Everything had a pattern. The trick to understanding the data was in the models. The algorithms. The points along a timeline that indicated the probability of what should come next.
Barry's whole world revolved around patterns, but some things couldn't be predicted. Whenever that happened, he thought back to something his mother once told him.
"Meet every surprise in life like you had a plan all along."
Barry did not have a plan.
Looking around his apartment, he realized he also didn't have furniture. He remembered the moving without furniture part of coming to a new city, he'd just forgotten how annoying living without it would be until he went out and bought something. All he had right now were boxes filled with clothing, electronics, kitchenware, and keepsakes.
He sat on one of the larger boxes amidst the clutter, facing the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that led out to his balcony. The view beyond was humbling, a dozen stories up to look upon the glittering lights of the city, nestled right in the heart of it. Barry had always loved cityscapes more than trees. He'd dreamed of having an apartment like this someday. He'd just hoped he'd be sharing it.
He never was good at starting over. He had to be out of his mind to pick up and move three-hundred miles from home just to escape his ex.
Not that Harrison was the only reason Barry had chosen Star City. The mayor himself had offered Barry a consultation position while his new predictive models were put into use at the police department. One of the stipulations Barry had on any private or government organization using his patents was his personal involvement in implementation. Mayor Queen had agreed and brought Barry in to work part-time at the mayor's office while things got up and running. The move to Star City also opened doors for him at Palmer Tech and Smoak Industries to sell his models for industrial use. He'd never want for anything again with the opportunities and money headed his way.
For now, the SCPD would be using the intricate algorithms he'd created to predict where criminal activity was most likely to occur, allowing them to position their officers more efficiently and maximize coverage on the streets. Barry's models would save the city millions by better utilizing their current resources, and maybe even help save a few lives. It was everything he'd ever wanted, and if things went well here, his models could help even more people all over the country.
He should have been happy. He should have been ecstatic. But a shadow hung over him because of how things had ended with Harrison back in Central.
Habit caused Barry to wrap his fingers around his forearm. The bruises were gone now, no lasting damage, nothing broken, but sometimes it was like phantom pain when he thought about his ex. The older man he'd dated for years, who he'd lived with for years, who he'd believed would be the last person he ever came home to, had never physically harmed him until that night. Harrison's abuses had been different, deeper, if not as visible as the bruises once were.
The sound of Barry's ringtone startled him out of his musing, sitting alone in the dark of his mostly empty apartment. He scrambled to remember where he'd put his phone before he realized it was in his pocket.
"Hello?" he answered stiffly.
"Uh oh. Don't tell me the moving company lost something? You sound about two seconds from having a pint of Haagen Daz for dinner again."
Iris. Barry's sister had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly when he needed to hear her voice, ever since he was adopted into her family when he was ten years old.
Despite himself, he smiled. "I resent that stereotype."
"I would too if I hadn't caught you doing it multiple times when you lived with me."
They shared a chuckle, though the memory of how true that was turned Barry's expression sour before long.
The night he left Harrison for good, he could have gone to his adopted father, but Joe had never approved of the relationship.
"He's twice your age, Barry," was the common complaint.
He wasn't twice Barry's age, though fairly close, since Barry had been twenty-one when they met and Harrison thirty-eight. That was four years ago, putting his 'boyfriend' in his forties now, which shouldn't have mattered, but Joe never let it go. Now he could finally say 'I told you so'.
At least he'd never actually said it. Still, Barry hadn't wanted to deal with Joe's judgment, so he'd gone to Iris instead. Her husband Eddie was one of Barry's closest friends, they understood, but it was still awkward being a third wheel in their house for months before the call to Star City came.
Barry needed a change, he just hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake all because a bad breakup made it too difficult to stay in his home town.
"I'll get something substantial once I gather enough will to leave this box," he said, patting the side of it so Iris could hear the thumps over the phone. "Like Thai food or pizza."
"Barry…"
"Hey, I don't have any dishes unpacked yet. Or food in the fridge. Or furniture, for that matter."
"I told you not to let Harry have everything in the divorce."
"It wasn't a divorce," Barry scowled. All his friends referred to it like that, which only made the loss feel worse, because he'd always wanted to get married someday. He still did, he just hated the idea of starting from square one. "And I didn't want his things."
"Some of it was your things."
"None of it was mine, Iris. He chose everything in that apartment. It was always his, never mine, never ours. And I'm not completely devoid of amenities. I have a bed."
"You have a mattress," she said, just as Barry looked to his left through the bedroom door to see it resting on the floor like some minimalist mockery. "My mattress that Eddie and I gave you so you wouldn't be sleeping on the floor tonight. You still need a bedframe, dresser, table—"
"I can't think about that right now, I'm meeting the mayor tomorrow and all my new contacts. I probably won't even sleep. I'll worry about furniture after work tomorrow."
"How about you worry about it tonight?"
"Iris…"
"Relax, Barr. Check out the large kitchen box I helped pack."
Perking up from where he sat, Barry scanned the apartment until he spotted the larger of his boxes labelled 'KITCHEN' near the entryway. "What did you do?" he asked with suspicion as he headed toward it, expecting balloons or confetti to explode out the top in some lame attempt to make him smile, which honestly might have worked, but Iris was using her serious, practical tone. She couldn't be hiding an entire apartment full of furniture in that box.
Only somehow she was—a catalog full.
When Barry opened the box, on the very top was a catalog for an express delivery furniture place that included rentals. Even from the cover, he could tell that the furniture was more his style than anything Harrison had ever allowed. Barry liked color and character and light; Harrison had been too rigid for that.
