fault.”
Sonya squeezed his arm. “It’s not your fault.”
“Honey, I’m the queen of making mistakes and owning them when I do. Don’t try to tell me this isn’t my fault, because I know damn well that it is.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Sonya chided.
“Maybe.” He was, sometimes, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d screwed up royally and dragged a perfectly nice guy into his mess. A really nice guy. He let out a sigh as he remembered having Mac beneath him, compliant and whimpering.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I gave Mac a blow job last night.”
Sonya screwed her face up into a sour expression.
“I know you don’t like giving head, but I enjoy it.”
“To each their own,” she muttered.
Russel sighed again, but this time the sound was sad rather than dreamy. “I’ve probably screwed everything up between us by getting horny.”
“Oh?”
“Things might get weird between us.”
Sonya pursed her lips. “Were they when he left?”
“You’re assuming he came to my place.”
“I know how picky you are about cleanliness. It’s pretty much a given that his place doesn’t live up to your high expectations.”
Russel pouted, putting on a wounded expression, even though she was right.
“It’s true!” She started to put her make-up and brushes away. “You didn’t answer my question. Were things weird when he left?”
“No.”
“I think you’re safe, then.”
“I hope so. We’ve got to pretend to be boyfriends one last time.” He hoped. Or maybe he didn’t. Fuck, he was confused.
“And you will and it’ll be great. You’ll get the interview, Gerald will be happy, and you never know, you might even get a promotion.”
“At this stage, I’d rather have an apology.”
Sonya arched an eyebrow. “From Gerald? I think pigs will fly first.”
Russel chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I am right.” She tucked her make-up bag under her arm. “Come on. We need to get back to our desks before Gerald and Wayne go on the warpath.”
Russel rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t want that.” Especially considering how pissed off Gerald already was.
11 Mac
It was probably completely wrong that Mac was standing in the changing rooms at Horns, smoothing baby oil all over his body while wishing Russel was doing it for him. Even the thought of it made him flush. Jesus fucking Christ. How could he dance on stage and perform stripteases for guys and not break a sweat, while even the thought of that beautiful femme guy left him feeling horny? Yes, Russel had given him a great blow job, but there was more to it than that. He was funny and smart, his writing was eloquent and witty, he was far too easy to open up to, and the things he could do with his mouth—oh, fucking hell. Okay, so maybe the good blow job was all there was to it.
“What are you daydreaming about?” Michael asked as he and Edward came in together.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Mac couldn’t help but chuckle. Although he hadn’t wanted to admit it to Russel, he’d quite enjoyed the film he’d put on. Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey had been good together, and all he could think about was the scene where they’d played Bullshit with Ben’s family.
“He’s smirking,” Edward said.
Mac wiped the smile from his face. “I am not.”
“You got laid, didn’t you?” Michael asked.
“No!” Mac wasn’t sure why he was denying it. Actually, that was a lie. As much as he loved Michael and Edward, he didn’t talk to them about sex. In fact, he hadn’t ever had such an open and frank discussion about sex with anyone before Russel. Maybe that was why one thing had led to another so quickly.
Michael and Edward looked at each other. “Blow job.”
Mac flipped them both the finger and went back to his task of making his body shine with oil.
“We went to the bank today,” Edward said as he began to get changed.
“Oh?” Mac didn’t want to be interested, but of course he was. These were his friends, his family. As much as he didn’t want anything to happen to the club, he wanted them to succeed.
“They’ve offered us a bridging loan to cover our shortfall.”
Michael pulled his gold G-string out of his bag and started taking his jeans off. “They liked our ideas and think we might be able to turn the club around.”
“That’s great, guys.” Mac flipped the top shut on the bottle of baby oil and stuffed it into his bag. His hands—and the bottle—were greasy, so he struggled to do up the stupid collar and bow tie Barry insisted they all wore.
Briefly he wondered if Michael and Edward would come up with more tasteful costumes. He hadn’t thought they’d be able to pull off buying the club, but from what they’d just said, there was every chance they were going to. It would be weird to have them as his bosses. His stomach roiled at the thought that it would change everything between them. He didn’t want to lose his two best friends. Fuck, he was selfish.
