Page 4 of Boy Issues

This time when Donovan swallowed hard, it was to stuff the hurt back down in his gut where he carefully kept it hidden. It wasn’t as if he’d been told repeatedly by his family over the years how ashamed of him they were. Why get continuously upset over such a thing? It’s not as if they would ever change how they felt about him. Especially since their ire had only gotten worse as the years went by.

Donovan would always remind himself that at least he had a shit ton of money. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“What the hell is going on in here?” Donovan’s father, Francis, marched into the room, forcefully shutting the heavy door behind him. “I can hear you two morons all the way to the elevator!”

Donovan massaged his temples. He didn’t want to ask himself if the day could get any worse, because in his family, he was confident it could. No point in inviting the wrath of the family gods.

Lawrence slammed his hands on his hip. “He’s pestering Lance with his own personal designs, when he knows damn well that we’ve already assigned Ariana and her team to that client.”

Donovan raised his hand like an errant schoolboy. He despised shouting matches, which is why he resorted to sarcasm instead. A big part of him believed that Lawrence loved to yell at the top of his lungs, that maybe it made him feel more powerful or some such shit.

His father frowned. “For chrissakes, Donovan. What?”

“I’d like to interject some actual facts into this conversation, if I may?”

Lawrence snorted as if Donovan had said the most ridiculous thing ever. His father gestured impatiently, silently indicating for Donovan to speed things along.

“Mr. Sherman was at Spago’s and he stopped by my table. He told me that while he was happy about his company’s long association with our firm, he wasn’t happy with the new designs. He asked if he could meet me in my office, and I agreed.” Donovan made a sweeping gesture toward the walls where some of his earliest designs out of architect school were framed. “He wanted to know who had designed these, and why couldn’t he work with that person.”

Lawrence burst into laughter and his father pinched his lips together. Donovan wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to share the true story of what had happened. He’d already known they wouldn’t believe a word of it, and he didn’t care anymore whether they did. Lately, cracks to Donovan’s veneer had begun to form. His fear was that soon he wouldn’t be able to maintain the self-control he needed to survive.

Finally, his brother seemed able to contain himself. “Oh my God. You are so full of shit.”

Their father smacked Lawrence on the shoulder. “That’s enough.” He regarded Donovan. “You’re both acting like children instead of grown men, executives of an award-winning architectural firm. This company has been in our family for generations and it’s your legacy. You didn’t have to build it—it was handed to you both. And yet you’re behaving as if you were toddlers.” He jabbed a finger at Donovan. “You, especially. You’re forty-two years old!”

Donovan chuckled. “And Lawrence is thirty-nine.”

He hoped his father didn’t continue reciting the firm’s long and boring family history the way he did whenever he got upset. It was the filthy rich version of ‘when I was a kid, we used to have to walk barefoot in the snow fifty miles to school. You don’t know how good you have it.’ In some ways, his father was right. He did have it good. He didn’t have to worry whether he’d have a roof over his head or be able to buy his next meal. But it didn’t mean he hadn’t paid a price in other ways.

“I swear to the living Christ,” his father gritted out. “If your mother hadn’t stipulated in her will that you head the company, I would’ve…”

His gritted his teeth as Donovan lifted one eyebrow, his gaze darting to Lawrence then back again. He might love Lawrence more—hell, might only love Lawrence for all Donovan knew—but he was also a smart man. Lawrence couldn’t run a convenience store, let alone a giant corporation.

“You were saying, father?”

His father ran a hand across the top of his silver hair. “Never mind. Don’t discuss your artistic fantasies with our clients, and you—” His father pointed at Lawrence—“Stick to managing the design teams.” His father narrowed his eyes at Donovan. “There’s an event I need you to attend next week, and I want you to bring a date.”

Donovan sat straighter in his chair. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There had been an understanding for years between them, that as long as he didn’t flaunt that he was gay, didn’t openly date or get involved in a relationship with a man—then his father would look the other way.

“Well. I’ll have to consult my little black book to see which handsome devil I’d like on my arm that night.”

His father turned to Lawrence. “Don’t you have some meetings to set up or blueprints to go over?”

“No, I’m—”

“Out.” Their father jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Sure.” He cleared his throat then cast a glare in Donovan’s direction before stomping away.

His father adjusted what had to be a Gucci tie as he approached Donovan’s desk. He always wore that brand, had for years. He helped himself to one of the leather side chairs directly across from Donovan, took a seat then crossed his legs. He leaned back, placed his elbows on the chair arms, then laced his fingers together before placing his hands in his lap.

Donovan sighed. His father had assumed the ‘I’m fucking serious’ pose.

“This has gone on long enough, don’t you think? For God’s sake, Donovan, you’re middle-aged. Aren’t you embarrassed that you haven’t done the right thing yet? Found a good woman with a good name to start a family with? You could join the country club, go to all the best social affairs, be photographed by Vanity Fair—help keep the firm’s name in the public eye. Instead, you’re still prancing around town, lurking in dive bars and sex clubs with a bunch of homos and perverts, and trolling for your latest sleazy one-night stand.”

“Well. That was quite descriptive.”

His father narrowed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he stared Donovan down. After a few moments, the defiance was knocked out of him.

---