His face whitens before he shakes his head.
“I don’t know why you make such a big deal out of it. No one cares if he’s gay.”
I wish that were true. That people wouldn’t care and Alexander and I could walk around the streets like any other couple, holding hands. But Harrison’s straight and although things have gotten better over the years, there are still many people out there who aren’t welcoming or accepting of gay men or anyone else from the LGBTQIA+ community.
“Do you want to find out? To be responsible for whatever happens if it gets out from one of these girls?”
I shudder at the thought of sounding exactly like Connie and Paul.
Harrison’s mouth remains hard-set as Alexander wanders into the kitchen, kisses me good morning, and steals the other slice of toast.
Clearly, the apple doesn’t fall far from the Morgan tree.
“What’s going on?” Alexander picks up on the tense atmosphere.
“Why don’t you fill him in, Harrison,” I say, already over the conversation.
“I brought home a girl last night, and now yourboyfriendis hitting the roof.” His emphasis on the wordboyfriendis clearly meant as a jibe, and I squeeze my leg in place of a stress ball.
“We talked about this, bro. If you want to live here, there’s two simple rules. Clean up after yourself, and if you wanna hook up with someone, go back to theirs,” Alexander says. He takes a bit of my toast.
“But you’ve got Valentina for that.”
Harrison is clearly missing the point. I look at my watch and shake my head. I don’t have time for this.
“I need to bounce,” I say, resigned to the fact I will have to grab something to eat en route to work. This isn’t my battle to fight anyway, and I hate that I’ve let myself be drawn into it.
“I think he might be a flexitarian,” Julie whispers to me, almost drooling over Marco, who’s standing outside the boardroom with his laptop up against his chest.
His black, tight-fitted T-shirt showcases an amazing physique.
“Are you sure that’s not just his flirty personality?”
I’ve been unable to work out if Marco is straight, bisexual, pansexual, or one of the million different iterations in between. But right now, I don’t need to be focused on that, I need to focus on this meeting. I grab my laptop and a stress ball of my desk and follow Julie to the door.
Marco acknowledges both Julie and I with a smile when we get to the boardroom. Olly and Pietro are already seated inside.
“Is there anything I need to prepare for the meeting?” Marco asks.
“No, you’re good,” Julie says, patting him on the arm as she opens the door and makes her way through. Julie opts to sit next to me, forcing Marco to sit across from us next to Olly. Pietro has already claimed the spot at the top of the table.
“Right.” Pietro jumps right in. “I know it’s only January, but we need to start thinking about creative ideas to present to our brands for Pride month and in particular, the clothing brand Jackal. Chris, do you have any ideas?”
Oh, how I wish Pietro didn’t know I was gay. How I hadn’t corrected him when he assumed I must have a girlfriend when I first started working here. Pietro now opts to ask me to lead theconversation on anything LGBTQIA+ related, like I’m the spokesperson for the entire community.
I squeeze the stress ball, taking a deep breath and repeating my mantra before responding.
Be better. Not bitter.
Be better. Not bitter.
“I think the most important thing for us to be thinking about, with all our brands, is that whatever we do, it doesn’t look disingenuous. That it’s not a box-ticking exercise for them. That they’ll do it and quickly move on to the next topic or theme, such as Black History Month.”
Pietro’s glare communicates one thing—get to the point. But he wasn’t the one who had to deal with the challenge we had last year when the far-right forced one of our clients to stop stocking anything pride-related. It effectively ended our campaign just as it started.
Marco leans forward on the table and looks at me as if asking for permission to speak.
I nod, thankful for the distraction.