“Let me.” Michael did the collar up for Mac and then helped him with the even more ridiculous cuffs. “Don’t worry, we’ll come up with a better uniform when we take charge.”
Mac pretended to concentrate on fluffing up his bow tie in the tiny mirror they all had to share. “Does Barry know about your plans?” Via the mirror, he saw Michael and Edward exchange a glance. “Do you know if he even wants to sell?”
Edward shrugged. “No, but does he seem interested in making this place work?
“That depends on what you mean. I think the way it is works just fine for Barry. He gets all the entry fees, the takings from the bar, and a big cut of our dances.”
“What dances?” Michael snorted.
“That affects us more than him,” Mac reasoned. “And honestly, finding new dancers isn’t that hard.”
“Finding good dancers is.” Edward motioned to them all. “We’re the only experienced dancers he’s got left.”
That much was true. Pole dancing was much harder than it looked, and it looked pretty fucking hard. Every time a new dancer came in, it fell to the three of them to show them the ropes. Not that they got paid for putting in extra time before the club opened. More often than not, their hard work went to waste when the guy decided it was too hard for too little reward, and left after a few nights.
He turned around to face his friends, staring at one, then the other. “Can you really make this work?”
Edward nodded. “We think so.”
Mac fidgeted at his bow tie. “What happens if you buy Barry out and realise this is more of a money pit than you thought? It won’t just be you who lose.” He rubbed the back of his head. “And now I sound like a selfish arse.”
“You’re not,” Edward assured him.
“We get why you’re worried,” Michael said. “We know you need this job; we all do.”
“It’s not just that,” Mac said gruffly. He looked down at the floor, wondering why he was on the verge of making himself vulnerable; again. This wasn’t like him at all. “I’m scared of losing the two of you.”
Edward stepped up to Mac and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s never going to happen.”
“He’s right.” Michael grinned. “You’re stuck with us.”
/> “And if we fuck everything up and this place goes under, we’ll make sure you find another job.” Edward squeezed Mac’s shoulder. “But we want to do this to make things better for all of us.”
Mac sniffed, an action which pissed him off. He didn’t do vulnerable. Except he had, last night. Not just when he’d been talking to Russel, but when he’d let himself be told what to do, when he’d called Russel ‘Sir’. He shivered. Mac had known for a long time that he didn’t want to be in charge when it came to sex and that he definitely didn’t want to top, but with Russel, he’d glimpsed at just how submissive he was willing to be; it was actually pretty exciting.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Edward asked.
Mac blinked at the abrupt change of subject.
“You’re clearly thinking about him.” Edward winked at him and flicked his gaze down.
“Fuck.” A hard-on was all Mac needed, right before he went on stage.
Michael laughed. “Why don’t you go and sort yourself out? Edward and I can take the first two spots.”
Red-faced, Mac grunted a grateful response out, retrieved the bottle of baby oil from his bag, and headed into the grotty toilets. This was not where he wanted to jack off, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t go on stage with a hard dick.
After locking himself into a cubicle, he dropped the toilet lid, shimmied out of his G-string, and sat down. He poured baby oil into his palm and fisted his dick, leaning back as he began to relieve himself. Instantly, thoughts of Russel popped into his head. Those fucking big, kissable lips and the way he used his tongue.
“Oh, God.”
And teeth.
“Fuck.”
And mouth.
“Oh, fuck.” He drew the words out into a desperate, throaty moan.
His breaths were devolving into pants, and he was breaking out into a sweat. Fuck, he’d probably have to reapply the baby oil after this. Once again, thoughts of Russel doing it for him flitted into his head, and he could almost feel those soft, confident hands sliding over his body.
His orgasm hit him, a pathetic shadow of the one Russel had given him the night before. But it had done the job. He cleaned himself and the floor up, dried his sweaty chest off, and reapplied the baby oil. As he headed to take his turn on the stage, he knew one thing for sure: he was utterly and completely fucked.
Unbreakable Page 10