Unbreakable Read online

  “Very sexy. I bet that laugh drives Edward wild. It would certainly turn me on.”

  Michael gave Mac a withering stare as he got his laughter under control. “Bugger off home to your toys.”

  Mac snapped his heels together and gave Michael a stiff salute. “Yes, boss!” He sat down on the slatted bench and pulled his socks and Doc Martens on. “Well, I guess I’ll see you and Edward tomorrow.” He shouldered his bag and stood, heading towards the door. Sometimes, he wished he could have what Michael and Edward did: someone to go home and snuggle up to, at the end of a long night.

  “Hey, are you free for lunch on Monday?”

  Michael’s question halted Mac in his tracks. “Sure, as long as it’s after my shift at the gym. Why?”

  “We wanted to run an idea past you. Over lunch?”

  “Sounds good to me, especially if you’re buying.”

  “Sure.”

  Mac chuckled. “I was joking! I’ll pay my way. Shoot me a text to let me know where we’re meeting.”

  He left the changing room, dropped by Barry’s office to hand over a third of his striptease money, and then went to the front of house. The punters were long gone, and the two members of the bar staff had pretty much finished wiping down the bar and tables. Mac wished they’d do a better job of mopping the fucking floor. He was convinced all they did was tickle it with a mop rather than giving it a good going over. As a result, the floor was sticky and gross from years of spilt drinks. Horns was hardly an inviting club, so it probably wasn’t surprising that not many punters came through the door. He had no fucking clue how Barry kept the place open. Surely even the door fee and the extortionate price of drinks couldn’t cover the running costs and the bar staffs’ wages? Not to mention whatever Barry was putting into his own pocket. He figured Barry had to have some kind of secret stash of cash that was keeping the place afloat. Either that, or he was up to dodgy dealings. Still, not his problem.

  With ninety quid in his pocket, he decided to take a taxi home rather than walking. He lived in a shitty part of the city, in a house that had been renovated and split into tiny flats. His place was on the top floor. It wasn’t much, but it was home. He tossed his keys and the remainder of his cash onto the kitchen counter and then plonked himself in front of the TV. He flicked through the Freeview channels until he found a crappy horror movie.

  Despite being exhausted, he was always too wired to sleep when he got home from the club, which was a real pain in the arse when he had to be up early to put in a few hours at the gym where he worked part time. Afterwards, he’d get to work out there for free, which saved him a ton of money each month. Cash flow was a problem. The gym was minimum wage, and the money he got from Horns was so variable that it was hard to plan ahead. On a good night, he put a chunk of his cash away to make sure he’d be able to see himself through a hard patch. Although there had been more crap nights than good ones of late. He was pretty sure that the club had to be losing money and wondered how long it would be before Barry gave up and shut the dive down. If that happened, Barry’s mismanagement would become Mac’s problem as he’d have to scramble to find something else that would cover the shortfall in cash.

  If he was being sensible about it, he should start looking for a new job now rather than waiting for Horns to go bust. But despite Barry, he liked it there. It was like a second home, while Michael and Edward were the closest thing he had to family. Okay, that wasn’t true. He had a family, he just hadn’t talked to them in years. The saying that you could choose your friends but not your family was oh-so fucking true. He’d chosen to be mates with Michael and Edward, and although he had the occasional pang of jealousy that their relationship was rock solid, while he was depressingly single, they were his best friends. He was closer to them than he’d ever been to any member of his own family. Unlike his mum, they hadn’t walked out on him when he was a kid. Unlike his dad, they didn’t drink themselves into a stupor every night and expect him to clean up puke or run to the off-license to buy more booze. Unlike his brother, they weren’t petty criminals. They were reliable, and all three of them watched out for each other. Even when Michael and Edward had fallen into bed together, nothing had changed between the three of them. They hadn’t cut him out or made him feel like a hanger-on. He respected them for that and loved them like brothers for being a solid presence in his life.

