Thank God. “I know that.” Or at least he’d sure as hell hoped it. “But apparently Thorne doesn’t.”
Marc spent several minutes encouraging Riley and finally said, “Riley, get your head on straight, and then call your man, fuck him within an inch of his life, and take his money. Let him give you gifts, and don’t be afraid to give him what you’re longing to give.”
“Afraid? What would I be afraid to give him?”
“Forever.” Marc barely got the word out. It made him realize how very jealous he was. How much he wanted what Riley and Thorne had.
Riley sputtered. “Oh my God.”
“Don’t faint on me.”
“I… I’m not. How did you know exactly what to say to me? Is this one of those fucked-up-people-make-the-best-counselors things?”
Was it? He was surely fucked up, but so far all the advice he’d given Riley about Thorne had proven correct. “Maybe. I can see what other people need to be happy, but when it comes to myself, my perception goes to shit.”
“I’m here if you want to talk about Darius,” Riley said.
Fuck. He did and yet… Not now. “I know. Thanks.”
When he ended the call, Marc took a long slow breath before heading into Ivan’s.
Where was all this going to go with Darius?
Nowhere. Focus on yourself.
He might not be ready to talk to Riley about his relationship status or lack thereof, but he’d promised Riley he’d focus on his future for a while. And dammit, that’s what he was going to do. Maybe if he knew what he wanted out of a career, he’d be in a better position to find the fairy tale Riley was living. At least all those shit self-help books he’d bought, read a few pages of, and then discarded seemed to think so.
It’s no fairy tale. He’s stress-baking alone at a cabin because they had a fight.
Prince Charming will come to rescue him. Riley will fuck him, and they’ll live happily ever after. Marc could write the story himself.
Once he was settled at a table, he pulled out a notepad from his bag and started sketching. He needed to get down the costume ideas floating around in his head before he forgot them.
Later, his phone jarred him out of the fantasy world his sketching had taken him to. So far he had several Regency-inspired costumes roughly sketched out. When he reached for his phone, he realized he’d only eaten a few bites of his bagel sandwich. Now it was cold, but that was a fine price to pay for the first inspiration he’d had in ages.
He looked at the screen before answering the call. Oh, fuck. It was Darius, and he was late getting back to work.
“Where the hell are you?” Darius shouted when he answered.
Marc debated a series of fabrications but decided to go with the naked truth. “I lost track of time. I’m sorry. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“And you’ll stay late hemming these damn tuxes to make up for it.”
“No problem. I’m on my way.” He hung up before Darius could say anything else.
“You no like it?” Ivan asked, gesturing toward his bagel as he headed to throw away his trash.
“Oh no. I… Sometimes when I start drawing I lose track of everything else.”
“I’ll heat it up for you,” Ivan said, reaching for the tray.
“Thanks, but I’m already late.”
“You need to eat. That Darius, he works you too hard. Himself too. You tell him Ivan told you to wait. He knows not to mess with Ivan.”
Marc laughed. Darius was already pissed. What was another few minutes?
Ivan returned with two sandwiches.
“Take this to Darius, and tell him Ivan says he must eat and stop harassing you, or you’ll quit like all the others.”
Marc grinned. “Thank you, Ivan.”
“You come back soon.”
“I will,” Marc called as he headed out the door.
***
Darius looked up from the sewing machine as Marc came rushing into the workroom.
“Ah, you decided to come back after all.” He couldn’t resist prodding Marc a bit.
Marc rattled the bag in his hand. “I brought you a sandwich. Ivan insisted.”
“You’re trying to bribe me?”
“Ivan said to tell you to stop harassing me before you run me off like your other assistants.”
Marc looked way too satisfied relaying that message. “Fuck Ivan!”
“Really? I didn’t think he was your type.”
Darius flipped him off and then held out his hand for the sandwich. “Hand it over.”
Marc tried to extract the sandwich from the bag while juggling a notebook, his phone, and a drink. Darius saved the drink when things started to slip. The rest crashed to the floor.
He huffed. “You’re late, and now you’re making a motherfucking mess.”
“If you weren’t so demanding, it might be easier.”
Maybe he’d overstepped. “Hey. I’m kidding, all right?”
He set the drink down on a table and bent to pick up the notebook. The pages had splayed, and when he turned it over, it fell open to a page of drawings. Really fucking good drawings of costumes that mimicked historical designs but had their own flair. Darius started to flip through it, but Marc grabbed the notebook back from him.