Roomies in Arms - Part 25

Everyone in this story is 18+

There was a moment of silence — not peaceful, but shellshocked — as I stared at the coffee-stained, still-steaming glass conference table, then at the crumpled pages flung across the floor like post-coital confetti.

My tie was inside-out. Lex had just finished dressing. There were two spilled espresso cups, and what could only be described as a compromising arseprint smudged across the glass table.

I inhaled, deeply.

Then exhaled, in horror.

“Did we just shag on a boardroom table?” I asked, voice an octave too high. “In the Merkin?”

Lex blinked. “Wasn’t it called the Gherkin?”

“Oh dear,” I muttered. “What am I turning into?”

Without missing a beat, Lex was suddenly in motion.

“Right,” he said, scanning the battlefield. “Cleanup protocol: initiating. You dress. I’ll mop.”

He dove for my emergency travel wipes — the same ones I kept in my satchel for train seat crises and handrail emergencies — and began swiping industriously at the glass like he was staging a forensic counterattack.

“There’s an ass print,” he muttered. “Yours. Rather iconic, actually. But I don’t think your father’s board needs to see it.”

I buried my face in my hands, as I buttoned my shirt. Lex plucked up scattered pages, while putting them in order. “Smells of coffee-cum,” he mused. “Not the worst smell, but definitely not one you want on a balance sheet.”

I had just finished straightening my tie — when the door opened.

“Oh—pardon,” came a voice, far too chipper for the situation. “Mr Tucker-Renfield? Are you still—oh, um, did you spill something? I can take care of that. It really smells like coffee and... uh…”

The intern trailed off, eyes going wide, nostrils twitching.

Lex froze mid-swipe.

“Oh. Um. I have to go and do... work,” the intern said, cheeks blooming red like a child caught sniffing glue.

They turned on their heel and scurried off like a mortified golden retriever.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then I burst out laughing.

I don’t mean a chuckle. I mean a full, doubled-over, heaving sort of laugh — the kind that cracked something in my ribcage and let all the anxiety spill out.

Lex grinned, then chuckled too. Then I kissed him. And he kissed me back.

And when we’d composed ourselves — or at least stopped giggling — I crossed the room, pressed the remote, and opened the blinds again. Sunlight spilled in like nothing had happened.

We walked toward the elevator, side by side.

“I suppose we’ll have to find out where my brother’s holding court,” I said lightly. “He might be loitering somewhere near an Abercrombie warehouse or whichever gentlemen’s club is currently offering both bottle service and ample-bosomed waiters.”

Lex snorted. “Can’t wait.”

As we reached the lift, we heard footsteps behind us.

The intern again — impossibly smiley, clutching a sleek portfolio. “Mr Tucker-Renfield, sir! Your father wanted me to deliver these updated contracts. Also—” they leaned in conspiratorially “—I just wanted to say I saw your team’s presentation. You all rocked. I loved that series you mentioned. The one that got pulled because of Visa’s new guidelines.”

Lex raised an eyebrow. “We are trying to get it back up.”

“Splendid,” the intern beamed. “Anyway, you’re basically my heroes now. Me and my boyfriend are rooting for you. And uh—" they winked, very badly "—I won’t tell your father about... what I didn’t see or smell. In the conference room.”

Then he vanished again, in a puff of nervous energy and idealism.

Lex leaned against the elevator wall as we stepped inside. “You already have groupies.”

I adjusted my cuffs. “It seems we have groupies. And I’m not sure if that’s endearing or terrifying.”

Lex kissed me. “I have a boyfriend.”

I kissed him back, slower. “You do. But let’s not shag in the bloody elevator, too. I’ve had quite enough semi-public randiness for one day.”

Lex pouted.

“But you can wreck me again, after we deal with whatever my brother want.”

He smiled — the full, crooked thing.

◆◆◆

I walked beside Lex through what felt like an endless glass corridor, the Thames glittering to our left like it had something to prove.

“No, Lex,” I said flatly, “I’ve never taken the subway. You could get stabbed. Or kidnapped. Or contract a venereal disease from the seats.”

