Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (13 page)

“I know what you said, you idiot. And you
know I don’t agree. And neither does he from the way he looks at
you.” Katie and Leslie had met each other recently when they’d all
met for coffee. The two had hit it off straight away.

Katie’s tone was a little less hostile now
and she reached out and placed one plump, bejewelled hand on his.
“Listen. I know better than anyone what that twat Gruesome Gregori
did to you. I know how much he hurt you. But he was wrong. You
deserve the very best, you know that. And Leslie has been good for
you. He’s a keeper.”

Oliver toyed with his fork and didn’t look
up. “Exactly. He’s cute, sexy, gorgeous, on his way up in the
fashion world…did you know he was actually head-hunted from
Debussy’s by one of the huge Burberry stores but he refused to
leave? He’s intelligent, funny and lights up a room when he walks
in. That’s why I say he needs someone without the baggage, someone
he can have on his arm that goes to all these fashion shows with
him and isn’t afraid to be seen in public.”

“And he makes you happy,” Katie said softly.
“I’ve not seen you like this in two years, Ollie. Not since that
bastard of an ex-boyfriend did such a number on you.”

The use of the diminutive for his
name—something Oliver wasn’t partial to, but tolerated from
Katie—warned him he was about to get the
talk
. The same one Katie had been giving him since he
left the hospital, broken in both body and spirit, by a man he’d
thought had once loved him.

“Don’t start,” he warned Katie. “I’m not in
the mood for the whole rah-rah speech today.”

“Fine. I won’t say how much I hate that
bastard for what he did to you in hospital. Or how I’d love to
string him up by the balls and wallop his fat arse with a
cat-o’-nine-tails. Or tell you that you are definitely a great
catch and he missed out on the chance to be with a great guy…” She
waggled her eyebrows and Oliver couldn’t help chuckling at the
expression on her face.

“You just have to have the last word, don’t
you?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “I’m a woman,
dahlink. Of course I do.” Her face grew more serious. “Have you
told Leslie anything about your ex yet?”

Oliver’s chest tightened. “He knows about the
drug bust thing, and Greg getting chucked off the film site. I
haven’t told him much more.”

No, he hadn’t told his current lover about
the fight he and Greg had after Oliver told the studio bosses about
the drug dealing. Or the fact that his boyfriend had beaten him so
badly that night he’d needed a week to recover. Or that the night
he’d had the accident, he’d come home to his London apartment to
find his ex-boyfriend (he hadn’t gotten his key back yet) impaled
by Pierce—one of the twins—as the other twin, Payton, fucked Greg’s
mouth. There had been a ménage of note going on in Oliver’s own
bed.

He’d escaped their taunts and insults, their
laughing derision and drug-fuelled aggression and found a party
where he could drink and forget and then…the accident had happened.
And Gregori’s cruelty hadn’t stopped after that either.

“Hey, you okay, honey? You’re looking
terribly pensive all of a sudden. I’m sorry if I’m going on. I just
love you, and I want you to be happy.”

Oliver managed to twist his face into a
smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can we stop with the memories now and think
about something else?” He smirked and reached for his phone.
“Leslie showed me this new Salad Fingers video, maybe you’d like to
see it?”

Katie shrieked in horror. “Oh God, please
don’t. You know that damn thing scares to me death. It’s so creepy.
That guy has to be completely psycho to make such twisted
stuff.”

Leslie had introduced Oliver to the character
and he’d become hooked.

He laughed loudly. “It’s just a drawing,
Katie. I find them kind of funny myself.”

“You two are just weirdoes. You deserve each
other.” She grinned at him and finished her wine, motioning for the
waiter to come over for another order.

Oliver chuckled. “I have something else that
will make you laugh. Remember we went to Galileo’s for dinner on
Valentine’s Day?”

Katie nodded, a wistful look on her face.
“You have to take me there, Oliver. I’m dying to see this
place.”

Oliver reached over and took her hand. “I’ll
make a plan, I promise. Maybe for your birthday we can get a group
together. Anyway, Leslie has this friend called Eddie, Gideon’s
boyfriend. He’s this amazing chef and honestly, his pistachio ice
cream is amazing.”