"This stuff looks…"
"Amazing?" Iris said.
"Expensive."
"Oh, Barr, considering how much they're paying you, nothing is out of your price range right now. Indulge a little. Plus, this way you can relax and choose some things you like tonight, make the order online, and have everything delivered tomorrow while you're at work. If you fall in love with something, you can buy it. If you hate a piece once you see it, you can return it and get something new. I dog-eared pages of things I thought you might like."
Barry was already flipping through the book and came upon a dog-eared page as she said that. There was a small oak-colored kitchen table with four chairs, each a different color—red, blue, yellow, and black. Harrison would have hated the asymmetry, which meant Barry immediately wanted it.
"You are the best, Iris."
"I know. Eddie and I miss you already. Dad's holding up okay, but still grumbling about you moving thousands of miles away—his words, no matter how many times I tell him it's a simple day trip in the car or a quick flight."
"I hope he's not too mad. Four years of Harry keeping me secluded, barely spending time with you guys or any of my friends, now just when we started to reconnect, I moved away. Maybe this was a bad idea…" He looked around the apartment again, feeling small and suffocated by so much space and so many miles between him and the closest people who loved him.
"Barry, Dad will get over it. This is important to you, something you've always wanted, the project you've been working on since you were a kid, the one thing Harry wasn't able to twist into one of his own patents."
"Because I kept it from him."
"You weren't the bad guy, Barry. If you'd shared those models with Harrison, he'd be the one getting cozy with Star City elite tomorrow, having every tech mogul vying for his attention. Instead, it's you, like you deserve. Like you've earned. Don't run scared yet. This will be so good for you. But if you start to go out of your mind and feel too homesick, I'll be on the first plane there, okay?"
Barry smiled as he dropped into a cross legged position on the floor to keep paging through the catalog. "Thanks, Iris. I can do this. It just doesn't feel like home yet with only boxes around me. I'll order some dinner and have fun picking out furniture. Once I have the place decked out, I'll send pictures, deal?"
"Deal."
"Hey," he frowned, reaching a page dog-eared like many others but that also had a business card stuck in the crease, "what's this?"
Iris had been the biggest asset in helping Barry move from finding the right apartment to hiring the moving company. She'd even made him lists of restaurants to check out, corner stores in his neighborhood for when he needed groceries, and random activities to try so he wouldn't sit at home doing nothing when he wasn't at work. She was a good sister and a loyal friend.
But finding this particular business card made Barry wonder if all of that was bullshit.
"Iris," he balked. "You got me a referral for an escort service?"
"Now, Barry, here me out—"
"I don't need to hire someone—"
"I'm not suggesting you do! I just thought it might be easier to have someone on standby for dinners and events if you weren't ready to date yet and didn't feel like answering questions about your love life. An escort could take the heat off, that's all."
Calming marginally at her logic, Barry tried not to get too worked up over the implications. The card was sleek black with silver writing, just the name, a website, and a phone number. "But isn't like…sex implied?" he whispered.
"Not legally."
"Iris!"
"Nothing is implied, Barr. Is it easier for people to look the other way if sexy times go down, yes"—he cringed at her word choice—"but that doesn't mean there's obligation on either side. Some people really do hire escorts just to escort them. Not that I'd judge if you needed more than that—"
"The last thing I need right now is mindless sex," Barry cut her off. "That's all I was to Harry. His little trophy. Convenient and obedient. I'd rather have someone around who'd hold me. Oh god," he tipped back into a slow fall, stretching his legs out in front of him when he landed, "I sound like a failed greeting card."
"Barry," Iris said with a faint giggle that quickly returned to earnest understanding. "Everyone needs different things at different points in their lives, and no need is more or less valid than another. I wish I could be there to hug you, honey. I really only meant the referral as an option for social events, no bad joke or pressure involved. You can totally ignore it."
"Sorry, I'm not upset," Barry said, staring at his ceiling as he clutched his phone to his ear and the catalog to his chest. "It makes sense. I didn't even think about social events. I do not want to have any real dates right now, but having the option to skip the 'so are you seeing anyone?' conversation would be such a relief. Divulging that I just got out of a long-term relationship would probably make me someone's 'project' and they'd start setting me up with their neighbor's cousin's roommate and…urg, maybe I will call the agency."
Iris giggled again, but loving not mocking. "First dinner and furniture."
"Right," Barry snorted. "Dinner. Furniture. Disaster of a love life. That seems like the right order."
After another shared chuckle, Iris said, "It's going to be okay, Barry. You're moving on. You're heading a new direction all for you. You are so much more than Harrison Wells."
That's what Barry had been telling himself for months. He knew in his bones it was true; he'd proven how successful he could be all on his own. He just wished being on his own wasn't so lonely. "I know. Give my love to Eddie. I'll check in with you guys soon."
"You better. I love you."
"I love you too, Iris."
Lurching up into a sitting position again, Barry hung up the call and stuck the business card back in the catalog as he continued to page through it. He couldn't imagine actually calling some stranger to be his date for whatever gala or fancy event the mayor might drag him to, but the idea wasn't completely ridiculous. He'd barely dated anyone before being caught up in the whirlwind of Harrison Wells. He probably did need a professional at this point.
But no, he doubted he'd drum up enough courage to call an escort, but he did like the agency's name and the implied speed in an emergency. If he ever got truly desperate, he had the option to call Nick of Time Escort Service to save him.