  So unless his two friends indicated that they were going to jump ship, he’d ride out the dry patch at Horns and hope to God that Barry had some sort of plan up his sleeve to turn the failing club around. For all their sakes.

  2 Russel

  Russel didn’t normally go into seedy dives like Horns, but he’d been feeling randy and hadn’t been in the mood for hooking up with a guy at a club. So Horns it was, and Jesus, hadn’t that huge dancer been sexy as all fuck? Even more so when he’d said ‘sir’. Russel could definitely get used to a big, sexy guy calling him that. He sighed at the memory, drawing the attention of Sonya, who sat at the desk opposite him.

  She peered at him over their monitors. “What’s got you all dreamy this morning?”

  She was a kid at twenty-one, but she was fun to gossip with over a steaming mug of tea and a biscuit. Russel made sure to bring in a fresh packet of biscuits at least once a week for that precise purpose.

  “Just a guy.”

  She rested her chin on her hands and batted her false eyelashes at him. “Do tell.”

  “On break.” Russel nodded smartly towards their floor manager, who was on the prowl. “I’ll give you all the juicy details then.”

  “You’d better.” Sonya moved her gaze back to her screen, ducking her head to appear studious.

  Russel went back to his own work, designing page layouts for the latest edition of the fashion magazine they worked for. He was a creative perfectionist, so he often spent far too long moving things around the layout to get them just right. Often, he ended up working late in order to meet his deadlines. It was pretty sad, but it wasn’t like he had anyone to go home to.

  Around eleven, he and Sonya headed to the break room where he put the kettle on to make tea.

  Sonya leant against the counter, arms folded and an expectant expression on her face. “Come on. Give me all the gossip.”

  “Oh, honey, there’s not much to tell.” Russel listened to the loud bubbling of the kettle as he popped a teabag into each mug. He got the milk out to put in after the water; only a heathen put the milk in first. “I went to a club on Friday night, and the most gorgeous guy danced for me. He was all rippling muscles and tanned skin.” He used his hands to trace the imaginary curves on the dancer’s body. “Fake tan.”

  Sonya sucked in a breath. “The horror! I’m surprised you gave him the time of day.”

  Russel gave her a prim smile. “I’m not above lowering my standards every once in a while.”

  She looked at him curiously. “He danced for you? What kind of club did you go to?”

  “A strip joint.”

  Sonya’s eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that a bit seedy?”

  “A lot seedy, honey. Like I said, I lowered my standards.”

  “Why?”

  It amused Russel that Sonya was so taken aback by his revelation. “I wanted to get a hard-on without having to take a guy home and suck him off. Don’t tell me you don’t get bored of getting down on your knees for your man?”

  Sonya made a sour face, scrunching her lips and nose up. “I don’t give head. It’s gross.”

  Russel arched his eyebrow. “And your fiancé doesn’t mind?”

  Sonya shook her head.

  “Honey, you’ve got a great guy there. Make sure you keep hold of him.”

  She grinned at him. “That’s the plan.”

  As far as Russel was concerned, Sonya was far too young to be engaged. She was only twenty-one! He was five years older and nowhere near ready to commit to anyone. Of course, he was missing an actual boyfriend, but even so. Still, it was her life, and she seemed to be head ov
er heels for him, so who was he to interfere? As long as he got an invite to the wedding, he’d be happy. He poured the freshly boiled water over the teabags and left them to steep for a few moments.

  Sonya sidled up to him so she could whisper. “I thought you liked guys to go down on their knees for you?”

  “I do.” Russel gestured towards himself. “But when most guys see my dainty, gorgeous self, they expect me to be their bitch, and I so wasn’t in the mood for that on Friday.” He mixed in milk and sugar—two for him—and then handed Sonya her mug.

  “Was it a bad day?” Sonya’s brow furrowed, and Russel guessed she was thinking through their working day, trying to figure out if anyone had pissed him off.

  Russel twirled his finger around the rim of his tea mug. “Not really. I just wasn’t in the right mood.”