He took a sip of his drink, smiling as he
recalled the events of that evening. “He’s also got a bit of a
reputation for being a klutz. Really nice guy, sexy, too, for a
redhead, but a bit like a gangly Dalmatian who’s been let loose.”
Oliver sniggered. “He came over to say hello, talking and waving
his arms all over the place and managed to knock some poor guy’s
toupee off his head.” He laughed out loud at the memory of the
restaurant patron’s red face and Eddie’s stammered apologies.

Katie let out a peal of laughter as she
snorted wine all over the table and Oliver. “Oh my God, that must
have been so damn funny.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin.

Oliver grinned as he dabbed white wine off
his shirt. “Yep. Gideon was like a master of urbanity, like, ‘So
sorry, sir, accidents do happen, and please have the meal on the
house,’ while glaring at Eddie and Eddie looking like a puppy who
had peed on the carpet. It was hilarious. And Leslie was too damn
adorable, with that snorting thing he does. I love it when he
laughs like that.”

Katie reached over and squeezed his hand.
“You realise when you talk about Leslie, you get this look on your
face and your voice changes? Oliver, that’s all the proof I need
that you two are so absolutely right for each other.”

Those words still rang in Oliver’s ears when
he got home that night. He wasn’t so sure Katie’s words were
true.

* * *

The loud cry of distress behind him caused
Leslie to drop the bale of cloth he was busy stacking and jump
about a foot into the air. He clasped a hand to his chest as he saw
his boss’s face staring at him in horror.

“Oh. My. God
.
Laverne, what the hell is wrong with you? You made me pee my pants
a little.”

Laverne strode over to him, appearing to be
hyperventilating—badly. “Is that my Dormeuil
ikonic
fabric lying on the floor with the dust and the
mouse droppings? Oh please tell me it isn’t.”

Leslie glanced down at the floor where the
bale of exorbitantly expensive grey suit fabric lay. “I can’t tell
you that,” he said guiltily. “Because it is.”

Laverne shrieked and Leslie winced. For a
man, Laverne could pierce the eardrums.

“Leslie, you need to pick it up right now.”
Leslie was sure his boss even stamped her foot a little like a
diva-esque My Little Pony.

Leslie gently kicked the bale he’d dropped to
the side and walked over to the errant cloth. He leaned over and
hoisted it up, holding it in his arms then laid it out on a nearby
cutting table. As Laverne opened her mouth to say something, Leslie
placed a finger to his lips telling her to
shh
. Laverne’s eyes narrowed and as she moved toward
him rather threateningly, he took up a soft cloth and began dusting
the fabric gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept a cautious
look out for his boss in case he got hit around the head with a
handbag or perhaps just Laverne’s large hand.

“Sorry, poor baby,” he murmured to the
material as he caressed it gently. “I’m sorry I left you all alone
down there, among all the muck. I mean”—he raised his voice
slightly—“I know there are no rats or mice in here, so there’s no
poo on you, but you deserved better. Let’s get you cleaned up and
on the shelf where you belong.”

Laverne looked slightly mollified as she bore
down on Leslie like the Titanic. “This carelessness just isn’t like
you. You’ve been a bit distracted lately. Is everything all right?”
At the thought of just how all right everything was with Oliver,
Leslie grinned to himself. His arse was still sore from last
night’s activity, and their Valentine’s Day celebrations.

“I knew it, you’re getting laid,” Laverne
chortled. She tapped the side of her nose. “A little bird told me
you were seeing a certain customer of ours with the initials OB. Is
that true?”

Leslie gaped at her. “What? Who told you
that? How…” His voice tailed off at Laverne’s deep chuckle.

“Oh, sweetheart, Laverne gets to know
everything. You mentioned his name once in passing then went all
gooey eyed. I had to find people in the know and get the full
story.” She waggled a finger at him. “I told myself then he was
something special to you, not just a delivery.” She grinned
wickedly. “Although he may be that, too. I was waiting for you to
tell me about him yourself, but I saw I’d just have to pry it out
of you.”

Leslie flushed and tried to keep his air of
insouciance. “God, you are one big gossip bitch, girlfriend.”

Laverne’s eyes softened. “Oliver is someone
special, isn’t he?

Leslie didn’t kid himself. “Yes, he is,” he
admitted. “I really like him.”

I even think he could be
the one.