"Nick of Time Escort Service?" Gideon the receptionist answered the phone as Len passed by her desk.
He hated coming into the office. While his name, photograph, and basic stats like height and age were all displayed in the agency's online catalog, places of business that relied on anonymity for their clients tended to not have office hours open to the public. Payroll, the receptionist, and any handlers had office hours. Len's hours rarely included offices and were even more seldom during the day.
This morning, he had a bone to pick with the CEO.
"Mr. Snart, may I help you with something?" Rip Hunter barely glanced at the door when Len stormed into his office. Gideon used to try to dissuade him from barging in unannounced, but she'd learned to let forces of nature run their course.
"Merlin's on my schedule again," Len said as he planted himself in front of the Englishman. "I dropped him last week."
"And you are well within your rights to do so. However," Rip flicked his pale eyes up from his computer screen, "if you would like someone removed from your calendar, Mr. Snart, you need to go through the proper channels to dismiss the client and work that through scheduling and accounts. When you don't, the chain of command is interrupted and someone spends several wasted minutes on changes they might have avoided."
"Like me?"
"I was going to say Kendra in Accounts," Rip's insufferable deadpan irked Len like few things could, "but I realize your time is more precious than the rest of ours."
Crossing his arms over his perfectly tailored suit, Len stood his ground. His greatest selling point to clients was his precise nature—not to say his looks weren't an asset. "Don't bullshit me, Rip. I told Sara I was dropping him. Shouldn't the paperwork be her responsibility?"
"It is. You still need to sign it. And put something in the dismissal report other than you get a 'bad feeling' about him."
Len thought back to his latest encounter with Merlin—a man of sizeable means and expensive tastes, recently forty, dripping with poise and sarcasm, much like Len himself—and grimaced. "It's a feeling. What more is there to explain? Have my instincts ever been wrong?"
The continued stare from Rip proved he hadn't forgotten the clients Len had demanded the agency dismiss, and not always because they were his, who'd turned out to be unsavory for one reason or another or downright violent. "No, but rather than cut ties with Mr. Merlin outright, I would like to give other escorts the opportunity—"
"I wouldn't recommend that."
Rip sighed, but Len was not about to budge. Star City was large enough that they could afford to drop rich assholes like Merlin without losing any sleep. Len had never had any trouble with the guy. He treated him well, carried on a good conversation, followed the rules when things got intimate, but Len couldn't shake the feeling that something was funny about him.
"Get him off my schedule, and off the roster."
"Of course, Mr. Snart," Rip conceded without further argument. "Comfort for my escorts first and foremost, always."
Rip meant it, Len had never doubted that, which was the primary reason he remained loyal to the agency and always would, even when the rest of the time the CEO was a prick. "Thank you." Turning briskly, Len made to take his leave.
"And do fill in your vacant spot with Mr. Merlin's absence within the next few weeks, if you would. We are getting a bit full up. Perhaps you'd consider taking on a new regular."
Len bristled as he reached the door and shot an icy expression over his shoulder. "I'll see what comes up."
Nick of Time allowed their escorts to vet and refuse anyone who chose them for a night—especially if a night turned into a regular occurrence. The client wouldn't be told they were refused, just that the escort was unavailable. Len had a full schedule of regulars these days and very rarely took on new clients. He was picky about who he spent his time with, especially if that involved joining someone's bed, and it always did where work was concerned. He didn't take clients only looking for arm candy; he knew where his strengths lied.
The healthcare for Nick of Time was bar none as well, and clients had to go through an approval process with up-to-date medical records just like the escorts. After being accepted onto the roster, clients could have first pick of who they wanted for a night, though they were encouraged to choose second and third options since first-choice escorts were often popular and already booked. If an escort was fully stacked for their schedule, they were removed from the catalog entirely until they became available again, but the final decision always came down to whether the escort themselves were willing to accept who'd chosen them.
Still, there had been times when Len agreed to see a client, saw them for a night, but even though the man or woman desired his company in the future, he deemed them unfit to become a regular. He'd kept Merlin on his calendar for far too long.
Making a quick left out of Rip's office, Len headed for his handler—Sara Lance. In a pinch, she was more bodyguard than secretary, but that part of her resume wasn't on the books. Len had never had to call in her services in that regard, but a few escorts had, and the stories they told were part of why so many flowers and gifts stacked up on her desk come Christmas.
She had the corner office, almost larger than Rip's. The CEO preferred being up front in case of any commotion or proverbial fires to put out.
Len's mouth was already open in preparation to speak when he rounded the corner into Sara's open office doorway and was interrupted by a stack of papers being smacked into his chest like a punch. He coughed as he looked down at the well-manicured hand attached to them.
"Those would be the forms I neglected to sign?"
"What gave them away?" she said with mild scorn bleeding through her smile—a deadly smile, made all the deadlier with red lips, framed by a pretty face and blond hair. Sara would have made an excellent escort herself, not that many people would dare tell her that. "I'm assuming you already gave Rip an earful?"
"What can I say, I hate the bureaucratic side to the job," Len said, accepting the papers and following her toward the desk. "I prefer to be more…hands on."
Unmoved by the waggle of his eyebrow, Sara pushed a pen at him next, "Put your hands to work with this then, Leonard," and spun her computer to face her while she perched on the corner of her desk. "Need an updated schedule with Merlin removed?"
"Please." Len started to peruse his paperwork; it was a very thick stack in his opinion.
"Piper's back from vacation. Wondered if you could pencil him in tonight."
