Office Dynamics: M/M Workplace Straight to Gay First Time Romance (4 page)

Jonas drained his coffee and set it in the sink. “I’m just a temp,” he said, changing the subject before it went to a whole other territory. He grabbed his phone from the counter, wiping his palms across his shirt. “You want me to call you a cab?”

Tris waved a hand. “I’ll call my driver,” he said.

There was no more small talk after that.

---

Tris didn’t treat him any differently come Monday morning though he did greet Jonas with the faintest of smiles before he excused himself to pick up a phone call.

Jonas didn’t see him again until the next day, hunched over his desk, stubble dotting his face as he reviewed a file with slitted eyes; he looked worse for wear, like he hadn’t slept in days, and barely even spared Jonas a glance when Jonas pushed a cup of coffee his way and his requisite jam-filled pastry in a box.

Jonas, knowing it was none of his business, didn’t press him for details though he waited with bated breath for Tris to call him into his office. But Tris never did, not even to complain about the soy latte.

Jonas asked Giselle about it the next day.

“He seems kind of …” He trailed off, hoping Giselle would catch up.

Giselle tugged at his sleeve, eyeing the empty hall warily. “His dad’s dying,” she whispered, lowering her head to his. “And the will, I heard, is a mess. Tris and his dad aren’t on the best of terms so he’s a little worried he’ll end up with nothing.”

“Sounds complicated,” said Jonas with a wince.

“Rich people. What do you expect?” Giselle said, and that was all the explanation Jonas needed.

---

“How do I look?” Tris asked, turning.

He wore a stylish three-button suit that hugged all the right corners lovingly. Black jacket, black pants and vest. Black, black, black, even his shoes. “I was thinking I’d wear this to the funeral. What do you think? Silver or black?” He held up two pairs of silk neckties.

“Your dad’s not dead yet,” said Jonas, pointing to the silver tie. He was honestly about to get cross-eyed from the lack of color.

Tris began putting on the black tie in the mirror, despite Jonas’ suggestion. “He will be soon,” he said, “And when he is, I have to be prepared.”

Jonas widened his eyes. “Wow, that’s kind of harsh.”

“Well, he 
is
 a harsh man. He’ll get what he deserves,” murmured Tris, tugging fruitlessly at the knot at his throat; he gave up on the fourth try and threw it aside.

“Are you sure you’re all right? I thought you said you were going to the Opera? Why do you have to be dressed in black?”

Tris turned to look at Jonas, one perfect eyebrow lifted. “I’m 
this
 close to having a nervous breakdown. Yesterday I contemplated putting the whole carton of milk in my coffee.”

“Obviously cause for alarm right there,” Jonas said, trying not to laugh. He checked his watch. It was almost six. Unpaid overtime again, he thought.

“You have somewhere else to be?” Tris asked him, twirling his tie between his fingers.

Jonas looked at him, properly, for what seemed like the first time since they met, Tris in his freshly pressed suit, with his gently curling hair, the soft line of his mouth, the sharp curves of his cheekbones.

Jonas would’ve been home by now, sprawled across his couch, watching television and eating Chinese takeout if Tris hadn’t called him into his office, wanting his honest opinion on his choice of attire for the night.

Jonas shrugged and pocketed both his hands. “Nope,” he said, feeling like he’d missed something important. “I’m relatively free, I think. Why?”

“Have you ever been to the Opera?”

Jonas narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling they were going there. “Don’t you have a date?”

“I can cancel.”

Jonas weighed his options. It didn’t take much consideration but then he wanted to be sure he was making the right choice; he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. “No,” he said, finally, knowing he was going to hate himself for it eventually. “I don’t think I have.”

Tris snapped his fingers. “Excellent. You can come with me then. Might teach you a thing or two. You, Jonas, look like you need the culture.”

“Culture,” Jonas repeated with a snort.

