If It Drives (A Market Garden Tale)

  “Just because James doesn’t see what a precious gift you’ve given him doesn’t mean you should sell it. It’s part of who you are, a deep, intimate part of you. If you really wanted to, if you weren’t hurt, maybe. I found Spencer that way. But you’re nowhere near ready, Cal, not for that. If you wanted nothing but sex, there are lots of hook-ups and you can have all the subs you want without stooping to the place where James doesn’t think you’re a threat.”

  “A threat? I want to be the opposite. I could be a friend. I could be more. Anything he lets me be.”

  “I know.” Nick let his chin go. “But it might not happen if he doesn’t come round to understanding what he has in you.”

  Cal cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’m going to hold my breath about that happening anytime soon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nick said. “I really thought you guys had something going there.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” Cal took another sip of tea, but barely tasted it. “Look, I didn’t mean to come barging in and—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Spencer smiled. “You’re always welcome here. Just so you know.”

  Cal managed to return the smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  After he’d finished his tea, Cal headed out. While Spencer washed the mugs, Nick walked Cal to the door.

  “Remember what Spencer said.” Nick held Cal’s gaze. “You’re always welcome here. And if shit changes with James, and you need some advice or a place to vent, you know where to find us.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

  Nick smiled, and then startled the hell out of Cal: he hugged him. It was a platonic gesture, a friendly one, but that kind of affection in the wake of last night was overwhelming. Cal forced back his emotions and returned the embrace.

  “Take care,” Nick said.

  “I will.”

  Nick let him go, and Cal left. It was just as well he had his bike today. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage to navigate the turns and traffic of London in that big car when his concentration was elsewhere. He was used to driving it of course, but a motorcycle was considerably more forgiving if he took a corner faster than he should have. As long as he didn’t take it too fast and wipe out, anyway.

  He returned to the house and quickly slipped out of sight to his cottage. He didn’t bother trying to write. With as heavy as his mind and his heart felt right now, nothing would make it onto the page except navel-gazing emo drivel. His book deserved better than that.

  And since he had to work tomorrow, he really couldn’t drink tonight, no matter how much he wanted to. Going out on the piss with the guys sounded like a great idea, except he knew damn well he’d be exhausted the moment he stepped into a room full of happy people. That, and drinking the night before work meant a miserable day.

  Then again, tomorrow promised to be fucking miserable anyway, so what was a little throbbing behind the eyeballs?

  He poured himself some whiskey, grabbed a book, kept the bottle nearby, and drank until he couldn’t make out the words on the page.

  He’d left his sunglasses beside the sink in the bathroom next to the billiards room. Fuck. Fortunately he had another pair, but they weren’t nearly as dark. Good thing the day was overcast. What little sunlight there was stabbed him right through the eye sockets even with dark lenses.

  Yep. Gonna be a fucking fabulous day.

  Cal pulled the car up in front of the house at seven thirty. He left the engine idling, and stood beside the rear door while he waited for James to get his shit together and come outside. Not that Cal cared. He was early anyway, and even if they’d been running late, he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. If James was late to his meeting, it was his arse, not Cal’s. Cal just didn’t want to stand out here in the brutal daylight any longer than he had to.

  Finally, the front door opened, and James appeared. Cal refused to let the sight of him in that tailored suit—the grey pinstripe today, the bastard—have any effect on him. At least the sunglasses gave him something to hide behind so he could not look at the man coming down the front walk.

  When James was a few steps from the door, Cal met his eyes out of sheer habit.

  “Good morning, Callum.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Cal didn’t emphasise “sir,” but as soon as the word came out, James stopped so abruptly he almost stumbled. Cal squared his shoulders. Fuck. That was just the kind of awkwardness they both needed at this hour.

  He swallowed. “Your meeting is at Threadneedle Street, correct?”

  “Uh, it’s . . .” James shook his head, flustered. “Yes. That’s right. Thank you, Callum.” And he got into the car.

  Cal shut the door behind him. Once he was in the driver’s seat, he glanced in the rearview to make sure he’d put up the privacy screen. As if he hadn’t checked three times already. His uncle had always told him never to take it personally when a client put up the screen. He’d never mentioned anything about Cal putting it up himself.

  Don’t take it personally, James.

  Or, hell. Go ahead. I don’t fucking care.

  He envied James the ability to concentrate. Somewhere in that business brain was a button that allowed James to switch things on and off. While Cal hadn’t had one productive hour in days, James just sat in the car and worked.

  That’s how he switches everything on and off, me included.

  Maybe that took a cynical motherfucker. Maybe it was a special skill, or a special kind of brain chemistry. Next step in human evolution: soulless technocrat.

  Cal forced himself to focus on the traffic, keep his attention directed outside, in front of the car, focus on being nothing but a function.

  If it drives . . .

  He was nothing but the mechanism that moved the car towards where it had to go. Like any other part of it, he could be replaced if he couldn’t be repaired.

  In this economy, be glad you have a job.

  And with this job came a place to live, not to mention enough money to keep paying for his course.

  And being made to feel like the lackey you are.

  Cal pulled up outside Threadneedle Street, left the car, and opened the door for James.

