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“This is who I’ve been since I was a teenager.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
I don’t say anything, and after a long moment, I see it start to sink in.
“You’re—”
“Bisexual, yes.”
“Why?”
That shakes a startled laugh out of me, even though it’s not funny at all. A look of deep disgust takes over his face. I’ve spent years avoiding this conversation just to prevent myself from having to see that look. It’s not as awful as I thought it would be. It’s worse.
For a man who’s never entirely approved of me, not in my whole life, I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks or why, and I shouldn’t spend any more time here than I have to.
But the wound is there. Has been for a long time. It deepens and I don’t know how to close it.
“Not why, Christ. Why now? Why are you telling me this? I hope to God you’re not thinking of going public.” He says public like it’s something filthy, like a curse.
“We haven’t discussed it.”
“But you’re thinking about it,” he says, searching my face, his eyes sharpening. “Son of a bitch. You’ve already considered it. You cannot possibly be serious.”
I don’t answer. There’s no point.
“Think of the damage this will do. In circles like ours! You’ll never get another client, not in this town.”
I stay silent. There’s nothing he can say to me that I haven’t said to myself, anyway.
“Good God, Nic. I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t think you were actually this stupid. Get your shit together. For fuck’s sake, keep it in your pants.”
“That’s fucking rich, coming from you.”
“I don’t like your tone, son.” He straightens up. I can practically see his bottomless well of bluster refilling. “And I don’t like what you’re implying.”
I roll my eyes.
“Get your shit together, Nic. I mean it. Stop this… association. Don’t throw away everything we’ve worked for.”
“This is my life,” I manage to say between gritted teeth. “My personal life. It has nothing to do with you.”
“That’s not the way it works in the real world. Best you realize that.” He puts his hand on the door. “End it. Now. Before anybody else finds out. Whatever whim this is, it’s not worth burning down everything we’ve built.”
I don’t nod. I don’t move. I don’t say anything at all.
“Your mother expects you for dinner Friday night. Don’t be late. I want you to have this… situation taken care of by then. Don’t disappoint me again.”
He says something to Finn on his way out, terse and low. I don’t bother to follow him.
I go back to my desk, staring at the paperwork blindly. My eyes snag on something glinting on the couch; it’s the tiny metal clasp of a pen, bright against the leather. I must have dropped it before.
I knew this would happen. I knew it could never work between us. Hadn’t I thought through all the possible outcomes years ago?
It was why I told Rand we could only see each other in secret all those years ago. And why I said the same to every other man I’ve ever been with.
Christ, Dad doesn’t even know Natalie is involved. If this is his reaction to finding out I’m dating Finn—yes, dating, because it’s not just screwing around, and I know now it never was—how much worse would that nasty scene have gotten if he found out Natalie’s part of it, part of us?
Christ.
