Page 25 of Mean Machine

“Excellent. We should upgrade your wardrobe.” Nathaniel glanced up, watchful, as if expecting violent protest. “If that is all right with you.”

“I’ve never been to a place that cares much what I’m wearing.”

“I prefer you wearing only a grin.”

Brooklyn laughed. “Don’t think there’s any restaurant on the planet that can deal with that.”

KITTED OUTin a nice suit that had the shop assistant racing around to try and find “the closest approximation,” as he’d called it, Brooklyn admitted it felt like a very different world. Was it that people treated him differently, was it that he moved differently, or was it the company he kept with Nathaniel? Probably a healthy mix.

He’d only worn suits for marriages of friends and relatives—and his own, of course. The uniform had been formal enough. After duty, he’d liked to “let his hair down,” wearing jeans and a T-shirt. If it was cold, he’d top that off with a hoodie. If people insisted on thinking him some piece of council trash, that was entirely their mistake.

Nathaniel had bought him a full ensemble. Five shirts, even two ties, socks, leather shoes, three pairs of trousers, and a woollen overcoat. What a way to blow an average monthly salary. But he did feel less out of place in the restaurant, and he almost laughed at Curtis’s sweet-sour expression at the sight.

No food for him, Brooklyn reckoned. He’d wait with the other guards and staff outside the restaurant. Brooklyn would likely have to pay for that later, but right now, he was completely enjoying himself, letting Nathaniel choose the wine for the main course because he had absolutely no clue.

Three courses later, Nathaniel ordered coffee and the bill. When it arrived, he placed his card in the leather wallet and stood, excusing himself to the loos. Brooklyn pulled the bill closer and opened it to look at the card. Mr Nathaniel Bishop. At least no double-barrelled super-posh name. Bishop. Sounded nice.

Look at you, Brooklyn. Not like you’ll take his name. You’re a white dress short there.

“Anything funny?” Nathaniel asked when he came back, running his hand over Brooklyn’s shoulder.

“Just wondering what people think.”

“That I’m a lucky man.” Nathaniel sat down again. “Getting to spend an evening with an extremely fit young man.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.” Nathaniel smiled. “Here I am, ridiculously overeducated, overpublished, overendowed with assets, and all aflutter like a teenager.”

Brooklyn leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Really?”

“Which part?” Nathaniel quirked an ironic eyebrow.

“I believe the first three; what about number four?”

Nathaniel licked his lips. “You have a way of making my heart pound, Brooklyn. Even more in the flesh. And I assure you, in terms of cardiovascular health, I’m doing well.”

Brooklyn grinned, motioned him closer over the table as if he were planning to whisper to him, but when Nathaniel followed him, he brushed his lips with his own. “Pretty sure I can put your cardiovascular fitness to a bit more of a test tonight.”

Nathaniel stared at him and then chuckled. “Do that again and I may faint.” He finished his coffee, slid the card back into his wallet, and looked at Brooklyn. “Back to the hotel?”

If possible, Brooklyn enjoyed Curtis’s expression even more now. He almost laughed when Nathaniel dismissed him again in front of the suite door, telling him “you won’t be needed tonight” in a tone that suggested anybody who “needed” Curtis—in any capacity at all—was a moron.

“You’re evil,” Brooklyn said once Nathaniel had closed the door.

“I hope you’ll never have reason to call me that and mean it,” Nathaniel said, strangely sober. “But yes, I find him entirely lacking in charm.”

“He’s a sadistic wanker.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Another reason to get you out.”

“Biggest problem would be not killing him out on the street if I ever saw him again.”

“You won’t. He’s not worth it.”

Brooklyn paused, remembered the expression in Nathaniel’s eyes in the restaurant. He stepped closer and then even closer, felt their body heat mingle.

Nathaniel swallowed and put a hand on the side of Brooklyn’s neck. “Ah, testing the hypothesis?”

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