“Yeah, culture.” Tris looked confused. “Did I say something--”

“Let’s just go to the Opera,” Jonas said, grabbing Tris’s silver tie off his desk and tossing it at him in a ball.

---

Despite everything, Jonas liked his job at H & Co.

He liked getting dressed up for it every morning, putting on a tie and taking the train to work. The suit commanded a certain respect from his peers, and the pay was nice too, even for a temping job; it allowed him little luxuries every now and then, like dinner with friends on a nice evening, and running water.

What Jonas didn’t anticipate was what his job entailed: running around the city fetching things for Tris, and now, it seemed, he was Tris’s Plus One to the Opera too.

The Passion of Boule de Suif
 was playing at the theater, and Jonas enjoyed only about a minute of it, right before things became fast-moving and took a turn for the ridiculous. He stopped pretending he could follow the story and dropped the program in his lap.

Tris was right: maybe he didn’t have any culture and lacked the sophistication required to enjoy the Opera. He glanced at Tris shortly after the first act. He seemed to be really enjoying himself, smiling like a little kid and giggling.

Jonas was about to duck out after a string of flimsy excuses but he thought another act wouldn’t hurt, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. Besides, if he concentrated hard enough, he could drown out the grating singing. He woke right before it was time for the intermission, stifling a yawn as he unwound himself from his seat. He followed Tris up the sloping marble steps that led to the lobby where a crowd of people had gathered around standing and talking.

Tris, coat folded over his arm, leaned against the wall, his cheeks flushed with excitement. Jonas felt himself blushing for some reason and dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet.

It felt like a date.

“Do you still have the heart to stick around for the second act?” Tris asked, voice taking on a teasing lilt.

Jonas laughed sheepishly. He dipped his head. “Well, I don’t really mind,” he said, even though he was tired and wanted to sleep.

They stood there, watching rain collect on the glass windows, until it was time to head back inside for the next act. An usher glanced at them uncertainly as the last handful of people was herded back inside.

Jonas, who felt like being spontaneous and daring and stupid, blurted out the only thing he could think of to improve the evening.

“Do you want to go out for that fat greasy burger I was telling you about?”

Tris’s curious smile shouldn’t have made his stomach do somersaults but it did. Fucking god, it did.

---

The air was cool when they stepped out into the street, slipping back into the Bentley and shaking rain off their shoulders. Jonas gave the driver -- a new one this time, not anyone he recognized -- directions to Pepper’s Corner, the only burger place in the city opened until midnight.

Their burgers were named after heavy metal bands whose posters were plastered all over the walls.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to get mugged,” Jonas promised Tris, lifting the umbrella over their heads as they crossed the street. “The staff is really nice.”

They were the only people there at ten thirty, and Jonas seated them in the back, in his favorite spot, which afforded them a view of the street outside. Rain sliced through the headlights of passing cars. Jonas remembered he’d brought a date here once but she didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as she said it ‘creeped her out’.

Tris raised an eyebrow at the menu. “This is going to give me heartburn,” he said.

“He’ll have the Judas Priest,” Jonas told the waiter, a guy in his early twenties with electric red hair. He didn’t speak French but he had a nose ring and Jonas thought that was exotic enough.

Their food arrived after fifteen minutes, piping hot. Judas Priest was about as fancy as you could get in a place like this: bacon and bleu cheese dressing, slices of apples, chopped walnuts, dried cranberries. Perfect for Tris, Jonas thought.

Jonas ordered his usual Iron Maiden: cherry peppers, avocado, chipotle mayo between slices of fat beef.

Tris swallowed audibly, tucking his table napkin into his collar. He looked nervous, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows like he was getting ready for a fistfight.

“Eat with your hands,” Jonas instructed him. “Or you won’t get the full experience. Your hands.” He confiscated Tris’s silverware. “You’ll love this, trust me.”

