Groomzilla (18 page)

“But I am,” Owen murmured, dropping a kiss on his cheek. “Let me give you my metaphorical crackers, okay?”

When Daniel laughed, Owen’s heart soared.

“THANK YOU
all for coming,” Owen said into the microphone. Everyone looked at him expectantly, but he could tell by many of their expressions that his announcement wasn’t a surprise. “Rafe and Ander wanted me to deliver a message. To thank you for your support and love and friendship. To hope you take full advantage of this wonderful food and drink and entertainment. And to let you know that they eloped this morning.”

The crowd burst into sound and movement at once, shock and laughter and gossip in one big cloud. Owen kept smiling, rocking back on his heels. On cue, waiters circulated en masse, handing out flutes of champagne.

“I know, right? They refuse to do anything by the book,” he added lightly. “So let’s celebrate the happy couple by making merry for the rest of the day. Raise your glasses, please.”

When the guests all had their flutes raised, Owen raised his back. “To Ander and Rafe, their happy union and our best wishes.”

Someone called out “
Salud
!” and they all drank.

Owen quickly handed the mic to their tech person, then made his exit. There were no questions he wanted to answer at this moment.

He found Daniel in the office, a small room near the storage area of the barn. The sounds of merriment became less and less evident as Owen found his way, until he opened the door to find Daniel on the floor, tumbler of scotch next to him and a plate of hors d’oeuvres in his lap.

“Naomi does nice work,” Owen said as he closed the door behind him.

“I closed my eyes while she pumped breast milk, which was weird.” Daniel popped a piece of bruschetta in his mouth and nodded as he chewed, then swallowed. “Come sit down and eat with me.”

“I’m not…,” Owen tried, but Daniel’s sharp glance moved him obediently to the floor so they were sitting knee to knee.

“Scotch?” Daniel took a sip, then offered his glass, which Owen took. “Naomi’s doing my job. I think she needs a raise.”

“She’s probably going to need a new job,” Owen murmured, then took a long swallow of the warm liquid courage.

Daniel’s face went pale. “No, Owen.”

“I have stayed in a business I do not enjoy because of guilt. That is no way to live your life, Daniel. I’m tired of Victor, and I’m tired of artificial drama because for God’s sake, the world throws you enough shit. Why create more?”

“Is it true? If you end the partnership with Victor, you get to keep everything?” Daniel put his plate aside, then scooted closer. When he put his hands out, palm up, Owen smiled.

The scotch got relegated to the floor before Owen slid his hands into Daniel’s. “On paper, yes. But I suspect it’s going to be a bit harder. Victor will try to sue you and Ander and Rafe….”

Daniel’s face lost the rest of its color, so Owen tightened his grip, trying to transfer all his surety through the touch of their skin.

“But I can stop that, I think. When I edit together what we have, it’ll finish our obligation to the network. We have episodes to deliver, and the content isn’t mandated. So no breach there.” Owen took a deep breath, his gaze locked with Daniel’s. “And if I give Victor money, we can avoid any sort of legal action against the three of you.”

Daniel swallowed hard, his hands shaking in Owen’s. “That’s your money.”

“Yes, exactly. It’s my money. And I’ll do what I want with it.”

“I can hire a lawyer.”

“Why? I want out, I want you protected, and I want Ander and Rafe to live happily ever after, adopting children and naming them after characters from
Dynasty
,” he teased, rubbing his thumbs against Daniel’s cold wrists. “I can start a new business.”

“I have been considering hiring an assistant,” Daniel teased weakly.

Owen smiled. “I’ll send you my CV.”

There was a quiet knock on the door, and then a second later it creaked open. Naomi and Lois were framed in the doorway, their faces sympathetic.

“They’re serving dinner,” Naomi said. “I don’t know about you two, but I think I’ve earned surf and turf.”

OWEN SETTLED
into his seat, the stress of the day catching up with him. His tux weighed fifty pounds; he’d emptied the container of ever-present antacids an hour ago. Limp, Owen leaned his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands.

“They’re bringing you out some soup,” Daniel said, dropping into the seat next to him.

“Hmmm?” They’d chosen the table farthest away from the band, tucked into a back corner and formerly reserved for the film crew. Now Mickey and Brittany were busy circling through the crowd, Noah and boom trailing behind.

