Young At Heart (3 page)

Dressed impeccably in a dark-grey Armani suit that flattered his tall, slim body and with his long, silver-flecked hair tied back in a loose ponytail, Antonio cut an impressive figure. He leaned back in his chair, steepled slender fingers in front of his chest, and arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“It's true, then?”

“What is?”

“You kicked out our baby-faced friend.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“One hears rumours, darling,” Antonio murmured. “You should have done it months ago. He wasn't good enough for you. Of course, one has to wonder why you chose to dump the little dear now. Tell me, darling, did he do something awful?”

“Well, he fucked you,” Devon smiled sweetly, watching with satisfaction as Antonio's jaw dropped.

“He told you?”

“No, of course he didn't.”

“Then how....”

“One hears rumours.”

“Devon, we've been friends for a long time now. Forgive me this one little indiscretion. After all, you sent him to me knowing he's no better than a common rent boy. He came on to me, and I admit, in a moment of weakness, I found him too delectable to refuse.”

“What? He came on to you?”

“Obviously, darling. I was undecided about him modelling for me. He suggested a blow job might help make up my mind. When it didn't, he offered the rest. He's a good-looking boy. I couldn't resist. I'm sorry, darling. At least now you see him for what he is.”

Devon stared, his mind reeling. The story Jesse told was entirely different from the one he was hearing from Antonio. One of them was lying to his face and he didn't want to believe it of either of them. But Antonio was right when he said they had been friends for a long time. For years, Devon had trusted him without question. Jesse he had known a matter of months and had he ever really trusted him? In his heart, he knew the answer was no. From the moment Jesse said it on Friday night, Devon had known he was lying about Antonio forcing him to have sex. With a bevy of beautiful, willing young men at his beck and call, Antonio had no need to force anyone.

“I'm still furious with you,” he told Antonio sternly, but there was no real anger in his voice. Antonio was his best friend. He had to forgive and forget, or who would help him through his break-up with Jesse?

“I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” Antonio promised. “Starting with an invitation to a dinner party on Friday night, and I won't take no for an answer. We'll have good food, good wine, and I'll introduce you to a couple of wealthy bachelors.”

Before Devon could protest that he really didn't feel up to meeting anyone else yet, or indeed for the foreseeable future, Antonio leapt smoothly to his feet saying he had business to attend to. He leaned over the desk to kiss Devon on the forehead and waggled his fingers as he left the office.

For a long while, Devon sat thinking over what Antonio had said, and despite his reluctance to attend the dinner party, he was already planning what to wear. Jesse was history. He needed to move on and forget about him. What better way than hooking up with someone else?

Half an hour after Antonio left, the office door burst open and a tall, distinguished-looking woman strode confidently into the room, wafting expensive perfume, dripping in even-more-expensive jewellery. Emily hovered close behind, absolutely stricken at someone else having got by her. Devon waved his hand dismissively at the distraught assistant, making a note to send the girl on an assertiveness course. God knows she needed it if she was ever going to learn how to handle Erica Alexander. Then again, he had been her son for forty years and had yet to figure the woman out.

“Mother, what a pleasant surprise,” he said evenly as Erica lowered herself gracefully into the chair Antonio had vacated just thirty minutes ago. “That's a lovely necklace. I'm sure the salesman appreciated the commission.”

It didn't take a genius to work out why Erica was making this impromptu visit. No doubt Antonio had called her as soon as he discovered Devon had finished with Jesse. His best friend and mother were thick as thieves, often sharing gossip over leisurely lunches. And how his mother must be gloating. Of everybody, Erica had been Jesse's biggest critic, even though she had never met him. Knowing his mother's views on him being gay
and
having a toy-boy, he made sure the two of them never had cause to be in the same room.

“Sweetheart, I had to come and see how you were holding up after what that awful boy did to you.”

“You don't know what he did, Mother,” Devon pointed out. While Antonio may have informed Erica that Jesse was out in the cold, Devon doubted very much he had been as quick to tell her why.

