Keeping Gavin Read online

  Keeping Gavin

  By: Jenny Wood

  (My Purpose)

  Book 2

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter: Five

  Chapter: Six

  Chapter: Seven

  Chapter: Eight

  Chapter: Nine

  Chapter: Ten

  Chapter: Eleven

  Chapter: Twelve

  Chapter: Thirteen

  Chapter: Fourteen

  Chapter: Fifteen

  Chapter: Sixteen

  Chapter: Seventeen

  Chapter: Eighteen

  Chapter: Nineteen

  Chapter: Twenty

  Chapter: Twenty-One

  Chapter: Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, products, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Gavin

  Meeting at eleven with Mr. Fairfield.

  Have Ashlynn file whatever amendments I know we’ll have because the man is as stubborn as he is stupid.

  Fit lunch somewhere between then and the appointment with Glenn Beckett, from Acadia, at one.

  Read the revised contract from Pinewell Architects. Noted: Section 3.10.1 has changed.

  Favor for Neesa Blake. You promised to call her with advice.

  Go over amendments with Pete Walker, call before five.

  Email Judge Carlson back. DO NOT FORGET THIS TIME.

  Conference call with Bailey and Webb. Allow twenty minutes to get up to speed, call at four-forty-five.

  Look over Harold Stinnett's proposal. You should've gotten back to him by now.

  Forget having a life, you’re too busy. Make peace with it.

  My afternoon schedule is only slightly less hectic than it was this morning. However, Christmas is this Sunday, so my business partner Nolan and our receptionist/assistant Ashlynn would be taking the next couple of weeks off for the holidays, starting Friday. That means we’re all trying to squeeze in everything we can into the next two days.

  Nolan and his boyfriend, Tanner, are flying to Arizona to spend Christmas with Nolan’s parents, while Ashlynn has plans to spend the holiday with her mother in Iowa. The pair of them do the same thing every year. I plan to binge-watch something on one of the many streaming sites I currently subscribe to and maybe order Chinese takeout or pizza for sustenance. I’ll likely gain about twenty pounds, of which I’ll promise to lose in the New Year, but that’s about as far as any traditions go for me.

  Like most kids who grew up without a family, Christmas just doesn’t hold the same appeal to me as it does to everyone else. I never had the early morning surprise of Santa or the frantic opening of gifts, I was lucky to have a roof over my head and someone to tolerate me for a few hundred extra dollars a month from the state. It wasn’t all bad though, not really. I’d honestly thought that most of the clichéd traditions were something that only happened in movies. It wasn’t until I met my high-school best friend, Donald, that I even understood what I was missing out on.

  Going to his house after school one afternoon, I remember seeing the Christmas tree and the overabundance of wrapped gifts under it. I remember feeling so unworthy at the time. I’d only accepted his invitation to come over because I knew that I was going to be in trouble when I got home. I was hoping that the longer I waited, maybe everyone would forget what had gone on that morning before leaving for school. I’d gotten loud with my foster dad because I witnessed him slap one of the younger kids. I probably said something in an attempt to stop him, so he backhanded me across the face and bruised my cheek up pretty good. I’d always been smaller than average, but I couldn’t let him hurt little Dion, he’d only been eight-years-old. Dion hadn’t been in the system long, and I knew that because he still held onto that innocent hope that all the new kids started with. I knew it would be snuffed out in no time, but I’d hoped he could hang onto it for as long as he could. I’d take a whack in his place if I needed to, I had long since gotten used to it.

  I sometimes wonder what happened to Dion, or the dozens of other kids I’d once shared a temporary home with. None of them had ever stayed with me long, and I probably wouldn’t recognize a single one of them if I were to pass them on the street. Donald had been my only constant, though I ruined that when he went away to college.

  I mean sure, we stayed friends in that distant sort of way that feels more awkward than anything else. I hadn’t spoken to him in close to six years before he looked me up and wanted to hire me to represent his handful of business ventures a few years back. He and his business partner, Phillip Kline, own three nightclubs around New York, and I handle the contracts on all of them.

  See, Donald wasn’t only my very best friend back then, but for all four years of high school, he was my only friend. He’d been so attentive and funny, and so very, very kind. He sat beside me in every class that we shared, and he was determined to get me to like him. It didn’t take long, though I was a tough person to get to know. Embarrassed by my situation, as any high school orphan would be, I was afraid of becoming more of an outcast than I already was. I’d felt as though no one truly understood me, and I was moody, angsty, and quietly gay. I knew that I was attracted to guys, but I’d never had anyone to talk to about it, and my state-appointed caseworker had told me to hide it the best that I could. I had sought her advice about the matter, no clue as to why. She seemed knowledgeable, I guess, and my young mind wanted answers.

  I was under no illusion by then, so I listened to her. I knew that kids over the age of ten rarely got adopted, and if I advertised that I was flawed, my chances would be even slimmer to none. I knew that a forever home wasn’t likely in the cards for me, but I always secretly hoped. I kept quiet, confused, and oblivious for a lot of years. Until Donald, really.

