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The colourful pictures scattered on the onyx conference room table was quite vibrant; so bright that Laurent could not look at them, or perhaps it was the shame and anger boiling in his veins that was preventing him. So, he trained his gaze just above Auguste’s head, purposefully avoiding his brother’s enraged scowl.
“We’d like an explanation. Your silence only fuels the worst of our assumptions, Laurent,” said Herode, one of the oldest Board Members and a dear friend of Laurent’s late father.
“Explanation?” Guion scoffed, “I demand a letter of resignation, effective immediately. This is the worst kind of betrayal.”
Guion looked around the table, taking in the tense atmosphere, the utter devastation on Auguste’s face and shot the last arrow, “Getting in bed with the enemy, an enemy who only sought downfall for us, how can we trust him after this? We had to settle for giving up 9% of our assets to them. That’s 9% more than what they deserve after a decade long bogus legal battle. How can we trust a single word that comes from his mouth? How do we know our safety is assured?”
“Let the boy speak, Guion,” the interruption came from someone to his right but Laurent wasn’t paying attention to them, his gaze was stuck to his brother sitting at the head of the table, ever regal, avoiding Laurent’s gaze with all his might, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Laurent in all his treacherous glory.
“How long has this been going on? I wonder how many contracts have miraculously landed in their laps to the detriment of this company, huh?” Guion droned on, high on his white fucking horse, eyes glittering in a sadistic amusement, “This company, your family business… Tell me Laurent, how easy it was to betray your brother’s trust, tell me how easy it was to spread your legs for the Akielons-“
Laurent barely suppressed the flinch.
“Guion!” Herode thundered, leaving the conference room eerily silent. “Watch your mouth. This is not a trial on Laurent’s sexuality and we have no right to comment on anything other than the matter at hand.” He dragged his outraged look over everyone present, “This is a confusing situation as we don’t know anything yet; we don’t even know if those photos have any substance to them. So, I urge you to stay calm and well within your professional boundaries.”
Laurent’s chest was in a vice grip, making it quite difficult to breathe. The solid ground beneath his feet was shifting and Laurent did not know how to make it stop. Falling face first into the ground and losing everything seemed inevitable.
He made himself take in the pictures of Damen lounging on the rooftop garden of his penthouse; Damen and Laurent playing Jenga and Damen tackling him on the sofa after Laurent had purposefully toppled the tower; Damen and Laurent walking into a café; Laurent getting out of Damen’s car at night and several other pictures of Damen getting in and out of Akielon Industries Ltd. building.
White hot rage rushed through Laurent’s veins with reinvented vengeance. Those moments were personal, intimate. Those are the snapshot of some of the most valuable moments of Laurent’s life where he had felt safe, relaxed, happy and worthy. And somehow in a blink of a shutter, those moments became rusty and pungent; privacy violated in the worst possible way.
Eyes still stuck to Damen’s smiling face, Laurent tapped on the picture and asked, “Was this you?”
“You’re in no position to demand answers here.”
Ignoring Guion’s snappy tone, Laurent met his brother’s eyes, knowing full well that the right person had caught the question.
“Some concerns were raised and I had to see to it.” Auguste replied with nonchalance on his lips and ice-cold rage in his eyes. The resemblance between his late father and his brother was so bright at that moment that Laurent had to wonder if his worst nightmares were finally catching up to him.
Clenching his jaw, Laurent gave them a tight nod. “Right.”
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and finally pulled out the chair to take a seat and let out a dramatic sigh, “Very well gentlemen, let’s get into it.”
He waved a hand to signal them to rain hellfire on him and Guion dove in at the first chance. “What is the nature of your relationship with Damen Akielon? How many times did you help our competition get the better of us—”
“Damianos and I are in a romantic relationship for last four months—”
“I knew it!” Guion screeched victoriously, cutting Laurent off.
“Yes, we started during the last leg of the law suit, quite the unfortunate time but we made it work.” Leaning back in his chair, Laurent gave a sardonic smile. “It was difficult, it still is sometimes but we have our moments. Even though I didn’t think that my personal life would be such a source of entertainment…” He leafed through the pictures and fanned himself with them, all ‘devil may care’, “but thanks for the concern.”
“When it involves the wellbeing and stability of this company, the concern is quite warranted,” said Auguste.
His cold, dispassionate eyes and flat voice was enough for Laurent to understand that, given the chance, Auguste was ready to throw some well-aimed right hooks. And Laurent would dish back just as much, but they weren’t rowdy teens. So instead of throwing punches, they would draw blood with cold, cutting remarks, loosely veiled threats, throw some insults to burn each other to crisp and never talk about it again; that’s just the standard DeVere procedure.
With a startling realization, Laurent finally understood that he was tired, tired of the same game; the game he shouldn’t have to play with his own older brother.
Keeping his gaze still on Auguste, Laurent said, “Let me assure all the esteemed board members of this company that regardless of my relationship with Damen, I’ve never betrayed the faith you have put in me. I’ve been here when the company went nearly bankrupt under the hands of my uncle’s penchant for gambling and his unfavourable ventures. I was still here to lend a helping hand when my brother took over the company and was steering it on the right path, so betraying our family business when it is at its peak… it’s rather foolish. Regardless of my youth that some of you see as a handicap, I know the value of family, I know my duty and how to fulfil my role.”
“We don’t question your competence; it was never about that. But stumbling upon the pictures and what they might mean… we have to ask you unsavoury questions,” Herode said, ever the diplomat.
