2016 Top Ten Gay Romance Read online

  “So they paid her off not to take them to the tribunal?”

  “Almost certainly.” She snorted. “Probably why Owen took on a man instead of a woman. You, at least, won’t have that problem.”

  He frowned. “Do they bother you?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve caught both of them looking down my blouse a few times. I don’t think they’d do any more. My dad happens to be partner with a firm ten times as big as this and pals with people in the Law Society. They’re not totally daft.”

  “So why aren’t you training with your dad’s firm? I thought this profession was all cliquey.”

  She munched on some pasta for a while, looking thoughtful. “That works for sons. Daughters not so much. Women already have to convince everyone they’re not getting ahead by shagging anybody. If I was in my dad’s firm, the assumption would be nepotism was the only reason I was there.”

  “But doesn’t that apply to men, too?”

  “Oh, no. When it’s the sons coming into the firm, it’s just the way things are done and a source of continuity and tradition.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “Double standards are alive and well, Max. Not saying I’ll never apply for a job there. But I wanted to train elsewhere. And at least training with Owen I don’t have to put up with his talking to my boobs.”

  Max froze for an instant and pulled himself together. Did she mean…? He hoped so. He’d had a vibe from Owen. A look here and there. He pinged the gaydar. But he’d never done anything so crass as stare openly as Max’s ass.

  “He’s, ah, a gentleman then?” he asked.

  Penny looked at Max funny. “Yes, but mainly, you know, because he’s gay.”

  Max sipped his cup of tea to hide his smirk. So it wasn’t wishful thinking. “Really?” he said, attempting nonchalance. “Noah never mentioned that.”

  He’d never mentioned how gorgeous Owen was either, something Max had taken him roundly to task for when they went home that first day. Noah claimed he hadn’t noticed.

  “No offence. I know you’re good friends. But Noah can be a tad oblivious to such things.”

  Max wasn’t so sure. Noah had spotted Max was gay around the same time Max was figuring it out, too. But then they were sharing a bedroom at the time.

  “If you’ve got any hopes about Owen, forget it,” Penny said.

  Max’s face fell. “I suppose he’s spoken for.”

  “Not so far as I know. He was in the middle of breaking up with some long-term guy when Noah and I started here. As far as I know, he’s still single. But you were right to call him a gentleman. Or maybe a professional is a better word. He’s not like the senior partners. He won’t lay a finger on you while you’re working here.”

  That was a disappointment. But, on the other hand, with Max’s employment record, it probably wouldn’t be too long before he wasn’t working here anymore.

  * * * *

  “Okay, you lot,” Owen said. “It’s after six. Or, as it’s also known, wine o’clock.”

  Noah and Penny looked up from their notepads and books, and Max plopped the large legal tome he carried onto the desk with a thump. Owen stood at the door of the room which served as the firm’s library, his coat on. The two trainees had spent the afternoon researching some obscure points of law for a client, while Max did the fetching and carrying of law books, and much needed consciousness-sustaining coffee, between filing and general dogsbody work for Mrs Barstow. She’d gone at five. The senior partners had gone at three—being Friday, that was yet another tradition. Owen had been working in his office. Max had taken him coffee a couple of times and revelled in the smiles of thanks he’d got. But Owen had been too busy to chat.

  “Come on,” Owen said. “Pencils down. Start again on Monday. You’ve all worked hard this week. Let’s get something to eat.”

  Penny and Noah accepted the order with smiles. They sighed and stretched in their chairs before getting up.

  “You, too, Max,” Owen said when Max started to gather up to the law books to put away.

  “This isn’t a solicitors’ only thing?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Get your coat.”

  Yes!

  They walked through darkening streets to an Italian restaurant nearby. The head waiter fussed over Owen like he was a long-lost family member returning home and seated the party at a good table.

  “Can I sit on that side?” Max said to Penny as they started to take their seats. “I can’t hear too well out of my right ear.”

  “No problem,” she said, swapping around, so she was on his left when he sat and Owen was straight across from him. “What happened to your ear?”