"Gladly." The client Len had dubbed Pied Piper because he played principal clarinet in the Star City Philharmonic tipped well and was easy to please with the right praises for his playing and condescending talk about the art his parents bought that he therefore despised.
Len loved art and music, and Piper, while young, was worthy of every praise Len had ever given him. But much of high society, which was the majority of Len's clients, revolved around trash masquerading as treasure, and that he couldn't stomach.
"Also, Miss Prince had to reschedule for Wednesday. With Merlin out, you're free that day, so I gave her a maybe."
"You can confirm. Have you seen Mick around—"
"Where's my damn bonus, Lance?" a booming voice preceded one of Len's dearest friends and fellow escorts, Mick Rory. He could slap on the charm on a dime and be whatever a client wanted, but he was surly and blunt when himself. Len found it refreshing.
"Your referral bonus will be in the next paycheck, Mick, I told you," Sara said with an unimpressed tilt of her head. "End of the month."
Mick grumbled. He stood a good inch taller than Len's six-foot-one height and was nearly twice as broad. His larger, muscled form attracted a narrower group of clients, but he was never without a full schedule. "I should get a bonus straight from Heywood for this one. You shoulda seen his face," he smirked at Len, "comin' back from his first night with this chick. I think the poor sap's in love."
"What'd he dub her?"
"Jane."
"Bit dull, isn't it?" Len said with a frown.
"Like Tarzan and Jane. Apparently, she's got a thing for safaris, and you know how Heywood likes to travel."
"Mick," Sara interjected. "We aren't a matchmaking service. Stop setting up referrals with ulterior motives to knock out your competition."
"Who's got ulterior motives?" Mick shrugged innocence. Nate Heywood wasn't as large as Mick but he did fill a similar demographic, and several past escorts had quit after Mick passed them referrals. Mick swore it was coincidence, but sometimes Len wondered. "I just figured she'd like the guy, so I passed her his card at a party. That's what referrals are for. Whadda you got goin' on?" he returned his attention to Len.
"Piper and Prince this week."
"Merlin too?"
"Out," Len said with a final flourish of signing his name on the last page.
"'Bout time," Mick huffed.
"You've never even met the man," Sara said, taking back the signed forms along with her pen.
"Lenny's word's good enough for me."
Shaking her head at them, she set the papers in her outbox. "You know how Rip frowns on this shop talk."
"That's why we use codenames for clients, Miss Lance," Len said. "All in good fun. No identities lost."
"Why do you call him Merlin again?" Mick asked.
"Coz he's a magician, Mick. I can never figure out his secrets." With most of the day free ahead of him and his evening newly planned, Len decided to make the most of having stopped by the office and running into his friend. "Wanna grab breakfast?"
"You're on, pal. But til I get that bonus," he poked Len pointedly in the shoulder, "yer buyin'."
Len expected as much. Heading out of the office, he turned to say his farewells to Sara, but she was already in front of him again, pressing another paper to his chest—the schedule he hadn't noticed her print.
"Since you prefer 'hands on'," she said, even though she'd email and text it to him later as well. "But next time…paperwork first."
"Yes, ma'am," Len said with a bow of his head. "You know, you don't rag on Mick about these things."
Sara's blue eyes always had a sparkle of danger in them, especially when she was in the right. "Don't let the loud bark fool you, Leonard. Mick's the most reliable one of the whole bunch."
"But I'm still the most popular," Len winked and prided himself on the smile he wheedled out of her before he followed after his friend.
Barry had clearly made a terrible mistake.
He wasn't cut out for the spotlight, high-society hob-knobbing and being catered to like a celebrity just for walking in the front door for a meeting with the mayor. He was a data scientist who was wearing his first of only three good suits amid a closetful of graphic T-shirts and jeans, and his one pair of nice glasses since contacts dried out his eyes and his other pair was several years old and one prescription behind.
Iris had told him to make a list on his phone, so that every time he realized there was something fundamental he needed, he'd jot it down to get later, since now he could actually afford to do so.
He quickly typed EXTRA PAIR OF GLASSES right below NON-BLUE SUIT COAT and SHOES THAT AREN'T CONVERSE. How had he missed that all three of his blazers were different shades of blue? Hopefully no one would notice over the next few days.
He'd purposely not worn a tie because he 1) hated them, 2) owned one and really hated that one, and 3) was supposed to be a cool young Silicon Valley type apparently for coming up with these algorithms and so many worthwhile patents at only twenty-five. The only 'type' he was portraying right now in one of his few plain white T-shirts beneath his blazer was uber-nerd.
"The mayor is expecting you, Mr. Allen. Right through here," the young woman who'd greeted him when he arrived gestured to the door at the end of the hallway. "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Tea?"
"Oh, uhh…coffee? But with like three sugars and lots of cream til it barely even resembles coffee anymore, if…that's okay?" Why was he ever allowed out in public? "Please?"
The woman smiled. "I take it the same way. Only Mayor Queen is the crazy one who takes it black with no sugar. You'll do fine." With another warm smile, she moved back down the hallway.
Wait, the mayor was crazy? Or was that meant to be an endearment? Barry had only talked to him through proxy until today.
Shoving his phone back into his pocket and adjusting the brand-new leather shoulder bag Iris and Eddie had given him as a going away present, he knocked on the door before peeking his head inside.
"Mr. Mayor?"
"Barry! So good to finally meet you in person. Come in."