“Soup. I ordered it with the caterers when we were planning.”

Owen turned his head and found Daniel peering at him, a worried frown twisting his lips. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I believe I did. So you can eat food.” Daniel kissed his temple. “Also a bread basket that’s twice the size of the one on everyone else’s table, because fuck it, I need carbs in bread and beer form.”

The waiter appeared with a medium-size tray, bringing the aforementioned clear vegetable broth and what was indeed a giant basket of bread. Daniel’s meal appeared all at once—salad, lobster tail, and filet mignon in a “rustic” plating.

“Rustic plating. I love the way that sounds,” Daniel said, whipping the napkin into his lap. “Like I’m being served squirrel on a slab of wood.”

Owen concentrated on the bowl of broth, dipping his spoon in and bringing it to his lips in a steady rhythm. It hit his system after a few minutes, warmth and a surge of anger from his stomach that passed with a few more swallows.

“Good?” Daniel asked, pushing the bread toward him.

“Actually, yes.”

“It has a fancy name, but you know—broth.”

Owen selected a small square of brown bread out of genuine hunger, a fact surprising and calming at once. “Whatever. It’s good,” Owen said, dipping the bread in the broth.

He chewed the salty soaked bread, enjoying the texture as the band announced they were taking a break. Soft music piped in over the speakers as the dancers returned to their tables for food and drink. “Everything looks like it’s going well enough.” When Daniel didn’t answer, he looked over to make sure he was all right.

Daniel was beaming, actual happiness on his face.

“What?”

Shaking his head, Daniel brushed his fingers over Owen’s jaw, then returned to his plate.

“LET’S DANCE,”
Daniel said after his fourth beer. His empty plates were stacked next to him, empty bottles in a diamond formation. Even Owen had finished his meal and a glass of red wine that made his bones feel warm and liquid.

Tie undone and jacket gone, Daniel projected an odd contentment. He couldn’t keep his hands off Owen, even as moments of melancholy left him staring off into space.

“I’m not a good dancer,” Owen murmured, laying his head on Daniel’s shoulder.

“I’ll lead. Mostly I just want to put my arms around you and sway.”

Owen let Daniel take him by the hand, but instead of pulling him from his chair to the dance floor, he was surprised that Daniel led him through the building toward the back entrance and out onto the deck.

The lanterns and moonlight created enough light to see, the band’s music filtering through the doors. Owen curved his body around Daniel’s, sliding his arms around to Daniel’s back.

“See? This is just what we needed,” Daniel said with a sigh, resting his cheek against Owen’s shoulder.

The band moved from “At Last” to “The Way We Were” without irony, but Owen didn’t listen to the music—not really. He let himself feel the warm evening air, hear the lake lapping somewhere in the dark distance. He reveled in the feeling of Daniel in his arms, how everything felt right and complete in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever known.

“Let’s go back to the cabin,” Owen murmured, startling Daniel.

Daniel tipped his head back, sleepy confusion on his face. “Hmm?”

“Your cabin. I want to go to bed.”

“Oh.” Daniel shook his head. “Are you all right?”

Owen kissed him on the forehead. “I’m trying to have sex with you, Daniel. Please just say yes.”

Daniel opened his mouth, and Owen knew any one of a thousand things that could come out, all of them focused around this reception and responsibility—but instead, to Owen’s perfect delight, all he said was “Yes.”

The path to the Bluebird was lit by tiny solar lights guiding Owen and Daniel up to its front door. Two small lit lanterns and a basket of white roses sat at the front door, a gift Owen couldn’t take credit for.

“Naomi?” Daniel offered before pulling Owen through the front door and straight to the bed.

“Mmm, she’s a genius,” Owen said, already stripping Daniel out of the rest of his tux. “I love how this room is just a fireplace and a giant bed.” They’d left their jackets back at the barn, and if they got stolen or tossed, Owen didn’t give a single fuck. All he wanted now was Daniel’s skin and Daniel’s mouth and Daniel’s cock. Nothing else mattered.

Naked to the waist, Daniel stopped Owen’s fingers at his fly, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him close. The kiss stole Owen’s breath as Daniel bit and licked and demanded everything from him. Owen let him—until it was time to make demands of his own.

