Page 32 of The Actor and His Secret

I click on the icon for the voicemail, lift the phone to my ear, and listen.

‘Hello, son.’ His voice is deep and gravelly, a result of years of smoking. For as long as I can remember, he’s sounded like this. It’s a voice that should make me calm and happy, and yet it only creates dread in me.

‘I’m disappointed you have not reached out to me yet, after seeing each other all those nights ago. I’ve been patiently waiting for you to get in touch regarding what it was I need, but I can’t say I’m surprised that you are choosing this moment to ignore me. You are on a high in life right now, and as your father I’m so very proud to see. But more so than ever, you have a lot to lose, which is why I’m so surprised you’ve not called or texted. So, since I’ve been the one to reach out, I think it’s safe to say that you know exactly what I need. I’ll give you a couple of weeks to arrange the necessary details, but if you want me to keep quiet about what you did, another hundred thousand is going to need to hit my bank account. Otherwise, I’ll talk. And with so much on the line for you, I imagine you really don’t want the truth getting out. Just think about what it would do to you. I’d really hate to see all your hard work… jeopardised.’

I feel the sudden urge to vomit. I can’t breathe. With the phone held to my ear, my father’s breathing sounding through the voicemail, I long to open the car door and throw myself out.

It takes a few seconds for my father to speak again.

‘Two weeks, son. I’ll give you time. I still love you, even after what you did. Remember that.’

The message ends with a beep.

I lower the phone, my body and mind numb to the world. Oli stirs on my shoulder, his breathing pattern shifting. I’m desperate for him to wake up so I can take my mind off my father’s threat.

That was what it was. A threat and a promise.

All my career he’s held my secret over me, like the blade of a guillotine. I’m completely powerless to fight against him. But I knew this was going to happen eventually. Deep down, I knew he would never be satisfied.

That was why I took on this film. To get the money to pay him off, and hope he’s satisfied enough that he stops asking for more. Because when I return to New York, I have no desire to ever work again. No need to work for more money that my father could chase after me for.

I pocket my phone, knowing this isn’t a game I’m going to play for much longer.

He can tell the world my secret for all I care. By the time they find out, I’ll be long gone. With no career to speak of, I won’t have anything for him to threaten.

Two weeks. Two weeks to pretend. To play this game I’ve fallen into. Then it will all be over. For Oli, for me, for my father - for everyone.

If I had the ability to call my father back, tell him to fuck himself and fuck his threats, I would. But that isn’t how this works. The only means I have to contact him is putting a message in the transaction notes from the bank when I wire money to him. Shame, then, that in two weeks, he won’t be getting what he wants. He’ll never be hearing from me again.

13

OLI

Even after staying up for half the night, Nikos fucking me in every conceivable position in his massive hotel suite, I’m wide-eyed and totally awake when I walk into work the next morning. The fact that Nikos had me buy clothes at least helped with avoiding any walk of shame which would have given us away - I’d purchased a cashmere jumper which felt like heaven, but at least looked like something I’d conceivably have in my own closet, tossing it on over the new jeans and slipping back into my normal Doc Martins.

Of course, I’d done it in full view of Nikos, still lounging on the bed like a Greek god, his head propped up on a hand, the rumpled sheets slung low over his hips.

I’d looked him dead in the eyes as I’d slipped on the underwear I’d purchased just for him. He’d looked like a starving man seeing food for the first time in weeks.

We’ve agreed to meet up tonight, back at my flat. The tight silk rubbing against my cock and arse are going to make it hard to focus on work today, but I’ve just got some mindless tasks editing the videos we took yesterday. The oversized jumper covers the fact that I’m still half-hard in my jeans, despite the multiple orgasms I’d had last night and the ache I’m still nursing from Nikos railing me.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

It’s the singular thought running through my mind as I get to my desk. I don’t do stuff like this - I’m cautious and boring and I love books. I’m not meant to be the one getting swept up in a whirlwind romance that I know will break my heart. Despite what we discussed last night at the restaurant, I know there’s no way that I’m going to be able to escape from this without being heartbroken at the end - even if it’s just grieving that the best sex of my life has come to an end.

But the way that Nikos had held me as we’d drifted off to sleep, the way that he’d run his hands through my hair - it let me dream, just a little bit, of doing this every night.

I want to slap myself but settle for shaking my head hard. No way do I want everyone thinking I’m insane, going around hitting myself until I see reason instead of gorgeous brown eyes. I sit down in my chair and shift through the piles of papers I’ve accumulated over the last day. Relief floods through me as I find my house keys, tucked under a printed-out stack of analytics from our last social media campaign. I make sure to tuck them into my bag carefully and take a picture of them just to remind myself that yes, I’m not crazy, I did put my keys away this time.

As a precautionary measure, I tidy my desk, junking most of the papers and sweeping up croissant crumbs. I throw a few empty paper cups with the dregs of tea into the bin, and then nod appreciatively at the janitor who scoots over on his rounds to collect the bag and then wipe down my desk with antiseptic cleaning solution. It’s vaguely embarrassing that I’ve become such a slob, but once my desk is clean, my brain feels just a little bit better. Other colleagues are way messier than me - the man doesn’t even blink when he walks away with my crumbs and cups and odd papers.

My phone lights up with a text. I almost break my wrist I reach for it so fast.

Holding it under the edge of my desk so that no one can see, I open the message from Nikos - saved in my phone as Adonis, of course - to find a selfie that takes my breath away. It’s nothing lewd - it could have been posted on his own social media, the kind of picture that shows his gorgeous face and just a hint of bare chest, not a thirst trap but a thirst tease. The sunlight from the window is hitting his face and turning his eyes more hazel than brown, gilding his olive skin so that it looks like he’s cast in bronze.

He’s a fantasy come to life. I shift in my seat, tucking one leg underneath me and sliding down to accommodate the way my dick hardens.

Adnois

---