“And if money wasn’t an issue? Then what?”
“The only thing I’ve ever really been good at besides bartending and the military, which I don’t want to do forever, is photography.”
“Really?”
Brandon nodded. “I had to sell my camera, though. When money got tight after I came here. But someday . . .”
“Think that’s something you want to do for a career?”
“If I can break into it, yeah. Definitely.” Brandon picked up his mug of tea and cradled it between his hands. “None of that photojournalism stuff. Just, you know, commercial. Custom shoots for people. Weddings, if I have to.” He sipped his tea and, as he set the mug down again, sighed. “One of these days.”
The solution’s so easy.
Frank flattened his risotto with his fork, played with a piece of broccoli. “I don’t really believe in waiting for things like this.” He leaned forwards, elbows on the table. “If that’s what you want to do, you should do it. If money’s the issue, I know somebody who’d fund that.”
Brandon frowned slightly. “Money is the issue.”
“Not for me.” I have more than I’m likely to be able to spend.
“You’d give me the money for a professional camera and all the trimmings?”
“If you need a reason why, call it a Christmas bonus or a loan or whatever. A birthday present, whenever you’re due.” Frank took a forkful of food and chewed thoughtfully. “We could drive to one of the tech shops and pick it up tomorrow, and you’ll get the various bits and pieces once you know exactly what you need. Filters, lenses, a computer to clean them up.”
Brandon looked surprised. “That’s not small money.”
“Beats buying you a car.” Frank set his fork down for the moment. “Or a watch or . . . I don’t know. I’ve never done that kind of thing. That was usually Andrew’s job.”
Brandon frowned. Frank only hoped he hadn’t just gone hand-to-hand with the man’s pride. But pride . . . after what they’d done, after what Brandon did . . . seemed like a waste of energy.
Say yes.
Brandon met his eyes. “Answer me one question?”
“Okay.”
“Do you want me working at the Garden?”
Frank swallowed the next mouthful of food and coughed. “Not in your current job, no. I wouldn’t mind if you were a barkeeper or a bouncer, or someone who sat in my booth staring at me adoringly . . .” He grinned and winked. “But I don’t think the bankers deserve you.”
But do I deserve you? That’s the question.
“I’m good at what I do.” Brandon kept looking at him intently.
“You are, yes.” Frank picked his fork up, put it down again. “But I think you’re too good for it. You . . .” Are so much more than a rentboy? Mean too much to me? “I hope every one of the guys working there eventually finds something better than that. Every last one of them. But you, I want to help you find something better. And once you have the equipment, you’ve got something.”
Brandon sat back, swallowing hard. “Is that really the reason? Or do you not want me sleeping with other men?” The question didn’t have the hard edge of an accusation, but it hit Frank in the chest just the same.
“I don’t own you. I don’t want to fence you in or—”
“Is this about what happened today?” Brandon tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “With Chris?”
Frank hesitated. “Maybe a little. Look, I want you to be able to do whatever you want. If you want to sleep with other men, I won’t stop you and I won’t hold it against you.” He leaned forwards. “Is it what you want to do?”
“I don’t—” Brandon cut himself off, and shifted his gaze away from Frank’s. “It’s not the most ideal job in the world, but it doesn’t bother me. And as for other guys, and the paintball games, it’s . . . it’s something I can live without.” He met Frank’s eyes again. “I’m perfectly happy being monogamous in a relationship. I actually prefer it that way, to be honest.”
“Oh.” Amazing how a single word could require so damned much breath. “Is that what you want out of this?” He gestured at himself and Brandon. “Just us?”
Brandon nodded. “Yes.”
“So do I,” Frank said. “But that’s not why I want to help you find the means to leave Market Garden. I want you to be happy, Brandon.”
“You’ve had it rough, Frank,” he heard from what seemed like the distant past. “Can you accept somebody smoothing things down for you a little at times, or have you battled so much that you simply can’t stop?”
Damn, Andrew, now I know exactly how you felt with me.
“There’s two of us here. We both need to be happy. And I don’t want you to feel obligated to spend money on me. Market Garden or not, I can take care of myself. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy.”
“I know you’re not. You’ve never asked for a thing. I’m offering.”
Brandon took another drink of his tea, and he rolled it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it. “Can I think on it for a while? About the camera?”
“Of course.”
Brandon smiled. “Thanks. And I do appreciate the offer.”