  Having a lifetime of abandonment and trust issues, I fell hard and fast for him. He was so sincere and genuine with his friendship, and he never wanted anything from me or expected me to be anyone but me. He encouraged me and helped me so much, and nothing even seemed so bad with him around. I don’t think I’d have survived those four years of high school without him.

  Somewhere around junior year, it started becoming harder to hide my love and appreciation for him and his friendship. He knew that I had feelings for him, though he never made me feel bad about it. In a time where being an asshole was basically a rite of passage, he also never told another living soul.

  I’d stupidly confessed my undying love for him the weekend before his dad dropped him off at college, and after letting me down in the most gentle way, I kind of expected him to never want to speak to me again. Instead, he assured me that I’d find loads of guys in college that would catch my eye, and he promised me that he’d always be my best friend.

  In his defense, he did try. He called me several times a week at first, but I’d been embarrassed and awkward and too cowardly to even pick up. After about a month, he switched things up and started sending me emails. He’d write to me these long and heartfelt letters, angry in some, and hurt in others. I understood, too, because I wasn’t being the friend to him that he deserved. He eventually gave up on me and stopped trying altogether.

  “Mr. Hardy, your eleven o’clock is here,” Ashlynn’s voice comes through my speakerphone, professional and polite. I could kick myself for letting my mind run away from me, I don’t have time for a trip down a maudlin memory lane.

  “Give me just a second, Ashlynn, I
’ll be right out,” I tell her, an apology heavy in my tone. I hadn’t had time to prepare myself for the headache that is, Mr. Fairfield, and he is likely pissing her off with every passing second that she was with him unattended. Grabbing his file, I hurry to the lobby to retrieve him.

  Mr. Fairfield is a new client to me, though I should’ve researched him a little before agreeing to take him on as a favor to Judge Marlon. The judge is one of the most good-hearted people I’ve yet to come across. I would never have believed that she’d have such a soft spot for a man like Franklin Fairfield, but she must’ve seen something in him that I didn’t.

  Today’s appointment is to go over a clause that he’s wanting to add in his hiring contract that states that any woman hired by the company is excluded from business opportunities, such as but not limited to: promotions and/or educational training to gain higher employment status, which he was offering at the time Ms. Manning – his receptionist – had signed up for it. It was a computer certification course that he was offering his lower-level employees. A course that he denied Ms. Manning, flat out, because of her gender.

  He could’ve given her any number of excuses on why she wouldn’t be eligible – the most legit one being that she didn’t have a high school diploma or any form of general equivalency degree that was required for such a promotion. He could have placated her, suggesting she get either of those things before agreeing to revisit the topic at a later date. Instead, he told her that he didn’t hire women to do a man’s job.

  He then shoved the misogynistic dagger into his own ass when he told her that she should stick to what she was good at, which was the grunt work that no one else seemed to want to do. Outraged and embarrassed, Ms. Manning quit and immediately hired representation to defend her against such blatant discrimination, as she should have. Mr. Fairfield, however, wanted me to find a loophole to prevent her from getting any compensation, and so that this wouldn’t happen again. This is what I get paid to do.

  I could admit that it didn’t always use to be this way. I used to be so eager to help people with their passion projects and make sure everything was legitimate from a legal standpoint so they could worry about their dream. I love working with small businesses, family-owned and respected businesses that were the very foundation of a community. I love seeing the little guy succeed, always have.

  While my business partner and best friend, Nolan, is the legal defense attorney of the East Coast, I enjoy the quietness of corporate litigation. I enjoy the wordplay and the challenge that it gives me, like a giant puzzle that I need to put together to help build a dream. I rarely have to see the inside of a courtroom, and thankfully so, as I’m not a fan of confrontation. Arguing just isn’t something I’m good at, not like Nolan. He could effortlessly practice law and win cases in his sleep.

  Nolan and I had partnered together straight out of law school, though that felt like centuries ago now. We’d been so eager to put our stamp on the city, defend the defenseless and do our part to make a difference in the world. We’d started with nothing, no reputation at all, and no one to give us a hand-up and get started. Nolan was fearless and diligent, and he made a name for himself early on. I preferred to stay in the background, though the higher Nolan climbed, the higher I was expected to.

  We’d been through a lot together, he and I, and where Donald had once been my very best friend, Nolan proudly took that place now. He wasn’t around as much over the last month or so, but he’d found his person in Tanner. They’re inseparable now and I had zero doubt that when Nolan proposes over Christmas break, that Tanner will say yes.

  Gathering the folder with Mr. Fairfield's ridiculous demands, I take a deep breath before heading to the lobby. The snow is coming down pretty steadily now, but the temps aren’t set to drop until late tonight, so I doubt it’ll start sticking until then. Especially with the hustle of foot traffic and packed streets of the city. If anything does stick to the ground, it will be brown mush by the end of the day.

  Where I had once loved the fast-pace of the city, I yearned for a slower and quieter way of life now. I’m sick of representing assholes with God complexes, I want to represent little mom and pop shops and new start-up businesses. I want to see deserving people succeed. I’m only torturing myself with people like Mr. Fairfield, who get away with things like being a sexist pig. He’ll get away with this disgusting display of misogyny by throwing a decent amount of money at Ms. Manning, and then nothing will have changed. I so desperately need things to change.