“Stumbling upon? So, it wasn’t purposefully sought out by a well-compensated private detective then?” Laurent asked, incredulous.
“Accusation of this level must be-“
Laurent nodded, a placating gesture, “Yes, yes. I understand.” He waved his assistant in through the glass door. “Now, gentlemen, if I could avert your attention to the files Lazar is providing you; a matter worthy of your time and presence, I assure you. I wasn’t expecting a full on board meeting this morning, so please make do with the limited amount of copies we have.”
“We’re not finished with—"
“You’ll find everything about Isthima Media House: list of assets, details of sales tax and payroll taxes,” Laurent droned on, “copies of every standing legal agreements Isthima has ever signed, profit records of past five years, reports on customer feedback, analysis of annual net profit and gross revenues of last three years and everything in between.”
“Are we planning to venture into media?” asked Etienne, the newest addition to their Board of Directors.
“So, it seems,” engrossed in the thick file, Auguste murmured.
“For those who doesn’t know about Isthima Media House, it, as the name suggests, is a media company involved in news, print publication and digital media mainly and they are looking for a big umbrella as they are barely managing to stay afloat.”
“And we’re interested in a dying company because…” Etienne prompted.
“Because the Akielons are interested and snatching it away from under their nose would be the ultimate petty delight.” Laurent chuckled at the half disgusted and half condescending looks everyone threw his way.
“Get to the point, Laurent,” Auguste said in a clipped tone, interest making his eyes shine.
Shaking his head, Laurent leaned forward on the table, trying to ignore the voice inside his head begging him to stop. “I was very curious as to why Kastor would be interested in buying a dying company and why was it all hush-hush? So, I dug deep and found that our friends at Isthima own 32% of Delpha Streaming Services.”
Laurent paused and waited for the others to fill in the blank. When only met with silence and confused glances, he barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and call them imbecile. “Akielons already own a significant share of Delpha, making them the second largest shareholders. Oh, Delpha is a streaming platform where you can—"
“We’re not that old, Laurent,” Herode said sternly but a reluctant smile in his voice negated the effect of his glare, “We know what Delpha does.”
“Why is Isthima drowning if they have hands on the most popular streaming service?” Auguste asked.
“Page 13, gentlemen.” Laurent encouraged.
“Conditional shares…” Auguste crooned, a big smile blooming on his face.
“Isthima need to maintain a certain annual income to continue to be a shareholder at Delpha and seeing the current state of Isthima, Delpha is pulling away from them. Now, the good news is our friends at Isthima don’t really like Kastor and don’t want Kastor to have more power over Delpha. So, they are desperate to sell the company. But their Managing Director is a practical man, much to our disappointment. He values money more than ego and fragile masculinity.” Standing up, Laurent buttoned up his navy suit, ready for the parting shot, “So, I propose we go and play the better known evil, commiserate over our shared hatred of the Akielons’ way of business and buy Isthima to make our way into the media industries, get our hands on Delpha at the same time and stick it to the Akienlons, pardon my French.”
“And to further simplify the matter,” Laurent faced Guion, “If we get Isthima, hence a part of Delpha, it just means more money for us and more expensive watches, yachts, bungalow and expensive night guests for some.”
Revelling in the crimson hued embarrassment on Guion’s cheeks, Laurent took in everyone’s smiling face, disgust settling heavy in his gut no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. “Think it through if you want and let me know. Until then…”
“It’s a yes,” Auguste’s voice boomed over the happy, vindictive hum of other Board Members, “I’m sure it’s an easy yes from everyone.”
With everyone’s enthusiastic nod of approval, including Guion’s hesitant one, Laurent hummed, the guilt making him nauseous. The heavy feeling in his chest became impossible to evade at the absence of the adrenaline rush and burning rage.
“Very well, then.” With a clipped nod, he strode out of the room but spun on his feet quickly. He came back to gather the pictures. “I think I’ll take those. I look quite good in them.”
Lazar hurried behind Laurent to get out of the conference room and whispered, “That was so badass, boss! Man, you should’ve seen their faces when you pulled that Uno reverse card move.” Lazar cackled.
Laurent ignored him. That was not badass. That was pathetic. Laurent had just sold his soul to the devil to save his own skin. He was buzzing as if thousands of ants were crawling under his skin.
No matter how fast Laurent walked towards his office, the guilt was faster, catching up to him, leaving him with laboured breathing and clammy hands. Over the loud drumming of his heartbeat in his ears, Laurent wondered when was the last time he had ever felt this dirty.
***
Laurent knew that what he had with Damen was too good to be true, too fragile. They weren’t going to last and for Laurent, half the fun was in predicting which one of his toxic traits was going to tear them apart first.
He had wanted to walk out before his heart had the chance to put roots more deeply; before Damen’s dimpled smile started to feel like an essential part of his life. But he wasn’t that lucky, now was he?
He should’ve stuck to his plan and never let his rusty old heart make the decision. Now, he had to pay.
The other shoe dropped the day after Isthima deal was finalized, and Laurent finally realized what ‘the heart being torn apart’ actually felt like.
Laurent was in the middle of going through his daily schedule with Lazar when Damen had stormed into his office, the wooden door banging hard enough against the wall to create strong ripples in the glass of water on Laurent’s table. A flustered Orlant ran in after Damen.
Damen’s enraged glare made Laurent sit still in his chair, an instinctual reaction to be as motionless as possible in the face of imminent danger.
“Out!” Damen barked at Lazar, his voice as cold and shrill with barely restrained anger as a whip coming down on Laurent in a fierce velocity.
