Hair gel was one thing I hadn’t moved over to Colin’s apartment yet, so I took some time doing my hair, slicking it back and away from my face, then I did a quick shave in the sink.
By the time I got my act together, Grayson was in the living room with one hundred percent more clothing than he’d started with.
“Dang.” I gave him an appreciative onceover, and not even in a sexual way. Grayson looked great in slim navy slacks and a white button-up with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms. He was lean, but you could tell his body carried a lot more muscle than it looked like, and a vein bulged on the outside of his forearm when he fiddled with the buttons at his collar.
“You look almost presentable, Wes,” he said, “I’m impressed.”
“I don’t have…” I gestured in his direction.
“You don’t need to dress like me for this; you’re fine. If anything, I think it’s gonna work for you.”
“What?”
Grayson spun his car keys around his finger and stepped toward the door.
“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” he said.
“Late for what?”
“Your interview.”
I pulled the door closed behind us and ran after him toward the elevator, which was already open and waiting for us.
“Wait. My what?” The doors almost closed on my foot, and I felt like I wanted to throw up. Why was there so much spit in my mouth? Why were my hands so clammy? It wasn’t like I’d never gone to an interview. I had a job back in Brixton and I’d started working in high school, but everything about California felt so much more intimidating.
“I have a friend who knows a guy,” Grayson started to explain, trailing off with a chain of connections that I couldn’t even begin to make sense of if I’d heard the whole thing.
I followed after him toward the car and climbed into the passenger seat, making sure to not wrinkle my pants with the seatbelt. Grayson, for his part, looked totally unaffected, and it was almost off-putting how at ease he appeared in his work clothes. I realized as he pulled onto the street that I’d never seen him in work clothes since I’d moved in. I’d never even seen him work. I mean, I was sure that he did, but dang.
Grayson drove us about five miles up the coast to a building that looked to be about twelve stories tall. The building was old, but updated, the lobby was big and bright with white walls, save for one which was covered in that fake hedge grass.
“What’s this job?” I asked nervously. There was a valet stand in front of the building and Grayson pulled up.
I didn’t think he was going to sell me into sex slavery, but I wasn’t quite sure, and I didn’t know why he’d been so concerned with how I looked, but I followed him out of the car and into the building anyway.
“Grayson, good to see you.”
There was a man in front of the shrub wall, behind a sleek white desk. He was dressed a lot like Grayson, but he was older, probably closer to Colin or Hendrix’s age.
“Rob.” Grayson stretched his arm for a handshake, but the man—Rob—pulled him into a hug instead, clapping him on the back. Grayson tensed, but I didn’t think anyone besides the two of us noticed it. If Rob had, he definitely didn’t react to it. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with Wesley.”
Rob separated himself from Gray and turned his stare toward me, giving me a casual glance.
I cleared my throat, caught off-guard by the intensity of his stare, shoving my hand in his direction like Grayson had done.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, voice breaking. “I’m Wesley Sutton.”
Unlike the way he greeted Grayson, Rob shook my hand.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Rob said.
I tried to catch Grayson’s eye, but he was busy on his phone.
“Hopefully nothing bad.”
“Not at all.” Rob smiled, flicking a quick look at Grayson before returning his focus to me. “Grayson says you’re interested in being a doorman.”
“Oh.”