“I'm quite sure he did something terrible,” Erica insisted. “It's been coming all along, of course. I knew straight away he couldn't be trusted. What happened? Did he steal from you? Cheat on you? Please God, he didn't hit you.”

“It's fine,” he told her impatiently. “
I'm
fine. There was no big drama. It was just time to end it.”

“Well, if you're sure.” His mother looked doubtful and a touch disappointed. Anyone would think she wanted Jesse to have done something wrong, to prove she had been right about him.

“I'm sure, Mother. I also have a very busy schedule, so unless there's anything else....”

Realizing she was being dismissed, Erica frowned as she rose from the chair. “Well, I know when I'm not wanted,” she said coolly. “Although, maybe now this ridiculous love affair has ended, I'll see more of you. Why don't you come home for the weekend?”

“I'll think about it,” Devon sighed, feeling guilty.

His mother turned seventy this year, and although she was in good health, she wouldn't be around forever. He really should make an effort to spend time with her while he still could. It shamed him slightly to think he had put his relationship with Jesse over the one with his mother.

Erica nodded graciously before leaving the office, and he was alone once more. For the rest of the morning he was too busy to dwell on Jesse and Antonio, or his strained relationship with Erica. He was so absorbed in his work it surprised him to look up at the clock and see it was way past lunchtime. Not that he was hungry, but he could do with a coffee.

He fetched a mug from the staff kitchen, ignoring Emily's protests that providing refreshments was her responsibility, and returned to his desk. Stopping work was a mistake, he thought, taking a sip of coffee. As soon as he relaxed, his thoughts turned to Jesse. Was he still outside? Would he be there when Devon finished work? Did the fact Jesse looked so rough mean he was missing him? Inevitably, it came back to the question that had been eating at Devon all weekend: Why hadn't he been enough?

I thought you would have researched me.
Jesse's words flashed through his mind and Devon frowned. The funny thing was, he had always done background checks on the men he dated. He had to be careful when he was not only rich in his own right, but was also set to inherit a multimillion-pound fortune. With Jesse, he had let all that slide and now he wondered if it was because he had known all along he wouldn't like what he found.

Impulsively, he pushed his workload aside, told Emily he did not want to be interrupted for anything less than the building catching fire, and opened up his laptop. The hours passed in a blur while he made phone calls, called in favours, and scoured the Internet. Money talked—or, more to the point, the people taking the money he offered did the talking. By the time Emily left at six, Devon had amassed a pretty comprehensive history on Jesse Young. He settled back in his chair and began to read.

As Jesse said, he had been taken into care at the age of four, when neighbours alerted police to the fact his mother had gone on holiday to Spain, leaving her child alone in their flat. The young Jesse had soon been placed with a middle-aged couple, staying there for six months before Social Services noticed he was neglected and ignored by his foster family, half starved and going for days on end shut in one room. A month later he was placed with another family. This time he was with them for eighteen months, with talk of his stay becoming permanent. Shortly after the adoption process began, though, Jesse's foster mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Devon supposed no one could blame them—they had their own problems to deal with—but within days of the diagnosis, Jesse's foster family returned him to Social Services saying they could no longer care for him.

In the years that followed, Jesse went in and out of care homes and foster families, never staying anywhere longer than three months. Devon read over and over again how Jesse found it difficult to settle in one place, growing disruptive and difficult to deal with. At the age of twelve he was placed with yet another family, and two months later he was in hospital, beaten so badly by his latest foster father his own social worker walked past his hospital bed without recognising him.

You want to know how many of them abused me?
Poor Jesse. Devon pictured him as a child, his brown eyes wide with fear and uncertainty each time he was sent somewhere new, never knowing what to expect or if he would be hurt or rejected again. No wonder he found it hard to settle anywhere.

