Exposed (14 page)

Briar clapped his back. “What’s next?”

“Noel’s taking care of getting Jon to his show.”

“Oh, right, he has that thing.” Briar could hardly keep track of everyone, but that was what Noel and Julius were for. They were damn good managers.

“So I’ve got just about enough time to eat and shower and change before I have to get all the rest of these guys rounded up and ready for the presentation. And hopefully Paulo and Gabe show up.”

“They will,” Briar promised, sounding more confident than he felt. The presentation for Fabio and Declan was one of the biggest events of the week. Paulo had been late, drugged up, or hungover a couple times in his career, especially when he was under stress.

This would be a bad time for Gabe to decide Paulo was his role model.

But Briar had to trust him to make his own choices—and mistakes—just as Gabe had said.

* * *

B
riar knew
before he even opened the door that it was bad fucking news. The knock on it was less of a knock and more like pounding, and it was in Julius’s usual rhythm.

He yanked open the hotel room door and stepped back to let his friend and employee inside.

The look on Julius’s face sent a moment of pure terror through Briar, and he gripped the knob hard as he shut the hotel room door behind him. “What happened?”

Fuck, don’t let him be dead.

“Everyone’s fine.”

“
But
?” Briar demanded, his voice rising a few decibels as he let go of the knob. “Fuckin’ tell me.”

“Nobody’s even visibly injured,” Julius added, “but four of the guys got into a car accident. Really minor. The rental company’s pissed, that’s all.”

“Fuck’s sake, I thought you were gonna tell me they went through the windshield.” It didn’t ease Briar’s nerves at all to hear that they were uninjured. What the fuck had they been doing?

Well, he knew Paulo. A long time ago, he’d worked—and partied—with Paulo.

He had a pretty good guess.

“Jesus
Christ
,” Briar added, slapping the wall beside him and letting out a huff of breath as he tried to let his adrenaline subside. He strode past Julius and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What happened?”

“Gabe won’t talk to me. Paulo just said he ran into a fence. Nothing else.”

“Christ.”

“They got to the presentation early and they’ve all been treated for shock just in case.” Julius reached out to squeeze his arm. “Maybe this will be a wake-up call.”

But there was something else—Julius looked tense as hell considering he was trying to calm Briar down. “Yeah,” Briar whispered, then rubbed his face. “Yeah, they’ll drink it off later. And so will we.”

“Thank God. I’m starting to wonder… what the fuck am I doing?”

Oh, man. Briar really didn’t need this, but he could guess where it was going. “What way?”

“As in… I’m starting to think about retiring now, while I’m ahead.”

Briar paused for a few moments and scanned Julius’s face. He was distraught but hiding it… actually, not that well. That was why he wasn’t on the runway himself.

It was probably shock for him, too. “Okay, don’t decide anything while you’re worked up,” Briar answered, keeping his voice calm and steady. He pulled Julius in for a quick, crushing hug. “You’re awesome for sorting all that shit out, all right? We’ll get fashion month wrapped up and then we’ll decide what to do.”

“What about Gabriel?”

“Who were the other guys?”

“Adam, Jon, Paulo.”

Just who he’d expected, then. Adam was starting to be trouble himself. Briar nodded. “Worried about him more than those three?”

“Yeah, and you are, too.”

“I am,” Briar admitted, rubbing his face. “But that conversation with him can wait. He can’t go much further downhill now.”

H
oly fucking shit
, Gabriel was getting good at puking.

As he sprawled sideways across the hotel-room bathroom floor, those long limbs the bloggers and reviewers and editors praised stretched out almost to the tub, Gabriel half-closed his eyes.

Another burst of laughter came from outside the room—definitely from Paulo.

Gabriel threw up once more, then thumped his forehead against the counter as he hauled himself to his feet and flushed, then rinsed out his mouth at the sink. That allowed him to lean heavily on the counter for a few minutes more.

There was a knock on the door, and then Jon’s voice. “How you doing?”

“Good job, baby!” Paulo called out. “You’ll be fine.”

There was another round of laughter from the guys—over a dozen acquaintances or strangers, plus his buddies. The others were friends of Paulo, Adam, Jon, or one of the other couple Exposed guys here.

“Fuckin’ right I’ll be fine,” Gabriel managed once he stole enough toothpaste and rubbed it around his teeth and gums and tongue to feel normal, then straightened up again. The room swayed, but it didn’t spin. That was a good sign.

He pulled open the bathroom door and leaned into Paulo’s half-hug and extra-hard slap on the back, then groaned. “Asshole.”

Paulo laughed again and squeezed his shoulders. “Good job dumping calories, babe. Look, we finished that bottle. Everything else is low- or no-cal.”

“The only no-cal thing is water,” Gabriel muttered, rubbing his eyes. He stumbled over the table with the stack of takeout boxes and cursed, then grabbed one and opened it up.

“Oooh, baby, you gonna indulge?” That was some guy whose name he didn’t know.

