I was early to my appointment to meet my new client. I preferred to give them the impression that I was cool, calm, and collected about it, because more often than not, they were stressed and heartbroken and needed someone who was in control.
Lance was different. Recommended to my services from one of his friends, who was an old client of mine, Gerard, a guy I didn’t particularly like. He was the tosser who thought he could buy anything and anyone he wanted, and I knew before Lance had even said a word, he was just like his friend.
The meeting place was a coffee house on Wiltshire, the hub of downtown LA. It wasn’t his expensive suit or his Italian leather loafers, not even his slicked back hair or smarmy smile that gave him away as being a tosser. It was in his eyes. They were dark, almost black, not that that was a bad thing—I’d seen some gorgeous smouldering dark eyes—but these were flat. Like a shark’s eyes. There was something about him that pinged my arsehole-o-meter, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, I stood up, shook his hand, and introduced myself.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. He waved his hand and clicked his fingers at the wait staff like they were his personal servants without so much as a sideways glance or smile. Yep, arsehole-o-meter officially pinged.
But he was the paying client, so I sipped my green tea and smiled. “So, Gerard recommended me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. And you’re as good looking as he said. I think you’ll work just fine.” The waiter arrived at our table, and Lance barked an order at him. I thanked the waiter because Lance clearly thought it was beneath him to show some fucking manners.
I gave Lance a tight smile and cut right to the chase. “So, there’s someone you want back in your life?”
“Yes.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that an issue?”
I presumed his friend Gerard had told him I was gay. I’d worked with him and his ex-boyfriend after all. Was Lance testing me? I looked him right in the eye. “Certainly not. Payment terms are half up front, half at the conclusion of the job. I can’t stress enough that the final result may or may not be what you want. I can’t guarantee his response. What I can guarantee you is an answer and the truth. It’s not my job to convince him to come back to you. It’s my job to make him jealous, and hopefully, he’ll realise he made a mistake and wants you back. Terms are full payment, regardless of outcome.”
The waiter put Lance’s coffee on the table, and again Lance didn’t even acknowledge the poor guy. Seriously, a fucking smile or nod didn’t cost a cent. Instead, he smiled at me. “Sounds reasonable. But I don’t think what I have in mind is your usual MO.”
I kept my expression neutral. “And why’s that?”
“I don’t want us to pretend to be together. I want you to befriend him.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“I have no problem in finding some hot little piece of arse to grope in a bar if I wanted to make him jealous.” He took a self-righteous breath. “That’s not what I need. I need you to befriend him and gain his trust.”
Okay, this was getting bizarre. “Why?”
“He won’t see me.”
For good reason, I thought. “Then I think our meeting is redundant, Mr Nader. If the client refuses to see you or even speak to you, then I can’t help you.” I stood up, officially ending this meeting.
He put his hand on my arm. “It’s not like that. It’s his family. They’re a large Greek family and very strict. When they found out he was seeing me…” He shook his head, and for the first time since I’d met him, he showed some kind of emotion. I sat back down to hear him out. He spoke in a whisper. “When he came to tell me we were finished, he had bruises.” He put his hand to his own cheekbone. “I begged him to tell me who had hurt him, but he wouldn’t say. He just left.”
Oh, shit. “If he’s in some kind of trouble, you should have called the police. Not me.”
“He would only deny it if they questioned him,” Lance said quickly. “It’s his father who he’s afraid of. I’m sure of it. That’s why I need you to befriend him. Talk to him.”
I studied him for a long moment, gauging his sincerity. His reaction seemed genuine and honest, not that I knew him at all. “Then what?”
“I want to see him, I won’t deny it.” He swallowed hard. “I love him.”
“How long ago did he leave?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And you’ve not spoken to him since?”
He shook his head.
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-one.”
Lance would have easily been thirty, maybe thirty-two or three. “Where did you meet?”
“At The Standard. I know he’s younger than me, but what we had was… special. We just clicked from the first day. You know what that’s like?”
Funnily enough, now I did. “How long were you together?”
“A year.”
“His name?”
“Yanni Tomaras.”
“Where does he work?”