Groomzilla (4 page)

Daniel noticed this because he was all-out staring at Owen for the entire meeting.

“I’m going to send my location scout, Brittany, out to your studio and the apartment by the end of the week,” Owen said. “Then maybe we can take a ride up to the wedding venue next weekend?”

Ander pulled out his phone. “I think that works. I’ll let Rafe know.”

“Once we feel good about all the locations and get the proper paperwork taken care of, we can work out the shooting schedule.” Victor glanced at Daniel with an appraising eye. “Does that work for you, young man?”

Daniel resisted the urge to look over his shoulder for the schoolboy who apparently had snuck into the room. “Yes, that’s fine,” he said, trying to keep his irritation at bay. “You won’t have to film any of my personal areas, will you?” The thought of decluttering his work studio’s meticulous organization sent panic skittering down his spine—never mind imagining a film crew in his teeny two-room apartment.

“Probably not,” Victor said with a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry, Daniel, you’ll be in the background for this, doing whatever it is with the linens and flowers. We’re focusing on Ander and Rafe and their story.”

A flush of annoyance spread like wildfire over Daniel’s face, but he didn’t flinch. He just crossed his legs and relaxed back into the chair again, his expression neutral. “As it should be,” he said.

Owen coughed loudly, casting a side glance with wide eyes and pursed lips at Victor. Naomi gave Daniel an apologetic smile. Just a guess—but he wasn’t the first person to be dismissed by Victor.

“Actually,” Ander said with deliberate intent, “Daniel isn’t just the wedding planner. He’s been my best friend since we were eight. He’ll be doing more than just ordering tablecloths. He’s also the best man.” There was an edge to his voice, a narrowing of vowels dripping with ice. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that more clear when we arrived.”

A pregnant pause followed, ironically broken when Naomi made a little “hmmm” sound and Owen clapped his hands to break the awkward silence that followed.

“Daniel mentioned that to me, and I think it’s a delightful aspect to all this. I hope we can give it proper focus.” Owen stood and gave Victor another glance as he walked by. “And it saves us some money and time by combining the best friend with the wedding planner.” He winked at Daniel.

“Delightful, yes,” Victor said, smooth as silk. “That sounds charming. So sorry, Dan, for my oversight.”

It wasn’t entirely his fault—Ander’s snit and not sharing that information had contributed—but it bothered Daniel how shitty the older man had acted when thinking he was “just” the wedding planner.

“It’s Daniel. And not a problem” was all he offered in return, suddenly unsure where to put his eyes.

“Ander, I was hoping Owen and I could take you and your fiancé to dinner this evening.”

“Rafe is in the middle of an important project.” Ander was scrolling through his phone again. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Tomorrow would be brilliant. Naomi, dear, please make us reservations at Eleven Madison Park for four. Say eight?” Victor’s smile went back to full wattage.

“Splendid.” With a subtle glance, Ander caught Daniel’s eye, and a very long friendship enabled them to have an entire conversation without a word.

Did you want to come?

God no. Small plates of pretentious food is just plain wrong. Plus that guy’s a dick.

Okay, calm down.

Naomi stood and disappeared through the small opening and Owen snagged her seat, fortunately closer to Daniel. He looked apologetic but didn’t say anything, shooting little glances at Victor now and again.

“Well, I think that’s all for now,” Ander said. He swept out of his chair and gave Victor an appraising stare. Daniel knew this meant “you better be sending me a basket of flowers after that shit you pulled,” and he hoped Victor did as well, or that dinner reservation would be for naught.

“Absolutely a pleasure,” Victor said, shaking Ander’s hand. “Looking forward to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Ander turned to Owen and offered his hand like he was expecting a knuckle kiss. “And you, we barely got a second to chat. I hope to rectify that soon.”

Daniel knew Ander and he knew that appraising look; Ander had dissected Owen down to the last molecule, judging every hair on his head. To make sure he was good enough for Daniel.

Which no one was. Ever.

“Yes, please. Perhaps you and I and Daniel can get lunch in the next day or so, start going over the schedule since we’re going to be moving so quickly.” Owen looked over at Daniel; then Ander did the same, two sets of eyeballs doing sparkly and shrewd things, and all Daniel wanted in life was a deodorant that worked for more than eight minutes.

