Daphne flopped down on the couch in the loft. "Back where we started, at the scene of the crime," she chuckled. "Except now I am STUFFED! Why did I let you talk me into that double dip sundae? I must have been out of my mind after eating all that shit at the buffet! Taylor, you're a BAD influence on me!" In a perfect imitation of a certain redhead they both knew and loved, she smacked her friend on the side of the head.
"Hey!" Justin mockingly grumbled, as he sat down beside her. "Admit it – you fucking loved every minute of my company today!"
"My friend – the humble one," she proclaimed. "Speaking of humble ones, have your called his Royal High and Mighty yet? Aren't you overdue for your evening check-in, Mr. Taylor?"
"Shit! I almost forgot! I turned off the cell phone when we were in the movie theater!" Pulling out his cell phone and turning it on, he grimaced as he immediately noticed he had four messages waiting for him. And it didn't take a genius to immediately determine who they were from. Justin frowned. "This isn't going to be pretty," he warned his friend.
"Well, spare me the gory details," Daphne replied, standing up and yawning. "In fact, I need to get going. I've got a class first thing tomorrow and I haven't even cracked open a book yet. I TOLD you what a bad influence you are," she repeated, although her smile contradicted her statement. "Tell Simba I said hello after he's done chewing you a new one for not calling him sooner."
"Thanks for the support, Daph," Justin answered, giving her a little push, as he, too, stood to join her. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," he said, laughing. "On second thought, I'd better lock it behind you. I've already given Simba enough ammunition for one night."
Once Daphne had left, Justin made sure the door was locked and the alarm system set. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he pressed the speed dial button for his partner. The phone had barely registered a ring when he heard a rush of words gushing out angrily in a torrent. "Where the HELL have you been? Don't you know how fucking worried I've been about you? I've left you FOUR messages, Justin. Why the fuck did you have your phone turned off? What part of checking in twice a day do you NOT understand?"
The blond winced. Yeah, definitely NOT pretty. "I'm SORRY, Brian. Daphne and I went out to the movies today and I forgot to turn my cell back on afterward. I'm sorry, really," Justin said soothingly. "I didn't mean to make you worried," he continued softly. "I'm fine. I'm back at the loft and I have all the doors locked and the security system on."
Brian let out a deep huff of air, trying to release the extreme stress he had been feeling all day. He had talked to Justin this morning, and then met with Belden for several hours discussing the man's thoughts on a new ad campaign. The powerful businessman had turned out to be a total prick; he was proving extremely difficult to please. None of the ideas Brian had brought with him had proven to be the least bit acceptable to the multinational tycoon. Brian could see now why the arrogant SOB had fired the last three advertising agencies. He was determined, however, NOT to be the fourth. He was resolved to stay there until he signed Belden on with his agency. There was just no other acceptable outcome.
After grabbing a quick dinner and returning to his hotel room, he had anxiously waited for Justin to call this evening at 7:00 as they had arranged. When the time had come and gone, he had tried every hour on the half hour since then to call the artist with no luck. If he hadn't known the security detail was following his partner's every move, he would have called Horvath personally to go find him and he would have jumped on the first available plane back to the Pitts, even if he had to HIRE one. He knew how Justin resented his protectiveness at times, but he was just about to seriously think of doing something drastic when Justin had finally called him back. He closed his eyes and fought to calm his nerves before speaking again. He couldn't believe how this man had turned his life upside down. Little shit certainly keeps me on my toes, he thought ruefully. But he had to admit to himself, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Brian's voice was more under control the next time he continued sternly, "Justin, you have to think about what you're doing. This isn't a game, Sunshine. That cell phone is extra insurance. You have to be careful. DON'T turn it off from now on, you understand? I don't care if you DO piss off a fucking movie critic, you got it?" Brian tried hard to maintain a harsh demeanor in his voice, but he never could stay mad at his lover for long. Unfortunately, my favorite way of making up is out of the question tonight. He felt himself grow hard just at the idea of making love to his partner again. It's going to be a LONG fucking week.
"I AM sorry, Brian," Justin repeated soothingly. "I promise – I'll keep the cell phone on, no matter HOW many little old ladies I piss off at the theater." His voice abruptly dropped an octave as he pleaded in a sexier tone, "Can't we think of a better way to spend the rest of our time than debating proper phone etiquette?" he purred.
Brian smiled now. "I think we can think of something, don't you, Sunshine? Why don't you go lie down and get comfortable? I'm sure it will COME to you…."
Justin blushed. Even now, after all this time, his lover still had the same effect on him, as well as certain parts of his anatomy. "Oh, it's coming, all right," he answered. Giggling, he hurried to obey as he eagerly walked into the bedroom, cell phone clutched tightly in his hand.
Justin was startled out of a wonderful dream about Brian when he heard the incessant ringing of his cell phone. After speaking with Brian last night, he was going to make sure he kept his phone on permanently; he didn't want a replay of his partner's lecture again. Although the phone sex afterward was pretty incredible, he thought grinning, thinking fondly about jerking off to his partner's sexy commands last night before falling asleep into a somewhat fitful slumber. He always had trouble sleeping when his lover wasn't curled up next to him, the long arm draped around his waist protectively.