Leslie knew he was falling hard for the
blond-haired, moody and insatiable Oliver Brown. They’d spent a lot
of time together, but he just wasn’t sure whether Oliver felt the
same. The man had a way of hiding his thoughts and emotions and
sometimes Leslie felt there were two distinct people inside him.
The Oliver who was warm, tender and laughed at Leslie’s jokes, and
loved it when he wore his heels to bed, and the other, darker
Oliver, who was morose and sullen and looked at Leslie as if he
didn’t quite understand what he was doing there. Leslie didn’t like
that side of his Oliver at all.

He looked at Laverne, a niggling feeling of
worry in his stomach. “Is it okay to see Oliver?” he asked
haltingly. “Because I don’t want it to become a problem at
work.”

“Oh, honey, it’s fine. Do I look like an
ogre? As long as you don’t sell my suits to him for nothing to
sweeten him up to play with that cute arse of yours, it’s
fine.”

“Oh.” Leslie heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank
you.”

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret.” Laverne
leaned in, her pink lips curved in a slow smile. “I’ve been seeing
a guy, too, this really sexy, gorgeous guy, and we’ve hit it off a
few times if you know what I mean.”

Leslie’s ears pricked up. “Oh, you have?
Anyone I know?”

Laverne shook her head. “I doubt it.” Her
eyes took on a starry look. Beneath the female persona, Leslie knew
the man, Lenny James, was something of an incurable romantic. Lenny
was one of those people who simply believed the best of everyone
and everything.

“We’ve had dinner a couple of times and then,
you know.” Laverne grinned.

“So, he’s met you as Lenny then? Does he know
about Laverne?” Leslie asked the question innocently, but wasn’t
prepared for the shadow that crossed Laverne’s eyes.

“No, he only knows me as Lenny James. I
haven’t introduced my other self to him yet. It’s still early days,
you know? I want to ease into it.”

Laverne sounded suddenly shy and Leslie
reached over and hugged her tightly. “Well, you’re both awesome
people so he can’t help but love you both.”

“I hope so,” Laverne mused, her face a little
worried. “He’s quite an old-fashioned guy, a little set in his
ways. Brook has this charm about him…” She stopped, suddenly
conscious that she’d let slip his name.

Leslie laughed. “Don’t worry. Your secret is
safe with me. I won’t tell anyone about Brook.” He broke into song.
“Laverne and Brook, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” He leapt
nimbly out of the way of Laverne’s raised hand coming down to
thwack him across the head and scuttled over to the other side of
the cutting table. Unfortunately he slipped on a wayward swatch of
silk on the floor and went barrelling down onto his arse,
frantically trying to stay his fall by clutching at the table.
Alas, that didn’t go too well, as all he got was a handful of suit
fabric, which came flooding down like a wave and covered him like a
swaddling blanket. He lay on his back on the floor, winded and
unable to see much through the dark material. He did hear Laverne’s
hearty, unmistakeably male, guffaws of laughter.

“Oh God, that was too precious. I wish I’d
had my video camera on that. I would have made myself £250 easy
with
You’ve Been Framed
. Leslie, honey,
you just made my day. Are you okay under there?”

More wails of laughter rent the air as Leslie
tried to extricate himself from the cloth, which was threatening to
suffocate him. He finally stood up, trying to retain as much
dignity as he could, despite having hair that stood on end and a
face that felt as red as a beetroot. It wasn’t his most auspicious
moment.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He swept his hair back
from his forehead haughtily. “My hair needs a Valium after that
escapade, but the man who is Leslie Tiberius Scott is ready to go.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to pee.”

With that, he swept past a still-chuckling
Laverne and escaped to the bathroom to repair both his hair and his
decorum.

On his way home that night, he heard a loud
whistle and his name being shouted from the construction site next
door. He looked up to see Frankie’s cheeky face beaming at him from
a ledge about twenty feet up.

“Hey, sexy man. How are you today? Loving the
outfit, by the way.”

Leslie preened at the compliment. He had to
say his dark blue pinstriped suit and pale blue shirt did make him
look rather natty.

“Hi, Frankie,” he called.

The labourer grinned. “When are you going to
join me for a drink at the pub?” he called out. “Just as friends. I
know you’re spoken for.”