“Daniel and I would love to.”

Ander’s smirk said
you’re welcome
, and Daniel’s responding head tilt said
bless your cow.

“GO AHEAD,
tell me how wonderful a friend I am for giving you this opportunity,” Ander crowed as soon as the elevator doors closed, their earlier tiff already forgotten. He took the edge of his hideous scarf and ruffled Daniel’s face. “Go ahead—but you are so totally welcome.”

“What are you talking about?” Daniel said with a huff, folding his arms over his chest. “That Victor guy is rude and fake. Seriously? That gold chain could have anchored the Titanic. Is he a rapper or a swinger?”

“Victor is a television person, Daniel. This isn’t church camp. So what if he’s a dick? His reality shows are big hits.
Sorority Summer Camp
has like fifty million views. Besides, we’re talking about the delicious Owen Grainger.”

Daniel looked up at the mirrored ceiling to avoid Ander’s smug grin. “He’s very nice.”

“He’s very fuckable,” Ander said dryly. He buttoned up his jacket as the elevator hit the lobby. “And he was looking at you like he wanted to choke on your dick.”

The doors opened right on cue, and the middle-aged guy with the tray of lattes got to hear about the dick choking.

“Pardon.” Sweet as sugar, Ander whipped out his sunglasses as he ducked around the guy, Daniel following with all the haste of a foot-dragging child on his way to a spanking.

“Have a lovely day, cutie!” Ander called to the guard before sweeping through the doorman-opened door.

Daniel sighed.

On the street, Ander picked up without a beat. “That man is interested in you and please don’t even pretend your mouth wasn’t watering the entire time.”

“He’s very….”

“Say ‘nice’ again and I start sending you dick pics on the hour, twenty-four seven.”

“I liked him. And yes, he’s gorgeous. Jaw-dropping hotness and he smells like sex, my God, I wanted to bite him.” Daniel exhaled his words as he stepped into the street to hail a cab, cheeks burning even in the wind. “He’s also someone I’m going to be working with, and that’s as good a reason as any—”

“Shut up, shut up,
shut up
.”

A cab pulled to a stop in front of Daniel; when he turned to Ander, he was busy on his phone.

“Ander….”

“One second, I’m googling giant cocks so I can start the queue for your phone.”

HOW DANIEL
assumed the conversation was over, he had no idea. Temporary insanity.

“Why can’t you just relax and let things happen?”

Daniel ignored the buzz of his own phone, knowing full well what was waiting for him. “First you emotionally manipulate me into doing a freaking reality show and now you’re trying to get me to date—”

“I didn’t say date, my love. I said fuck.”

The cab driver looked in the rearview mirror, and Daniel shrugged. “Okay—whatever you are encouraging here, I just think it would be awkward.”

“Awkward and delicious. One glorious night, then every time he walks into the room, you get a boner? Jesus. I think this reality show might have a spin-off.”

Daniel sank lower on the seat.

Ander’s office sat on the thirty-eighth floor of an older building on Eighth Avenue and Forty-Seventh Street, pretending it had more to do with being in the heart of the fashion district and less that Ander’s boss had taken a hit in his last divorce.

Sven Glory—not his real name, but Daniel had not yet seen a birth certificate to confirm—and his fashion lines were enjoying a long life in the middle of the fashion hierarchy. Expensive enough to be at Saks, not Macy’s, cheap enough that the jeans didn’t cost five hundred bucks. The women’s line, Glorious, brought in the big bucks while the men’s line, G, was still struggling to make a splash. After Ander’s fabulous work on a series of wedding dresses for Morning Glory, their bridal line, Ander had been “promoted” to head the men’s line.

Good work, great job, here’s the bastard child of the empire.

Daniel had tried to reframe it for Ander at the time, about how Sven was showing his faith in Ander’s genius to do for the men’s line what he had done for bridal. It was a compliment! Except for the part where Sven refused to approve any budget increases or let Ander hire more designers. The corner of the offices for G didn’t even get the good coffee.

That was when it became clear Sven had laid a trap. Knowing Ander on his own could compete with Glorious, Sven had given him the golden handcuffs. Enough money to make it hard to walk away while making sure he stayed in the basement of design.