“Let me,” Owen murmured when they came up for air. He let his hands roam over Daniel’s back, down to his ass for a squeeze before moving on to the front. Buttons, zippers, and then pushing his pants and underwear down in one quick movement, freeing his dick. Owen’s mouth watered. Daniel kicked his clothes away, that teasing grin blooming over his face.

“Do I get to do you now?” he asked, already unbuttoning Owen’s shirt as Owen unbuttoned his pants.

“No, I’m doing you first.” Owen dropped to his knees, one hand on his own cock and one on Daniel’s.

Daniel hummed as he rocked in Owen’s tight grip, teasing the head against Owen’s mouth. “Yeah? And what do I get to do to you?” he asked, raking his hands through Owen’s hair.

Owen didn’t answer—he opened his mouth, breathing hotly on the tip of Daniel’s cock in response. Daniel pushed his head, pushed his hips, fighting against Owen’s hand, keeping the two from meeting.

“Mmmm.” Owen sealed his lips over the head of Daniel’s cock, feeding the length into his mouth until he pulled his hand away and his nose pressed against Daniel’s belly. His throat fluttered as saliva filled his mouth, the weight and taste of Daniel overwhelming his senses.

It wasn’t going to take long; he was already jacking himself off as Daniel fucked his mouth with absolute abandon. Every snap of Daniel’s hips made his cock hit the back of Owen’s throat and made Owen thrust harder into the tight corridor of his hand. The circuit built and grew as Daniel moaned loudly, yanking at Owen’s hair until, with a final vicious pull, Owen spilled in his own hand.

Daniel’s orgasm hit a moment later, pressed against the roof of Owen’s mouth, the slick release heavy on his tongue.

“Oh God,” Daniel moaned, shaking with the aftershocks.

Owen pulled off, the drag sending a shiver through his body. He looked up at Daniel, blinking with satiation and adoration, seeing it reflected back to him in the expression on Daniel’s face.

Daniel leaned down to kiss him, and everything slotted into place for Owen.

DANIEL DIDN’T
get out of bed for three days. Technically the slothfulness was broken up by trips to the bathroom and answering the door in sweats when the nice people at Ling’s brought him soup. He faked a cough because the delivery guy looked so concerned.

On day three of his funk, they put extra saltines in the bag and Daniel burst into tears.

If Ander were here—a lot of his thoughts started that way—he would storm the apartment with tequila and demand that Daniel stop his dramatics. Browbeat him into a shower and body shots and ridiculous laughter over their shared history.

You’re better than this, Mr. Ivy League. You know what you have to do.

But Ander wasn’t here and Owen was unraveling a mess and Daniel just wanted someone to help him save himself.

Day four brought Daniel to the shower, forced there by the absolutely horrible stench of his own body. He even used the products Lucias gave him, forcing a look in the mirror.

First of all, physical maintenance was a must. Haircut, beard trim. Maybe it was time for the night cream Lucias had recommended.

Then reality.

Ander’s wings had finally grown in—he was gone, tethered to Rafe, standing on his own. The press release about him leaving Glory showed up in Daniel’s e-mail the day before, along with a forwarded note about Rafe’s retirement. Even from paradise, Ander was keeping him informed. Daniel stayed away from the forums on the network’s site, which were rife with excited gossiping about what a crazy train wreck the show would be; he ignored the CCs in his mailbox from Naomi, keeping him abreast of the PR spin on things.

A chapter in his life was over.

Now what?

He dressed in real clothes—shorts and a T-shirt—then set to work on the apartment. Stripped the bed, put on clean sheets, then headed for the laundry room. His mind hummed as he cleaned the kitchen, waiting for the washers to be done. Prestigious degree from an Ivy League school, money in the bank—even if that produced a wince—and experience running his own business. Maybe crisis management was his next career.

A little voice whispered in his ear. Daniel dropped the sponge in the sink, then leaned against the fridge.

Time for a list.

Always time for a list.

Daniel sat at his desk—a rare occasion of late—and pulled out his leather notebook. A blank page gave him a moment’s feeling of anxiety; then it melted into something… peaceful.

A blank page is a new start.
Grandma Constance had said that, so Daniel wrote it in block letters on the top.