Page 5 of The Butler

When I look back on my life and the conversations I’ve had along the way, promises made can become very real problems in the future. I’d made such grand gestures in my life but none as big as promising to take care of someone for the rest of their lives so they’d be available to me twenty-four-seven. My given promise was an especially bad mistake when the person was only eighteen years of age.

Troy Atkins was the type of boy that could elicit such promises. I would have signed over half of my fortune had he simply asked. Of course, Bob would have interceded and put the kibosh on that stupidity, but I’m just using my foolhardiness as an example of just how hot Troy was in my mind. Every man knows when he uses the wrong head to think with, and I’d definitely lost my head over Troy.

I couldn’t be the only person on earth who’d asked themselves what the perfect human being would be like if you could conjure them up and have them for your own. For a straight man, would she be a Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover model? Would a young Brad Pitt be a woman’s dream? Maybe you liked baseball players and the way their asses filled out a uniform. We all had our perfect imagery and I’d met mine. My entire life I’d been drawn to natural, down-home, farm boys. I liked them pretty but they had to have that boyish and innocent Midwest look to them too. Troy had developed the type of body that hard work on the farm created and that gave him the drool-worthy sculpted physique I adored.

Add in blond and smooth, and like I said, get the checkbook. Troy was that boy and when he’d made his way to Hollywood and showed up looking for a job at my studio, he was fast tracked to my office and then I fast tracked him to my bed.

When I met Troy he was sweet and unblemished from life’s heartaches that one born in California would have been exposed to, especially if you looked like Troy. Him being from Nebraska only contributed to the farm-boy fantasy in my mind. He had a simple quality about him that tugged on my heart strings. In fact, my desire for him was a full-on orchestra of my heart strings being played. The thing was though, Troy wasn’t all that he appeared to be as things turned out.

His other side hadn’t taken that long to manifest once he’d been fully ensconced in my homes and life. Whether the homes were the penthouse in Hollywood, the beach house in Malibu or one of the others in Europe, Troy quickly became comfortable in my lifestyle. I was so busy being a man being led around by his dick that I hadn’t noticed the changes at first and had confused his worries about his future to him just being so in love with me that he was concerned about having a career of his own. He hadn’t seemed to want an actual job, nor did he ask to be put in one of my studio’s films either.

Most rich individuals will tell you they want the best for their mates, man or woman, but the reality is that when you’re wealthy, you want twenty-four-hour companionship because you can afford to pay for it. Add in the person who’s been swept off their feet with all the perks of dating a rich person, and you can definitely end up with a nasty situation indeed. That was precisely where I’d found myself.

“Jet thinks I could model,”Troy had said. “He gets a couple thousand every time he walks the runway in New York,”he added.

Jet was a street-urchin, heroin-chic model Troy had met at one of our parties at the Malibu beach house. One of my studio actors had shown up with the anorexic creep on his arms. Both were coked-out and making asses of themselves. It was six months later when I’d had to scrap a movie I’d given the green light to because the actor half of the awful duo was admitted to rehab.

“You don’t need to work,”I’d said for the hundredth time since meeting Troy.“I want you with me all of the time, baby.”

“But I won’t look this great forever, and then you’ll dump me,”he protested.

He was right, immodest too, but none of us could hold onto youth. Some folks in Hollywood disagreed and looked like ridiculous versions of their old selves, but he was correct. We all eventually lose the privilege of a youthful appearance.

“You’ll still be perfect to me,”I affirmed.“I’ll take care of you, Troy. I promise.”

“You promise?”he asked.

“I promise you, baby. You’ll never want for anything.”

Boy, had that promise been kept. The only devastating thing about my generosity was that once Troy had received my promise he left for the next wealthy sucker. I’d only benefited from his youth for a total of three years and that seemed like a breach of contract after he left me. Maybe I should have sued him?

CHAPTER FIVE: Deklyn

Flying over the turquoise water never got old. This would be my third booking on Action, the name of Mr. Carrington’s superyacht. Hollywood super-producer, Lincoln Carrington Jr., was the out, megarich son of Hollywood royalty. His mother, Hyannis Honeycutt, had been a film legend and the only actress to win four Oscars in a row. The fourth statue was the last of her nine in total. She and Mr. Carrington’s father, not coincidentally named Lincoln Carrington as well, perished in a high-rise tower fire in New York City. Lincoln’s father was the CEO and owner of a very successful motion picture studio.

The board of Carrington/Honeycutt Films attempted to remove Lincoln, the heir and only child of his parents, from the inherited post of Chief Executive Officer. They had sorely underestimated him and quickly learned that he possessed all of his father’s instincts and fearlessness when confronted with outside pressures. They also forgot that he’d already made a fortune on his own by raiding failing startups. He’d cemented his shark status all before turning thirty. He quickly dissolved the studio’s board and loaded it with loyal and trusted confidants from college and his previous business dealings as a venture capitalist. The studio had never made so much money until he’d assumed control.

I stared at the stud sitting across from me in the helicopter. The copter pilots were bringing us over four at a time and I had lucked out and was accompanied by one of the hottest dudes I’d seen lately. He caught me staring and extended his hand.

“Jake,” he said. His strong and tan hand gripped me tightly.

“Deklyn, but call me Dek,” I said, trying to avoid his charming smile. I knew the rules of yachting. You don’t fuck your coworkers. Well, we did it anyway, but thatwasthe rule.Please, God, let me be bunking with this hunk.“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Just left the Octopus that was anchored in Croatia. After the owner died, we all needed new jobs. I lucked out and was part of a skeleton crew that stayed on until the estate decided what to do with his boat. It’s been sold, so here I am.”

“Action is definitely not on caliber with the Octopus, but it’s an awesome boat,” I said, hoping to score some points as well as offer my services to show him around once on board. I had other services to offer, but you know, rules.

“I’m the first officer under Captain Nelson.” His remark ended my dream of bunking with him. First OfficerHunkywould have his own quarters. Perhaps I’d get a chance to visit.

Even though I’d slipped earlier this morning by hosting the gym rat, I had a plan I wanted to stick to, and it entailed getting serious about my life and serious about love again. I’d been in such a tailspin since my only long-term relationship with my college professor and I needed a course correction. Being dumped for a member of the latest freshman class had done a number on my ego.

“I warned you,”Blake had said. Blake was a friend that had known about my relationship with the hottest professor on Stanford’s faculty. He was connected and kept the pulse of the campus through his huge social presence. Like Tom had admitted to me, his affairs were the worst kept secrets on campus.“Professor Keil always picks a newbie and sticks with them until senior year. You got aged out, my friend.”

Twenty-one and I’d been aged out? Life was fucking harsh these days. I completed my senior year, took my undergrad diploma, tucked my tail between my legs, and had been hiding out ever since. One low-paying job after another and still I never tried to use my degree in Information Technology. I’d planned on getting my masters, but the thought of running into my ex with his current boy toy on campus had me running scared. The job offers poured in, but I was a broken mess. All the fucking around in the world didn’t fill the empty space in my heart either. Not to mention that I’d recently been screwing around within my own age group and that was boring as hell. I preferred my men on the plus side of thirty and all the way up to fifty if they could keep up.

“What’s your role?” First OfficerDream Boatasked. Damn he was fine. I focused on his lips as he spoke. “Hello?” He waved a hand across my sightline.

“Sorry about that,” I answered. “Deckhand, unless they need me in the interior. I’m a waiter in the real world, so sometimes I work in the interior.”

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