The mayor stood from his desk and came forward to meet Barry halfway, shaking his hand vigorously. He was young, especially to be running such a large metropolis, but still older than Barry. Definitely a politician with his firm handshake, direct eye contact, and smart suit to compliment his—wow, he was attractive.
Which was the last thing Barry should be thinking about his married boss. But he was. Blond, tall, well-built, strong jaw.
"Hi!" Barry stammered as he snapped back to attention. "I mean…nice to meet you too, Mr. Mayor. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity."
"Please, call me Oliver," he said. "My staff never takes that to heart, but you're a special case, aren't you? You're more like my boss in this, so let's make sure we do your work proud. Have a seat."
Barry was the boss? He was so in over his head. "Sure! Thank you…uh, Oliver."
"There you go. Drink?" Oliver asked as he returned to his desk.
Barry sat in the seat across from him. "Miss McCabe is getting me coffee."
"Good, good. Now, we're not jumping into anything before we're ready with this new program. While my team has been looking into your recommendations for reorganizing our officers, there are other things to consider."
"Right." Barry forced himself to remain skeptical of where the mayor might go with this. He couldn't be a 'yes' man. He would not be bullied into letting anyone use his models in a way he didn't approve of, and his shoulder bag was full of suggestions for how to make sure that didn't happen.
"Once things get put into motion," Oliver continued, "there will be a lot of press around this, around you and my office, and the last thing we want is to have it blow up in our faces. As you know, Star City has seen a severe increase in criminal activity over the past few years. It's part of why I was elected, because I promised to do something about it. But placing more officers in the neighborhoods most likely to see criminal activity could lead to profiling and general unrest among the citizens.
"My people want to feel safe, Barry, not targeted, so we'll be looking to you to help us prepare our officers appropriately to unsure this is a seamless transition that takes every citizen, especially those living in high-crime areas, into account."
Barry's mind somersaulted as he realized Oliver was telling him exactly what he'd been hoping to hear. He'd prepared so many fumbling speeches for this, but the mayor was already ahead of him.
"Do you understand what I mean, Barry?"
"Yes!" Sitting up straighter after realizing Oliver had been waiting for a response, Barry began pulling the research notes from his bag. "Yes, sir. I couldn't agree more. I have several additional preliminary models I'd like to discuss concerning police behavior based on available equipment, like body cameras, group mentality versus single officer or partner deployments, and numerous other things, which should help us prepare your officers to keep everyone accountable." He took a breath to slow himself down—sometimes he forgot that the rest of the world didn't move at his speed. "I want to help people, Mr…Oliver. Not make them fear the police more than they fear criminals."
For a politician, Oliver's smile certainly seemed genuine. "Music to my ears, Barry. You keep us accountable so we can better keep our officers accountable to protect this city—together."
"Thank you," Barry said as the buzzing nerves in his stomach started to shift into excitement. "This is why I chose Star City, you know, out of everywhere that vied to pilot this program. Because of you."
"Me? Not because our crime rate's so high?" Oliver grinned.
"Well…that too, but you accepted my proposal without trying to change any of my requirements. I researched the different officials I'd be working with in each city, and you were the only one that seemed like you really cared and wouldn't abuse what I'm trying to do, or look the other way if someone crosses a line. It's good to see that wasn't just fluff for the election. N-Not that I assumed—"
Laughter bubbled out of Oliver. "Oh, I like you, Barry. I'm glad you're willing to speak candidly. I want to do this right so that come next election year I'll have proven my platform wasn't just fluff. So," he slapped his thighs before rising from his desk once more, "let's meet my team so they can show you what they've been working on and you can show them your reports. We have a lot of work to do before we get to the major press coverage in a couple weeks. Though of course I have given a few statements to the papers in preparation of your arrival."
"R-Right." Barry tried not to trip as he clambered out of his chair.
"Not used to the attention?"
"Not really. I usually prefer hiding behind the data." Clutching his papers to his chest, Barry realized he was literally hiding and shoved them into his bag. "At my previous job, I…someone else was always the front man."
Harrison. He'd first been interested in Barry's body when they met, then his mind after learning their interests aligned. Harrison was Chief Technology Officer for the software component of STAR Labs, where Barry had also worked—after Harry got him a job. So many of Barry's ideas had helped grow that portion of the company in recent years, and Harrison had taken credit for every single one.
This, finally, was Barry's alone. He wouldn't let his anxieties take that away from him.
"You'll do fine," Oliver said, leading Barry out of his office. "You'll do great. I can already see it."
Everyone kept saying that, which either meant Barry was an obvious ball of stress that people felt sorry for or they honestly had faith in him. Probably both.
"Let's get that coffee from Miss McCabe. You'll need it. It's going to be non-stop from here on out, just to warn you."
"That's okay," Barry said, more relaxed than he'd been the first time he walked down this hallway. "I prefer when things move fast. I've never been very good at sitting still.
"Wait til you meet my wife after lunch," Oliver chuckled. "She's the same way."
"Oh, uhh…I have a meeting with the CEO of Smoak Industries—"
"Barry," Oliver laughed harder. "Didn't anyone tell you? Felicity Smoak is my wife."
Barry had been so focused on researching Oliver's political career, he'd bypassed important personal details—crucial ones. "Wow, really? You're like a serious power couple."
"So they say—especially her. Ah, here we are." Oliver intercepted Miss McCabe carrying coffees for each of them. With only a glimpse, he easily guessed which one was Barry's. "Thank you, Miss McCabe. Barry, ready to get to work?"