  “Ear infection when I was a kid,” he said. “I’ve only got about twenty percent hearing in it. It’s got me into a scrape or two.”

  “Such as?” Owen asked.

  He’d discarded his suit jacket, and Max could barely tear his gaze from the broad shoulders in the snowy shirt. His arms must be amazing. He went to the gym every morning before work apparently. Even fully dressed, the results were impressive. Undressed…maybe Max would get to see that one day. A waiter brought menus and a basket of bread.

  “Bring us two bottles of the house wine for the table, please,” Owen said. “One red, one white. Thank you.” He picked up a piece of bread and tore it. His strong fingers mesmerised Max. “Sorry, Max, do go on.”

  “Ah…what was I saying?”

  “Your hearing loss getting you into scrapes.”

  “Right. There was the gastro pubs things.”

  Noah groaned. Which made Max fear he shouldn’t tell the story. But he plunged on.

  “It was at a party, when Noah was a student. There was this guy, and we, ah…hit it off.” He blushed, looking at Owen, who ate his bread and looked riveted by the story. “He said he was going away for a week to study gastro pubs on the south coast and did I want to come with him. I figured, gastro pubs, so great food, nice accommodation, so I said yes.”

  “Who studies gastro pubs?” Noah said. “Did it never occur to you that sounded weird?”

  “He could have been studying tourism and leisure or something,” Max argued. “So he picked me up in the morning, and off we went to the coast. Which is where I found out it wasn’t gastro pubs he’d said.”

  “What was it?” Owen asked.

  “Gastropods. Shellfish. He was studying marine biology. Between my dodgy ear and the loud music, I’d misheard.”

  Owen was chuckling, Penny laughing. “Oh, Max,” she said. “So no great food? No nice accommodation?”

  “Fish and chips every night, and a tent.”

  “Did you stay for the week?” Owen asked.

  “Yes, but after the first night in the tent, I insisted we stay at a B&B for the rest of the time.”

  “You’re such high-maintenance,” Penny said.

  “Yep, I’m a diva.”

  Owen was still laughing, shaking his head. “Gastropods,” he muttered and laughed again.

  Max relaxed with relief, fearing how the story might have gone over. He wasn’t sure what Owen thought of him going off with a virtual stranger for a week of shellfish-watching—since he must know Max was there to do more than help the guy put the tent up. But he didn’t seem to be thinking about that aspect.

  “We’d better order,” Noah said as the waiter arrived with the two bottles of wine.

  “Give us a moment, please,” Owen said to the waiter. He glanced over his menu, but then spoke to Penny and Noah. “Order me my usual if he comes back before me. Excuse me a second, everyone.”

  He took off for the bathroom. Max watched him go in the mirror. No jacket meant he got a delightful view of what looked like a very muscular ass. He turned his attention back to the menu when Penny touched his arm.

  “Don’t worry about prices,” she said. “Owen always picks up the whole bill. Order whatever you want. He doesn’t mind.”

  “Wow, really?” He glanced at Noah, who nodded. Max supposed Owen was on
great money, and his family must be minted, too. The bill here would be like pocket change to him. “That’s so nice. He’s a great guy, isn’t he?” Then he feared he was giving too much away and gulped down half his glass of wine to shut himself up. Noah gave him a rather warning look. Max hid behind his menu until the waiter came and took their orders.

  Max glanced in the mirror on the wall again and saw Owen. He was at the bar, chatting to a guy he apparently knew well. Laughing heartily about whatever they were saying to each other. Not a bad looking guy, and in a suit as good as Owen’s. Nearer his own age, too. Far more the kind of guy he’d probably be interested in. Not the office junior, ten years younger than him. What did Max have to say to a man of substance like Owen anyway? He only had so many stupid anecdotes to tell. Even if Owen would respond to an advance, he’d only want to shag Max a couple of times and dump him when he was bored.

  Owen finally slapped the other guy on the upper arm, shook his hand, and left with a laughing goodbye. He came back to the table and picked up his wine glass.

  “So, have you enjoyed your first week with us, Max?”