The pizza stared up at him, glistening hot and dripping with cheese. It was the first solid thing he’d eaten all day. Fuck yeah, he was gonna indulge.

“Oh, God, that looks good, but you’re braver than me,” Paulo shook his head. “Not before this hell is over. New York City again? Deep dish pizzas for a week, baby.”

Gabriel shook his head. He needed solid food to settle his stomach and soak up the booze, and he needed the booze to soak up the vivid moment that afternoon when the drunken haze had been jolted out of him in the backseat of the car.

And the moment where Briar had walked into the room, his eyes focused like a predator, just half an hour after Jordan had done the same damn thing.

He’d thrown Jordan out without a word, but part of him was still shaking over it. No matter how high he got, he wasn’t so high that Jordan—or, by proxy, Austin—couldn’t get to him.

So why the fuck was he thinking about signing the deal with Austin? Not just because he was easy to win over with speeches about guys who didn’t know rock-bottom, nor for money…

Briar
was
using him. In a way, he was using Briar. But that had never been more apparent than when Briar had asked him to go home with him. Like he was a cheap hookup.

Not that he hadn’t wanted to strip all of Briar’s clothes off and ride him until he screamed. That was beside the point.

Oh, God, he couldn’t think straight, no pun intended.

He laughed to himself as the pizza and dough melted along his tongue.

“He’s gone mad. Fashion month fever finally hit,” Jon laughed over the music coming from Paulo’s iPhone speaker, but Gabriel ignored him.

The pizza was too damn incredible.

The knock on the door made him wince, but he waved at the others. “Shh, shh. I’ll get it. I’m more sober than the rest of you.” It wasn’t like they could argue that point.

Once he stumbled over the broken furniture and made his way to the door, Gabriel opened it and neatly slipped outside in a pirouette. It was a trick he’d mastered to avoid showing the contents of the room to nagging hotel managers until they’d checked out.

“Yes?”

It was the same fucking hotel manager as yesterday, so Gabriel already knew what he wanted.

“Evening, sir. We’ve received a few complaints from other guests, and we’re sorry we have to ask you to keep it down—”

“We’re being as quiet as we can,” Gabriel told him. “A dozen guys in a small room? You should’ve put us in a suite if you didn’t want a bunch of guys in a little room like—like this one… making a scene.”

Then the door cracked open, and Jon sidled up behind him. His slur made Gabriel almost wince. He was
way
more sober than that. He just couldn’t master all his word endings right now.

“At least we’re not fucking. That’d be louder,” Jon giggled.

The manager didn’t even blush. “I’m sure it would be. I appreciate that. But we have to maintain a quality experience for all our guests…”

Before Gabriel could answer, Jon slid an arm around his chest and pulled him in, grinning at him. “Don’t worry, pal. We’ll head to my buddy’s place. Call us a van taxi. Make that two.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like us to call up to your room when the taxis arrive?”

“Sure,” Jon shrugged carelessly and waved at the manager, then pulled Gabe back into the room.

“God,” Gabriel laughed. “You have that down pat.”

“You will, too, when you’ve been kicked out of a dozen hotels,” Jon giggled. “C’mon, guys, get ready to go.”

* * *

“
J
esus
, this place is fancy.”

Gabriel had spent the last month being surrounded by and dressed in fabulous wealth, but it still shocked him sometimes. This apartment was… not just something out of a TV show, but out of a millionaire’s biopic.

There was a fountain in the middle of the indoor marble courtyard, and in the middle posed a live, nude male model.

Not that Gabriel objected to that—he was gorgeous, after all—but the idea of it was ridiculous compared to where he’d been not even a month ago.

He still couldn’t blend in all the time, however hard he tried to exude the arrogant confidence of everyone around him.

“Is he a prince?” Some guy was dressed like one, even wearing a sash.

“Probably. It’s not a big deal,” Paulo shrugged. “They tend to be really bad in bed, though. Well, depending on the royal family involved.”

Gabriel rubbed his face and nodded, then glanced around. He could already spot a dozen actors and models he recognized, and it was easy to see how many men there were in the room compared to women. That led him to suspect everyone here was gay, or very publicly “gay-friendly” at the very least.

Gabriel wandered to the dessert table and grabbed a handful of chocolate truffles. He’d already binged tonight—why not binge a little more?

The sea salt and decadent coating melted in his mouth, and when he bit through to the chocolate mousse centre, his brain gave him a second of orgasmic bliss.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a gorgeous, British guy standing by him. He
looked
British—first, that distinctive face shape, and second, the way he dressed like he came from a titled family there. It only took a second for his guess to be confirmed.

“You must be Gabriel Hunter.”

Proper, posh accent, too. Gabriel giggled under his breath at it, but he nodded. “That’s me. Hello.”

“I’m Leopold Rensworth, the fourth. Paulo was mentioning you to me as a potential new face of my brand. I’m with Rensworth, the premier men’s bespoke suit company—”

“Oh, I know Rensworth, honey,” Gabriel teased.
The fourth.
He considered it a miracle he hadn’t laughed. “You have to have a
little
bit of brains in this business, too.”

