The Pet Stylist and the Playboy Page 16

  I was in the middle of stacking the towels on shelves when a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time made me freeze.

  Fuck, there was no doubt about it.

  My pulse pounded. I wasn’t sure why. So what if Clint was there? I’d expected it. We’d parted on amicable terms, and I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  When three people stepped out of the sauna, I turned my back on them and busied myself again with the towels.

  “Hey there, boy, let me have a couple clean ones.” The voice wasn’t Clint’s, and I managed to pass the guy a towel without lifting my head. The two joked around with one another as they headed for the showers, and I hurried away in the opposite direction.

  Rattled, I locked myself in a bathroom stall and put my hand to my chest, breathing deeply. Hearing Clint’s voice and the stranger call me “boy” had brought memories I’d rather forget crowding into my mind. Clint had called me “boy” a lot, usually when his dick was in my ass. A flush of shame suffused my face, and when I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks, the palms were clammy.

  I had been Clint’s kept boy for over a year, by his side constantly, wearing what he’d wanted me to wear and doing what he’d wanted me to do. In return, he’d let me live with him in his gorgeous penthouse apartment, given me anything I’d desired, and lavished me with attention.

  To a half-starved homeless kid, the whole thing had sounded like a dream, but having a sugar daddy had gotten old real fast. Growing up in the foster system and spending months on the streets had made me fiercely independent. I wasn’t someone’s doll to dress up or a piece of meat to fuck. As much as I’d enjoyed having a roof over my head and all the food I could eat, and even the sex to an extent, in the end I hadn’t been able to get past the fact I wasn’t earning those things in any way other than looking good and spreading my legs. I’d begun to feel dirty, but having nowhere else to go, I’d stuck with Clint months after I’d grown sick of the whole thing. Clint hadn’t loved me or even been all that fond of me in the end. I’d just been a piece of ass to show off to his rich friends and a hole to fuck whenever he’d wanted. I’d heard he’d replaced me within days of my leaving.

  Get a grip, I told myself. Another deep breath, and I walked out of the stall, stopping to splash cold water on my face before leaving the restroom.

  “Hey, Isaac, there you are.” Tim hurried toward me. “They need some extra help in the dining room.”

  My heart sank, as I preferred to stay downstairs, but I followed Tim to the elevator.

  “The wine-tasting brought more people in than usual,” Tim explained on the way up. Once in the large kitchen area, which was bustling with activity, Tim handed me a short, black waiter’s jacket. I’d tied my hair back into a loose bun before leaving for work, and with the jacket, I looked much like the other waiters, which was probably why all employees had to wear basically the same thing.

  Tim slapped a notepad into my hand. “Just take orders and write down the table number from this diagram. You don’t have to serve since you’ve never done it before. Alan and I will handle that.”

  I nodded. As I went from table to table in the crowded room that rang loud with the conversation of rich, gay men, I felt myself slipping into my old persona. The flirty smile and exaggerated walk comforted me in much the same way putting on an old sweat-suit after a long day at work did. I bantered with the guests, taking their food orders and enjoying their interested looks and the occasional proposition.

  Hypocrite, I told myself on my way back into the kitchen. Weren’t you feeling dirty just half an hour ago for the life you used to live?

  I waited around for a fresh group to be seated and given their drinks. As far as I could see, Clint wasn’t in the dining room, and for that I was thankful. It would just be too awkward running into him again.

  My eyes kept straying to a table near the window where two older men had been seated. Something familiar about one of them niggled at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I’d recognized a few people from my time with Clint, but none of them had remembered me, which only showed how insignificant I’d been to Clint and his friends. This guy, however, wasn’t from Clint’s social circle; I was sure of that. So, where would I have seen him before?

  The man barely gave me a second look when I approached to take their order, though. He seemed uncomfortable, and if I was reading him right, it was because he was straight. His companion was eying me like I was a mouse let into the lion’s den. I cocked my hip.

  “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

  The gay man continued looking me over as he smiled and slowly leaned back in his chair.

  “I’ll take whatever your offering, sweetheart,” he said. His dinner companion ignored us.

  “Do you need a menu?” I asked.

  “No. I’ll have the rib eye, medium-well. Baked potato and broccoli.” The man looked to his companion. “Logan?”

  “Same, but make my steak well-done.”

  I jotted it all down. As I turned, I felt knuckles lightly brush over my ass.

  I wanted to turn around and tell the guy to keep his hands to himself but refrained because I needed the job.

  The dining room began to thin out. Now that I wasn’t so busy, I watched the two men by the window, still unable to place why one of them looked so familiar. Their conversations seemed casual, not like they were talking about business or barely knew one another. The straight man’s identity hovered just behind the front of my mind, taunting me like a puzzle.

  Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice when Clint walked into the dining room.

  “Swish?” he sounded pleasantly surprised.

  I’d just refilled the glasses at a table and was replacing the water pitcher on the beverage cart. At the sound of Clint’s voice, I nearly drowned the whole cart.

  When I’d mopped up the mess and turned to Clint, I’d had a little time to adjust my expression.

  “Clint. How nice to see you. As you can see, I’m still as clumsy as ever.” Funny how easy it was to slip back into that role again.

