"Vinnie's gone."
Brendan sighs, leaning back in his chair. He'd been expecting this. The only surprise is that the kid didn't leave months ago.
"There's a period of notice that he has to give." It's a mere technicality; he's not going to force Vincent to return and see him grow unhappier just for the sake of his rules. He's not that sadistic.
"He seemed really upset, Bren." Cheryl leans against the door, and by her fidgeting Brendan knows that she's just dying to ask, to probe further. She fights with it, chewing on her lip and leaning her weight on one foot and then the other. It takes less than a minute for her to give into it. "Did something happen -"
"He wasn't right for us." Brendan rises from his seat, smoothing down his suit. "You saw the way he acted. He was an emotional basket case. I could barely give him an instruction without him bursting into tears."
"But he was sweet -"
"I don't pay people to be sweet."
Cheryl doesn't like this version of him, he can tell. She wants to smooth down his hard edges, focuses most of her energy into it these days. He's her pet project, more of a challenge than any that their business holds.
"I've lined some people up for interviews."
"Already?" He prefers to be the one who handles the selection process. Cheryl lets her personal feelings slip through the wire. She once hired an incompetent woman who could barely answer the phone properly, swayed by her sorrowful tales of being left by her boyfriend when she was eight months pregnant.
Brendan doesn't let things like that get in the way.
"Unless you want to answer your own phone calls..."
"Fuck no." Something that ranks highly on his most hated activities: speaking to people.
"Good, then you'll do as you're told and find us someone new."
Anyone else but Cheryl, and he'd kick them out on their arse.
He settles down for the afternoon with a strong coffee and a pile of applications. He struggles not to fall asleep after the first two. The names are meaningless, and the stories behind them are just as forgettable. But he's only got five applicants, and he doesn't have the energy to question's Cheryl's judgement.
The first person he meets works in a gym, but wants to broaden his horizons. Brendan struggles not to snort, and his amusement turns into barely concealed irritation as the interview progresses. The applicant - Noah Baxter - is arrogant enough to suggest an immediate pay rise from the contracted wage. Brendan tires of his fidgeting shoulders and overzealous eyebrows, and shows him the door after fifteen minutes.
Cheryl stares at her brother through narrowed eyes, and he does his best to look innocent.
The next applicant looks like she's accidentally wandered in on her way to a magazine shoot. Long, sleek blond hair and slim legs which go on forever in skyscraper heels, she earns a jealous glance from Cheryl and an appreciative one from Brendan - he has to keep up appearances, after all - and crosses her legs nervously when she sits opposite Brendan's desk.
"Rae Wilson," he reads off the paper. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing here?"
She simpers and blushes under his false adoring gaze, tucking her hair behind her ear. She'd fuck him. He can tell.
She interviews well, and despite her appearance she's not the bimbo that Brendan had her down as. She's steely beneath her persona, and ambitious. She'll also be less distracting than Vincent was, and not nearly as problematic.
He thinks she's got it in the bag, but under Cheryl's protests he sits through the others. There's an American called Douglas who spends a flustered ten minutes talking Brendan through the art of making a panini before realising that he's applied for a job in a PR company, and a young lad called Macca who spends the majority of the interview staring at Brendan's cock, before slipping him his number before he leaves.
Brendan pockets it. He won't give the kid the job - he won't make that mistake again - but he might give him a call sometime. There's something beautifully simple about an easily acquired shag.
He pokes his head round the door. "Send the last one in, Chez."
He drinks the final dregs of his coffee, wishing that he had another one by his side. He can feel a headache coming on, the knowledge that he was lucky to dodge the bullet with Vincent. There had been a few close calls when Cheryl had almost caught them together. He can't risk that again, should have known that he's always kept business and pleasure separate for a reason.
He straightens up behind the desk when he hears a knock at the door.
"Come in."
The final applicant: a Mr Steven Hay.
Brendan bores his eyes into the kid. "Are you lost?"
He gets a pout in return.
"You what?"
Brendan huffs a laugh.
