Something Like Thunder (33 page)

“I’m guessing Marcello wouldn’t agree with you.”

Kenneth looked up at him and laughed. “No. Definitely not. That’s why…” He clicked the mouse a few times. “Meet the star of his next movie.”

Nathaniel leaned closer to the screen and instantly wished he hadn’t. The guy was hot as hell, his skin olive-toned, his eyes hazel, his hair dark. He could have been Caesar’s cousin. The resemblance was enough to make his heart ache.

“How old would you say he is?” Kenneth asked.

Nathaniel swallowed. “I don’t know. Nineteen? Twenty?”

Kenneth nodded happily, pulling up a scan of a driver’s license. He tapped the screen, drawing attention to the date of birth.

Nathaniel did some mental arithmetic. “Sixteen? That kid is going to be in a porno?”

Kenneth grinned. “Yes, he is.”

“And Marcello is okay with that?”

Kenneth clicked again. The image stayed mostly the same. All except for the year of birth, putting the license’s owner well within the legal age range. Kenneth leaned back in his chair, seeming satisfied with himself.

“Kind of harsh,” Nathaniel said carefully. “Won’t Marcello be a registered sex offender? They’ll throw him in prison.”

Kenneth sighed impatiently. “People like Marcello are too rich to do time. But yes, he’ll be a registered sex offender. Trust me when I say he has enough land that he won’t need to inform the neighbors. He’ll step down from Studio Maltese to avoid scandal, passing control over to me. Even keeping his name on the business would threaten the little empire he’s built. He’ll retire, which at his age he should have done already. Then I’ll take the company higher than it’s ever been. The only question is: Are you coming along for the ride?”

Kenneth turned in his seat, reaching for Nathaniel’s belt. This time he didn’t meet any resistance. Nathaniel’s head was swimming with what he’d just learned—with all that had happened recently. On the screen he could still see a scanned driver’s license, the photo in one corner showing locks of brown hair and an innocent expression. He closed his eyes, imagining Caesar’s face there instead. At first he appeared happy, eager to see him again. The slurping noise changed this expression—Caesar devastated, crying when he found out what Nathaniel had done and who he had been with. He deserved exactly that. Nathaniel opened his eyes. He reached for the laptop screen and shut it. Then he grabbed his beer, chugged it down, and kept on gasping, even once it was empty.

* * * * *

Nathaniel felt dirty. His throat burned, his mouth tasted of stale beer, and the sheets tangled around his waist were suffocating and damp with sweat. He raised his head, squinting against the morning light. Kenneth was lying next to him, back turned. Nathaniel checked the clock, then rose quickly and hopped in the shower, realizing he hadn’t bathed since the day before. He drank directly from the hot water spray as he stood under it, trying to ignore thoughts on the periphery of his mind. Memories of having sex with Kenneth, of plans to force Marcello out of the company, and the ugly events that had led Nathaniel here. Caesar. Rebecca.

He reached for the soap, engrossing himself in the cleansing process to a ridiculous degree. Time to flip the switch once more. Shut out all those unwelcome emotions. He must have been out of practice, or maybe it was his hangover, because he still felt like shit once finished with his shower.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he returned to the room. Kenneth was up now, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands covering his face.

“You all right?” Nathaniel asked.

“Nothing a little codeine can’t cure,” came the muffled response. He dropped his hands when the phone on the nightstand chimed. Kenneth picked it up and read the screen. “You have an appointment with Marcello in ten minutes. He’s in the buffet downstairs, perhaps literally.”

“Do you have anything I can wear?” Nathaniel asked.

“He’s going to offer you an internship. Who cares how you look?”

“I’ve been in the same clothes for two days. I don’t want to make it three. Do you think I should even go?”

Kenneth exhaled irritably. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Last night you offered me a job.”

“Oh.” Kenneth looked over at him, his expression softening when he took in the bare chest and skimpy towel. This didn’t help Nathaniel feel any less dirty. “You better go. To maintain appearances and such. Don’t fuck this up. I hope you can act natural.”