Barry expected the buzz of nerves and excitement to taper off after that, but it remained constant, especially once he headed to Smoak Industries in a car Felicity had sent for him and he got to meet the First Lady of Star City firsthand.
"Barry! We are going to impress the pants off you today." The woman shook his hand almost more fervently than her husband had. They were like Business Barbie and Ken, Barry noted—she was stunning. "Not literally of course," she winked. "Crap, did I just give a first impression of sexual harassment? Coz we can start over."
Barry could only answer with flustered laughter, but she barely paused a moment before moving on. The flurry of Felicity Smoak and the speed with which she was in total control after tripping over her words was what Barry aspired to be like someday. He never had any illusions about recovering from foot-in-mouth syndrome completely, but she wasn't even ruffled.
"Let's see if you consider us up to snuff to steal some of your time away from the mayor's office."
"Is that really okay?" Barry shuffled after her into the large skyscraper that humbled the mayor's office with its modern design, all metal, glass, and sharp angles.
"Conflict of interest with the mayor, you mean? Not to worry, Barry. I didn't call in any favors with my husband. You agreed to meet with me all on your own, remember?"
"Right! No, I know, but he won't be upset if I split my time? There's so much to do…"
"This is your show, Barry," she said, leading him briskly to the elevator for his tour of the building like she was just another office worker instead President and CEO. "You decide what you want. You're only contracted as part-time at the mayor's office, specifically because you wanted time for other opportunities. Well, that's what I'm here for."
Barry huffed like he'd been running a marathon when the elevator door finally closed behind them, bringing them up to the 32nd floor. "I'm just not used to having…"
"Options?"
Freedom. "Yeah."
"This is your moment, Barry," Felicity nudged his shoulder, betraying her youth and easygoing nature, which was part of what Barry had liked about Oliver too. Anyone too uptight to be at ease with their peers—and those technically below them—could never understand the common man. "We're trying to please you today. Enjoy it."
The final reason Barry had chosen Star City was because of Smoak Industries and Palmer Tech. Both were local and thriving software companies that did so much more than create marketing platforms or cloud technology. Palmer Tech was working on nanomachines to better distribute gene therapy to terminally ill patients, and Smoak Industries had developed a prototype for an electromagnet-pulsing chip that could help thousands of people with debilitating spinal injuries walk again. If Barry's predictive models could in any way help these companies with their next projects, he wanted to be a part of that.
"Felicity is a gem, right? I hope she didn't scare you off yet," Curtis Holt said after Barry's tour of the R&D labs.
Felicity had been called away to an investor meeting, handing Barry over to Curtis for the duration of his tour. As head of Design Innovation, Curtis had been the lead engineer in coming up with the biostimulator chip for paralysis patients, so Barry was keen to hear his perspective on the company's direction.
Barry also got the impression that Felicity had a soft spot for people with her same rambling tendencies—which Curtis had in spades. Barry could admit that it eased him to be around someone who stumbled into unfortunate ways of wording things even more than he did.
"You're gay, right?" Curtis blurted just as they were passing a cluster of people at a water cooler. Barry nearly tripped over his own feet. "That was inappropriate. It's just that…I'm gay too. At least my husband thinks so." He elbowed Barry with a laugh, then clammed up again when Barry wasn't sure how to respond. "Bad joke again. Sorry. I just mean…I'd heard you were gay, and you know how we tend to move in packs, so if you felt concerned for any reason being in a new city, Felicity and the mayor are, like, super cool besides being genuine and extremely attractive people. Not that I think about the mayor's attractiveness!"
Barry had to laugh. The awkwardness had reached peak boiling point, but for once, he wasn't the cause.
"You're running straight for Palmer Tech and never looking back, aren't you?" Curtis said.
"No! No. I mean, I'd like to work with both companies. And also, yes…I'm gay. Just nothing more to say about it at the moment."
"Bad breakup?"
Once again, Barry faltered. If Curtis knew he was gay, that meant he knew about Harrison. STAR Labs in Central City was well known, even if the small software side of things wasn't as big a player as anything here. The right circles likely knew about Barry's ex without him having to say a word.
"Which you obviously don't want to talk about," Curtis broke into another harried ramble. "But if you ever need some friendly faces around for a game night or drink at the bar, my husband and I have incredibly friendly faces. Him more so, coz obviously I think he's perfect, that's why I married him. He's also a much better conversationalist, I promise."
As uncomfortable as things turning toward Harrison had made Barry feel, he wasn't upset with Curtis. "I appreciate that, but I'm still settling in right now. In fact, when I get home, hopefully I'll actually have furniture."
"Is that why you had that catalog in your bag? Not that I was snooping," Curtis raised his hands to defend himself, "I just…noticed."
"Yeah. In case I didn't hear from them, I wanted to be able to call, but they texted me a while ago that they—" And just then, when Barry decided to take the catalog out of his bag as a prop for the conversation, the business card that should have been tucked securely into its designated page fluttered out like it was making a jailbreak, and Curtis bent to retrieve it first.
"I got it."
"Wait—"
"Nick of Time Escort Service?"
Shit.
"Hey, I know this place!" Curtis smiled, then blanched when he noticed Barry's expression. "Not like that. I mean, maybe once or twice like that, before me and my husband, obviously, I don't, I'm…not judging, is what I mean." He thrust the card back at Barry.
Wonderful, Barry thought, tucking the card away again. At least there wasn't anyone near them in the hallway. He needed to remember to blame Iris if he ended up with a 'reputation' at work. "It's for dates only, if I needed one for events or anything. Not that I think I'll use it. Probably never. I just don't really want to date for real right now, you know?"