"Did no one ever teach you manners?"
The boy looks dumbfounded.
"You say 'excuse me.'"
He merely continues to look at Brendan, unaffected.
"I'm expecting Steven."
"Ste - yeah, that's me."
Brendan looks the boy up and down, from his scuffed trainers that must have been white once upon a time, to his unruly brown hair which looks like it hasn't seen the underside of a comb this morning. At least Rae looked presentable, if severely underdressed.
"Right," he drawls, unconvinced. "Well...take a seat."
Steven makes his way ungracefully to the chair, folding his arms around his body and cocking his head to the side, staring at Brendan expectantly.
"Waiting for something?" Brendan asks, suddenly far more entertained than he was five minutes ago.
Steven looks confused. "Aren't you meant to...I don't know...ask me stuff?"
"Tell me a bit about yourself."
Steven nods to the CV that Brendan's holding. "It's all there."
Suddenly Noah seems like an appealing option. Almost polite.
"Elaborate."
The boy thinks for a moment, and Brendan takes the opportunity to look closer. He appears younger than his twenty three years, with thin, gangly limbs and deeply tanned skin. Even from his current position, Brendan can tell that Steven has the longest eyelashes he's ever seen.
The boy's clearly struggling, and Brendan doesn't want to prolong his misery. Lunch is calling.
"It says on your application that you don't have any past secretarial experience."
"No. But I pick things up really fast. Anything you teach me - I'll learn it." He's eager, Brendan will give him that.
"What jobs have you done before?"
"I worked at this bloke's restaurant for a bit. Tony - that's his name. I listed him in my references." Steven points to the section on the paper; his tongue pokes out when he concentrates.
"That's a nice restaurant." He's gone there a couple of times, and the food and wine made up for the litany of women that he had to endure for the evening.
"Ta." The boy's ears colour slightly. He's not used to compliments, this one.
"What skills do you think you could bring to the job?"
These are all standard questions, but Steven's fighting to get the words out, to make them sound impressive. Brendan can see the passion that lies behind his need to get this right. He was wrong in his earlier assessment; the boy may appear uncaring, but he's desperate for this. Hungry.
"I'm really good with people. Anyone really - my mum was a nightmare, see, and I coped with her."
Brendan blinks, disarmed by the boy's honesty. Steven clamps his mouth shut, his own words echoing back to him.
"I just mean...you know, I can keep my cool with people like that, no problem. And..." Steven leans forward, and his blue eyes are imploring. "I really need this, Mr Brady. For my kids."
"You've got kids?" Jesus.
"Two. And I love them more than anything."
"I know what that's like." Brendan swallows down a lump in his throat. He hasn't seen Padraig and Declan for five months. Twenty minute phone calls are all he's granted.
"I don't want this to sound like a sob story -"
"Even though it is." But Brendan doesn't mind, gives the boy a quirk of his lips that makes Steven show his teeth, mouth stretched back into a returning smile.
"I really want this for them too."
Brendan nods. He can already imagine how Steven will be around the office. Dropping things, being abrupt with clients, never tucking his shirt in.
But there are more important things. And Steven looks like he needs this.
"The job's yours."
Steven freezes in shock, mouth agape.
"But -"
"You really going to question getting a job, boy?"
Steven regains his composure, and stands up to shake Brendan's hand. "Thank you, Mr Brady. Thank you so much."
"Thank me if you're still here in a month." But there's warmth in Brendan's eyes, and it doesn't disappear even after Cheryl stares at him curiously, Steven bumping into a display and skipping out of the office into the afternoon sun.
It takes Brendan less than a week to regret his decision to hire Steven.
On his first day, the boy rolls his shirt sleeves up to the elbow. Brendan's eyes are drawn to the small expanse of skin on display. Brendan had thought the boy's features to be feminine during their first meeting - the full lips, the thick eyelashes, the skinny build - but Steven's body's covered by a thick layer of dark hair, and Brendan has a perfect view of it from his office. He could close his door and shut it out, but every time he tries he stops. Hesitates. Looks out across the room and sees the boy sitting at his desk, chewing on a pen with his wrists on display, large hands drumming against the desk.