  Sonya’s frown deepened. “Are you lying to me?”

  “Me? Lie? To you?” He gasped at her and pressed his free hand to his chest. “Now I’m hurt.”

  “Sorry.”

  Russel laughed. “Oh, honey, don’t you ever apologise for being you.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side for a hug. “I love that you’re concerned about me.”

  There was hardly anyone in the office who he would hug, but he knew Sonya was cool with his touchy-feely ways. He felt a tug of guilt because he was fobbing her off, but she didn’t need to know that. He loved gossiping with her, was quite happy to tell her about his sex life and hear about hers, but had no intention of telling her the real reason why he hadn’t been in the mood to be bossed around by a random testosterone-fuelled hook-up.

  “How are the wedding plans going?”

  Sonya held her hand out and stared at her ring finger. She had a lovely solitaire diamond set onto a white-gold band, which must have cost her fiancé a pretty penny. “We’re still choosing a venue.”

  “Haven’t you been looking for somewhere for a couple of months now?” Russel blew across the top of his tea before taking a tentative sip. It had cooled enough that it wasn’t scalding hot.

  “It’s hard. We need to find somewhere that’s big enough for all the guests, good menu choices, and somewhere pretty to take photos inside as well as outside in case the weather is awful.”

  “Honey, you’re planning on getting married in the middle of August. The weather is going to be gorgeous.”

  “It could still rain.” Sonya leant her head against his shoulder. “Everywhere really nice is either out of our price range, booked, or both. I’m starting to think we’re never going to find anywhere.”

  “You should just elope.”

  “We can’t do that!”

  “Why not?” That was Russel’s perfect idea for a wedding. Hop on a plane, go to Vegas, and have a guy dressed up as Elvis help him and his hunk of a fiancé tie the knot. None of this black-tie and silver-service crap. Maybe by the time he had a boyfriend to marry, gay marriage would be legal in Vegas. But that was his dream, not Sonya’s.

  “Our parents would freak out!”

  It had to be nice to have parents who gave enough of a shit to freak out over wedding details.

  “Okay, but what do you want?”

  “I want to have a fairy-tale wedding and look like a Disney princess.”

  Russel gasped. “Oh! Then you have to let me come dress shopping with you.” He put his mug down and tapped his fingers to his lips. “And please let me do your hair and make-up.”

  Sonya laughed. “My mum might have other plans.”

  Russel waved his hand dismissively. “You let me handle her. I’d make you look so pretty.”

  “I know you would.” She put her own mug down and threw her arms around his neck. “Thanks for being wonderful.” She let him go and stepped back, reclaiming her mug.

  “I can’t help it; it’s who I am.”

  “And you’re so modest too.”

  Russel gave her a toothy smile. “Honey, when you’re this awesome, you don’t need to be modest.”

  A knock on the open door drew their attention away from each other. Their floor manager was staring at them impatiently.

  Russel checked his watch. “We’ve still got five minutes left on our break, Wayne.”

  Wayne stared at Russel. “The boss wants to see you.”

  “Me?” Russel raised his eyebrows in fake surprise. “What on earth could he want with me?”

  Wayne shrugged. “Why don’t you hustle your arse into his office and find out?”

  “Darling, for you, I’d hustle my arse anywhere.”

  Wayne rolled his eyes and wandered off.

  “You’re going to get fired if you keep making comments like that,” Sonya whispered, elbowing him in the ribs.

  “Probably. Maybe that’s why Lord Gerald has summoned me.”

  Sonya sniggered behind her hand. “You are so naughty.”

  “Honey, you have no idea.”

  *

  Gerald’s office was the flashiest place on their floor of the office block. It was all walnut furniture, plush rugs, and fancy lighting. Covers of every issue of the magazine Gerald had been the chief editor for had been framed and hung on the walls. The far wall, behind Gerald’s oversized desk, was entirely made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Gerald looked up from his monitor, which sat off to one side, as Russel entered the room.

  “You summoned me?”