"I get it," Curtis nodded, genuinely seeming to understand. "Plus, I'm sort of glad that fell out."
"Really?"
"Yep. Now when you look back on your first day at Smoak Industries, hopefully you'll remember your totally unwarranted embarrassment over my completely justified humiliation."
Barry laughed. Curtis and Felicity made him feel like he could belong here as an escape from the more daunting task of managing the mayor's program. If what he'd experienced the past few hours was an indication of the next several weeks, months, and hopefully more to come, he might actually be able to do this, and he'd only just begun.
Len entered his apartment with a crick in his neck but a satisfied sensation buzzing through him after a successful night of work. Piper did tend to twist him into interesting positions, but as always, it had been a worthwhile and very lucrative evening.
Having foregone his suit for a more casual look—dark sweater, tweed jacket, jeans—now that it was late and Len had the opportunity to relax, he looked forward to a long shower and nothing to disturb him until morning. He was a night owl by nature, since his hours of operation tended to go late and he usually had the freedom to sleep in.
Removing himself of his jacket and heading to his sound system, Len turned on his mix of classical crooners. Nothing relaxed him quite like Ella Fitzgerald or Tony Bennett.
Tony's version of "Cold Cold Heart" began to play and Len closed his eyes to ease into his private space and personal thoughts. His home was his and his alone, a place untouched by anything he did outside these walls. Not even Mick had ever been inside. Only his sister, who rarely visited. More often he visited her back in Central City, because this space was his—his escape.
A frown passed over Len's features as the old thread of peace didn't fill him like it used to. Lately his quiet home felt more suffocating than he cared to admit and he couldn't understand why. Mid-life crisis, his sister had teased him after he turned forty. Maybe. And if so, how dull. How ordinary and expected. Just because he was getting older didn't mean he had to have some secret desire to settle down. It didn't mean he was lonely for something his clients couldn't offer him. He was perfectly content.
But content was something he strived for knowing happiness was rare. Happiness was still nice on occasion, only experiencing it was happening less and less often. Maybe that's why Len had felt off around Merlin, and the man himself had nothing to hide. He couldn't be sure now, and it bothered him that the peace he craved was being chased away by errant paranoia.
Len took his shower anyway, long and hot, steaming up the bathroom from end to end as he hummed to the music playing over the speakers wired throughout his apartment. It was a studio, but a large one, in whites and greys and navy blue, with only a few closets and the bathroom separated, while his bedroom merely had a wall that blocked the view to the bed from the entryway. He didn't need excess privacy when he lived alone.
Running a hand over the short buzz of his hair once he'd toweled off and wrapped himself in his softest robe, Len sat at his desk near the window to peruse his calendar. As expected, Sara had emailed him an updated copy of his schedule, and he could look ahead to what was coming up in future weeks, as well as see if any new requests had been made of him.
Another one from Merlin, since the system took too long, and he was still on the roster until the paperwork finished. Len wouldn't respond. Even if he was overreacting, he was done with the man, and good riddance. His other regulars were enough for him and didn't leave him with the same sour taste in his mouth—metaphorically speaking.
He checked his finances and his calendar outside of work, which included certain upper class events to avoid where he might run into clients, past and present. His sister and very few close friends called him meticulous to his face and anal behind his back—and to his face, if that friend was Mick.
Len didn't mind. It comforted him to have control down to the minute detail. There were probably psychology papers written about how neglected children with abusive parents sought out destructive ways of controlling their lives—textbook really. Len wasn't a slave to predictability or fate, but he wouldn't pretend that having a mother who'd left and a father he would have been better off without may have led to some of his life choices.
Still, what he wanted now was something to stir up the monotony that left him feeling like something was missing from his life, something he couldn't put a name to.
After glancing at the clock to ensure it wasn't too late, he dialed his sister's number.
"Missing my sweet voice, Lenny?"
"Always, sis." Len leaned back in his chair to peer out his window at the city beyond. It wasn't the most spectacular view in town, but it was lovely all the same. Maybe he'd just needed Lisa's voice in his ear instead of Tony Bennett. "How are the kids?"
"Good batch this year. Just starting beginners figure skating."
"Your favorite."
"When's the last time you put on a pair of skates?"
"Lord knows," Len chuckled. "Sibling activity next time I'm in town?"
"You're on." Lisa ran the youth programs at Central City Community Center. She hadn't 'settled down' either, no husband or kids of her own, but she was also a good decade younger than Len from his father's second marriage. "How are you, Lenny? Any diplomats or Princes added to that roster of yours?" She always asked that, wondering when he'd be whisked away to a life of luxury by some benevolent benefactor, but real life wasn't like Pretty Woman.
"Princess, in a way, but I dubbed her 'Prince' in the books just for you."
"Really? Like, a real princess? From where?"
"Now, now, Lise, you know I can't divulge actual specifics."
"Spoilsport." He could hear her pout over the phone. "What can I say, your glamorous lifestyle does sound appealing on occasion."
"You love your life," he said, which was all he'd ever wanted for her.
"I do. Do you?"
"Of course, why wouldn't I?"
"You have that tone again…"
"What tone?" He sat up straighter, frowning at how well she could read him even over the phone.
"Wistful. Like you're up in your head too much. I just want you to be happy."
"I'm not…unhappy." Len winced at not being able to uphold the lie he'd had ready and fumbled to continue. "I have full control over my life."