Cheryl spends most of her time meeting clients and arranging decorations for venues, while Brendan handles the paperwork and hears Steven answering phone calls, laughing under his breath at the boy's attempts to be formal and posh.
He starts to enjoy the days when it's just him and Steven.
He does some digging. It's slight at first, just a few questions here and there to not attract suspicion. He switches between questioning Cheryl and going to Steven directly. The boy isn't shy with the information he reveals, and by day four he's found out that Steven's got his ex under the same roof. It's a confusing setup that Brendan can't understand; he moved out of Eileen's the minute they split.
"Doesn't she mind when you bring other women back?"
"I don't bring other women back," Steven says idly, scribbling notes onto a post it. He lied on his CV. Brendan can spot dyslexia a mile off, but the boy doesn't let it hold him back.
"Men then?" Brendan asks casually, and Steven looks at him sharply, expression unreadable.
"I don't bring anyone back."
Brendan squirms in irritation at the ambiguous answer, reluctant to press further. He walks back into his office, and closes the door.
Steven's ex comes to visit him on the Friday. She's just as slight as him, and smiles nervously at Brendan, staring into the cup of tea he offers her like it's been laced with poison.
Brendan watches them carefully. They touch each other regularly - small touches that hint at familiarity and comfort. She elbows him playfully, and Brendan hears Steven let out a hoot of laughter that he's never heard before. It sounds strangely obscene.
When Steven asks if he can extend his lunch break by ten minutes, Brendan almost refuses. But he's got an audience, and the office is dead, so he relinquishes.
He spends the next half an hour wondering if Amy and Steven are fucking in her car instead of eating sandwiches.
He's broken a rule that he's always lived by: never, ever want a straight man. Wanting Peter nearly killed them both.
When Steven returns with flushed cheeks and a grin, Brendan slams the door of his office and doesn't come out for the rest of the day.
"Mr Brady?"
Brendan lifts his head slowly off the desk, eyes hooded.
"This better be good."
Steven darts his tongue out, wetting his lips. The boy looks fragile standing before him, like it's taken guts to do this, to enter this room.
"I just wanted to say bye. I'm off for the weekend, so..."
Brendan groans. "You woke me for that?"
Steven laughs nervously, appearing unsure as to whether Brendan's joking. He seems to realise he's not.
"Sorry, Mr Brady."
"Enough of this Mr Brady crap." Brendan says, pretending that it doesn't give him a thrill to hear it in that accent of his. "Call me Brendan."
"Okay," Steven mumbles. "Well...I'll see you on Monday." He turns towards the door, but then stops, staring back tentatively. "It's not like you to fall asleep."
Brendan's surprised he's noticed his habits, didn't think that the boy gave it much thought. He's not like Vincent, dwelling on Brendan's every move, studying every yawn.
"It's been a long day."
"But you're off now, right?"
Brendan scoffs. "It's Mercedes McQueen's wedding."
"So?" Steven asks, nose scrunched up.
"Haven't you read the papers?"
Steven stares at him blankly. Brendan tries to picture the boy with a broadsheet spread before him, and struggles not to laugh.
"She's marrying that footballer, Riley Costello. And guess who's organising the whole thing?"
"Your Cheryl?"
"And me," Brendan adds, affronted.
"That's massive! How much are they paying you?"
"A gentleman never tells." Brendan taps Steven on the nose with his pen, the boy trying to dodge away uselessly.
"I think you should give me a pay rise."
"Oh yeah?"
Steven's smiling at him challengingly, his eyes bright. "Least you can do, innit?"
Brendan leans against the desk. They're so close that if he closes the gap now, their arms would brush together. He'd feel that hair that he's longed to touch against him.
"And what's the most I could do?"
Steven breaks eye contact first, shyness creeping back in. He eyelashes flutter as he stares down at the floor, a hint of a smile still playing on his lips.
"How long are you going to be here for?"
"A couple of hours."
