Home > A Reluctant Boy Toy (Men of St. Nacho's #3)(17)

A Reluctant Boy Toy (Men of St. Nacho's #3)(17)
Author: Z.A. Maxfield

“How about on the lounge?” he said politely.

“Molly?”

“Yes, sir?” She’d worn a fitted jacket over a cream silk blouse, a pencil skirt, and a wicked pair of heels. As always, she carried her tablet with her.

“Make sure I have plenty of water. It feels like it’s going to be a warm day.” Could she see my anxiety?

“Of course, sir.” Her glance shifted between me and Ian Drake. “Whatever you need.”

“Generally speaking, my dear,” Drake turned to her, bolder now that he wasn’t afraid I’d make an awkward scene, “I like to restrict a shoot to models and staff.”

“I’m Mr. Keye’s staff,” Molly told him. “From this moment forward, Mr. Keye goes nowhere without me.”

“But—”

She smiled sweetly. “Do you need me to contact Mr. Keye’s attorney about the contract? I’m sure it’s stated clearly that Mr. Keye will have his PA with him at all times if he wishes.”

“No need to trouble yourself, sweetheart. It’s a preference of mine to have fewer bodies around but not a dealbreaker.”

“Very good. I’ll be right here.” She bowed her way to the sidelines, but given the code, I could see she understood this man was part of my past, and he was not to be trusted. I was surprised he’d dare show his face on a shoot where I was the subject.

Perhaps he’d gotten cocky because he hadn’t been named in the lawsuit? If that was the case, if he even looked at me funny, I’d walk out, to hell with the money.

“You’re looking a little tense, Bastian, can you try to relax?” He moved toward me and spoke in a hushed tone, “We can provide something if you need a little pharmaceutical help.”

“I’m fine.” I took a deep breath and let it out. When he tried to touch me, I whispered, “Don’t.”

Our gazes locked, and he looked away first. “How am I going to pose you without touching you?”

“You’d better figure something out because I will set this place on fire before I allow you to put your hands on me.”

“Did you say something, sir?” Molly asked loudly.

“Miss, you’ll need to be quiet.” Ian glared at me. “Sebastian, hold the glass like this, please.” He showed me how he wanted me to hold my arm and lifted his camera. “A little more to the right. That’s it, eyes on me. Smolder with the eyes. Got it.”

The rest of the shoot grew more and more uncomfortable as I held wine glasses, sat in an expensive car with my watch arm on the leather wheel, and draped said arm around a stunning Italian model named Lucia. I did as I was told while I went to a private place in my imagination and rearranged furniture I’d believed long draped and left behind.

It was my left arm and celebrity—or was that notoriety—the camera wanted, so I retreated, unable to return until Molly led me away.

Woodenly, I changed back into my street clothes.

“It’s okay.” Molly put her arm around me as we walked to the town car. “It’s over. You did great.”

“Sebastian.” Drake seemed to step out of nowhere. He blocked our path to the car. “May I have a word?”

Molly said, “Let’s go, Sebastian. Your driver is waiting.”

“Darling boy,” Drake drawled in a phony posh accent. “You’re obviously not that frightened little thing who didn’t like having his picture taken anymore. You were a total cunt to me today. Don’t think I won’t spread the word.”

“Molly, go on ahead, please.” I gave her a little push. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Her hand caught my wrist. “But Bast—”

“Go.” I jerked my head and she reluctantly left us. “Make it fast, Ian.”

“Fine.” He came closer, and though it took an act of will, I held my ground. “I heard your reputation as a hot mess still follows you.”

“It has.”

“Good,” he sneered. “You were once the most beautiful boy in the world. Now you’re just a shitty actor on a shitty cable series. You made life hell for some good friends of mine, and I plan to return the favor.”

“I couldn’t care less.” I clenched my teeth.

“You will care very much when you lose even the lousy jobs you can still get.”

“Your luck won’t hold out forever, Ian. I had no proof, but someday—”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. Boys like you are disposable.” He gave an assessing tilt of his head. “You did your best, but I’m still free to swim where I please.”

I suddenly understood what this was. “I’ve aged out of your preferred waters, haven’t I?”

“Alas.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Every good boy has an expiration date.”

“Don’t get comfortable, Drake. Anywhere you swim, there’s a food chain. Someday a great white shark will come along and crack into your gross, chewy hide, and I’ll applaud from the sidelines.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sharks don’t like the taste of men, you know.”

“I’m not worried,” I said before turning my back and walking away. “By now, you probably taste just like chicken.”

When I caught up to Molly, she grabbed me and hauled me to the car. Once we were inside and the trip home was underway, she turned to me.

“Oh God. What was that? What did he say?” she asked. “You gave the code words. Why did you talk to him alone?”

“Guess he found a button that still works.”

“Your ego,” she snapped, disgusted. “Tell me exactly what was said.”

“We just had words, Molz.”

“Actionable words?”

“He vaguely alluded that he’s still…I don’t know…into boys? Don’t ask. I feel sick enough for listening to him, even for a second.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I wanted to face a monster from my past.”

“Okay.” She blew out a breath. “Okay. How do you feel?”

“Not good.” My hands were shaking. “A little dizzy. A little…Stop the car. Stop the car!”

The driver pulled over and I practically fell out and got sick on the side of the rural road.

“Aw, shoot.” Molly handed me water and tissues. “We need a better plan going forward because this day truly sucks.”

“I know. I played the game and lost, and now I’m overreacting.”

“You did not lose.” She wrapped her arm around me. “You were a total pro during the shoot.”

“But I wanted to prove something.” Beads of sweat cooled on my face while unshed tears burned my eyes. “It’s not the first time I’ve run into someone from their set. I wanted him to know I could handle it.”

“You were fine while you were working, but I wouldn’t call the aftermath handling it.” Of course Molly would point out the obvious.”

“I did my job. I earned my money.”

She winced. “Oh, honey.”

“Can we go back now? My head hurts.”

She opened the car door, and I slid inside. Our driver pretended he hadn’t noticed anything unusual about our behavior.

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