To his credit, Leopold took the news with a quick nod. “Of course. My apologies for implying anything of the sort.” He swirled a glass of something, probably champagne, in one hand. “Enjoying the truffles?”

“Very much. Is this your house?”

“Goodness, no,” the young peer laughed. “Not at all my style. Lovely, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Just not quite my country retreat.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Gabriel was unconsciously mimicking him, and he hoped he wasn’t offended. On the other hand, part of him wanted to get him ruffled. Not the part of him that liked money, though.

Leopold didn’t even seem to notice, rendering his internal struggle moot.

“Have you met many others here? Come, I’ll show you around, if you like.”

Gabriel smiled and kissed cheeks and hugged his way around the room as name blurred into name and the alcohol wore off. Pity—this was all a bit more tolerable with a buzz. It was already late enough at night that everyone else was smashed, too, which was bearable only when he was drunk himself.

Luckily, Leopold saw fit to fix that and kept signaling waiters to ensure Gabriel’s champagne glass was always full.

When Gabriel caught Paulo’s eye, Paulo gave him two thumbs up and a big wink. Gabriel just rolled his eyes. Like fuck he was going to fuck—shag—this guy, cute as he was. His dick just wasn’t into him.

It didn’t seem to be into a lot lately, except Briar staring him down like he wanted to shake sense into him while fucking him.

That was kind of a hot thought. Gabriel had to distract himself quickly with a gulp of champagne that went right up his nose.

“You all right?” Leopold asked, leading him away from the main party to sit on a ridiculously ornate bench with gold carved spirals and plush purple velvet cushions. He looked around, then winked. “You know, I’d better go and socialize a little more, but… come and see me here later and I’ve got a business proposal for you.”

“What does it involve?” Gabe wasn’t getting into smuggling shit.

“Well…” Leopold dragged out the last letter and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “My company needs two new models. I’m sure you’re aware Paulo’s contract with us expires next season.”

Gabriel nodded.

“In the meantime, there’s a private party and we’d like to do some dry runs, so to speak, to evaluate different options.”

“So attending a party. Hopefully not naked.” Gabriel directed a pointed stare across the open-plan layout to the courtyard. They could just see a glimpse of ass and a small crowd gathered around the fountain, laughing.

Leopold snorted, touching his chin and moving his head in a particular way that Gabriel interpreted to mean he didn’t approve, but he wasn’t going to be vocal about it. Well, there was one point of agreement, at least. Dimes to donuts the model was a lot more uncomfortable than he let on.

Even modeling underwear was still enough to make Gabriel faintly uncomfortable. Not that he could turn down any gig Julius told him he was taking. That thought led him down the path he was trying hard to avoid treading that day, so he redirected his attention to Leopold.

The rich kid was already gone, and he sighed and rolled his eyes, catching his breath. With a moment to himself, he scanned the house.

He could see what Leopold meant about the style, though. There wasn’t an architectural detail or feature that wasn’t highlighted with intricate levels of design. Whoever had this house, they wanted people to know they had shitloads more money than they needed.

Gabriel laughed under his breath at the thought of the place that was still technically his own house. He hadn’t slept in his own bed more than a week out of the last month.

Sandra was getting her rent, though, at least. And bragging rights.

Three glasses of champagne later, Leopold found him again and dragged him aside, waving over Paulo and a couple guys he didn’t know—three who looked like rich business guys, a couple of models.

“I got the good shit tonight.”

Gabe’s suspicions were already on edge. There were two possibilities, and one was optimistic at best. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what went on. He’d just always found convenient excuses to switch parties or leave the room. After London and Milan, it was a miracle it had taken this long.

Paulo put his arm around Gabe and leaned in to murmur, “You ever done coke before?”

Gabriel’s heart sank. There went that hope. “Nah.” He tried to turn away, but Leopold clapped his arm. “Come on, mate.” He pulled a bag of white shit out of his pocket and tossed it at one of the guys in an oil tycoon suit.

The guy caught it and promptly pulled over an end table, then started pouring the baggie out.

This is real life?
Gabriel tried to act cool, but his heart was pounding.

“This is great stuff. Come on, you look cool. That’s why I want you on my runway.”

“I want him on
my
runway,” someone muttered and the whole group cracked up.

A twinge of discomfort crawled through Gabriel’s stomach. He was used to men eyeing him up, but Leopold had a hard grip on his arm and he was starting to feel Jordan’s fingers in place of Leopold’s.

For the first time, he didn’t feel… safe.

He twisted out of the grip and straightened his shirt, then shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, there’s your line?” Paulo asked. He didn’t seem to be making fun of Gabe, though. “Good for you. Once you pop, you can’t stop.”

“Ohhh,” the guy snorting the line groaned, almost falling over as he pressed his hand to his forehead. “That
is
good shit. Oh my God.”

Leopold snickered, then clapped Gabriel’s arm. “C’mon.”