Devon continued reading, praying the beating that hospitalized Jesse would be the worst of what happened while Jesse was growing up. A year later, a thirteen-year-old Jesse was placed with an older couple with over twenty years' experience caring for troubled teenage boys. And, for a while, it seemed to work. Jesse's behaviour calmed down, he was going to school and staying there instead of constantly bunking off, and it seemed he had finally found somewhere he could be happy.

But nothing was ever that easy. Four months after Jesse, the family took in another troubled teen, this one put into care after being accused of sexually abusing his younger brother. Rob was a year older than Jesse and bigger built. Within a week of moving in, Rob calmly walked into Jesse's room during the night, held him down, and raped him. The foster parents had been horrified, deeply upset by their failure to protect a child. In the end, they too had decided it would be better for Jesse if he was not returned to their care.

Devon's hand flew to his mouth in horror, his eyes flooding with hot tears as he read about the horrors of Jesse's life. Abandoned at four, beaten to a pulp at twelve, raped at thirteen. How did anyone get over something like that?

Turning the page of the printout, he read on. Unsurprisingly, after the attack, Jesse had gone completely off the rails. Back in a children's home, he skipped school, ran away several times, and got in more fights than Devon could count. Even knowing all that, it was still a shock to learn Jesse had spent six months in a detention centre for stealing a car when he was fifteen. It all seemed so far removed from the handsome young man Devon had spent the last few months with. God, had he ever known the real Jesse at all?

On his release from the detention centre, Jesse had run away again. He was sixteen. More trouble than he was worth. It seemed as though nobody bothered looking for him very hard. That had been two years ago. No, wait, that had to be a mistake. Jesse had run away when he was sixteen, but that was four years ago, not two. Devon scanned the last paragraph again, thinking he must have read it wrong. But it was there in black and white. Jesse had gone off radar two years ago at the age of sixteen. Which meant....

Devon leaned back in his chair and groaned.

Jesse was only eighteen.

HALF an hour later, when Devon stepped out of the lift, the night security guard was waiting for him in the foyer. Larry Barker had worked for Alexander Industries for a little over fifteen years and tended to be overprotective. Although Devon's apartment was only a ten-minute walk from the office, Larry never allowed him to walk home after working late, especially during the winter months when it was dark and cold. Devon always came down to find a taxi waiting for him at the front of the building.

“Young has been waiting outside for about two hours now,” Larry said gravely as Devon approached. “I've taken the liberty of sending your taxi to the rear of the building.”

“Thank you, but really, there's no need. I can handle Jesse.”

“I'm not so sure, Mr. Alexander. It's raining, close to freezing, and the boy's dressed in a T-shirt. He's just stood across the street staring at the building. He's crazy, Mr. Alexander, and if you ask me, that makes him dangerous.”

“He's not dangerous, Larry. Please have the taxi come round the front.” Much as he appreciated the older man's concern, Devon was certain Jesse posed no threat. He was upset, angry even, at being rejected again, but he was just a kid. “Besides, I have something I need to say to Mr. Young.”

Larry nodded disapprovingly and set off to talk to the taxi driver. Walking to the revolving door, Devon peered through the rain-streaked glass into the dark street. On the other side of the road Jesse spotted him and crossed over, waiting for him to step outside. As Larry had said, he wore a T-shirt and jeans. He was soaked to the skin and shivering, but his dark eyes were hopeful as Devon approached him.

Without warning, Devon smacked him hard across the face, more of a slap than a punch, but enough to send Jesse reeling. God knew it wasn't the right way to handle the situation, especially with everything Devon now knew about Jesse and the abuse he had suffered, but he was so damn hurt and angry. Not that lashing out made him feel any better. Jesse raised a hand to his reddening cheek and blinked in confusion.

“What the fuck?”

“You lied to me.”

“What about this time?” Jesse muttered sullenly, rubbing his face.

“Eighteen, Jesse!” Devon hissed furiously. “You're eighteen.”

Jesse gave him a guarded look. “I didn't lie. You thought I was twenty. I just didn't tell you I wasn't.”