Working It Out

"We'll have a whole new graphics package ready for you by noon tomorrow, Geoffrey. I'll bring it to lunch at Laffite." Affton laid on the charm, smoothing the waters as well as he could.

Richard Chalmers was one of Fillian Commercial's biggest clients and he was not going to disappoint the man.

"I'll see you there. I'm looking forward to it."

He hung up, grabbed the file, and headed to the graphics department. Heads were going to roll and then no one was going home until the graphics had been fixed. They looked nothing like what the client had asked for, or for that matter, like what they'd pitched to Geoffrey in the first place.

The graphics department was a floor down and Affton strode down the stairs, building his head of steam as he went. They were a billion dollar advertising agency and this kind of mistake was not on. The graphics department had its own wing, but was otherwise open concept, so he was able to start yelling as soon as he was in the door.

"I want everyone responsible for so much as a dot on the Chalmers account in front of me in the next thirty seconds."

The artists and computer geeks looked up, the place like a warren with little meerkats popping up and down.

"Twenty seconds. Why is no one running like their lives depend on it? 'Cause I swear to fucking God, your job does."

"Seriously? Last time I checked I didn't jump like a dog when someone barked." A round, brightly colored, fierce woman looked at him through cat-eyed glasses. "Suits."

"This suit can fire your ass like that." He snapped his fingers. "The Chalmers account is one of our biggest and the client is anything but happy. I'm not playing here, people." He opened the file and began reading off the names from the graphics department who were associated with the file. "Louise Belmar. Donald Scarp. Ilia Warken. Luke Addis..." His voice faded away. Luke Addison? No fucking way. Not
his
Luke Addison.

Though, Affton supposed that he'd lost any right to call Luke his the day the man had packed up and walked out on him without a single explanation.

He looked up, eyes narrowing.

"I'm Louise. Ilia's not here today." She stood up to him, unafraid. "What's the problem?"

"Did you read the client's specs on the latest campaign? Because what you turned in doesn't even come close. It's not even in the same ballpark. And where the fuck are Donald and Luke?"

"The problem is the idiot who came up with the concept is either blind, stupid, or a rhinoceros." That was Luke. His Luke, looking tiny in a pair of hip-hop jeans and a gigantic sweatshirt. "Donald spent two weeks trying to make those things work. It's a shit concept."

Affton couldn't fucking believe Luke was standing there, looking fierce as hell. He felt like he'd been hit over the head with a brick, or was having a stroke or something. It was all he could do to focus on the problem at hand. "I don't care if it's a shit concept, it's the concept that the client came to us with. Not to mention, I didn't get one single fucking memo letting me know anyone was having trouble with this fucking campaign." He kept telling himself to ignore the fact that this was his Luke Addison. Why hadn't he known the man worked for Fillian now?

Louise looked at Luke, who looked back and shrugged. "I just animate what I'm given, Lou. My contract states I never have to deal with the executives. That's your job." Then Luke just walked away.

Affton's mouth dropped open as once again, Luke walked away from him like he didn't even exist.

"This needs to be fixed," he snarled to Louise, the only one still left. "By noon tomorrow. I don't care if the arty farty types think it's a bad idea or isn't
creative
enough. It's what the client wants and if it isn't on my desk by noon everyone on this project is fired because we can't pay you if we lose our best customers because you people can't be arsed to give them what they've asked for." He slammed the client file on the closest desk and stomped off.

Goddamn it, he was pissed off.

Who the hell did Luke Addison think he was, walking away from Affton--twice!--like he wasn't worth even a fucking backward look?

He stomped all the way back to his office, grabbed his gym bag and headed up to the gym three floors up to do a rep, or five hundred.

* * * *

"God, he's a prick."

Luke shrugged. "He's a businessman." And an ex. And he wasn't supposed to have to see the bastard, ever. His oldest friend was head of HR and promised him that the job would be worth the risk.

"Well, someone has to work on this crappy piece of shit account." Louise handed the file over to him.

"I'm not dealing with him. I'll design the logo." It wouldn't take him three hours. Hell, he'd have it done before he left for the day.

"Just drop the file back in his office when you leave. He'll be gone by then. You know the execs--they're never in the office after lunch." She made a disparaging face.

"Okay. Just let me work. I'll get on it." Luke took the file. "I'll email it." He couldn't see Affton again. He couldn't. Not after... He shook his head. He wasn't going there.

"Just don't get us fired, kid."

"I won't. I got this." Static design was a no-brainer.

She patted his shoulder and headed back to her cubicle.

Luke did the work, sent the file, forcing himself not to think, then he grabbed his stuff. He'd finish the rest of his shit from home.

He got on the elevator without looking, only realizing his mistake as a choked noise sounded. He looked up, and up, right into Affton's eyes as the doors slid closed. He didn't say a word, he couldn't. His throat just closed up. He'd never been so happy, as he'd been with this man.

"Luke." The word came out strangled. He didn't know if it was an acknowledgement or accusation.

"Affie. I. Did you get your file?" Oh, God.

"I got it." Affton bit the words out. "I didn't know you were working for Fillian."

"For about a year. Don got me the job. I work from home."