Spotting his phone on the bedroom dresser, he dragged himself up and stumbled over to answer it. "Hello?" he replied, somewhat groggily.
"Mr. Taylor?" Justin thought the voice was somewhat familiar, but in his half-drowsy state, his mind couldn't readily identify it. "It's Vince Comisar. Did I wake you?"
Justin glanced at the clock, noticing to his mortification that it was 9:00 already; he had meant to get up earlier to continue working on his painting for this important new client.
"No, Mr. Comisar, not at all," he reassured him; somehow, he didn't think it would sound too impressive to the influential man if he knew he had roused Justin from his bed. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I was just checking on the status of your first painting. Do you still think you'll have it finished by the end of the week? The first restaurant I'm remodeling is about ready for reopening, and I really want to have your painting prominently displayed in the lobby when it opens."
Justin's heart beat excitedly; this was going to be such a great opportunity. He couldn't believe his good fortune. If the first painting was received positively, he felt confident the rest would be as well, not to mention the invaluable publicity Mr. Comisar had promised to provide for him with each piece he displayed.
"Don't worry, sir, I'm sure I'll have it done within the next few days. I'd say I've got about 75% of it completed already," he advised confidently. "May I ask where this restaurant is located?" Justin was very curious to learn where his first painting was going to be displayed, although he had read enough about Comisar's properties to know that each restaurant was very exclusive.
"Oh, I didn't tell you, did I? The first restaurant I'm remodeling is actually the first one I opened originally; it's called "Chez Laurent," and it's located in Lancaster. By the way, Mr. Taylor, I know we hadn't really discussed this, but I'm hoping you will agree to personally oversee the placement of this painting once you finish it. I've invested a great deal of time and money in this renovation, and it's important to me that everything be put in its proper place. I think with your artistic eye, you're the perfect advisor for dictating where the painting should best be displayed. I will, of course, pay all your expenses to do this, as well as consider it a great favor if you would agree." He waited expectantly for an answer.
Justin briefly hesitated. He had a feeling Brian would not be happy with this new development, in light of how protective he had been lately, but he felt there was no way he could decline Mr. Comisar's request. The man, after all, was investing a great deal in Justin's artwork, and, if the restaurateur's previous success was any indication, it could provide a tremendous boost to his career. And it was extremely important to Justin that he be able to contribute his fair share toward the loft's expenses and upkeep.
"Of course," he finally said in as reassuring a voice as possible. Brian doesn't have to know. He will just get unduly upset if he finds out about this. Justin thought he could finish his painting in the next day or so, and fly over to Lancaster shortly thereafter. With any luck, he would have it all finished well before Brian gets back. Continuing his conversation, he advised, "I think I'll have the painting done either today or tomorrow. Should I give you a call once it's done?"
"That would be great, Mr. Taylor," the man enthusiastically replied. "I'll have my private jet on standby so hopefully we can get the painting displayed by this weekend. I would also appreciate it if you would prepare a short biographical paper providing some details about yourself and your studio. My personal assistant can use this information to help create the informational panel I'll be displaying next to each of your works."
Justin smiled; if all goes well, this should prove to be a very lucrative arrangement, indeed. "Sounds good," he agreed. "I'll give you a call as soon as it's ready, sir. Thank you for your confidence in me," he said politely.
"I'm sure my confidence will be well-placed," he answered. "I've already seen your work at the studio. As long as you continue in the same vein, I should be very pleased. I'll be waiting for your call, Mr. Taylor."
As Justin ended his conversation with Comisar, his mind was already taking an internal survey of what supplies he needed to complete his painting; hurriedly slipping on a nearby pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, he rushed out to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat before walking downstairs to resume his work.
"Lane? It's Vince."
"Ah, bon jour, mon ami? How did it go?"
Vince smiled. "Just fine. You certainly must be enamored with our little artist, my friend. Although, I can certainly see why. He IS a beautiful man. He's supposed to call me when he gets his painting done. He told me it will probably be in a day or so."
Lane was jubilant. Finally. The time was fast approaching, and that arrogant Kinney was out of the picture for the time being. "Wonderful. I owe you big time, Vince. You WILL call me as soon as he contacts you?"
"Of course. And don't think I won't collect," the other man laughed. "I'll no doubt be the best-dressed man in Pennsylvania by the time I get done with you, buddy."
"Count on it, my friend. That will be a small price to pay, believe me, if I get what I want out of it."
As he hung up with his childhood friend, Lane's thoughts drifted once again to the man who had consumed his dreams every night since he had first met him over a year ago; finally, all his hard work was paying off. He would have the chance to convince Justin that the two of them belonged together; he simply had to get his Angel alone to prove that to him. He smiled as he excitedly anticipated their pending reunion. For the first time in a long while, Lane slept well that night.