  James gathered a folder under his arm and slid across the leather towards the door. Cal fought the urge to slam the door in James’s face as he was getting up. He tensed his jaw and looked past James.

  “I’ll be back at six. Meeting with a client after that, likely to about midnight.”

  “I’ll be there, sir.”

  I’ll be there. You can trust me.

  One day, it would stop echoing through him. Maybe it would even stop hurting.

  While James was in his meeting, Cal drove over to his uncle’s company in East London. Another limo parked in front of the office, and Cal caught a glimpse of a bumper sticking out from the garage behind it. The second was probably being detailed or repaired.

  Cal parked, and went inside.

  “Callum!” His Aunt Rose came around the reception desk, arms out. “This is a lovely surprise.”

  Cal smiled and hugged her. “Just thought I’d drop by. Is Uncle Bill around?”

  “He’s in his office, dear.” She gestured over her shoulder.

  “Okay, good. I need to talk to him about a few things.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  He knocked on his uncle’s door, and a terse “it’s open” came from the other side.

  “Oh, Callum.” His uncle grinned broadly as Cal entered. “One of the few drivers I don’t mind seeing.”

  Cal laughed and took a seat in front of the desk. “The others driving you crazy again?”

  Bill groaned and ran a hand over his mostly bald head. “One can’t seem to remember how to use a GPS or find anything on his own. And you remember Charlie?”

  Cal nodded.

  His uncle rolled his eyes. “The idiot apparently didn’t believe me when I said cabbies go when the light is green, regardless of the st
retched limo still pulling through the intersection.”

  Cal grimaced. “Tell me he didn’t.”

  “He did. Damage is fairly minor. Mostly cosmetic. And there wasn’t a passenger in the car at the time, or who knows how expensive the whole fiasco would have been.”

  “Ouch. You fire him?”

  Bill shook his head. “Aside from that, he’s all right. Plus I just fired two of the newer guys recently, so . . .” He waved a hand. “Anyhow. What brings you in here? You didn’t leave that banker outside in the car, did you?”

  Cal shrugged. “I left the windows cracked. He’ll be fine.”

  His uncle laughed.

  Cal leaned his elbow on one of the armrests. “I don’t suppose, with the two guys you just fired, you have room to shuffle any of us around, do you?”

  Bill’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Shuffle you around? How so?”

  “I don’t think this job is working for me.”

  “What? You’ve been there a year and a half and never said one word about being unhappy. What’s changed?”

  You don’t even want to know.

  “I . . .” Cal lowered his gaze, and a cup full of pens on his uncle’s desk caught his eye. “I think I’m ready to spend more time writing. Make a go at that as a part-time, maybe eventually full-time gig.”

  Bill folded his hands on the desk. “You really think you can cut it? Enough to make money?”

  “This kind of stuff is fun to write,” he heard that obnoxious crit group member saying, “but no one wants to read it, least of all in exchange for money.”

  Cal took a breath and pushed his shoulders back. “Yeah. I think I can. Maybe once I have a little more time, I can finish some more work and get it out there.”

  “Hmm.” Bill chewed his lip for a moment. “I suppose I can move you to one of the for-hire cars. That’s awfully sporadic, though. One month, you’re detailing it more than you’re driving it. The next, you’re running all over the city with businessmen, stag parties, and—God, the worst—hen dos.”

  Cal chuckled. “I can think of worse things than driving around a bunch of drunk women.”

  “Only because you haven’t done it before.”

  “Well, it’s worth a shot,” Cal said. “I just don’t think I can keep working for Mr. Harcourt anymore.”

  “What about a place to live?”

  Cal flinched. Shit. He hadn’t even thought about that. “I’ll, uh, find a flat somewhere, I guess. Maybe rent a room.”

  His uncle scowled. “You’ve got a pretty sweet deal over there, you know. I’d hate to see you give that up and then struggle to make rent.”

  “I’m not crazy about that part, but . . .” Cal exhaled. “I need this.”

  Bill was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. It might take me a while to get someone trained up and suitable for Mr. Harcourt.”

  Good luck with that . . .

  “That’s fine. I can stay there until you do.”

  “All right, then.” Bill glanced at his watch. “Damn it. Pete should be back by now.” He pushed himself up out of his chair. “I’ll bet you half a week’s salary that moron got lost again.”

  Cal chuckled and followed his uncle out of the office. He visited with his aunt for a while, and when another sleek black car pulled up outside, he decided that was the best time to make his escape. His uncle’s tirades were as long as they were loud, and he’d heard enough of them.

  He was waiting in front of the building on Threadneedle Street at just after six when James emerged. Of course, there was bantering and shoulder-clapping and hand-shaking and all of that usual businessman bullshit, but Cal waited patiently beside the car door.

  Seeing James still hurt, but knowing there was an end in sight made it all easier. He felt oddly at peace now. It would all be over soon. Then he could move on, and maybe get hung up on someone who’d be equally hung up on him. Stranger things had happened.

  James finally broke away from the group of suits, and came down the steps. As the distance between him and Cal narrowed, his good spirits seemed to fade a bit.

  “Callum,” he said with a slight nod.

