The Gift

Chapter 4: He’s a Magic Man-2

Doren

He still couldn’t believe the two of them been in the pool for over an hour. It had felt like minutes. Seconds. To August’s confusion, he’d followed August into August’s hotel room instead of his own. He now sat at the desk, watching August make coffee in the little four-cup machine that came with the room.

“I’m going to change,” August said, tossing the comp robe at Doren. He picked up a handful of fresh clothes and walked into the bathroom.

Doren let the towel around his waist drop and shrugged the one of his shoulders. He slipped on the robe—dry, but not fluffy enough—and dragged his fingers through his hair, all the while checking out August’s room. It was surprising how much smaller it was than his. Which he found weird considering they were right beside each other. He wondered if that was how they had been designed. Maybe the rooms were meant to house someone important who would be traveling with someone unimportant. Like almost grownup kids, or the family nanny, or, in his case, an assistant. Not that he thought an assistant was unimportant. A good assistant was worth their weight in gold and all…or whatever the hell Anton had told him. At least now that they’d got past the whole jacket incident and bus ride, August was proving to be entertaining. Watching August hustle down the hall with his soaking wet, almost opaque clothing clinging to him had certainly been fun, at least.

August came back minutes later, towel-dried and blue-lipped, and set a coffee in front of him. A second later a package of sugar and another of powdered milk were tossed alongside it. Then August sat down hard, eyeing Doren suspiciously, and didn’t offer a grin when Doren made an elaborate and loud display of sucking up the first sip. So Doren shrugged, his hands still wrapped around the hot coffee. “What’s the matter, Aug? You got something on your mind?”

Doren knew the gesture was coming before August did it—drawing his cheeks between his teeth and taking a breath before blurting out: “What are you doing, Doren? What’s your game?”

Doren looked back, putting on an expression of innocence and shocked disbelief. “What do you mean?”

August nodded at the door between their rooms. “You have your own room. Why are you here in mine?”

Steam drifted up to mask Doren’s smile as he blew on the coffee. “So you could make coffee, of course. I was freezing to death.”

“I’m sure you have much better coffee in your room.”

“But then I would have had to make it myself.”

“You could have called room service.”

Doren raised his eyebrows and waved at the room. “What? And miss all this stimulating conversation?” He hopped up to grab the remote for the television and flipped through menu. “Ah!” He selected the music option and scrolled further. The room filled with the lusty sounds of Prince. “There we go,” Doren said. “There’s nothing like a good shot of Prince to start the day, hmm?”

There was still no smile on August’s face when Doren looked up from the screen. He sighed heavily and set the cup down with a clunk. “Do you want me to leave? Because if you do, just f*****g say so.”

August clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t say that, and I’m not implying it. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on. Are you playing with me?”

Whatever the hell that meant. Doren shrugged and lifted his hands. “I can? What are you thinking? Chess? Something easier? Monopoly? Might take a well, but—”

“All right, smart ass,” August deadpanned. “Whatever. I’m just trying to make sure you understand that I have no intention of sleeping with you.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just—”

August held up his hand and continued. “I know you like men just as much as you like women. I know you’re a great big star and you get whatever the hell you want, when you want it. I get that you’re used to that and that a lot of people in this industry would use an opportunity like this to climb all kinds of ladders. But—”

“You are ridiculous,” Doren scoffed. Heat was climbing up his neck. He told himself it was anger.

“But you’re my boss,” August said, his tone harder, “so it’s not going to happen. If that’s what you’re over here looking for…”

Doren stared, incredulous, waiting for the rest of the sentence as if it were a punchline. It had to be. Nobody was that self-centered as to think someone like him would be that desperate to scheme for someone like that. What was August’s problem? Was August determined to dislike working together? Or was this August’s way of getting back at him? Sure, Doren had liked watching August’s soaking wet butt wiggle down the hall and no, he wouldn’t have kicked August out of bed if August deemed to climb into it, but seriously. What the f**k?

Without another word Doren turned away and headed for the door between their rooms. While he knew that August’s side was locked, he hadn’t bothered with his. He flipped the lock, opened the door, and spoke as he went through it. “Clean yourself up. Wear something presentable, but casual. We need to meet with Anton this afternoon at one. Bring your planner and bring something to write with.” He stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “But lose the f*****g attitude.”

He slammed the door hard enough to shake the wall, and then, alone on in his own room, he kicked the trash bin out from under the desk. It flew across the room, slamming hollowly against the wall. From behind him, he heard the cold click of August relocking the door. Frustrated, Doren pushed his hair off his forehead and kneaded his temples. He was getting a headache. And he still needed sleep.

He flung himself on the bed and stared at the locked door—in the exact same position, and no further ahead then he’d been six hours previously.