  “I don’t remember you being clumsy at all,” Clint said, innuendo dripping off his words.

  Well into his fifties, Clint took care of himself, and it showed. I recalled long mornings at the gym when I’d tagged along and fawned over him while he’d lifted weights. After, we’d have a leisurely breakfast with his friends and their twinks-of-the-month.

  Clint’s dark hazel eyes took me in. “Where have you been? I thought for sure I’d see you around, but I haven’t laid eyes on you since the day you walked out on me.”

  I gave him a coy smile. “Oh, don’t call it walking out. It was a mutual decision.”

  Clint snorted. “Hardly. But never mind that. What time do you get off? We can have a drink and catch up.”

  Ugh. That was the last thing I wanted. Just standing so close to him brought back memories I’d rather forget.

  “Sorry, I can’t.”

  Clint pouted. “Swish. Come on. Don’t be that way.”

  “I’m not just saying it, I have things to do.” Noticing the table I’d been focused on before had empty glasses and the two men still seemed deep in conversation, I headed that way with a fresh water pitcher. As I refilled their glasses, Clint stood nearby, waiting. The guy at the table I thought was straight kept looking at his watch, and I wondered if he was eager to get away from his companion, who had once again turned his eyes on me now that I was close enough to ogle.

  I moved away from the table and replaced the pitcher on the cart before turning again to Clint, determined to be rid of him. Maybe it was a good thing I’d run into him; I could get this over with and do my job without worrying about him coming around the next corner.

  “It was great seeing you again, but I really have to get back to work.”

  “This is what you do now? Wait tables?” Clint asked. “As I remember, you enjoyed a more extravagant lifestyle than this job could possibly afford you.”

  “I’m not
like that anymore,” I said, firming my mouth. I wished he’d just go away. Clint had been a decent lover and attentive to me while I’d been with him, but the memory of what I’d done back then and just how much I’d enjoyed that “extravagant lifestyle,” shamed me.

  Clint seemed intent on making me change my mind, but I could be stubborn. I wished the dining room hadn’t become so sparsely populated, or I could ignore him and do my job. As it was, I could do nothing but stand around and wait for someone to empty the water in their glass. The club would be open for hours yet. I glanced toward the kitchen. Maybe now things had slowed down, Tim would let me return downstairs.

  Clint touched my arm, and I looked down at his hand. I was about to shake him off when a movement at the front of the dining room caught my eye.

  My heart slammed to a halt before kicking into high gear.

  Dressed to the nines and as gorgeous as ever, Dante hurried across the room toward the table by the window.

  And then I realized.

  The straight man who had looked so familiar was Dante’s father. I had no clue who the other man was, but I thought I might have seen him at Dante’s party at the country club.

  Determined Dante wouldn’t see me I walked away from Clint, heading for the kitchen.

  Pushing through the double doors, I searched the room for Tim only to realize he was out on the floor serving. I waited in the kitchen, in case Clint was still out there.

  When Tim returned, I stopped him.

  “I need to get back downstairs.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Let’s just say there are two men in there I’ve slept with and things are about to get very uncomfortable.”

  “Oh. Can’t have a scene in the main dining room. Okay. It’s calm enough now I think Ralph will be okay with you disappearing.”

  I let out a breath. “Thanks, man.”

  I exited the kitchen as inconspicuously as possible, but it was just my luck that Clint appeared out of the shadows where he’d been waiting, walking with me out of the dining room just as Dante glanced up and saw me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Dante

  What the fuck was Isaac doing at Jonas Beezey’s club?

  “You noticed him, too,” Jonas said close to my ear.

  “What?” I turned to look at him, and he smiled knowingly.

  “That waiter that just walked out of here.” He cocked his head toward the exit where Isaac had disappeared. “Scrumptious little morsel, wasn’t he?”

  My jaw clicked as I clenched my teeth. Evidently Felicity’s uncle was aware my preferences went both ways, and I did not like him referring to Isaac as a tasty little morsel. At all.

  “Dante, are you going to order?” My father’s voice scattered my thoughts like Ax wielding a leaf-blower. Either he hadn’t heard what Jonas had said, or he didn’t care.

  “I’m really not hungry,” I said to the server who stood at my elbow with pad and paper.

  My mind whirred. Isaac was working here? Why? Did he need money? Why hadn’t he come to me?

  Jonas ordered another drink.

  “Why were you so late?” my father asked, sounding annoyed.

  “I was with Felicity,” I answered, adding to myself, fending off unwanted advances. The woman could be very persistent, but my cock remained stubbornly uninterested. The few kisses we’d shared had been okay, but not earth-shattering like...

  Kissing Swish had been.

  Damn.

  My father’s expression softened. “I’m happy you two are getting along so well.” He glanced at Jonas, who smiled and nodded in agreement. I got the feeling that, while Jonas would like to see his niece married to an appropriate partner, he wasn’t overly concerned about fidelity or happiness in the match, which made me feel a little sorry for Felicity.

  “I see them as the next power couple in our circle,” Jonas said, and I nearly choked on a sip of water.

  “You should get a membership here, Dante,” Jonas continued. “I’d be glad to sponsor you.”