  Gerald shook his head. “It’s a good thing I like your work, Russel.”

  Russel flopped into the comfy armchair on his side of the desk. “I’m wonderful, I know. How can I be of service?”

  Gerald picked up a pen and began to fidget with it, clicking the nib in and out, in and out, in an irritating fashion. “You’re interested in getting into fashion journalism, aren’t you?”

  “You know it.”

  “I might have an opportunity for you.”

  Russel sat upright and crossed his legs at the knees. “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

  “Theodore Roman is having a private party to give journalists, influencers, and A- and B-listers a sneak peek at his new clothing collection.”

  Russel raised his eyebrows, and his pulse rate picked up. It was hard to stop his foot wobbling from excitement.

  “I want to send Gwen, but she’s already got another gig, and I’ve got no other reporters free. I’d like you to take that over, so she can go and cover the private party.”

  Russel’s hopes were dashed instantly. What he wouldn’t have given to see Roman’s new collection. His clothes were always divine. Totally wearable straight off the catwalk, with just the right amount of daring pizzazz to make them interesting and unique. He had a few items from Roman’s last collection hanging in his wardrobe.

  “What gig was Gwen supposed to be doing?”

  “She was going to report on what people were wearing at Remy Lawrence’s birthday bash.”

  Just like that, Russel’s interest was piqued again. Remy Lawrence was an absolute hottie and the most eligible gay bachelor in Yorkshire. He was always impeccably dressed and had the most amazing fashion sense. Russel was quite sure he had a private fashion consultant; wouldn’t that be an amazing job?

  He held his hand up. “Hold up. Why are you sending me?” He pressed his finger to his chest. “I have no experience, and Remy throws big parties.”

  He willed himself to shut up because seriously, he was desperate to go to the party. But wanting to be a journalist and being a journalist were two very different things. He’d been hired as a layout artist, and he was damn good at it. And yes, he’d slipped into several conversations that he’d like a chance to prove that he could write for the magazine instead, but nothing had come of it in over three years. Until now.

  Gerald cleared his throat and dipped his gaze. “I thought you’d fit in.”

  “Because I’m gay?” Russel couldn’t help but raise his voice to a disgruntled high pitch. “Seriously?”

  “Does it matter why?” Gerald fidgeted in his chair. “
Just be grateful I’m giving you a break.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course, if you don’t want the chance, I’ll be happy to send someone else.”

  Russel held both hands up. “No. No. I’d love the chance.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Gerald handed him a card with the details on. “It’s on Saturday night, and it’s strictly a plus one bash.”

  Russel raised an eyebrow. “Plus one? Even for reporters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s unusual.”

  Gerald shrugged. “I’m not calling the shots here, Mr Lawrence is.”

  “Oh please, no one calls him that. It’s Remy.” Even the sound of his name was enough to make Russel weak at the knees. “There’s just one problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Do I need to send someone else?”

  “Of course not! Couldn’t I take someone from the office as my plus one?” Russel’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Wayne, perhaps? He’d look so cute on my arm, don’t you think?”

  Gerald pointed at him. “You’d better watch he doesn’t hear you making comments like that, or he’ll be filing a harassment claim against you.”

  “I was only joking.”

  “I know that, which is why I’m going to let it slide. I think we both know that you’re not going to find a male colleague here who’s willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. Take Sonya.”

  Russel laughed the ridiculous suggestion away. “I love Sonya, but no one is going to believe I’m straight. I could take you.” He winked at Gerald.

  Gerald’s face went bright red. “Get out of my office before I change my mind and fire you. Find your own plus one. You’ve got a week.”

  “Five days.”

  “Exactly. Plenty of time.”

  Russel rolled his eyes but opted not to carry the discussion on any further; he’d already pushed his luck far enough with Gerald.

  “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

  “You’d better not. Now scram.”

  Russel stood and gave Gerald a little curtsey before strolling out of the office. So he needed to find a handsome, well-dressed date by Saturday. Piece of cake.