“Sir,” Orlant piped up while Lazar reeled back from being the focus of Damen’s fury, “I tried to tell him that without appointment—”
Laurent lifted up his hand. “It’s okay, Orlant. He had made an appointment with me personally. It must have slipped my mind. Lazar, we’ll continue after a bit.”
“But…” Lazar threw a cautious glance at Damen’s hulking figure, “do you need me to stay here?”
Laurent shook his head no. He looked past Damen who was still standing at the entrance, vibrating with anger, and noticed several curious eyes peering from over their cluttered workspaces. “Orlant, make sure people are still earning their wages, this is not a charity space. Lazar, cancel my twelve o’clock. Thank you.”
Before Lazar and Orlant could slide past Damen, Laurent said, “Gentlemen, it stays on this floor only. I wouldn’t want Auguste to know that I’ve started to neglect updating my appointment schedule. He gets really prissy about properly maintained time table. Am I understood?”
Only after Orlant had closed the door with a meek affirmation, Laurent addressed Damen. “Take a seat.”
When Damen remained stock-still at the door, Laurent wondered whether it was a display of stubborn defiance or Damen was so angry that his limbs were not cooperating with him now. Laurent repeated his request, nevertheless. “Damen, sit down, please.
Laurent almost expected him to stride over to Laurent’s desk and shove everything off of it; or maybe take a swing at Laurent. But as always, surpassing all of Laurent’s preconceived notions and expectations, Damen did no such thing. Laurent wouldn’t have been that considerate if the roles were reversed; clearly Damen was a better man. Laurent was all too aware of that fact.
Damen dragged the chair Lazar had just vacated back to the desk and sat down, his shoulders set in a rigid straight line, jaw pulsing from grinding his molars and hands fisted on the smooth surface of the opaque glass table. Not knowing what to do to soothe Damen when Laurent was the source of his distress, Laurent pushed his glass of water towards him. Damen shot him a bewildered look.
“You seem like you could use some water.”
“What I could use is some truth from you,” Damen spat out.
Laurent sighed, straightening his posture. “Ask me then.”
“DeVere bought Isthima yesterday. Was it you?”
“Auguste did most of the negotiations but I was present there and I helped, yes.”
“Akielon was interested in Isthima as well, did this fact play a big role in the decision to acquire Isthima?”
“Somewhat, yes.”
Damen clenched his teeth and spoke, his voice frigid, “And how exactly did your brother know that Isthima was up for sale?”
“It wasn’t a secret, and if the intention was to keep it a secret, I must say, it wasn’t very well-kept.”
“But just how did you get your hands on that particular information, well-kept or not?” Damen gritted out.
“Heard rumours, then got confirmations.”
“You mean after I confirmed it for you?”
“Yes, you’re one of the sources.”
Damen paused for a moment, seemingly caught in the significance of the moment. Shaking his head, he let out a loud humourless chuckle. “Oh, you had to be the epitome of honesty now? Why couldn’t you lie?”
“You asked for the truth and I never lied to you.”
“Oh?” Damen shot out of his seat, strode towards the bank of windows looking at the midtown traffic, creating distance between them so vast that Laurent, for the first time in a very long time, felt unmoored, barely hanging on in a riotous sea. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Laurent did not know what to say, how to answer or what to do to lessen the pain and anger because he knew, under the boiling rage and efforts to look unaffected, Damen was shrinking, shrivelling and questioning everything he had fought for, he had believed in. Damen was swimming in the sea of disappointment and there couldn’t be anything else as disheartening on a molecular level than being disappointed, being proven wrong about the faith you had put in a person. Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow.
Laurent knew this. He had felt the same when Auguste had slammed down the pictures on the conference room table that fateful day.
“Why did you do it, Laurent?” Damen demanded, still staring down at the slow crawl of traffic on the road below them.
But having an understanding of Damen’s feelings proved just as useless in answering question like these. “It was simply business. Don’t make it personal.”
“Personal?” Damen whirled around to face him. “How could I not make it personal, Laurent? How could I not make it personal when I told you in confidence? I told my boyfriend about this new exciting Isthima project coming up. I told him everything I was planning to do with the new media company. I discussed pros and cons of my moves with him. I told you even after knowing that I should not be talking about it because I thought ‘hey, I trust him. He would not use me. He’s not like that’.”
His shoulders drooping, Damen suddenly lost all his steam. With a soft voice, gaze trained at his shoes, he murmured, “He’s not like that.”
“Damen…”
“What a colossal idiot I am!” Damen crowed, his face alighted with fake enthusiasm but even from behind his desk, Laurent could see the wetness making Damen’s eyes glitter.
Laurent sat paralyzed, faced with the stark horror of his own recklessness.
“I trusted you! I trusted you, yet you took the first chance to run to your brother. You didn’t even have the balls to say straight to my face ‘Damen, I’ll make a play for Isthima also’. No, you had to go behind my back. And now, you’re sitting here,” He waved his arm around the office, “the overlord keeping an eye over his subjects and you say ‘don’t make it personal, Damen!’ Well, tell me how not to make it personal!”
“You shouldn’t have trusted me,” Laurent said in a voice so soft that he wasn’t sure that Damen heard him over his laboured breathing.
Damen choked out a shocked laughter, the lack of humour making the tense air in the office vicious and suffocating. “How do you say things like that? Does avoiding liability is so important that… Do you not feel anything?” He dragged his hands over his face. “I shouldn’t have trusted the person I’ve been seeing for last four months, with whom I thought I could see my future… maybe fall in love with, is that what you’re saying? I shouldn’t have trusted the person with whom I shared my dreams, my fears, my deepest thoughts because I wanted to build something real, solid and good.”
