“Yes." He said his goodbyes, and they exited the shop. Flint forcibly resisted turning back to look at Myles, and once outside, he took a long, deep breath.
“What was that?” Lazlo laughed. “I thought you couldn't be bothered with such a cut-rate establishment." He continued to laugh.
“I found something I liked.” Flint shot back. “We have a coffee date for tomorrow.”
“A clerk at Classic Threads has you this worked up. What’s really going on here?” He cocked a brow.
“His name is Myles Fisher, and he's my beloved," Flint stated with pride.
“Your fucking beloved. You walk into a shop and just run into your forever love? You didn't even want to go in there. What if you'd just walked on, you would not have met him.” Lazlo sounded a little jealous.
"Luckily, you persisted, and I was forced to go inside.” Flint let him have his moment.
“You’re damn right.” He snorted. "It must be hell walking away." He recovered, and sympathy took over.
“The bruise on his face was the hardest to endure. Someone worked him over, and not long ago."
“That sucks.”
"Yes, it does."
Myles held the card and watched the tall, handsome man leave. It was unbelievable that such a man had searched him out and asked him out for coffee. Such things did not happen to average guys like him. He looked down at the card in his hand and read it.
It was elegant and professional, matte black and brushed gold, minimal yet packed a punch. Flint Marsh Security Professional Hadden Corporation. He worked for Nikolas Hadden, one of Pittsburgh's biggest celebrities. That just made his interest in Myles even more unlikely.
The Hadden people were all large, perfectly cut, no duds in that lineup, and professional to a fault. They also stuck with their own, not getting too caught up in the locals. They could be called clannish, but that was too colloquial a term for such sophisticated individuals. But with that said, he looked at the card again and accepted that he had a coffee date with a member of Hadden Security. “I sure hope it’s not a joke.” He added.
"What's a joke?" Randy inquired, walking up to his side and taking in the expensive business card. “They were Hadden people.” He voiced his surprise. “How did they happen to find their way into this shop?”
“I guess they were interested in your leather goods.” Myles theorized.
"He bought a wallet, nothing special, but well-made and durable." Randy looked at the card again. “Why did he give you his card?”
“He asked me out for coffee tomorrow.”
“He wasn’t put off by that huge bruise on your cheek or the way it’s swelling up?” Randy teased.
“I got this defending you.” Myles shot back.
“I know, I know.” He chuckled. “Maybe it was the injury that turned him on. Maybe he likes the freshly punched-in-the-face look. He could be kinky that way.”
"Shut up, you big freak.” Myles barked. “He offered to take care of the guy who hit me. He said just give him a name, and the guy would never bother me again so that was nice.”
“Yeah, that was nice.”
Myles walked home after work with one thing on his mind, and that was coffee tomorrow with Flint Marsh. Damn, even the man's name was sexy. Everything about him screamed sexy, sophisticated bad boy, and Myles was ready for whatever he wanted. He was done playing it cool and acting like he didn't want it as badly as he really did.
Being hard to get was no way to live your life if you wanted to live it to the fullest. He was nearly home when he realized he was making absolutely no sense. He was just happy to be noticed and to have a chance to think about something other than endless responsibilities.
As he was opening his door, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He thought how cool it would be if it were Flint giving him a quick call, but no, it was his father. He stared at it for several seconds and then declined.
He wasn't ready for him, yet he needed to get inside his apartment, have a cup of coffee, and sit down before dealing with his father again. Then his phone buzzed again, and he had to answer. With a deep sigh of resignation, he opened the call.
"Transfer the eight hundred dollars immediately, we are already late. Do you want us to lose our home?" His father yelled into the phone, no hello or how are you, just straight to the demands for money, as always.
"I don't have eight hundred dollars. I paid your utilities and my own rent, and I only have $300 until payday. I don't have it." He was strong and clear, but that was never enough.
“Sell that fucking watch your grandfather gave you and some of your stupid electronics. You could help us, you just don't want to; you want us destitute." He was delusional, but this approach had always worked; things were different this time. He'd already sold the watch to cover their expenses last month, and Myles didn’t own any superfluous electronics.
