Page 24 of Hot Set

I wondered what exactly Mark meant by “hit it off”. And I shouldn’t wonder. I shouldn’t even care. It wasn’t like I wasinterestedin Brandon. We’d just—

We’d just had a one-night stand, and maybe it meant something to Brandon. But it should not. Brandon knew I was straight, so he’d surely realize that I wasn’treallyattracted to him. He’d realize that I’d just made a hasty decision, and there was no need to think anything more about what we’d done.

Even though I kept thinking about it, playing everything over and over in my mind. I’d liked it, and I felt like I shouldn’t have.

“So, what are you doing now?” I asked.

It was safer to talk with MarkaboutMark than talk about Brandon.

“I’m working on my doctorate,” Mark replied, “In painting. I do some stuff on the side, too. Sometimes, I do projects like Brandon’s, but mostly it’s commissions. Rich people like to look at giant portraits of themselves, or their bratty kids.”

“Must be nice,” I said, “Being rich.”

Mark nodded. “My boyfriend Logan has money like that,” he said. “It’s…astonishing the sorts of things he buys. But I won’t complain. Wealthy people keep me in work, Brandon included.”

“So how wealthyisBrandon?” I asked. “He’s funding this entire production, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Mark replied, “Or his father is. With Brandon, I think it’s somewhere in the millions.”

I whistled between my teeth. “Millions?” I asked.

I’d been imagining hundreds of thousands, maybe. Butmillions?

“Mmhm,” Mark said, tilting his head at the lines he’d drawn. “Telecommunications, no way to make any less.”

“He seems very down to earth for someone with that much money,” I said.

“He always has been,” Mark replied, smiling fondly, “Ever since—”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Mark’s attention. He turned and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, great,” Mark muttered.

I turned around. A man dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt walked to us. His hair was thick and blond and his eyes a sharp, clever blue. It only took me a few seconds to realize who this man must be. He looked a lot like Brandon; they had similar facial features—soft but with high cheekbones and full lips.

Mark gave a little wave and planted a fake smile on his face. As the man approached, Mark climbed to his feet and brushed invisible lint off his jeans. I stood, too, acutely aware of the blots and smears of paint staining my hands and clothes. I wasn’t the neatest artist in the world, and it took a disturbing amount of effort just to keep from getting paint in my hair.

“Jonathan,” Mark said.

Brandon’s dad and Mark shook hands, which seemed overly formal to me. But what did I know? I rocked back on my heels, waiting to be noticed or introduced.

“Jonathan, this is Alex. He’s doing make-up and sets,” Mark said. “Alex, this is Jonathan, Brandon’s father.”

Jonathan’s blue eyes darted to me. It seemed as though his gaze lingered over me forever, although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. From the way Jonathan frowned, I got the feeling he didn’t like what he’d found either.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering my ink-stained hand.

Jonathan smiled tightly. “You, too,” he said.

I swallowed thickly and awkwardly shoved my hand into the pocket of my jeans. I really should’ve known better than to offer my hand to a polished man like this.

“Have you seen Brandon around?” Jonathan asked.

“He’s out today,” Mark said.

“Out where?” Jonathan asked.

“Virginia,” Mark replied. “He went to pick up some camera equipment. I think he’s planning on being away for a few days.”

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