Looking out at the windows, he heaved out a big sigh. Laurent, stuck to his seat, powerless, floating, watched the emotions playing on his face as Damen came to his decision.
“You are right. I shouldn’t have.”
Laurent didn’t know whether the defeated finality in Damen’s voice or the sad, brittle mockery of a smile on Damen’s face made his limbs feel alive again, but Laurent finally jumped out of his chair from behind the desk. He took hurried steps towards Damen, but for what? He didn’t know.
Holding out his hand up, Damen took several steps back. To Laurent, that felt like a backhanded slap, leaving him breathless.
“I don’t care about missing out on some stupid deal, I don’t,” Damen shook his head softly, “I only care that you couldn’t even offer the courtesy to be honest with your intentions; couldn’t be honest with me. And it hurts.” His voice broke on the last word. “You could’ve had the same outcome— you successfully acquiring Isthima— without spiting all over my trust but you chose to do that.”
Damen’s eyes, red rimmed and glittering wet, held Laurent’s in a defiant yet expected gaze; waiting for Laurent to say something. Laurent parted his lips but the quiet still reigned. What does it matter? What could he possibly say?
When the stretching silence made it clear that there was nothing left to say, Damen shook his head again in disappointment, walked up to the door and said over his shoulder, “Do yourself a favour and stay away from me.”
He wanked the door open and walked out of the room, leaving behind the echo of his words and a bitter taste Laurent’s mouth.
Rooted to his place, Laurent stared at the door, slowly closing.
Laurent gaped at the chair Damen had vacated.
Laurent stared at his shaking hands and he wondered, was the office always this silent? Always this hollow? Always this unsteady?
“Boss?”
Laurent jerked his gaze up at Lazar who was peeking inside through the partially open door.
“Did you already cancel my twelve o’clock?”
“No, sir. I couldn’t reach them,” Lazar replied, his gaze weary yet inquisitive.
“Don’t bother. I’m free now.”
“Laurent, are you okay?”
Instead of shooting a threatening scowl at Lazar for taking the liberty of addressing Laurent by his first name, he replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
*****
Laurent knew he should have gone home early, should’ve gone for a run, then taken a shower and finally finish reading the book he had been ignoring. After a day like that where Laurent could hardly focus on the job, his mind too loud with messy, jumbled up thoughts, he needed to be alone.
He needed to be able to put those pesky feelings, which made the act of breathing freely quite difficult since Damen had left his office, in their categorized boxes so that he could deal with them later… or never.
He was well aware of all that need and ‘should haves’.
Yet, here he was, pretending to listen to the mindless chatter surrounding him, avoiding enthusiastic eyes of those who wanted to lure him into a conversation. Swirling the remaining wine in his glass, he wondered whether this office building would be in his personal hell circle.
A boisterous laughter of Auguste pulled Laurent away from his morose thought. Golden hair shining like a halo even under the artificial harsh light of the office break room where the teams involved in the Isthima deal and handful of other employees were having an impromptu small party to celebrate the successful closing of a deal and essentially pulling one over the Akielons, Auguste chatted away with the head of the Marketing team whose name had always eluded Laurent.
This laughing, joking Auguste, he mused, feels like a stranger all of a sudden. The thought was so swift that Laurent found himself fumbling, no quite sure where it had come from or where to put it now that it was already in his head.
He could blame it on the half a glass of red wine he had consumed and call it a day but now that he was thinking about it, it had been quite a few months, no, a couple of years or so, since his older brother had started to feel more like a CEO, his superior than his older brother. This cold, tactless person with shrewd eyes, standing in the middle of the room, wearing the cloak of power all too easily, charming everyone, reminded Laurent of his alcoholic uncle and his ability to charm anyone and everyone.
What a bone chilling thought.
Distance, that’s all he needed; distance from this office, from these depressing thoughts and certainly from this glass of wine. Quickly disposing the remaining wine down the sink, Laurent wove through the gathering towards the door. He was about to push the call button for the elevator when Auguste’s voice stopped him in his motion.
“Running away from the party again?”
“You throw boring parties.” Looking back at Auguste, Laurent shrugged. “A growing boy such as me needs wildness, a rave.” Shifting on his feet, Laurent said, “Besides, you’re still making me the excuse to get the hell out of a party too.”
“Slander. I’ve never in my entire life ditched a party in the ruse of searching for you.”
“Oh, denial, a river in the barren land of great Egypt.”
“That’s just weak. What are we? 12?”
Laurent smirked. Pointing at the corner of his own eyes, he said, “Yeah, those wrinkles of yours clearly say otherwise. Can’t pass off as a 12 years old ever again. Have you pissed of your precious Brenda again?”
“Hey! Keep my cosmetologist out of this conversation, you brat. She is a goddess. Glenda loves me.” He gave a haughty sniff.
“It’s Brenda.”
Auguste nodded sagaciously; his lips curved up into a crooked smile. “Sandra is a delicate lady whose heart is twice the size of Atlantic Ocean, an unfortunate medical condition but I don’t mind reigning over her rather large heart.”
Laurent could barely hold back his chuckles and when Auguste snorted loudly in the efforts to keep himself from laughing out loud. Soon, the chuckles were turned into raucous laughter. Both of them laughed with abandon, surrounded by the hum of distant conversations, clinking of glasses and occasional enthusiastic, tipsy cheers. Joking about a fictional cosmetologist and her imaginary heart disease in a deserted corridor had never given Laurent so much relief before.