Steven nods, bottom lip between his teeth. He's caught the sun, and his skin glows with it.
"I could stay with you. If you want."
Brendan hopes that the boy can't hear the sound of his pulse fluttering beneath his skin. It feels unbearably loud.
"Won't Amy mind?"
"I can call her. Explain."
He's not sure that Amy would approve of them spending even more time together. Something about the way she looks at him speaks of distrust.
But he'd be an idiot to refuse.
"Make that call."
They order a Chinese from the local takeaway and spread it over their desks. Steven's eyes widen in fear when he spills some onto documents lying beside him, and Brendan hesitates for less than a second before grabbing his own helping and coating the paper with it, watching as Steven claps his hands together like an overexcited child.
Brendan had to stop himself from grabbing a couple of beers from the corner shop. The objective of this is to work, not to get the boy drunk and bend him over the desk.
Unfortunately the second option is far more appealing, especially when he does some digging.
He doesn't know how the conversation starts. He tries to keep the atmosphere light, but he listens carefully to everything that Steven says, his food going unnoticed. Something about him resonates; his life, his story. They go from talking about their best pulling techniques to their parents, to things they've never told anyone, and after some muffled mumbling from Brendan about how he doesn't talk to his dad anymore, Steven slowly begins telling him about Terry. Brendan hates him on principle. He fist is clamped in a vice like grip, his jaw rigid as Steven recounts beatings and humiliation and loneliness.
Steven shakes his head as if clearing it, his eyes hazy. "You must be really bored after all that." He sounds embarrassed, as though only just realising everything that he's revealed.
"No," Brendan replies quietly, and it's a relief not to lie.
He suddenly can't think of anything to say at all. Silence fills the room, and Brendan's aware for the first time how they're only working with the use of a small side lamp. He considers putting on the main lights, but he likes it like this. The contours of Steven's face are soft in the darkness.
The boy shuffles through some papers. Brendan's got him doing menial tasks, the kind of jobs that he hates, but Steven seems happy enough. He whistles absentmindedly, and Brendan wonders why it's not irritating the hell out of him.
He doesn't know whether he wants Cheryl to come back. He could get used to this, the two of them alone in the office. There's something calm about Steven, something that allows him to be calm too.
"Brendan?"
"Hmmm?"
"You know what you said before..."
"I've said a lot of things before."
Steven tuts. "Smart arse."
"Watch it. I'm your boss."
Steven ignores him. "About...you know, taking..."
Brendan waits for the boy to complete the sentence, attention firmly on him now. He's curious as to what could make Steven this nervous.
"You know..."
He could count his you know's with both hands, keep a tally chart.
"Taking a guy home..."
Brendan instantly forgets about work, about what they're in this office to do.
"Yeah?" He tries to keep his voice casual, hopes that Steven can't hear how his breathing's quickened.
"Why did you say that? Do you think I'm..."
"You never know these days, do you?" Brendan tries to resist making the kind of remark that his father's famed for. He's not going to do that. Not again. Not with this boy.
"Right." Steven can't look at him. "So you don't think I'm..."
"It's really none of my business."
He rises from his seat, hiding his expression as he moves towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him and rinsing his hands underneath the faucet. He stares at himself in the mirror. He's sweating. And he's scared of going back into that room.
He almost knocks straight into Steven when he opens the door. The boy stumbles back, staring at him in panic.
"Sorry -"
"Jesus, what are you doing?"
"I just...I wanted to tell you, I have to go."
"Now?" Brendan stares at the clutter of paperwork that's still on the desk, abandoned during their conversation.
"Yeah." Steven hastily makes a grab for his jacket, flinging it on. "Amy will be waiting."
Using a woman as an excuse; Brendan's seen that before. Brendan's done that before.
Before he can argue back, Steven's out of the building.
Amy comes in on Monday morning, ignoring Brendan's presence for the majority of the meeting, locking herself away in the office with Cheryl.
His immediate thought is that somethings happened to Steven, but Amy's too calm for that. Her parting words stay with him for a long time, ringing in his head during sleepless nights.