  “Mr. Fairfield, you want to come on back?” I call out, earning a jovial chortle from the elderly man currently flirting with an overly polite Ashlynn.

  “I was just telling this young woman that if she’d like to make a couple more bucks, she could come and be my check-in girl and get paid for looking pretty,” the man smiles, no doubt thinking he just paid Ashlynn a compliment. Ashlynn forces a smile but I can see the steady calculation working behind her eyes. She’s wondering if it would make her a terrible person if she walked up and pushed the old man right over.

  Shooting her an apologetic smile, I wink when she rolls her eyes and answers her now ringing phone. Mr. Fairfield shuffles into my office, slowly but surely, and I offer him a cold bottle of water while we go over any possible amendments he wants to make to his contract.

  “Mr. Hardy, you’re failing to see my point here,” Mr. Fairfield says an hour later, still not understanding the legal impossibility of what he’s asking me to do. Feeling a migraine starting behind my eyes, I’m not feeling as accommodating as I normally would. Mr. Fairfield is just as obnoxiously rude and relentless as ever.

  “No, sir, I think I understand just fine,” I assure him, sliding the revision paperwork that he brought to me this morning back into its folder.“I cannot revise the contract to say these things.”

  “You are aware that it is my company. I’m allowed to make whatever rules I want to, and we do not hire women for anything other than reception work or cleaning,” the stubborn old man huffs, feeling completely justified I’m sure. I’d wager a guess that he’s around one-hundred and seven years old, so I’m not surprised that he’s stuck in the dark ages. I should be surprised that he allows women to work at all.

  “Mr. Fairfield, it is illegal to purposefully not employ or give the same opportunities based on a person’s ethnicity, race, religion, gender, age, or sexual preference.” I try for the third time to explain this to the elderly businessman. “Because you offered on the job training to anyone wanting to advance in the company, Ms. Manning applied. You cannot deny her based on her gender.”

  “I’m so tired of hearing about gall-danged gender. There are only two genders, and like it or not, one of them is superior.” Foolish man, I think to myself as he continues his ridiculously offensive tirade. “Well, just last night on the news, I saw some cross-dressing folks protesting the right to be a non-gender. How can you logically tell me that you’ve got no gender?”

  “Mr. Fairfield, the issue isn’t –“

  “It damn sure is!” he interrupts loudly, making my skin bristle. I take a deep breath and try and muster up some patience before answering him.

  “Mr. Fairfield, she’s talking about suing you for discrimination. If I’m being completely honest with you, she has a damn good shot at winning.” The way the man glowers at me might be intimidating if I didn’t feel like I could push him over with one finger. Not that I ever would, but you know. I could.

  After a minute-long stand-off, he reluctantly backs down and allows me to make revisions to his contract that would legally hold up. It wasn’t fair and I hated every second of having to negotiate terms with the bigoted, misogynistic, sexist, ass, but at least Ms. Manning would get a formal apology and a glowing recommendation from the company of Fairfield and Glover. She’ll also receive what we were calling a severance package, even though she technically quit. It’s better to do it this way, rather than to have a publicized payout that would only come with the negative connotations a
gainst his company.

  Finalizing the new contract, I help Mr. Fairfield back into his suit jacket and winter coat before escorting him out. He’d worked me through lunch, giving me no time to run out and get something before my next appointment, so I was going to have to settle for another cup of coffee in an attempt to put something in my stomach. I’m starving.

  Making our way through the lobby, my lungs seize and my steps falter when I find Donald perched on the corner of Ashlynn’s desk. A beautiful bouquet of pink and white lilies sat in front of her.

  “They’re beautiful,” Ashlynn tells him quietly, side-eyeing me from her chair. I guess I came at the luckiest time. I nod my hello but otherwise try to ignore the pair, my gut rolling in nauseating waves as I try and ignore the way Donald is looking at her.

  “You’re beautiful,” Donald counters in a gentle tone, reaching up to move the errant hair to its rightful place behind her ear. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying like hell to ignore the emotion clogging my throat. Seeing them together hurt.

  I know it’s selfish of me to react this way because Donald has never hidden the fact that he is a very straight man and always has been. He’d never done anything to provoke this unrequited crush of mine, though he was very aware of it. Ashlynn too, which is why I suspect she’s keeping him at arm's length. It isn’t fair to either of them, especially because I honestly believe that they’d make a beautiful couple. I know that Donald would do right by her, it’s just the type of guy his father raised him to be. I also know that Ashlynn would dote on him for the rest of her life as long as he respected her and gave that kind of love right back.

  “Gavin, buddy, how the hell are you, man?” Donald slides around Ashlynn’s desk, ready to shake my hand the minute Mr. Fairfield leaves.

  “How are you, Don?” I ask politely, feeling like a dick for making this awkward.

  “I tried to get ahold of you last night, I was hoping to talk to you and Nolan about a favor. Do you think you guys could fit me in sometime this week?” Donald asks, never losing his easy smile as he releases my hand from his firmly clasped handshake.