  “Sir.” Cal had never thought a single word could taste quite so bitter. As James stepped into the car, Cal said, “I wanted to give you a heads-up, sir.”

  James froze, and turned to Cal. “About?”

  Cal forced back his nerves. “I’ll be training a new driver soon.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  No, I don’t think you do.

  “As my replacement, sir.”

  James didn’t respond. Cal wasn’t sure what he’d expected, though the silence didn’t surprise him. The walls were up, all the little boxes carefully locked and stashed away. Cal closed the door behind him and got into the driver seat, glanced over his shoulder and wove into traffic.

  He’d driven the route “home” hundreds of times, so he could rely on routine to carry him through. The privacy screen remained up, too.

  So that was that.

  But at least now he knew it wouldn’t go on like this forever. Light at the end of the tunnel, and it wasn’t a damned freight train.

  Once at the house, he opened the door for James again.

  “I’ll just grab a shower and change. We’re leaving after that again.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Cal was getting pretty good at looking just past James’s temple. “Where to after that?”

  “Drinks at Hawksmoor. I’ll have a client with me. He’s a CEO we want to get on our side. It’s important, a big deal, a lot of money.”

  Cal nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  Why are you telling me that? I know you shuffle around hundreds of millions of pounds. You’re good at that. That’s why you’re rich. That’s why you have a driver.

  James glanced towards the house. He looked as if he were about to say something else, but then he turned away and went inside.

  Cal deflated and sat down on the driver’s side, door open, one foot on the gravel.

  It’s important, a big deal, a lot of money.

  Yes, because nothing but a deal to buy a company or a lot of money could possibly be important.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Things between them would never turn nearly as ugly as the Harcourts’ marriage eventually had. James would get decent service at Market Garden. He could afford to. If the guys were half as professional and caring as Nick was, then James was in good hands. He still wanted James to be taken care of. And if the guy who did it got paid for it, that wouldn’t hurt anybody.

  The door closed. Cal stood and walked around the side to open the car for James, who was now wearing the dark blue suit and a tie somewhere between blood red and blue-balls purple. “To the Hawksmoor, sir?”

  James nodded to him.

  A minute later they were back on the road. Hawksmoor was popular with the finance crowd for cocktails and steaks. It was one of James’s regular haunts. Not that Cal had to care about that anymore.

  He dropped James off there and then found a side street, where he waited. Writing was entirely out of the question. Maybe he’d found some peace in their situation, but he was still processing things. Too many thoughts and feelings going through his head right now, so he just listened to the audiobook of a novel his tutor had recommended, though he didn’t really pay attention, nor could he have told anybody what it had been about. The beautiful prose washed right through him without leaving a trace.

  Two hours later, he got a text. We’re done.

  So he pulled back out in front of the bar, where a couple bankers stood smoking. James seemed to be in high spirits, his practiced charm cranked up to the maximum, and just watching him smile and laugh with another older, greyer businessman made Cal’s chest hurt. Then James touched the man’s arm and pointed briefly at Cal.

  Cal opened the door for them, forced himself to give the slightest, friendly smile—the kind of meaningless expression the s
erving population had to master to make a living—and closed the door behind them.

  Sliding back into his seat, he noticed the privacy screen was down. “Where to, sir?”

  “Well, Patrick?” James asked with a smile.

  “Ah, why the hell not,” Patrick said. “I’ll trust you.”

  You poor idiot.

  James’s grin was just this side of toothy. “Cal, get us to Spearmint Rhino. Tottenham Court Road.”

  Wow. Hetero strip club. Cal blinked, but got the car going immediately. That wasn’t shocking in the City, not by a long shot, but James had suggested it, and he was still keenly aware that James was bisexual. Was that a message? Done with guys for the moment?

  But then, all sex was just a commodity, whoever delivered it. With enough money on the table, James could get a woman to fuck him with a strap-on. Should go well with his humiliation kink. Maybe she’d even wear a uniform. And more importantly, when it was over, she’d leave.

  God, he was making himself nauseous.

  The drive itself was pretty short—thankfully, because the guys in the seat were bantering. About the women there. What Patrick had heard. Who else went there. Shit like that.

  When he opened the door for them outside, Patrick turned to James. “What about . . . Calvin, was it?”

  James looked at Cal. “What about him?”

  “He could join us. Whether he’s sitting outside or inside . . .” Patrick shrugged and grinned at Cal with that “I had three cocktails and think it’s a great idea to let my superiority hang out by being extra nice to the sentient furniture” expression. “Come on, Calvin? Kevin?”

  Cal cleared his throat. “Not interested, sir.”

  “Why not? You could have an alcohol-free drink. No need to worry.”

  “I’m gay, sir.” Cal met the man’s gaze and didn’t back down.

  Patrick’s expression hardened, and the faintest disgust flickered at the corner of his tight lips. “Very well, then.” He turned to James.

  James cleared his throat. “I’ll text you when we’re finished here.”

  Cal nodded. “I’ll be waiting, sir.”

  Patrick and James turned to go, and Cal rolled his eyes. Wankers. Then he got into the car and drove off to find a place to park for the next couple of hours.