“I won’t. And I can.”

“You’d better.”

Kenneth rose and stretched. Seeing him naked brought back memories that weren’t pleasant. Not because what happened last night didn’t feel good or hadn’t been consensual. The problem was that Kenneth’s body wasn’t familiar, didn’t belong to someone he loved. In fact, Nathaniel wasn’t sure he liked this man at all.

Kenneth strolled over to him, morning wood still at full mast. He pointed to it, then the carpet before him. “Why don’t you take care of this for me?”

“Maintaining appearances,” Nathaniel reminded him, trying to hide his revulsion. He walked around him, picking up his clothes from the floor. He could feel Kenneth glaring, but eventually heard the bathroom door close. Nathaniel hurried to get dressed, repeatedly glancing at the clock. The shower was running when he checked the room for the last of his belongings. That’s when he noticed the laptop.

Nathaniel stood there a full minute, weighing his options. Even if Kenneth could be trusted and wasn’t just using him for sex, Nathaniel wasn’t okay with landing a job in such an unscrupulous manner. The business world was cutthroat, but surely this was a step too far. Marcello couldn’t be as lazy as Kenneth made him out to be. Otherwise he wouldn’t have achieved so much. Nathaniel didn’t owe loyalty to either man. He could just walk away and let them get on with their war. The only problem was that one side didn’t know he was supposed to be on the battlefield.

He grabbed the laptop and left the room, the door automatically locking behind him. His heart was racing as he waited for the elevator doors to open, which seemed to take an eternity. Once downstairs he asked the front desk clerk for toothpaste and a toothbrush, then went into the public restroom to make use of them. He set the laptop on the counter next to the sink, eying it warily while he brushed. Finally he went to the buffet, spotting Marcello with little difficulty.

“Ah! There you are.” The large man waved him over to his table. “Help yourself to a nice coffee. One of the omelets too. I can see this week hasn’t been easy on you.”

“We need to talk,” Nathaniel said.

“Human beings can go their entire lives without speaking. Bodily sustenance cannot be ignored. Go on now, I insist!”

Nathaniel took the laptop with him, which probably looked ridiculous, especially when he used it as a tray for his coffee and eggs. Not that Marcello seemed to notice when he returned. He was happily nibbling on a pastry while glancing around at other diners.

“Could you imagine if every meal was so communal?” he commented. “At a buffet we take from the same pile of food, like a pride of lions tearing apart a freshly caught gazelle, rubbing elbows while shoveling more food onto our plates. A shame then that we don’t dine at the same table. That would bring the concept full circle.”

“Listen,” Nathaniel began.

A ringtone interrupted them, an electronic version of ABBA’s
Dancing Queen
. Marcello set down his pastry and reached for his phone. Nathaniel wanted to grab it first, but it was too late.

“Kenneth! When are you— Hm? Why?” Marcello looked across the table at Nathaniel as he listened. “Yes, I’m by myself. Why would he steal your laptop? Oh, a petty thief. I see! Well, I think he would have found me by now, if that was his intent. No doubt he’s headed to the nearest pawn shop. Are you coming down for breakfast? The police? Perhaps you’re right. You better stay in your room until they arrive, just in case he has further mischief planned. I’ll do the same and return to my room immediately. Okay. Goodbye.”

Marcello put down the phone, laced his fingers together on his belly, and gave Nathaniel a frank expression. “Well? What’s this all about?”

“Give me a second and I’ll show you.” Nathaniel shoved his plate aside so he could open the laptop. Once the computer was roused out of sleep mode, he found it still on the same image of a driver’s license. He turned it around so Marcello could see.

The man sniffed, as if not particularly interested. “How careless of Kenneth not to have a password screen. This machine contains confidential information.”

Nathaniel huffed impatiently. “Do you make adult movies?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Is this guy going to be in one of them?             