"I don't know what you've done to him, but he's better off without you."
Brendan doesn't know what he's done to him either. All he's got is a number which goes straight to voicemail whenever he tries to call. The address that Steven supplied to him is still in a file in his office, but Brendan doesn't have the nerve to show up outside his front door. Not because of Amy - he's pretty sure he could squash her like a bug and get great pleasure from it - but because of what he might do when he's there. It had all started with Vincent when Brendan had visited him at home for the first time. With Steven, he doesn't know if he could walk away.
He buries the boy, consigning him to a half forgotten memory. He knew him for five days, Christ - that's not long enough to miss someone. It's not long enough to start looking in the direction of where they used to sit, expecting them to be there, and feeling unhappiness stir in the pit of your stomach when they're not.
He gives Rae a call, offering her the job. She's reliable, and when they're alone in the office without Cheryl, he keeps his door open and doesn't have to worry about what's on the other side of the wall.
He's got a wedding to organise, and it keeps him busy. He's managed to avoid meeting Mercedes and Riley as much as possible, but Cheryl doesn't listen to his pleas to stay at home and forgo the ceremony and reception. She buys him a suit which he feels stiff and uncomfortable in, and tries to force his mouth into a smile when he stands by the buffet with a scowl.
"I don't even like these people. You don't even like these people."
"That's not true."
"You called Mercedes a spoiled tart."
"Keep your voice down!" Cheryl looks around the hall worriedly, but everyone's too busy on the dance floor and snapping pictures of the bride and groom. "I may have said that," she says in a hushed whisper. "But they've given us a lot of money. And besides - this hat is amazing." She twirls the garish ensemble that she's wearing, and Brendan goes on the hunt for more champagne, stepping over an intoxicated member of the McQueen family.
He pours himself a glass, downs it in one and then starts on the other.
"Drowning your sorrows?"
Brendan holds the glass steady before it spills. He knows who it is before he turns to face them. He wonders how long he's been here, watching.
Steven hasn't changed. It's been months, but he's still got the same haircut, the soft downy sides. His lips are plump, his eyes focused on Brendan.
"Are you crashing?"
"No." Steven looks mock offended. "I know Michaela. Mercedes's sister," he explains when Brendan stares at him blankly.
"But you didn't even know Mercedes was getting married when I told you."
"Do you remember everything I say?"
Brendan shrugs. "Just a weird coincidence, that's all. You turning up."
"If you don't want me here -" Steven begins, already starting to walk away.
"No!" Brendan interrupts with a little more vigor than necessary. "I didn't...I didn't say that."
He's grateful for the champagne; it gives his hands something to do.
Steven stares at him awkwardly. He's not dressed for a wedding; his work uniform was smarter. He looks like he flung on his clothes in a mad rush to get here. Brendan's warmed by the thought.
"So have you got someone new now? At work."
"'Course. Rae. The world can't stop just because of you, Steven."
"Yeah I know, I was just saying..." The boy's becoming distinctly more irritated. "I just felt guilty, didn't I? To leave you like that."
Brendan scoffs. "You seemed really sorry. Getting your girlfriend to come in like that, bail you out."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Kind of pathetic don't you think, that that's all you have to say?"
Steven's expression grows cold. He looks like he regrets coming over here, regrets this entire conversation.
"Look, Steven - I hired you because I thought you could do the job. Do the job permanently, not for one week."
"Right. So you didn't hire me to get into my pants then?"
Brendan places the glass down, doesn't want it to smash between his fingers.
"Repeat that."
"You heard." Steven's shaking, but he's not backing down. Brendan wonders just how long he's been planning this little speech.
"It was just so fucking stupid that I really need to hear it again, make sure that I'm not hallucinating."
Steven stares around the room. The music's drowning out their voices, but Brendan knows it won't be like that for long; the McQueens can't resist a scandal. He'll be paired up with Mercedes's younger brother if they cotton on to what he is.
"Let's take this somewhere else."