Lex gave me a look. “Sebby. I know you’re a billionaire’s son and the son of a Countess, but how is that even possible?”

“I rarely needed to,” I said with a shrug. “I mostly lived at the dorms of whatever boarding school I was exiled to. We had chartered buses. Occasionally chauffeured cars. And when I stayed at Mum’s, she said only poor people take public transportation. But if I fancied getting murdered or abducted, I was welcome to give it a go.”

Lex whistled. “Damn. Sometimes I forget you were raised in, like, a crossover novel of Dickens and Cecily von Ziegesar.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Have you actually read Gossip Girl Like, the actual book?”

“Nah, just watched it. Religiously. I still remember the credits. I’m definitely Nate, don’t you think?”

“I also loved that show as a kid,” I said breezily. “That and Poirot with Mummy.”

Then I narrowed my eyes. “Also, that’s preposterous. You’re a Dan at best.”

Lex gasped. “Rude!”

“And I’m clearly a Serena.”

“Oh, babe,” he said with a laugh. “You are not a Serena. You’re Blair with better tailoring.”

We stopped outside room 365. “Here it is. Bryson’s room,” I said, eyeing the door. “I wonder what he wants. I’m assuming Father’s planning to involve him with Astra somehow.”

Lex leaned in. “I don’t know him that well, but he seems… put together. He’s got that slick, ‘pleasure to do business with you’ kind of smirk. He might actually be useful.”

Before I could respond, the door swung open.

Bryson stood there, looking… wrong. Unshaven, with a five o’clock shadow that was trying to become six. Dark circles under his eyes. Bloodshot stare. And his usually tousled hair now looked like it had fought a losing battle with a hedge trimmer.

“Baby bro,” he said blearily. “You’re early. Just a sec. Josephine’s just leaving.”

And with that, he closed the door in our faces.

“Well,” I said, blinking. “That was rather rude.”

Lex frowned. “Josephine… girlfriend?”

“I’ve no idea. Knowing Bryson, more likely ‘flavour of the weekend.’”

There was a shuffle of footsteps, some whispered arguing, and then the door re-opened.

Bryson reappeared, trying to act casual while a frowning brunette swept past us with all the grace of a woman deeply unimpressed. He offered her a goodbye that was something between a hug and a bro-fist.

We both just stared.

“Come in,” Bryson said, stepping aside. “Sorry. She was... visiting.”

His hotel suite was exactly what one might expect from a man with a trust fund and a superiority complex — cream furniture, gold accents, a suspicious number of colognes on the minibar.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands once and failing to look casual. “You had your meeting?”

“We did,” I said, settling onto the sofa. “Father tried to reject us, Lex made an impassioned speech, I did not cry — thank you very much — and now we have funding.”

“Lex made the speech?” Bryson asked, eyes flicking toward him.

Lex shrugged. “I went full TED Talk.”

“And Father actually said yes?” Bryson still looked skeptical — or possibly constipated. Hard to tell with him.

“He said I could use a portion of my inheritance, and Tucker Inc would invest — as long as we behave like proper businessmen.

“Anyway,” I continued, “Astra is a go.”

Bryson nodded slowly. “Right. That’s... great.”

Something was off. He was twitchy. Tense. His foot tapped against the floor and his eyes darted toward the window like he was expecting a sniper.

“Bryson,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Why do you look like you’re being hunted?”

He gave a brittle laugh and pulled two crisp white envelopes from a leather briefcase.

“Because I might be.”

Lex and I exchanged a glance.

“I need you to sign these,” Bryson said, handing them over. “NDAs.”

I stared at him. “Good lord. I’m rather tired of having to sign NDAs before every family interaction.”

Lex held his envelope up to the light.

“What is it about?”

Bryson hesitated, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then muttered, “You have to sign them first.”

Lex clicked his pen. “Fine. I live for secrets.”

We signed. He took both papers, tucked them away, then stared at the carpet for a full five seconds.

Then, Bryson said it:

“Father wants me to become a gay hooker.”