“Come back inside.” Auguste tipped his back at the breakroom. “Parties get dull without you and your specific brand of veiled insults.”
“No, I’d rather go home and go over some work.”
“Take a day off, get drunk for once in a life, have fun. The company won’t dry out in one day, I promise.” Auguste swept his arm towards the cheers and chatters of the breakroom. “Laurent, all this is only possible for what you did. Your plan to use Akielon as an inside source was a stroke of genius but you don’t have to do it again. We’re okay, the business is okay. I do wish that you had consulted with me before you played Akielon. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know you did what you did to protect this company and me and I’m grateful for the risk you took but I’d rather you not pull such stunts-“
“What are you talking about?” Laurent asked. “Consult with you about what risk?”
Puzzled, Auguste said, “You getting into a relationship…” He made a face of disgust before promptly masking back with neutrality, “with Akielon to use him as an inside source was a huge risk. I was assured that we already had insiders, so really it seemed a bit redundant for you to put yourself in such a position.”
Laurent could only stare at his older brother. “You actually think I whored myself out for information?”
As Auguste hurried to suppress his grimace at the words, something shifted in Laurent. He parted his lips, but instead of letting out the scathing words which were crowding his head, he started to cackle which quickly turned into loud guffaw, stomach quivering, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
Bending over his knees, eyes closed, Laurent struggled to catch his breath. “Oh God! First you thought I was betraying you by sleeping with him, and when I handed you the Isthima deal on silver platter, it made you think that I, literally, fucked him over to get information and to what? To protect you.”
Laurent straightened and faced Auguste’s icy glare. Gone was the glimpse of the brother Laurent grew up with, who had woven an elaborated tale about a fictional cosmetologist just moments ago. Instead, this stranger who ruled boardrooms with ruthless efficiency ordered, “Take this matter seriously.”
The lump in his throat and the burn in his eyes forced Laurent to let out a reckless laugh. “Of course, brother. It is quite a serious matter now that I understand that you really believe every word uncle and his goonies had ever said about me.” Laurent quickly dashed away any stray tear on his cheek along with any trace of humour.
“There you go again. Yes, Laurent, you had a terribly shitty childhood with uncle and, yes, that selfish son of a bitch had done everything to ruin us, but you’ve got to stop blaming your own actions on that man.” Auguste threw his hands up in frustration, disappointment thickening in the air. “If you really had wanted people to stop seeing you in the colour uncle had painted you in, then you would’ve stopped acting like an impulsive, reckless, stupid as fuck child ages ago!”
“I thought we were on the same side. You’d promised you always will be,” Laurent mumbled, head bowed, eyes trained at the glittering golden wrist watch of Auguste, feeling exactly like a stupid as fuck child.
Stepping towards him, Auguste replied, “Of course I am. We’ve always been—”
“Stop lying.”
“Laurent, don’t be—”
“If you ever were on my side, if you ever had my back…” Laurent said slowly, raising his head up. “you would’ve come to me first after you had the evidence of my relationship with Damen which you thought was entirely built on my ambition to ruin you. Instead you called a board meeting and threw me to the wolves. And now, you think I never had a relationship with him in the first place. It was just me whoring myself out.”
Laurent turned and slammed the elevator call button repeatedly, knowing very well that it wasn’t going to work but the other option was to punch Auguste in the kidney, and doing that in the middle of a corridor wasn’t wise but it was very tempting.
“Oh please,” Auguste said rolling his eyes heavenwards, “come down from your high fucking horse and be in my shoes for a minute. Board Members striding in a middle of a meeting to question my loyalty and leadership quality because of your fondness for jumping head first into trouble without a second thought; you put me in a really difficult position.”
Laurent sharply turned around. “Okay then, let’s be in your shoes for a minute. Some Board Member, let’s say Guion or Govart or maybe both, force their way into my office in a middle of a meeting; they accuse you of corporate espionage and betraying your own family company and question my ability as the Chief Operating Officer. They strongly recommend me to get to the bottom of this and point me towards a private detective. I, being the COO of the company, of course do so and buy off a bunch of private pictures of you and some girl—”
“It wasn’t any random person though, was it?” Auguste gritted the words out.
“Fine, private pictures of you and Akielon, for the sake of argument.” Laurent nodded, trying to keep his voice steady even though the boiling rage in his veins were leaving tiny tremors through out his body. “Seeing the picture, I fear the worst and get angry—”
“Oh, that’s an understatement.”
“But that’s where we differ in the method of handling the issue.”
“Ah, here come the countless ‘superior’ ways you could’ve handled it better.”
“With anger blinding me, I would’ve stormed into your office, thrown the pictures at you face and asked something along the line of ‘have you gone absolute mental?’ or ‘what the ever-loving fuck are you doing Auguste?’. Then I would’ve demanded an explanation and I would’ve listened.”
“Right,” Auguste drawled, contempt dowsing his voice heavy.
“And I would’ve listened if you had told me that you didn’t know how it happened but you met Damen absolutely by chance. You knew that it’s a stupid idea to carry it on but next thing you know, you’re eating some tooth rotting sugary cereal in two o’clock in the morning, sitting on his kitchen counter and you’re laughing your way into stomach ache because this health-nut of a man you’re sitting next to was desperately making up random pseudo-scientific claims to prove the health benefits of the said cereal to lessen his guilt. In that moment, you’d felt free in, what it seemed like, a very long time.”
