Vickie Thornton gave a brisk nod. “Yes. So actually it would be our daughter who came out as transgender. She’s asking to be called Ainslie.”
The couple was my age. Vickie had been in my graduating class. We’d taken different paths. She was now one of the higher-ups at Amazon. Me? Not so much. It was surreal to think they had a kid old enough to be transgender, though I supposed that didn’t happen at any certain age.
Vickie smiled at me. There was judgment in her expression. Though I couldn’t be certain whether she put it there or me. “How long have you and your boyfriend been together?”
“Oh, we’re not—”
“About five months.” Stewart cut me off with a gush of words. “We met when I came to see one of his photography exhibits at the G. Gibson Gallery. Though it was love at first sight, I made Randall ask me out three times before I said yes. Have you seen any of his work? Isn’t it just wonderful?”
I glanced toward Mom, who remained stoic save for one arched brow.
Mr. Thornton saved me from having to decide whether to play along or kill Stewart on the spot. “Vickie and I were talking about you a couple of weeks ago. We thought it might be a powerful experience for Ainslie to do a photo shoot with you. If you’re open to the idea.”
Vickie didn’t look as sold on the idea as her husband. Still, no sooner did he say the words than any thought of Stewart was washed away in the torrent of possibilities of a shoot with a transgender child. “Yeah. Um, yes. I think we could make that meaningful for her.”
“Wonderful. We’ll be in contact, then.” He reached out and shook my hand once more.
Before another second was lost, Mom slipped her arm through mine and addressed the Thorntons. “Wasn’t it moving to hear about all the good our Seattle Humane Society is doing? Even Randall recently adopted a poor dog from there. Though I haven’t met her yet, I hear she was truly quite the tragic case. I do hope we can count on your family to help support them.”
As the Thorntons and my mother changed the world through piles of cash and social graces, Stewart copied my mom’s position and slipped his hand through my free arm. It took every ounce of control I had to keep from glaring at him.
The rest of the conversation might have taken a whole three minutes, enough for me to start to sweat. I’d had a couple of clients in the past who took our sexual massage relationship as a promise of a future together. Though awkward, they were easy enough to end. Stewart was blowing my mind. I never would have thought he’d fall into that category. I was willing to bet it had less to do with my sexual skills and more about my family’s ability to make money seem like falling leaves in autumn.
We were a few steps away from my mom and the Thorntons before Kayla swooped in. I’d not even had a chance to extricate my arm from Stewart’s grip. “Randall, did you know that Noah was going to be the speaker tonight? I didn’t even make the connection until I looked over and saw your face. You were right. He is gorgeous. Have you gotten to talk to him yet? I know he’s been busy milking it with the guests, but….” Her gaze finally flicked to Stewart. She grinned at him. “Oh, hi there. I’m Randall’s sister-in-law, Kayla.” She gave him a quick once-over. “You are rather beautiful yourself. I have to say, I’m excited to meet you. I’ve never met a real live escort before. I kinda feel like I’m meeting Julia Roberts inPretty Woman.”
I groaned.
Kayla didn’t notice and stuck out her hand toward Stewart.
Stewart glared at it as if it were diseased, dropping his hand from my arm. “An escort? You think I’m an escort?”
“Kayla, I didn’t ask an escort.” Now I was really sweating. “Stewart is a friend of mine—”
Stewart’s voice rose to an uncomfortable level, both in pitch and increasing volume. “Listen here, you twat, if either of us is an escort, it’s Randall. The things he’s let me do to—”
I grabbed his arm and gave him a swift tug to steer him away from Kayla, trying to use enough strength to keep him beside me but make it natural looking enough that we wouldn’t cause a scene. If I could only keep him from the screeching fit he looked like he was ready to slip into. “Stewart! Shut up!”
Probably not helpful.
He attempted to stop, but I was able to keep us moving toward the back doors of the house. We weren’t far away, but it seemed miles. “You want me to shut up?” Despite the venom, he dropped his voice to barely a hiss. It had a dangerous quality, but at least the people close to us wouldn’t hear. “You told your family I was an escort? Of all the hypocritical—”
“I did not tell anyoneyouwere an escort. I’d mentioned to Kayla a few days ago that I was considering using an escort service, just to keep things simple. But then I asked you. As afriend.”
I pulled him through the doors, and we stepped inside. I quickly glanced around. I didn’t see any other guests, just a few staff, which still wasn’t a good thing.
“Not only do you portray me as an escort, but you flirt with that nobody from the pound.” Again he tried to stop, but I was able to keep us moving. The front doors were less than fifty feet away.
“Flirt with….” I almost laughed when my brain caught up. “Flirt with Noah? He was giving a speech. How the fuck was I flirting with him? That makes no sense at all.”
“You were. Like I wasn’t even there.”
We stepped out of the front doors. As I spoke, I gave a quick look around and spotted one of the valets. I gave him a little motion to bring the car around. “And even if I did, why would it matter? We came here as friends. We talked about that. You said you were fine with it.”
“You think you’re so perfect. You have all this money, this house. You’re a famous photographer. You’re so much better than me, aren’t you?” Stewart finally jerked free of my grasp. “Well, that’s bullshit. You’re nothing but a whore. My whore, though you’re so loose it’s easy to see you’ve probably let the entire cast of the Mariners fuck you raw. You’re disgusting.”
During his rant, the town car had pulled up behind us. Without waiting for the driver to get out, I reached around Stewart and yanked open the car door. I grabbed his arm and pulled-pushed him into the backseat, dipping my head inside long enough to give him a hiss of my own. “The Mariners are a baseball team. They don’t have a cast, Stewart. They don’t fucking sing on Broadway.” I glared up toward the front of the car, catching the driver’s wide-eyed expression in the rearview. “Take him home. Or anywhere else he wants to go. Just get him the fuck off the island.”
In one smooth motion, I pulled my head out of the way and shut the door, slamming my palm on top of the roof. Like a horse answering my slap, the car took off. I watched it wind its way up the driveway, half expecting Stewart to throw himself out of the car and rush toward me like a crazed zombie.
