Page 53 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Yes or no?”

“It’s a yes,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Where would you like to eat?”

“There’s a ramen place I like in Spanish Harlem.”

I must make a face because he laughs.

“Wherever you want, sir,” he says casually, making me too aware of my dick.

You’re hiring him to be your part-time assistant, not taking on a sub.

He comes out from behind the desk to walk me to the door, and being this close to him again puts too many ideas in my head. “And if I’d rather not go out?”

“I’m happy to come up,” he says.

“To the club?”

“I meant your apartment, but if you want me to come to the club and not pay for dinner, fine.”

I smile. “I’ll figure something out. Can’t have you going unfed.”

“Have a nice day, Gibson,” he says as I step outside.

“I’ll try.”

And I do try. I have a long meeting with my not-so-silent partner Geoff Reiner whom I met through the club. I trust him implicitly because I know all his secrets, and he knows very few of mine. I took him on when I began to expand internationally. He manages the ever-growing workforce, which leaves me free to scout properties and make deals. In this business, I started with nothing, and then, one day, I had everything. Then everything turned into more, and I secured about a hundred lifetimes for myself. If I had kids, they’d be set—spoiled by wealth. I’d probably hate them.

In part, I owe my success to Marianne. It was an investment from her family that resulted in my first commercial real estate purchase. And now here we are. Co-dependent in the worst way and unwilling to touch each other for more time than it takes to shake hands.

Because of our painful exchange this morning, the image of Fischer being made love to lives rent free in my head for the majority of the day. The way Matthew held him—the way he kissed him and whispered to him—like he couldn’t breathe without him was so deeply moving. I think I wouldn’t feel so bad now if I didn’t know how it felt to love someone like that—to be loved like that.

But unless Marianne finally allows herself to heal, this is the rest of my life. Every day is a struggle to accept this one, unchanging fact.

Geoff and I spend the morning together going through HRcomplaints and making some tough decisions. I speak to him about Christian coming to work with me part time.

“You really need about three people working full-time.”

“I’m aware. I’m not too high maintenance, am I?”

He chuckles. Geoff is in his thirties, married to a man with a child on the way via a surrogate. I panicked when he told me they were pregnant, but he assured me they have a very supportive family, and he doesn’t expect to miss much work at all. He also reminded me that his executive assistants are more than capable of running the company for a few weeks of paternity leave. Personality-wise, he’s a shark. Brilliant with money and allocating resources. He graduated from Yale with an MBA, and he looks the part. White, clean-cut, impeccably dressed, with the requisite dark-rimmed glasses. “I think you could use some more maintenance.” He winks.

I shake my head and wave his comment off.

“When can I meet Christian?”

“Once he signs on—which I’m hoping will be this evening, I’ll find a time to bring him by to meet you all.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He checks his watch and makes a face. “Shit, I’m late for a call with Brazil. Let’s do lunch Friday.”

I nod and let him go. Swiveling in my chair, I look through the large window at the river and New Jersey. My mind wanders again. To Fischer. To Marianne’s tears. To Christian’s.

I close my eyes and let myself remember that last afternoon in Rome. The way he relented and let me hold him, and the kiss he sought and sought until I came undone.

17

CHRISTIAN

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