They find a quiet, vacant room and close the door securely. Brendan feels restless, starts pacing as claustrophobia creeps up on him. It's not the confinement that's troubling him; he was trapped in a lift with Lynsey and they spent two hours telling each other knock knock jokes.
It's being here, with him. He wants to crawl out of his own skin.
"Where were we?" Steven says, brow creased.
"I believe you were being a little shit."
Steven pushes him lightly, and Brendan stares down at where his hand was as though he can see the imprint.
This is the point where he reminds Steven that he hired him. That he was his boss. That he pushed him around.
Except the boy doesn't let him.
"I am sorry, okay? I just...I couldn't tell you."
"Too busy being unemployed, were you?"
"No! I've got a job. Me and this guy Doug, we're thinking of getting some money together, setting up a deli."
Fucking hell. Brendan's a matchmaker now.
"Good luck getting a loan from the bank."
Steven stares at him with heated eyes. "Why are you being like this?"
"Like what? You don't really know me well enough to say what I'm like, do you?"
"The guy I met three months ago wasn't a jerk. At least not when he loosened up a bit."
Brendan looks past Steven's shoulder to the door. He could make a run for it, if he wanted to.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Brendan sighs tiredly. "What do you want?"
The boy takes a step forward. "Don't you even want to know why I quit?"
"Go on. Enlighten me." He doesn't want to be curious, but he is. He thought they made a good team, thought that he was close to being closer. Closer than he'd been in a long time to anyone.
Steven makes an effort to look into Brendan's eyes. Brendan can see the courage it takes, can see how Steven's having to resist running from this room as much as he is.
"I thought I liked you."
Brendan lets out a breath, mouth growing dry. "You thought..."
"I think..." Steven smooths his hand through his hair, Brendan following every gesture. "I think I like you. And I think you like me too."
A part of Brendan wants to laugh, almost does. It reminds him of being back in primary school, I like you, do you like me too?, and chasing girls around the playground.
Except the stakes are higher now. And he wasn't terrified back then.
"You've never done this before, have you?"
Steven shakes his head and a shiver goes through Brendan's body, a twisted thrill of being with a virgin that's never quite gone away.
"Have you?"
He considers lying, but he's exhausted by it.
"Yes."
It makes Steven look more afraid, an edge of excitement to the fear.
"Come here." Brendan coils his finger, extending it to draw Steven closer.
Steven stares around them, mouth open. "Not here?"
"Yes. Here."
"But -"
"Don't you want to know if you like it?"
The boy stumbles over his own footsteps, moving towards Brendan as though pulled by an invisible magnet.
Brendan hums in satisfaction. He knows that Cheryl will already be trying to grab the microphone off the speech givers for karaoke. They won't be interrupted.
Brendan leans against the wall and waits for Steven to kiss him. Wants to see if he's brave enough.
The boy hesitates, trying to swallow down his fear and gather the courage to do this. Brendan's patience is fraying, his hands twitching from the need to have Steven's mouth on his. He's been waiting for this since the first moment that the boy walked into his office, this strange energy building between them that time hasn't erased.
At the moment when he becomes sure that Steven's going to make his escape, the boy bows his head and kisses him.
His lips are soft, and his mouth is warm, and his tongue is gentle as it slowly rubs against his. He lets the boy set the pace, governing the speed, only putting his hands on Steven's hips when he draws Brendan closer, pressing against his body and radiating heat.
He releases a soft moan, and Brendan gets a powerful sense of what he'd be like in bed; the sounds he'd make, the way he'd look, how he'd touch.
"Does this mean you're coming back to work?" It's with reluctance that he breaks the kiss.
Steven laughs into his mouth. "What about Rae?"
"Never liked her much. Too blond. I prefer brunettes." Brendan sweeps his fingers through Steven's hair, kissing him between words.
"I told you, me and Doug -"
"Forget about the Yank. Come back."
"No," Steven says, biting Brendan's bottom lip gently.
"Think of all the things we could use the desk for..."
Steven giggles, throws his arms around Brendan, and kisses him.