Laurent, ignoring his laboured breathing and clammy palms, stubbornly held Auguste’s gaze, and continued, “And I would’ve realized the simple truth if you had told me that you didn’t understand how it happened and you still don’t but being with him always calmed you, made you a little less angry with the world, soothed your resentment towards your childhood, and most importantly, made you want to be kind to yourself and others. Then, I would’ve made a remark on the similarities between a lovesick puppy and you. Finally, I would’ve asked you ‘How do you want to handle this?’, instead of calling a board meeting and essentially handing you in for slaughter.”
The elevator chimed its arrival. Laurent boarded the car, hiding the shaky hands in his pants pockets, he said, “Because that’s what brothers do, Auguste. They have each other’s backs.”
The elevator door finally closed, leaving Auguste in the empty corridor.
Laurent made his way home with Auguste’s bewildered gaze haunting him all the way to a very sleepless night.
*****
Damen strode towards his office, absentmindedly nodding to the morning greetings from the employees of his floor. His head was fuzzy with lack of sleep. His shoulder and arms were sore from over exercising and on top of everything else, Kastor had sought him out as soon as he had stepped into the office building to chew him out over some botched job pulled by the inefficient production managers. If the starting of the day was any indication, Damen was not looking forward to the rest of it.
God, he hated Thursdays.
“Good morning, Mr. Akielon,” greeted Elena.
Damen took in the bright, jolly smile, neon purple hair and retina burning lime green dress of his temporary admin and murmured his greeting.
As Elena started to stumble and stutter her way into the day’s schedule for Damen, he pondered about the morality of bribing Amir to shorten his paternity leave so that Damen could get his efficient admin back again. Sure, others might frown upon it but Amir’s organizational skills and resourceful nature was being wasted at the feet of a tiny human whose main concerns were eating, pooping and sleeping.
Great, Damen was not only constantly thinking about a certain DeVere, he had started to think like the said DeVere.
“Also, Mr. DeVere is already seated in your office. So, if you-“
Inches away from his office door, Damen whirled around. “Who?”
“Uh, Mr. DeVere from… um… ooh, it’s a big company.” Elena muttered, viciously tapping at the tablet screen. “Oh, the DeVere’s. Duh! He is your 9:30 meeting. It has been, um, has been scheduled for a week now, I think. No, wait, it has been scheduled for 12 days. But you were not taking any in-person meeting, so I had to postpone. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with holding conference calls and taking a week or two for yourself but-”
“Elena, stop talking.”
“Shutting up right now,” She mumbled.
Looking at the blur of a dark figure through the opaque glass doors, Damen took a deep breath in.
The sound of the door opening had Laurent turning around from the view of the skyline Damen’s corner office provided.
Damen had envisioned himself throwing some well-aimed right hooks at Laurent the next time they saw each other. Damen had expected a violent surge of anger burning through him the next time they came face to face. Yet, Laurent was standing in his office, clad in dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, ever poised, ever beautiful and all Damen wanted to do was take him into his arms and ask him if he had missed Damen as much as Damen had missed him.
“Well, you look like a mess,” Laurent said coolly.
Damen fisted his hands and shoved them into his pants pocket as Laurent’s voice sent a shiver of anger and longing down his body, a confusing concoction of feelings. “Not everyone is made out of ice. Humans tend to look imperfect once in a while.”
Laurent raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge of ‘is this the best you’ve got?’. He shifted his gaze behind Damen, tilted his head and let his lips stretch into one of his saccharine sweet smile which make his eyes look hollow and dead, like a shark.
Damen looked over his shoulder to find Elena, who was fidgeting at the door being the recipient of Laurent’s gaze, shooting weary glances between Damen and Laurent. Damen was about to dismiss her when Laurent said, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine. The day is just starting slow.” Elena waved the concerns away, tugged at her dress some more.
Sighing, Damen went behind his desk to power up his laptop. “Elena, ask Mathias to see me as soon as possible. Close the door pl-“
“Huh? Who?” Elena asked, frowning at the tablet held close to her chest, her finger flying up and down on the screen in the quest of… god knows what.
“You’ll be called if when you’re needed.” Laurent swiftly closed the door on her face and took a seat at Damen’s desk. “Are you fucking her?”
Affronted, Damen asked, “What?”
Laurent rolled his eyes. “Why are you tolerating this incompetence, then?”
A million scathing words crowded Damen’s lips but he only gritted out, “What the hell do you want?”
“To talk to you.”
“What’s there to talk about? You’re a lying bastard and I want nothing to do with you.”
Laurent opened his mouth, quickly closed it, shot a brief glance at his wrist watch then leaned back in his chair. Laurent hummed, “I think you’ll want to hear me out.”
“I don’t have to do shit.” Damen snapped, Laurent’s nonchalance grating his nerve raw. “Now, get the hell out of my office. I don’t want to create a scene, so don’t push me to call for security. What would your precious brother think?”
A tacky sense of satisfaction shot through Damen as Laurent froze for a second and sat up straight in his chair. “That’s what I thought,” Damen chuckled under his breathe.
Training his gaze on his still booting laptop, Damen said, “Just leave. If you really had something important to say to me, you would’ve left your shitty attitude at home. You like antagonizing people and you want me to play the part of your newest victim-“
Laurent snapped the laptop shut and slammed a brown envelope on it. Eyes blazing with righteous anger, Laurent tapped hard on the envelope. “I am a lying bastard but I never intend to betray you. I did not lie to you, did not spit on your trust or stomp on it or whatever the hell you accused me of doing.”
