“Because you already hold an unreasonable grudge against Spencer Cox—I’m not sure you need more ammunition.”
“It’s not an unreasonable grudge!” Shay protests. “It’s perfectly reasonable. Cox is a liar and a cheater and that game—”
“That game was six years ago, babe,” Jamie says with the exhausted air of someone who’s clearly heard this rant a million times.
“Fine. What’s he done this time?” Shay grumbles.
“He thinks I sold him out,” I tell him. “That I gave private details about him to an online tabloid.”
“And he fired you?” Shay ventures. A perfectly reasonable guess considering he missed the earlier part of the conversation and as far as he knows Spencer is merely my boss.
I shake my head miserably.
“It seems Will and Spencer were…involved,” Jamie says gently to his boyfriend, as if he’s breaking the news of some kind of terminal diagnosis.
I must look truly pathetic because, despite choking on his beer in surprise, Shay doesn’t offer any remark about me having a relationship—if you can call it that—with a guy he considers his arch-nemesis.
“Look, Will, don’t worry, okay?” Maya says. “Spence will come around. Pretty soon he’ll realize what an idiot he was for ever thinking you could have something to do with this.”
“Maybe,” I say, although there’s not much hopefulness in my tone. “Can you do me a favor, though?” I ask Maya. “Can you swap with me for the next…however long? He needs an assistant he can trust right now, and evidently that’s not me…”
Maya smiles sadly. “Yeah, no problem.”
21
Spencer
* * *
It takes two days, but I finally get the call from my father that I’ve been dreading. This is perhaps the thing I’m angriest about—I mean, apart from the betrayal of trust, which has just absolutely gutted me. Having the choice of when and how to come out to my father taken away from me just feels like an extra blow.
“I thought I’d made clear last time just how damaging scandals like this can be to the company’s image,” my father seethes over the phone.
“Yes, I know—”
“And am I supposed to believe this is another made up story? Someone’s out to get you again?”
I draw in a deep breath. “No. This one’s true.”
“So…you’re like that, then,” he says with a disgruntled growl.
My teeth grind together in frustration. “I’m bisexual, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Bisexual,” he parrots with a derisive snort. “You like sucking cocks—let’s not sugarcoat it with technicalities.”
“Fine, yeah, I like sucking cocks. And I absolutely love being fucked in the ass.”
“SPENCER!” he barks, clearly unamused.
“What? You told me not to sugarcoat.” I can’t remember ever being such a smartass to my dad, but my patience is just worn so thin right now I’m having trouble biting my tongue like I usually do.
“Spencer, I can put up with this…lifestyle of yours,” he says oh-so-graciously. “In fact, it might even be an advantage. Gays are popular these days. Everything is all woke.” I roll my eyes at the sound of that word coming out of this man’s mouth. “But some things will need to change.”
“What are you talking about, Dad?” I ask, exhaustion creeping into my tone.
“The world likes wholesome gays, Spencer. No one wants to do business with someone who has a sex dungeon. So you’ll need to keep your baser proclivities to yourself from now on.”
“Seriously? That’s what you’re more concerned about?” I ask incredulously. “Dad, it’s not like I chose for people to find out that stuff. I didn’t take pictures and send them to the tabloid! And besides, they completely exaggerated everything. I mean, for one thing, I absolutely do not have a sex dungeon! Most of what I do is pretty tame—if you asked anyone in the BDSM community they’d probably consider it vanilla.”
“Stop talking right now, Spencer!” he all but snarls. “I do not need to hear the specifics of these games you play with other men!”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t need to walk in on you fucking your secretary when I was ten years old—shit happens, Dad!”
For the first time in my life, I hang up on my father, tossing my cell aside and collapsing onto my sofa with a weary sigh. I lift my hands to rub over my face, encountering a thick layer of stubble from where I haven’t bothered shaving the past few days. I’ve been working from home this week, hiding away like a scared little kid because I know my heart can’t handle seeing Will just yet.
I hate that my instinct is still to call him right now. Despite how much he’s hurt me, all I want is to hear him reassure me that I’m nothing like my father and that I’m not in this alone.
But I guess all that was a lie, too…
There’s a knock at my apartment door on Friday afternoon and I’m surprised to see a solemn-looking Sullivan there when I open it.
I let out a soft groan. “Sorry, I know I’ve dropped the ball with practice this week…it’s just been…”
“This isn’t about rugby,” he says. “I-I need to talk to you.”
I feel my brows drawing together in confusion at the awkward, uncomfortable way he’s standing there. “Um, sure, okay.”
I gesture for him to come inside and lead him toward my apartment’s kitchen. “You want a beer?”
He nods, and I can’t help noticing the way his fingers are tapping against the counter. It’s something he does when he’s nervous.
I grab him a Corona from the fridge and snap the top off. “Lime?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So what’s going on?” I grab a cutting board from one of the island drawers and retrieve a lime from the fruit bowl that’s sitting on the counter.
“It was me.”
“What was you?” I ask distractedly as I slice the lime.
“The tabloid story.”
I glance up sharply. “What? What are you talking about?”
Sullivan’s eyes widen. “Okay, maybe I should have told you to lose the knife first.”
I glance at my hand and realize I’m waving the sharp knife around. I carefully place it down on the cutting board and draw in a long breath before letting it out slowly. “What do you mean it was you? How?”
“I didn’t personally give the information to the site,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Well I already knew that. What the fuck happened?”
Sullivan leans over the counter to grab his beer and a slice of lime. He stuffs the lime through the neck of the beer bottle and then takes a long sip. Finally, he glances up at me and says, “It was Andrew.”
“The guy you’re seeing?” I’ve only met the guy a handful of times but I always got the impression he was more interested in the expensive restaurants Sullivan could take him to and the exclusive events he had access to than in Sully himself.