  It wasn’t quite a week. He’d started on Tuesday. But he certainly felt as if he’d done a week’s work. Noah gave Max a look. Not the OMG, stop talking, look yet. More the think before you speak look.

  “It’s been great,” Max said. “I feel as if I’m learning so much and getting a chance to stretch and challenge myself.”

  There, Noah should be proud of that. Owen and Penny on the other hand looked slightly nonplussed, exchanging a glance.

  “Okay,” Owen said. “That’s good to hear.” He looked at Max with the intense lie-detector eyes again. “Now how about you tell us what you really think?”

  “Ah…can I exercise my right to remain silent on the grounds I might incriminate myself?”

  Owen and Penny laughed.

  “You have learned something,” Penny said. “That’s for sure.”

  The arrival of their first course saved Max from further cross examination.

  * * * *

  Max approached Owen cautiously. He was standing at the bar as the barman fixed their latest round of drinks.

  “Ah, you want a hand?” Max asked.

  Owen glanced around and smiled at him. “I’ve got a tray, but thanks anyway.”

  That was probably a good thing. Max had had a couple of drinks too many. Anything he carried, he’d spill. He didn’t leave, though. He moved closer, leaned on the bar. The drinks had made him bold. He was gonna do it. He was going to ask him.

  “Want some crisps?” Owen asked.

  “What? Oh, yeah, sure, crisps. Yes. Get some for Noah, too. He loves crisps. Kettle crisps most of all. Give that man a bag of those, and he’s happy for hours. He…”

  Stop babbling. God, shut up!

  The barman appeared with the last drink, and Owen ordered some packets of crisps.

  “I was thinking, ah, wondering, Owen, if you’d maybe, with me, sometime, fancy seeing dinner and eating a movie.”

  Owen looked puzzled. Max’s ears caught up with his mouth.

  “I mean the other way around. Move a dinner…No, hang on. I got confused. Can I start over? Or…I’ll shut up. Sorry.” And then maybe he can find a way up to the roof and throw himself off it.

  The barman dropped the bags of crisps on the tray, and Owen paid the bill and picked up the tray. “Let’s go and sit down, eh?”

  Max trailed him miserably back to the table. The best he could hope was that Owen hadn’t heard him over the music playing in the pub. He was profoundly grateful to find a couple of people Owen and the others apparently knew had joined them at the table, and he didn’t get another chance to talk to Owen alone. All he had to deal with was an occasional glance his way. Sometimes one of those bone-melting smiles, other times a puzzled expression, as if he was trying to figure out which planet Max had come from.

  Not encouraging.

  * * * *

  “You okay?” Noah asked in the taxi later.

  Max, hanging onto the handle above the window because otherwise he felt he’d fall off the seat, turned from gazing out of the window, wondering if Owen was going home to a lonely bed or if someone waited for him. Or if he’d gone on some place after the party split up. Some classy bar full of well-dressed men who talked sense, where he’d find someone he could take home who wasn’t an idiot.

  “I tried to ask Owen out,” he said. “I made a total tool of myself.”

  “God, Max.”

  “I know. He’s way out of my league. I shouldn’t have. What can I say? I’m pretty drunk?”

  “How is he out of your league?” Noah frowned. “I’m more inclined to say he’s too old for you.”

  “That, too. I mean, I’m too young for him. Too silly.”

  “Look, never mind any of that. He’s not the type to date someone he works with, I’m afraid. Especially one he’s in a position of authority over. What did he say?”

  “We didn’t get the chance to discuss it.”

  Noah sighed. “You’ll have to talk to him about it on Monday.”

  “I could do that, yes. Or I could go to Iceland, find a volcano, and throw myself in.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. He’ll be fine. Be a grown-up.”

  “Now you’re being unreasonable.”

  Chapter 3

  Max didn’t talk to Owen about it on Monday. He kept himself busy, and since Owen was out a lot of the day in court, it wasn’t too hard to avoid him. By Tuesday afternoon, the strategy was working so well, they’d barely exchanged two words.

  Tuesday afternoon. After the end of today, he’d have done five full days working here. A whole working week. Next step, a fortnight. After that, the nearly unchartered territory of a month. But could he stay working here with Owen going around being simultaneously gorgeous and unapproachable?

