Brandon fixed his gaze on the food Frank was preparing. “It wasn’t just me Chris was flipping out about.”
“No. I suppose it wasn’t.” He spread some more of the olive mixture on some bread, then pushed the half-empty bowl away. “Are you, I guess, okay with that?”
“I’m not okay with him being a dick about it, but it’s part of us dating. It’s reality.” Brandon shrugged with one shoulder. “I take crap for being gay, being a prostitute, being kinky.” Another half shrug. “Hell, people who can overlook your status will get pissy because you’re older than me, and I’m sure you’ve got some friends who won’t think highly about you dating a young prostitute.” He smirked. “Or an American, for that matter.”
Frank couldn’t help a small laugh. “We’ll have to work on your accent. You know, to cover that up.” In a stage whisper, he added, “So people don’t get suspicious.”
Brandon sniggered. “Dude, you don’t even want to hear my English accent. Trust me.”
Frank laughed more enthusiastically this time and spoke in a very poor imitation of a southern American accent. “Well, don’t expect me to sound like a fuckin’ Yankee either.”
“Oh God.” Brandon burst out laughing. “You and I could go on one of those TV talent shows as the Bad Accent Duo. That would be epic.”
“Fairly certain Simon Cowell would chase us out of the building with a torch and a pitchfork.” Frank held out a plate of food.
Brandon took it. “Would be good for ratings. And to see the look on that fucker’s face. He deserves it for those god-awful shows he’s created.”
Frank chuckled. “And I thought there was no guy under thirty who didn’t like that crap.”
“I’d rather put a nail gun to my head than watch that shit. No, correction. Put a nail gun to Simon’s head.”
“No dead celebrities. Living as the gay Bonnie and Clyde would mean I can’t run the Garden.”
“Spoilsport.” Brandon grinned at him, and every time he did that, something shifted inside Frank, some weight, or maybe his heart, or his whole damn collection of organs swapped places.
“Let’s see, you’re dating a guy in his forties, an ex-con with a gangland history and no education to speak of, a dirty old man who’s also working as a pimp, forcing hot young things to sell their cocks and arses.” He used an exaggerated tone there, because he had made peace with it all, though he didn’t add to the list the one thing that stuck inside him like something exceedingly pointy and cold. “At least you have youth and beauty on your side.”
“You’re not forcing anybody.” Brandon lifted an eyebrow. “Nobody at the Garden has one bad word about you, apart from Raoul, and I think he’s playing.”
“He’s working hard to pick up my slack most days. He should be assistant manager or something. What do they call these guys in retail? The ones who actually do all the work? That’s him.”
“It’s clever. You’re doing the strategy; he’s responsible for the tactics on the ground.”
Frank chuckled. “Well, I do have some big ideas.”
“Like?”
“Either a complete revamp of the club or moving somewhere outside. I was looking at a few places, but haven’t found anywhere yet. I’ll have to do some numbers, too. Can I afford the kind of place, should I borrow, or get some partners in . . .” Though he was pretty certain he could afford it. After all, he’d inherited part of the corporate communications firm Andrew had founded, and the other partners had bought him out. Add to that Andrew’s investment portfolio, and then life insurance and private pension payments, and Frank didn’t have to work another day in his life, never mind worry about what he ultimately did with Market Garden.
Brandon seemed keenly interested. “What’s it look like in your head?”
“There are some mansions out in the countryside that would have some more privacy. I think several of the usual clients would be willing to come outside of London for, you know, erotic adventures. Fantasies. Hell, even orgies. Probably more like a real brothel, so more problematic, potentially, but we can always still run it as a gentlemen’s club.”
Brandon nodded. “Bigger budget.”
“Much bigger. I do have the quality of staff, just the surroundings aren’t quite there. Or we keep the location for the moment as a club and open another one, outside, that offers . . . more.”
Stroking his chin, Brandon nodded again. “Could be a safer place for us guys, too.”
“How so?”