Hilliard pressed a hand to his unsteady stomach and sighed out a deep breath. It ended in a cheek-aching grin as his magic lit up in his heart.
Monty had bought him flowers.
The night was everything Hilliard expected it to be. Lots of shaking hands and posing for photographs, making small talk over the band and sipping cocktails until everyone was seated for dinner. The Powells shared the stage at the front of the room to offer their most sincere gratitude for everyone’s support in such an important cause.
The only surprise came when Hilliard discovered that he and Monty were not placed at the same table. They weren’t even close. Monty was on the other side of the ballroom, his chair situated so that Hilliard could only recognize him by the set of his shoulders and the pattern of dark hair at the nape of his neck. There was one tiny curl on the right side that refused to be tamed when his haircut started to grow out like it was then. It was a private disappointment every time the stylist at the studio noticed and trimmed it away.
Hilliard realized how bothered he was by the seating arrangement when he found himself silently scrutinizing the food on his plate rather than joining in the conversation. He didn’t really think the wine sauce over his steak was too bitter. It was just easier than listening to a baseball player go on about how well his team’s season was going when his real interest was six tables away.
He reached for his water and took a sip, clearing his thoughts as best he could.
Several minutes later, the woman a few seats down from him said, “Mr. Burke, I saw your interview in The Stargazer.” She was someone important in the fashion industry, but he couldn’t recall her name. “Truly thought provoking.”
“Oh, thank you,” Hilliard said with a genuine smile. “That was really Mr. Kincaid’s interview. I was just there at the time.” He hadn’t read the article yet, and honestly hadn’t planned to. He’d all but forgotten about it.
“We really should focus more on such topics as a society,” the woman pressed. “Platonic relationships are something to be commended. We can all benefit from such arrangements.”
“I believe the idea is impossible without some sort of inclination,” the person sitting next to her argued. With that tone, they had to be a politician, or maybe an attorney. “I have many friends and I wouldn’t share a home with any of them, even if you paid me to do it.”
“Nobody said you have to live together,” the fashion mogul retorted. “But some do. Isn’t that right, Mr. Burke?”
Hilliard blinked a few times when the attention of the table landed back on him. The words platonic relationship were still slamming around in his brain.
“Our arrangement is a little different. Mr. Kincaid and I are friends, yes, but we also work together. It’s more of a…um…” His pulse picked up as he struggled to find the right words to explain.
“A mutual partnership where you both benefit from being in one another’s life,” the woman finished for him, nodding. “Just as I said.”
“You make it sound so uncomplicated,” the older man beside Hilliard put in. “I’ve been divorced three times.” A frown doubled the wrinkles on his face.
“Maybe you should give it a try,” the woman told him.
“I’m not too sure my current spouse would be keen on that idea,” he said with a gruff chuckle.
A polite laugh lifted from the rest of the table, as well, and then the conversation mercifully moved on to something else.
Hilliard cut his eyes to where Monty was still sitting. Had he read the article? Was his takeaway something similar? Did everyone think they were something more than just friends?
Were they more?
Monty had always made passes at him in that puckish sort of way, just like he did with everyone else. It was the kind of flirting that held no weight unless the other person responded with interest. Most of the time he was more subtle about it, but there had been other times when Monty flat out asked to take him to bed.
Now that he thought about it, that didn’t feel very platonic. And Hilliard didn’t want to turn him down. He wanted to say yes, yes, yes until Monty knew exactly what kind of love Hilliard felt for him.
And that was the problem. The thought of breaking down that barrier between them and getting what he wanted more than anything also brought with it the gut-wrenching fear that Monty would see him as just another warm body or occasional bedroom partner. The fear that he would wake up the next morning and have to pretend that what they’d shared didn’t mean everything to him because Monty didn’t feel the same.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump.
“Whoa there,” Monty said, also surprised.
“I’m sorry.” Hilliard turned in his chair to look up at him, as much as he could without pressing his knees against the person next to him. “I saw you were still at your own table not two seconds ago.”
“I came to find you.” Monty leaned closer and whispered, “If I have to listen to one more word about the oil industry, I’m going to stab someone with a fork.”
“Oh, that won’t do.”
Hilliard put his napkin on his plate. As he made to stand, time slowed infinitesimally as Monty pulled out his chair and offered his arm. Hilliard’s magic swelled as he hooked his hand around the crook of Monty’s elbow and was led away in the direction of the bar.
“I only had one drink earlier, like you said,” Monty told him. “I think I’ve earned one more.”