Heart in his throat, stunned in the face of rolling waves of anger emanating from Laurent, Damen trained his eyes on the envelope. He picked it up gingerly and shook the contents out onto the table. Looking at the colourful pictures of Laurent and him, Damen could feel his chest trying to sink into itself as countless vicious possibilities coiled in his head, leaving him struggling for air.
“What is this?” Damen asked.
Laurent shot out of his seat, shoved the chair away. Scrubbing at his face, Laurent let out a hollow laugh. “What does it look like? Pictures of us, of you, taken without our consent.”
“Laurent,” Unable to look away from the pictures, Damen asked cautiously, “What the hell is going on?”
“Dearest Uncle Reggie is fucking up my life even beyond from the grave, that’s exactly what’s happening.”
Startled out of the haze of confusion at the mention of Laurent’s uncle, Damen stared at the rare show of frustration from Laurent as he paced the length of Damen’s office.
“What does your dead uncle have to do anything with this?”
“Everything,” Laurent growled under his breathe, “Nothing.”
Calling on all the patience in the world, Damen said, “Laurent, what the fuck is going on?”
Laurent stilled his pacing. “I betrayed you.”
“Yes, you did.”
Laurent whirled around to face Damen. “But I didn’t. I never intended to. They made the choice impossible and I never, Damen, I swear, I never in my worst nightmare thought that not choosing myself would be this difficult –”
“But you did choose yourself.” Damen cut off his ramblings, plunging the office in a suffocating silence.
Anguish washed over Laurent’s face, making it pale and hollow before a sardonic smile took over. “No, I didn’t. But you’d think so. I knew you would but…” He trailed off.
Laurent’s eyes became vacant; his hands were visibly trembling by his sides.
Heart pounding in his chest a painful rhythm, Damen gazed in wonder as Laurent struggled to get himself composed. He had never seen Laurent this open, this shaken and transparent, not even at the peak of pleasures. Laurent always had a semblance of control over his emotions but now, it was all pouring out on the marble floor in the middle of Damen’s corner office.
It was not difficult to come to the conclusion that something had gone horribly wrong.
Not knowing just what to do or how to help him without crossing Laurent’s personal boundaries, Damen took cautious steps toward Laurent. Nearing him, he could see that the trembling was not limited to Laurent’s hands only. There was a faraway hollow look in those vivid blue eyes. He was gasping to take a full breath.
Throwing all the caution and resentment to the wind, Damen gently guided Laurent by his elbow towards the lounge area of the office and sat him down, all while asking Laurent to breathe in with him.
“Laurent, focus on my voice. Try to take a big breath in and let it out. Sweetheart, please.” Damen urged, trying mask his own rising panic, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Right now, you just need to breathe.”
Trying to follow Damen’s advice, Laurent gripped his hands tightly as Damen knelt in front of him. Damen scooted closer to him. A minute passed, or maybe an hour before Laurent finally managed to sync his breathing with Damen’s. His shoulders drooped down and he finally folded over to press his forehead to Damen’s shoulder. The death grip he had on Damen’s hands loosened, allowing Damen to finally give into his desire to pull him into his chest.
But nothing had changed. The confusing concoction of protectiveness, longing and anger on behalf of Laurent had only dampened the fire of self-righteousness and resentment. But the fire was still there.
Laurent mumbled something into Damen’s shoulder.
“What?” Damen whispered, reluctant to break out of the weird limbo their tattered relationship was in as long as he was near Laurent, touching him.
“You’re hurting your knees.” Straightening up in his seat on the plush sofa, Laurent murmured, “Get up.”
Damen gingerly sat down next to him. “Are you okay now?”
“Never been better,” replied Laurent, flatly.
Damen studied the light crease between Laurent’s brows, dullness of his blue eyes, sweat dotting his upper lip and forehead, the defeated arch of his shoulders and slightly dishevelled hair. “Clearly,” he mumbled.
He poured Laurent a full glass of water and glared at him until that stubborn man downed all the content of the glass and passed the empty glass with a barely audible “thanks”.
The silence came back with heavy confusion. Damen had just witnessed the man who had the reputation of being calm and collected at the face of a cyclone break down.
Damen had just watched the man of his dreams who had also betrayed his trust have a panic attack over the fact that they weren’t okay.
Damen had just sat down at the request of the same man who had crushed his heart with his cowardice because he was worried that Damen was hurting his knees kneeling on the marble floor.
“Laurent,” Damen waited as Laurent met his eyes, then continued, “Whatever it is… however dire it is to give you a panic attack-“
“It wasn’t a panic attack. I’m fine.”
“-You need to tell me everything because I am so goddamned confused. What are those pictures for? What does your Uncle have to do with any of it? What do you mean by you never wanted to betray me? Why did you go behind my back about the Isthima deal, then? I’m sitting in the dark here, and it makes no sense.”
“Telling you won’t solve anything, it won’t make any difference,” Laurent said quietly,
“Maybe it won’t.” Leaning back, Damen said, “but you can’t just come into my office and have a panic attack in front of me and not talk to me about it. I deserve to know.”
Laurent gave a Damen a contemplative look, as if weighing his options and knowing him, Damen was sure that he was calculating all possible exist plans, measuring out all pros and cons.
Damen felt a familiar fond warmth bloom in his chest.
Laurent pulled out his phone from his pants pocket and handed Damen the phone after pulling up an online article page.
Damen shot him an inquisitive look before concentrating on the screen. The website had the markings of being a tacky gossip rag but the headline gave Damen pause.