Tris looked like he doubted it but he grabbed a handful of his burger anyway and took an experimental bite. His eyes closed after the first swallow, and he made a breathy noise that went straight to Jonas’… he’d rather not think about it.

“Oh my god,” Tris said, cheeks stuffed with bread and beef. “What is this, this is heavenly!”

Jonas laughed and felt his chest balloon a little. “What did I tell you?”

“Oh my god,” Tris said again, taking a sizeable bite, dripping bleu cheese down his wrist. “This is absolutely amazing. I should really get you a corner office or something.”

“We can talk about that later,” Jonas said, nibbling on a fry. He dunked half of it into the glob of cheese on Tris’s plate.

Tris did the same, snatching a fry off his plate and dipping it into Jonas’ ketchup.

---

They continued sitting there afterwards, sipping beer after beer, waiting for the rain to peter out, talking about the security guard on the night shift people doubted actually existed.

“Has anyone even seen the guy?” Jonas said. “Giselle swears she’s spoken to him a couple of times, but I don’t know.”

Tris laughed. “Well, I’d hate for him 
not
 to exist; he’s on my payroll after all. I better check with Accounting.”

Loose and relaxed, dress shirt undone, Tris seemed like an entirely different person, like someone Jonas wouldn’t mind kicking back with every afternoon after work. This Tris wasn’t irritating, or an ass, and kept reaching out to tug at Jonas’ wrist whenever he stressed a point.

“And he said, he said: don't you remember? We both fell through a window during a barbecue party and are now paralyzed for the rest of our lives.” Tris tipped his head back, laughing at his own unfunny joke, eyes closed. His signature move.

Finally, the rain ebbed, and they were both ready to leave. Tris left the place a hefty tip after they split the bill and walked back to the Bentley. Later, Tris dropped Jonas off at his apartment, keeping the window rolled down as Jonas leaned over the car and patted the roof gently.

Jonas felt like he was in one of those movies, where the guy leans over the car and offers a kiss goodbye. In Jonas’ life, however, no such kisses were exchanged. He led a pretty nondescript life and he didn’t think Tris would appreciate a kiss from him anyway, not that Jonas thought about kissing him. Because he didn’t.

“See you on Monday,” Tris said, and he sounded so genuinely sincere Jonas wanted to do something drastic for a second, like shake his hand or hug him or ask him if he wanted to come up to the apartment for coffee. But he did none of those things and just stood there, awkward, at the curb, one hand in his pocket, his throat clogged with unsaid words.

“See you,” Jonas said, not a second after Tris rolled the window back up. He watched the Bentley disappear out of sight, rounding the bend, and kicked a signpost as soon as he realized the familiar churn in his stomach that followed an abrupt realization: he 
liked
 Tris. He liked him 
a lot
.

Jonas chose not to dwell on the irony of it all and made himself coffee in his poorly-lit kitchen.

---

Nothing changed in the ensuing days though Jonas was tempted, a couple of times, to put his hand in the shredder. He wasn’t supposed to like Tris as a human being.

Bosses were there to be feared and loathed. Occasionally, you spat in their coffee and keyed their expensive car when they were giving you trouble, but you didn’t, under any circumstance, start waiting around for them to clock in, like some sort of expectant pet meandering by the doorway, scanning the halls with a jiggling leg.

Jonas knew he had to put a stop to it so he focused on Tris’s bad points: his inability to make up his mind about his coffee, his annoying little laugh, his freakishly long fingers, and his soothing bedroom voice that sounded pornographic on the intercom.

It was easier said than done, apparently, because even his bad habits, like never finishing one goddamn cup of coffee, seemed, to Jonas, kind of cute. Jonas, who knew he was done for, hoped for a miracle.

He didn’t have to wait very long though, it turned out, because a few days later after news of Hall Senior’s health beginning to improve, Tris showed signs of getting back into the usual swing of things as well: asking Jonas to pick up a thumb drive he had left in his office in the topmost right-hand drawer of his desk.