The basement was on the thirty-eighth floor, but still.

“I just need to take a quick meeting with Rebecca and then we can grab a late lunch,” Ander said, momentarily off Daniel’s love life.

“Rafe not back yet?”

Ander’s shoulders sagged, phone quickly forgotten as he gave Daniel a forlorn glance. Oh, there was that scared boy crying in his bed because he missed his parents so much. “He said his meeting got pushed back. He’s going to fly home in the morning, but then I have the meeting with the guys from Tokyo and dinner at night with Victor and Owen.”

“So reschedule the dinner,” Daniel said as they reached Ander’s floor. “You guys haven’t had much time to yourselves lately, right?”

Ander shrugged as the doors opened. “It’s just for a little while longer,” he said, his tone flat.

Daniel opened his mouth to say something else, but Ander was already moving down the hall, head thrown back and voice loud.

DANIEL LAY
on the white Muppet fur half couch, half gynecologist’s chair thing in Ander’s office, waiting for his meeting to end. The light was great, the ceilings high, but the clean space died in the hands of Ander’s creative imagination: white walls covered in fabric swatches and magazine covers; pictures of Ander with famous people wearing his designs; the first thing he had ever designed—a tux jacket in an alligator print—mounted and framed.

The only thing that drew a smile on Daniel’s face was the far left corner near the window, where two boy-size ties in gray-and-blue stripes were tacked up under a picture of them from the summer of 2001, fresh-faced and smiling on the dock of the Pennsylvania lake where Daniel’s grandmother lived. It was the first of four glorious breaks spent in Grandma Constance’s care—acting like actual kids, reality far away for weeks at a time, replaced by bonfires and smelling like a lake before bath time. If they could map out the complicated trajectory of Daniel Green and Ander Valios, this would be the part highlighted in happy reds and pinks.

It had ended too soon—Grandma Constance died unexpectedly four and a half years later, ending the respite from a family-less existence for both of them.

Having returned all his calls and e-mails, Daniel lay back on the soft fuzziness and stared up at the ceiling fan. It didn’t take long for his thoughts to circle back to the deliciousness that was Owen Grainger.

The insides of his thighs clenched and he willed an embarrassing boner to go away; if Ander walked in on that, Daniel would end up in a hotel room with a paid escort, and no one wanted a repeat of his eighteenth birthday.

The fantasy of fucking away the attraction between them, then being able to work together was just that—a fantasy. Daniel didn’t consider himself a romantic; one didn’t reach the age of almost twenty-five without having been in love and still believe in the fairy tale. Even his genuine gladness for Ander and Rafe didn’t erase the facts he knew to be true: Ander was an emotionally neglected child who desperately wanted someone to decide he was worth it and shower him with attention. And Rafe, fifteen years his senior, yearned for someone with vibrancy and a love of life to rescue him from a mundane existence of boring meetings and uninspiring conversation.

They were perfect for each other, matching core wounds and all.

That wasn’t romance, however—that was psychology.

“Ugh, you’re thinking so loud it’s turned your aura pee-in-the-snow yellow,” Ander said as he breezed in, door slamming behind him. “We’re getting drunk tonight.”

“Is the drunk for me or because your meeting was annoying?”

Ander gave him an exasperated glance. “Both.” He started to gather things on his endlessly messy desk, pens and folders and clippings, stuffing them all into his leather messenger bag. The frantic snap of the movements clued Daniel in to just how unsettled Ander was.

Which meant a little self-sacrifice.

“You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should consider just going for it with Owen. What could it hurt?” he asked, stretching, then rolling off the contraption with a thump.

“I appreciate your placating me by pretending you’re going to fuck someone.”

“See how much I love you? Also, I totally got laid in Fort Lauderdale over the summer.”

Ander stopped packing his bag. He raised one hand to his forehead, then covered his eyes. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear the horror story that is your life? It’s March! No sex in like a year is terrible.”

“I fear for your ability to measure time. Also, I have an impressive collection of sex toys, thanks to you, and a gallon of lube with a handy pump. I’m fine.” Daniel got off the floor, straightening his clothes as Ander rolled his eyes.