  “Sagan,” Mr Bell said, coming out of his office, “we want coffee for two in the conference room, immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” Max jumped to it, heading for the little kitchen and putting the kettle on. In most of Max’s other jobs, making the coffee had involved a kettle, a mug, a teaspoon of instant coffee, and a splash of semi-skimmed.

  Not here.

  As the kettle boiled, he scooped freshly ground coffee into a French press. He arranged the best cups, saucers, and spoons on a tray. He put out some fancy biscuits—which he’d been told plainly by Mrs Barstow were for solicitors and clients only, not the likes of him. He added a jug of fresh cream and the bowl of sugar—making sure none of the sugar was clumped together thanks to inconsiderate people putting wet spoons in it. Clumped sugar was unacceptable to the senior partners, and packets of sugar looked “common,” according to Mrs Barstow.

  The kettle clicked off, and he filled the French press. The amazing aroma of fresh coffee rose up. He placed the lid on carefully, picked up the tray, and headed for the conference room. The door was slightly ajar when he approached. He heard the voices of Mr Bell and Mr Pringle in there. He stopped by the door, trying to arrange things so he could hang onto the tray and knock, heard them speaking.

  “Hart says we should take both of them on,” Mr Pringle said. “That there’s enough work for two.”

  “Loves spending the firm’s money, doesn’t he?” Mr Bell replied. “Do we have to take either of them?”

  “We do need one new solicitor.”

  They were talking about Noah and Penny, Max realised. Both would be finished with their two years as trainees soon and would be fully qualified solicitors. He held his breath and listened for a moment longer, knowing he shouldn’t. They’d clam up as soon as he came in the room. But if he got at least a hint of good news he could pass on to Noah…

  “We can take someone from outside,” Mr Bell said. “I know some good men who are about to qualify. I mean, what has it come to when we’ve got a poof telling us to take on both a skirt and a darky? My father would turn in his grave.”

  Max gasped and froze.r />
  “Political bloody correctness,” Pringle agreed.

  For a moment, Max was locked in place, common sense warring with rage. Fury boiled and bubbled inside him, desperate to burst out. It was met by common sense, trying to hold the line, trying to tell fury Max needed this job and he needed to keep it buttoned and pretend he heard nothing.

  He unfroze and shoved the door open, rudely, no knock. The two senior partners looked at him with surprise. He marched to the table and, for a second, he nearly scattered the tray of coffee things across it. But if he did, it would be Mrs Barstow clearing it up later, not either of these two complacent bastards. Instead, he slammed it hard, making everything on it rattle and jump. The solicitors stared.

  “You want to know something about that ‘darky?’” he demanded, the word tasting as sour as bile in his mouth. “I’ve watched him work twice as hard as anybody else, at school, at university, and right here, to get not even half the respect. He’s still here at six and seven in the evening, when you’re home with your feet up. He grabs a sandwich and takes fifteen minutes for lunch, while you’re gone for two hours, guzzling, drinking, and sucking up to your cronies.”

  Their faces were frozen masks of shock. Max’s raised voice brought Mrs Barstow to the door, and she stood there, staring at him.

  “And everything I said goes the same for Penny.” He took a breath. He hadn’t known her at school and university, but he’d bet it was exactly the same. Running twice as fast as anyone else to stay in the same place. “You’d be lucky to have either of them work for you, never mind both. And you don’t deserve either. Or Mr Hart, because he works twice as hard as either of you two.”

  That wasn’t Max’s infatuation talking. Owen didn’t take two-hour lunches. He was often here late, too. He went home carrying case files. And he was the one doing Penny and Noah’s training on top of the rest of his work.

  “You’re sacked!” Pringle finally managed to gasp out.

  “Good. You and Mr Bellend can pour your own damn coffee.”

  He grabbed a fancy, solicitors-only, biscuit from the tray—they’d spilled off the plate—bit it, and spun on his heel to march out. Mrs Barstow hastily cleared the doorway, and he steamed past her.