Marcello’s eyes flicked to the screen and back again. “Blackmail?”

“Not yet. And not from me. Look at the date of birth. Now watch.” Nathaniel hit the arrow key, going back and forth a few times to highlight the difference.

For once Marcello looked surprised. He leaned forward, mouth agape. “Which is his true age?”

“Take a guess. Kenneth is hoping to force you into early retirement, and by force, I mean he intends to get the police involved.” Nathaniel took a quick sip of coffee and stood. “I don’t want anything from you. I thought you should know. That’s all.” He turned to leave.

Marcello cleared his throat. “Has it occurred to you that Kenneth might have called the police, knowing they would find us together? All he has to say is that I asked you to steal the laptop so I could destroy the evidence. The altered image could have been crafted by me to get an underage actor into one of my films. Not as damning as his original intentions, if what you say is true, but a decent contingency plan nonetheless.”

Nathaniel stared at him. “So what do we do?”

Marcello closed the laptop and gestured at it. “Return it to him. Convincingly.”

“How?”

“How indeed. I don’t suppose you could disguise yourself as a maid and slip into his room? Purely in the spirit of adventure. I don’t see how it would really assist you.”

“This is serious,” Nathaniel said.

“I know,” Marcello said. Then he nodded at the lobby. “Off you go.”

Nathaniel grabbed the laptop and hurried back to the elevators. On the way up, he decided that he needed to get caught, but not by the police. He knocked on Kenneth’s door and heard him moving behind it a moment later.

“I can’t find Marcello,” Nathaniel said. “He’s not downstairs.”

The door swung open. Kenneth looked him up and down and noticed the poorly concealed laptop behind his back. “What are you doing with that?”

“Oh.” Nathaniel made sure to look uncomfortable. “I thought I might need it. For taking notes.”

“I know what game you were trying to play. Give it to me!”

Nathaniel took a step backward.

“I called the police!” Kenneth said. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Nathaniel sighed, as if defeated. Then he held out the machine. “You wouldn’t have given me the job, would you?”

Kenneth snatched away the laptop. “Now you’ll never know!” The door slammed shut. Nathaniel made sure to look despondent, figuring Kenneth would gleefully peer through the keyhole to catch his expression. Then he rode the elevator back down to the lobby, where two police officers were standing at the front desk. They noticed him and walked in his direction.

“Great,” Nathaniel muttered.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Marcello swept past him, shaking hands with both officers. “I’m so sorry about the false alarm. I left my laptop in the dining room. When I returned upstairs, I assumed this young man had—” He turned and waved a hand at Nathaniel dismissively before addressing the officers again. “Oh, I am getting old! I turn fifty this year, you know.”

The officers exchanged weary expressions.

“I’m sorry about the wasted trip,” Marcello continued, “but it doesn’t have to be. Why don’t you take a well-deserved break and enjoy the buffet?” The concierge squeaked in protest, prompting Marcello to add, “My treat! A coffee at the very least.”

That seemed to do the trick. He escorted the officers toward the dining room, returning a moment later. “He has the laptop?”

Nathaniel nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“To Kenneth? A severance package of three-months’ salary and a glowing letter of recommendation.”

“Seriously? The guy wanted to get you arrested!” Lowering his voice, he added, “You would have been a registered sex offender.”

“I do hate registering for things,” Marcello admitted, “but it’s best in such situations to resolve matters quietly. Besides, no doubt one of my competitors will hire him, hoping to undermine my studio. My own version of a Trojan horse, if you will. Won’t they be surprised when Kenneth betrays them too. On that note, I should probably get to my room, just for appearances, but I was wondering if you would consider working for me. After all, a job vacancy is opening, and you did train with the former occupant.”

“I still have another year of college.”

“Ah, but an MBA-JD can be earned AI—Accelerated Integrated—which only requires three years of study. You’re nearly there. I could pull some strings.”

Nathaniel stared at him. “Last time we met, you acted like you didn’t understand what any of those letters meant.”