It read: Riches to Rags: Reginald DeVere Gambling Away All the Inheritance, Leaving None for Son and Nephews.
The article was basically a detailed expose on how Reginald DeVere, a raging alcoholic, gambled away all his family inheritance and nearly bankrupted the DeVere empire.
Damen knew all of this, but what came as shock was how the article accused Reginald to child abuse and negligence. Damen, unable to look away from the screen, scrolled down to read the rest and came across a picture embedded in the article. It was of a child around the age of seven or eight, dark brown hair and familiar vivid blue eyes. His eyes were sunk in, his cheeks were hollow, putting the protruding cheekbones on garish highlight and his pale collarbone peeking behind an oversized white T-shirt emphasized all the dark blue and purple patches of bruises running all over his visible skin in the photo.
Damen looked up at Laurent, unable to form any words. He did not want his suspicion to be true.
Laurent briefly glanced at the screen and gave a small, firm nod. “That’s Nicaise.”
“Laurent…”
“This website started it all: the investigation, the case and everything. I gave them all the details, all the necessary documents, pictures. I took that picture of Nicaise too. He was seven. It was my 17th birthday and that little asshole stole money from Uncle Reggie to buy me a candy bar,” Laurent dryly said. “It was one shitty candy bar… So not worth the trouble he got into for it. But I had enough.”
Damen felt a violent rush of anger haze his vision red.
“He almost died that day.” Looking over Damen’s shoulder, Laurent said quietly. “I almost died that day.”
“Did he… Laurent,” Swallowing around the rage that was trying to drown Damen, he asked, “Did he hurt you too?”
He knew the answer. He was scared of the answer.
Laurent looked at him. Curling his lips in the shape of a grin, he said, “Nicaise was his biological son. I was his nephew. Just another ungrateful brat… just another demanding, ungrateful brat.”
White hot rage blazed through Damen so fast that he threw the phone across the office before he could rein himself in. The phone ricocheted against his desk, smacked on the wall and fell on the floor in two pieces.
“Oh, don’t hurt yourself over spilled milk of past now, Damianos.”
Damen turned to drench him with venomous words for being so callous but one look at his face sucked away all the rage and lethality out of Damen.
“I’m not here for your pity or anger or anything else. I’m telling you all this because you’re right. You deserve to know why I stabbed you in the back. Why I didn’t choose you, choose me.”
Laurent stood up and took a couple of shaky steps towards the view of the skyline. Keeping his back to Damen, he said, “I was interested in Isthima but only in their publishing business. While you were telling me your plans to expand the business model of Isthima once Akielons acquired it, I was preparing a pitch to present to Auguste to buy into their publishing business, either from Isthima directly…” Laurent shot a sardonic smile over his shoulder. “or from you, whatever came first. My stupid idealistic ass thought I could bridge between… anyway.”
With a mockery of a smile pasted on his lips, Laurent turned back to face Damen. “So, imagine this, confident me walking towards the conference room to present my idea, all ready with every information. I stepped in the room without knowing that I was called in for a Spanish Inquisition and those pictures of us were the evidence against me. All kinds of accusation were thrown around. Every single Board member put their two cents in. Oh, did I tell you that it was a full house Board meeting? Only for silly old me?”
Lost in the unnecessary complicity of the whole ordeal, Damen asked simply, “Why? The pictures are completely innocent.”
Laurent looked shocked for a second, then burst out in a dry, humourless laughter. “Oh, you silly simpleton, the pictures aren’t even the issue. They are mere excuses to boot me to curb, to isolate me from Auguste and Auguste from me because if I’m gone, then it’s open season on my brothers. It’s manipulation season, baby! It’s all aboard the ‘Poison the Last Standing DeVere!’ Train. It’s all fun and games. Reggie had left some poisonous weeds in the foundation of the whole damn company. And now, the weeds are just doing their job.”
As Damen scramble to catch up to the intricate politics embedded in the familial and financial matter of it all, he watched all the semblance of the smile fizzing off of Laurent’s face, leaving it sombre and… sad.
Laurent came to stand in front of Damen and leaned over him. He tentatively reached to touch Damen’s face but stopped himself before their skin came into contact.
Damen burned. He ached to nuzzle into his hand.
But he held still.
“They made me choose between my family, my brothers’ happiness and safety and myself. I chose what one would expect from me. I made the easiest choice of my life.” A hint of genuine smile peeked through for the first time since he had stepped into Damen’s office. “Or so I thought.”
Laurent took a step back and took a deep breathe in. “I thought I was making the right choice, the worthy choice, but I was wrong. And do you know the funny part, Damen? Knowing what I know now, I would still choose my brothers because I don’t want history to repeat itself. I would still choose my brothers because if I don’t, who would?”
His heart beating in loudly in his ears, Damen could almost taste the rusty, rotten ending. Time was slithering away faster that Damen could think. He needed to do something. Say something.
Laurent tilted his head, looking at him. “You asked for the truth. You deserved to know.”
Damen’s mouth moved, finally, only to make the shape of his name. “Laurent…”
Laurent shook his head softly and walked towards the door.
Damen helplessly watched him walk out of his office and gazed at the door, hoping that…
Mathias stepped in hesitantly, guilt riding heavy on his shoulders. “Sir, about the production mishap yesterday…”
Damen blinked at him.
Mathias fidgeted in his place, avoiding Damen’s eyes.
Damen gave a last look towards the door and sighed. “Yes, Mathias. Let’s talk about that mishap, shall we?