The executive parking garage of Blackwood Logistics was a cavernous, echoey concrete bunker, lit by buzzing fluorescent tubes. It was 6:30 PM. Most of the staff had already filtered out, joining the river of red taillights flowing toward the suburbs.
Damon walked toward his reserved spot, his footsteps heavy. He had spent the last six hours trying to bury himself in the Shanghai merger paperwork, but his mind had been useless. Every time he picked up a pen, he felt the ghost of Leo's chin in his hand. Every time the phone rang, he jumped, expecting it to be HR reporting a harassment claim.
'I crossed a line,' Damon thought, loosening his tie as he approached the black Mercedes. 'I grabbed him. In my office. I acted like a jealous boyfriend, not a CEO.'
He rounded the concrete pillar and stopped.
Leo was leaning against the driver's side door of the Mercedes. He had his ankles crossed and was scrolling through his phone, the blue light illuminating a small, secret smile. He had ditched his blazer, leaving him in just the white dress shirt, the top button undone, sleeves rolled up to show his forearms.
He looked effortless. He looked like he belonged there, waiting for Damon.
"You're late," Leo said without looking up. "I thought CEOs prioritized punctuality."
"I had a call," Damon lied. He unlocked the car with the fob. "Get in."
Leo slipped his phone into his pocket and hopped into the passenger seat.
The silence in the car was different from the morning. The morning silence had been companionable; this silence was thick, charged with the static electricity of what hadn't happened in the office.
Damon navigated the car out of the garage and into the gridlock of rush hour. The city was a blur of rain-slicked streets and neon signs.
"About today," Damon started, keeping his eyes fixed on the bumper of the taxi ahead.
"Which part?" Leo asked innocently. "The part where I fixed the copier? Or the part where you almost kissed me?"
Damon's grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather creaked. "I didn't almost kiss you."
" You were thinking about it," Leo countered, turning in his seat to face Damon. "I could see it in your eyes. You wanted to."
"I was making a point, Leo," Damon said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You are my intern. You represent this family. Flirting with Greg Stevens—or anyone else—undermines your credibility."
"Is that what it was?" Leo whispered. "A credibility check?"
"Yes."
"Then why were you looking at my mouth?"
Damon didn't answer. He couldn't. The truth was stuck in his throat like a shard of glass.
"It's okay, Damon," Leo said softly. He reached out, his hand hovering over the center console before retreating. He didn't touch Damon this time. The withdrawal was almost worse than the contact. "I get it. You're protective. I like that you're protective."
"I'm just looking out for you," Damon muttered.
"I know. That's why I blew Greg off," Leo said. "He texted me at 5:00. Asked if I wanted to grab a burger. I told him I had a standing appointment with the boss."
Damon felt a wave of vicious satisfaction wash over him. 'Good.'
"What did he say?" Damon asked, trying to sound indifferent.
"He sent a sad face emoji," Leo laughed. "And then he asked if the boss was single."
Damon slammed on the brakes as the traffic light turned red. "He asked what?"
"I'm kidding," Leo smirked. "Relax, Dad. You're going to pop a vein."
Damon let out a harsh breath, shaking his head. The boy was playing him like a fiddle, and the terrifying part was that Damon was enjoying the music.
They drove in silence for another ten minutes, leaving the city behind for the winding roads of the suburbs.
"Mom texted me," Leo said suddenly, breaking the quiet.
"Is her migraine gone?"
"Yeah. She's up. She said she's feeling festive."
"Festive?" Damon frowned. "What does that mean?"
"The Annual Charity Gala is next weekend," Leo reminded him. "The one for the Children's Hospital. She wants to know if we're going."
Damon groaned. He had completely forgotten. The Gala was the biggest social event of the season for Helen. It meant tuxedos, terrible chicken, and four hours of making small talk with donors.
"I suppose we have to," Damon said. "It looks bad if the sponsors don't show."
"She wants me to go too," Leo added. "She thinks it's a good networking opportunity for me."
"It probably is," Damon agreed. "You can meet the board members in a social setting."
"She also said..." Leo paused, biting his lip. He looked out the window. "She said I should bring a date."
The temperature in the car seemed to drop ten degrees.
"A date?" Damon repeated.
"Yeah. She said it's a 'couples event' and I shouldn't be a third wheel." Leo pulled his phone out, tapping the screen idly. "I was thinking... maybe I should ask Greg? Since he's so eager."
Damon's vision tunneled.
The image of Leo walking into the ballroom in a tuxedo, holding Greg Stevens' arm, laughing at his jokes, dancing with him... it made Damon physically ill.
"No," Damon said.
"Why not? You said I needed friends my own age."
"Greg is an employee," Damon snapped. "Fraternizing at a company-sponsored event is messy. It looks unprofessional."
"Okay," Leo sighed, sounding disappointed. "Then who should I bring? Kyle?"
"No!" Damon barked. "Definitely not Kyle."
"Well, I can't go alone," Leo pouted. "I'll look pathetic standing by the punch bowl while you and Mom are dancing."
Damon pulled the car into the driveway of the estate. The headlights swept across the stone façade.
"You won't be alone," Damon said, putting the car in park. He turned to Leo, his eyes dark and serious. "You'll be with us. You can sit at our table. You don't need a date, Leo. You have family."
'You have me,' he wanted to say.
Leo looked at him. The disappointment vanished, replaced by a soft, glowing look of adoration.
"Okay," Leo whispered. "Family first."
He opened the door and hopped out.
Damon sat in the car for a moment, waiting for his heart rate to slow down. He had stopped the Greg threat. He had stopped the Kyle threat.
But as he walked toward the front door, he realized the trap was only tightening.
Helen was waiting in the foyer. She looked fully recovered, wearing a crisp white blouse and holding a glass of wine.
"There are my boys!" she cheered. "Leo told me the news."
"What news?" Damon asked, handing her his briefcase.
"That he's going stag to the Gala," Helen smiled. "It's probably for the best. He can focus on charming the board members instead of a date. But we need to get him a tuxedo. Yours won't fit him."
"I can take him," Damon heard himself say. "To the tailor. On Saturday."
Leo, who was halfway up the stairs, stopped. He looked down over the railing.
"Really?" Leo asked. "You'd do that?"
"You represent the company now," Damon said, loosening his tie. "You need to look the part. We'll get you something custom."
"Custom," Leo repeated, his eyes darkening with a thought Damon couldn't read. "I can't wait."
Helen clapped her hands. "Perfect! It's a date then. Father-son bonding."
Damon winced at the word. It felt like a lie.
He looked up at Leo. Leo looked down at him. They both knew that taking Leo to a tailor—standing in a small room while a man measured his inseam, while Damon watched—wasn't father-son bonding.
It was foreplay.