"You're here today." Was that an accusation?

"Yeah. Louise asked me."

Affton stared at him for a long moment and then--thank God--the elevator doors opened.

He made to hurry out, but Affton grabbed his arm, tugged him to the side. "Let's get a drink."

"A drink?" Oh, God. No one had touched him in so long...

"Coffee, a beer. I don't care where we go, but I think you owe me an explanation."

"Coffee. I don't drink." Ever.

"There's a shop across the street."

Eddie's would be quiet this time of day, too.

God, he couldn't do this. He couldn't. He needed his job, though. He had rent. Bills. "Okay. One cup of coffee."

Affton nodded, hand sliding around his arm, holding on as they left the building and headed across the street.

His shirt tugged off his shoulder, baring his skin and he pulled it up. "I won't run away."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

He didn't have anything to say to that.

They went up to the counter and Affton ordered for them both. The man still remembered how he took his coffee. Luke wanted to just sit down and sob.

"Was the file okay?" he asked.

"I don't care about the fucking file."

"You sure cared about it three hours ago."

"Yeah, well. I've had three hours to think since I saw you for the first time since you walked out on me without so much as a good-bye."

The coffees came and they sat, and Luke just stared at the steam coming from the latte.

"I was hoping you'd have an explanation for me." The words weren't loud or angry, they were quiet. Hurt.

"I..." Like stared at his hands and the images from that awful night played out in his head. Bright lights. A group of men. Liquor. Music. "How could you think I'd stay, Affie?"

"What?" Affton frowned at him. "I loved you, why wouldn't I think you'd stay?"

"If you loved me... Why did you do it?" Why on earth would Affton take him to a party and...give him to a group of men like he was worthless?

"Do
what
? What is it I'm supposed to have done?" How could Affton look so earnest?

He drank his coffee, the heat scalding his tongue.

"Damn it, Luke, if you're going to accuse me of doing something so horrible you'd leave, you'd better actually accuse me."

"You let them drug me. Let them hurt me, touch me." He put the coffee down, stomach acidic and hurting. "I just... I need to go home. I don't want... I need to go home."

"What? Baby? What the hell are you talking about?" All the color had drained out of Affton's face. "Who drugged you? Touched you?"

"I can't do this. I...I loved you. I really did. You're like the only guy I ever wanted." He stood, shaking. "I have to go."

Affie stood, too. "You can't go. Who hurt you? I would never let anyone hurt you. Luke?"

"They drugged me, your friends. Downstairs. A fucking roofie? I called for you and they said I was a present from you." He'd always hated those parties, everyone pretending to be friends, but that... Luke shuddered and just headed out. He couldn't do this.

The wind was howling, a rainstorm threatening, and he just kept walking. He thought he heard his name, but he didn't turn. He couldn't. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Luke. My God. I would never do anything like that to you! How could you think I would? Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Why didn't you call the cops?"

"I just want to go home." He'd always hated those parties.

"I'll take you home. I'll do anything you want. Please. I had no idea. I
loved
you. I would never...." Affie shook his head, shuddered.

"I loved you, too."

Luke's eyes filled with tears and he took off, running hard. God. God, he couldn't do this.

Affton showed up to work at six A.M., utterly devastated. He'd chased Luke last night, but between the rain and the quickness of those short legs, Luke had lost him. He hadn't slept. Instead, he'd worried and paced, run what Luke had told him over and over.

The last evening they'd spent together, they'd gone to a huge office party held at Geoff Banner's home. Luke had been resentful of having to go, but Affton had needed someone on his arm and had cajoled and begged, pushing Luke to attend.

There had been dozens of people there and someone had asked Luke to...do something? Go somewhere? It had seemed totally innocent and Geoff was introducing him to this amazing guy from Iceland who needed to get his product into the country and on TV. By the time he'd lifted his head out of business, there was a text from Luke saying he'd gotten a ride home with someone else.

He'd eventually stumbled home more than a little tipsy, and crawled into bed, trying not to wake Luke. In the morning, he'd had a hangover and a lover who'd disappeared. All there had been was an email saying that Luke couldn't do this anymore. That was it.

"I can't do this anymore. Goodbye."

He'd looked for Luke. That had been totally unsatisfactory, his lover had totally disappeared. Luke clearly didn't want to be found. Affton had thrown himself into work and now he was at the top of his game, everything going exactly like he planned.

Until yesterday when Luke had rocked his world, first by suddenly being
right there
and secondly by the accusations he'd made. Oh, Affton didn't doubt they were true. All except the part where he'd been the one to offer Luke up on a platter. He hadn't known, and if he had, he would have beaten whoever hurt his lover to a fucking pulp.

The first thing he did when he got in to work was check the graphics department, but it was completely deserted at this hour. A frustrating forty-five minutes with the computer and knew he wasn't going to get Luke's address from the company records on his own.

On a whim, he found the online 4-1-1 site and put in Luke's name. Nothing but an IP address. Damn it. Wait. Wait, he put in the IP address and got a hit to a little coffee shop that he remembered from the old neighborhood, from that first little apartment they'd had back during their university days. Luke had loved that place.