"Yeah? Well sometimes losing a little control is necessary to shake things up. Don't be opposed to unexpected surprises."
"What are you now," he huffed, "my horoscope?"
"Just your concerned sister, smartass. I hate that you're all alone so far away."
Shrugging off the tension that had built up in his shoulders, Len pushed out of his chair and walked closer to the window, staring over the skyscrapers that were very different from the ones he'd grown up with. He'd moved here to put some distance between him and his father years ago, but Lisa wasn't the only thing he missed.
"I'll visit soon. And I'm not alone. I have Mick."
"And when's the last time you two had a deep conversation?"
"I have Sara for that."
"Who you almost dated."
"We didn't almost date," Len defended, "I stole a kiss under the mistletoe in her office doorway last Christmas. Rule #2, never date a coworker."
"What's rule #1?" Lisa snarked.
Glancing down at the open calendar on his computer screen, Len fought a sneer he couldn't comprehend. "Never date a client. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
"Okay, Lenny, but like I said, change could be good for you. We'll talk soon."
"Yeah. Soon."
Change. Len could use some change, but toward what, he wasn't yet sure.
Barry's first week had gone wonderfully. It really had. Everyone was great, and he did intend to take Curtis up on that offer to reclaim his status as a third wheel for a married couple some night soon. But he was exhausted, and whenever he got home after a long day, he just wished he had someone to talk to who wasn't a coworker or hundreds of miles away.
As he hung up his jacket and looked around his newly furnished apartment, he considered the weekend ahead of him with no plans whatsoever to look forward to…and wondered what Harrison might be up to.
His phone ringing interrupted him.
"Hello?"
"Don't call him," his best friend's voice came over the line.
"Cisco? How did you know?" Barry said, plopping down onto his sofa. It was a large, plush, half-square shape in deep burgundy that easily could have allowed a grown man to stretch out on either side. Barry laid down that way now, staring at the empty side opposite him.
"I know you, dude," Cisco said, one of the few college friends Barry had connected with, and someone who'd known him before he met Harrison. "You're hundreds of miles away from your friends and you don't make new ones easy. You're probably sitting at home alone, pining after that asshole because you're lonely."
Barry groaned. "Why are you always right?" Everything else was perfect, and Harrison Wells was still ruining his evening.
"Do me a favor, man, okay? Go out. Meet someone new. Meet anyone new. Don't give in and call him. It's been months. You're finally over the hurdle. And remember, you left him for a reason. You deserve something so much better."
If it hadn't been for Iris, Eddie, and Cisco, Barry probably would have gone back to Harrison out of sheer fear after the first few days. "I just wish I could skip the hard part of meeting someone, ya know, get right to…having someone over for dinner, someone who'd talk with me, and hold me, and not only want me for sex." There he went again, sounding like a Lifetime Channel movie, but it was the truth.
Cisco hadn't once belittled him for it. "I get it, man. Too bad you can't hire someone for that sorta thing, right?" he joked.
Glancing down at his shoulder bag on the floor, which still had the catalog in it because Barry had been debating ordering more pieces all week, the last thing that sprang to mind was the furniture in its pages. "Yeah…"
"Dude, I'm kidding!"
"Me too!" Barry sprung up and turned to face the coffee table. "That would be…totally weird."
"I'm serious, Barry," Cisco said, "go out. Have fun. Trust yourself. I wanna come visit sometime, but only after you've settled in and can actually show me around."
Iris had said something similar when she checked in earlier in the week. "That sounds awesome."
"Be good, man, okay? You're gonna kick ass at everything coming your way, I know it."
"Thanks, Cisco. And I'll take your advice. I promise."
He really wanted to. Cisco knew him almost as well as Iris did, after all. They'd bonded after having various classes together, and Cisco had gone on to become an engineer. There were many things they could talk shop about, or just wax on for hours about comic cooks and sci-fi movies. But Cisco's biggest appeal as a friend was how sometimes he just knew when Barry was about to do something profoundly stupid and stepped in to intervene, like a sixth sense.
Tapping his fingers on his shiny new coffee table, Barry tried to dismiss how antsy he felt on his first Friday night in the city. He wasn't the partying type. He didn't want to go out to a bar or a club or anything like that. He wanted a date without having to find one, and not a one-night stand either. He didn't want sex. All Harrison had ever wanted from him was to take, take, take. Barry wanted company without any hang-ups attached.
He snatched his bag from the floor before he could second guess himself and took out the catalog. He'd left the business card inside all week when he easily could have thrown it away. Pulling out his laptop next, he went to the web address listed on the card, something he hadn't dared to do all week either.
It was a fairly classy layout, all things considered, and Iris was right that everything was worded in a 'don't expect sex, but it's totally on the table' sort of way for legal reasons. But the rules would be his to set; he could have whatever he wanted, no 'sexy times' required. He could even choose the type of man he wanted, sort of the same way he'd picked out his furniture—which was a terrible thing to think about a person, yet there Barry was, looking at a catalog of attractive men.
They listed things like height, age, ethnicity, likes and dislikes, even talents. Barry told himself he wasn't hung up on Harrison just because he filtered the selection by men over forty.
There was even a note at the top of the page listing a bonus cost for 'anything goes', and wow was it steep, but considering what Barry wanted from this, maybe he fell under that category. He had the money, and he needed something he could control just this once.
Dialing the number, he felt his heart in his throat but refused to chicken out.
"Nick of Time Escort Service?"
TBC...