  The last thing I wanted was to be a member of a stodgy club, although if Isaac continued working there, it would enable me to keep an eye on him.

  “I don’t think Dante needs to belong to a gay club while married to your niece,” my father said.

  I looked at my father in alarm. “Married? We’ve barely begun dating.”

  My father shrugged as though it was only a matter of time, and I supposed it was. The thought depressed me.

  “Jonas, can you tell me where there’s a restroom?”

  Jonas took his drink from the server and flicked his finger. “Down the hall to the left.”

  My father’s disapproval was palpable at my disappearing again after keeping them waiting so long, and I avoided looking his way as I skirted around the table. I needed to talk to Isaac.

  The long hallway with its mahogany trim and walls painted a rich yellow gold was empty. I looked right then left, wondering which way Isaac had gone and who the older man had been who’d followed him out. I headed to the left, but when I reached the corner, the next hallway was empty, too. With a sigh, I pushed open the door of the rest room. Perhaps there would be an attendant I could ask about Isaac.

  The outer lounge was furnished with two velvet love seats, a large cushioned chair, and a long mahogany coffee table. Twin gilded mirrors hung over the couches.

  When I pushed open the inner door, I stopped in my tracks. Isaac, cheeks red with strong emotion and hair loosened and falling about his face, stood inches from the older man who’d followed him out of the dining room.

  Overpowering anger rose in me like a cobra ready to strike, and I barely managed not to burst forward and rip the man away from Isaac.

  When I spoke, my voice was hard and guttural. “What’s going on here?”

  The older man looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Who are you, and how is that any of your business?”

  I clenched my fists. “I’m a friend of Isaac’s.”

  The man glanced at Isaac. “Isaac?” He obviously hadn’t known Isaac’s real name, and I would have been triumphant at that if it hadn’t taken me over two years to learn it myself.

  I couldn’t read the expression in Isaac’s eyes.

  “Everything’s fine, Dante,” he said, pushing past the man and hurrying out the door before I could stop him. I wanted to go after him, but I wanted more to know what had been going on when I’d walked in. Had the guy been trying to molest Isaac in the empty restroom?

  “And who the fuck are you?” I asked, stepping in front of the door to block his attempt at following Isaac.

  The man’s nostrils flared, and he stood up straighter. Casually but expensively dressed, the guy had to be at least fifty. He had sun-bronzed skin and thick dark hair laced with silver. When he frowned, lines fanned from his mouth and the corners of his brownish-green eyes. With the snobbish certainty I’d learned from my parents, I knew he wasn’t from old money.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but my name is Clinton Evans. Who the fuck are you?”

  I couldn’t help the growl that rose from my throat, and, looking alarmed, Evans took a step back.

  “Look, no reason to be angry,” he said. “I was just having a conversation with an old friend. I’ll be on my way now.” He started for the door again, but I stopped him with a hand to the middle of his chest. He was fit, but I was fitter and at least twenty years younger. I’d also had my share of fist fights while I suspected this man had never bloodied his knuckles.

  “How do you know Isaac?” I asked, keeping my voice low but deadly and enjoying the way Evan’s face paled at the sound.

  “If you mean Swish, we were once a couple. We were just talking about old times.”

  My eyes narrowed. Couple?

  “Judging from the tent in your pants, old times must’ve been pretty good.”

  Twin patches of red appeared on Evan’s cheeks, but he held my gaze. I remembered the day by the lake when Isaac had mentione
d having lived with someone for a while, and my blood began to boil when I realized this must be the guy.

  “You and Isaac were involved?” I managed to ask.

  It looked like Evans was about to snap a caustic retort but thought better of it as his eyes flitted over my bulging biceps beneath the sea green dress shirt I wore.

  “For a time,” he said. “Can I go now, or do I need to shout for security?”

  “I doubt security could arrive before I lay you out,” I said, and Evan’s face paled even more.

  But I was done with the guy.

  “Leave Isaac alone,” I warned before stepping aside to allow Evans out the door.

  I turned to the urinals and relieved myself, then washed my hands and face at the sink.

  What I felt at that moment was much more than brotherly protectiveness for Swish, the sassy kid I’d rescued off the streets, that I knew with certainty. I’d known Isaac. Tasted him. And I couldn’t forget it.

  Back in the dining room, Jonas had a fresh drink. My father looked up at me over his own, and I could see in his expression that I had taken too long.

  I refused to let him make me feel guilty. My father had sprung this dinner on me only a couple hours earlier with the idea of getting to know Felicity’s uncle better. I wondered if he had known then that Jonas would invite us to his club. I’d had a private laugh when I’d heard where I was to meet them. My father wasn’t a homophobe, but I knew he’d be uncomfortable at the gay club.

  It was obvious my parents had me halfway to the altar, if not with Felicity, then with someone else. Pictures of the two of us had appeared on the society page more than once in recent weeks, and that had probably been my mother’s doing.

  “Gayle and I are having a Christmas party the first Saturday of December,” my father told Jonas. “I’m sure Dante has already invited Felicity in person. I’d like to extend an invitation to you, too, although I’m sure Gayle will send one in the mail.”