Marry Me by G. Hauser (good books to read for women TXT) 📕

ounce of energy he possessed. They

exited the elevator together and Scott opened the back door of a

black stretch limousine, which had been shined to a high gloss.

Braxton patted the handsome man’s cheek in gratitude and

climbed in, relaxing on the bench seat and going for the booze.

Without a word, Scott began making the rounds, picking up

the celebrities on the route, to hit the party Braxton had planned

for them.

~

Fabian came through the door of his one bedroom apartment

in Pasadena. Even though he was tired, he changed into his

workout outfit and headed to the complex’s fitness center. Friday

night and he didn’t have plans. Did that make him a loser or

picky?

In his twenties Fabian had cared about things like that.

Always going out on the weekend, never coming home until the

wee hours of the morning. Now? At thirty-five? He didn’t give a

shit, and preferred hanging out on his own to the loud, obnoxious

meat market clubs of WeHo.

He had friends he could call, but most of them were in

relationships and Fabian, although he liked his male couple pals,

would end up bored as the pairs would begin to discuss their

personal connections, or things Fabian could not join in

conversations about. It neither offended him nor got him jealous,

just bored.

Bored.

He’d been using that word a lot in his life recently. Even

working temp jobs, Fabian fell into mundane routines.

The gym was one of them. But this release was essential to

his well being.

He tucked his house key into his gym shorts pocket and

headed to the ground floor. His master key opened the fitness

room and there were several tenants already working out, mostly

on the treadmills and stationary bikes.

Fabian didn’t know anyone in the room, and the complex had

over three hundred units. Though he’d lived there nearly three

years, he hadn’t made any connections with neighbors and didn’t

have the interest to. He stood on a mat in front of a wall of

mirrors and began warming up, thinking about the interview with

Braxton Todd.

When he did, he could see his expression change to a snarl.

Shaking his head, trying to let go the humiliation of the

interview, which to Fabian had felt completely condescending in

nature, he said to himself, You would hate working for a prick

like that.

He met his own blue eyes in the mirror and mouthed, ‘ Hate

it.’

~

“Fabulous party, Braxton.”

Braxton glanced over his fifth cocktail, finally feeling slightly

heady and getting close to drunk. “Thanks, Jean.”

The grand dame of daytime television gave him an inviting

leer. Super-cougars. The newest rage? Women in their sixties

and seventies after men in their twenties and thirties?

Nothing surprised Braxton when it came to sex. He was open-

minded, and never turned his nose up at any combination of

physical attraction. He’d had it all.

Maybe that was his problem.

He’d had too many types. He simply could not narrow his

choice down to one.

“I’d love to steal your Rolodex, honey.” She nudged him with

her elbow playfully.

“And I’d love to steal yours.” He smiled down at her, since

she was barely over five feet tall even in her glittering gold heels.

“Oh!” She whacked him on his shoulder. Her attention was

diverted and she said, “There’s Gina. Off I go to be social.”

Braxton raised his glass to sip and watched her walk away,

amazed even at her age she had a pretty nice figure, which

accounted for how she still managed to snag young meat. Not to

mention, her bank account was as big as her fan club.

Oh the shallowness of Tinsel Town…

He gulped the remainder in his glass and checked his watch.

The guests of honor were the three stars of an independent film

that was premiering this the weekend. Even on a tight budget,

Braxton had managed to make this a huge media event, and he

hadn’t missed inviting any reporter or gossip columnist. They

were all here, including his favorite local gay magazine, Judas’

Rainbow. There was the editor Sigourney Edina, laughing and drinking her beer from a bottle. He admired that woman. A lot.

She took chances in an age where magazines were shying

away from supporting the real politics of the day—the gay

marriage issue, equality for women in the workplace and

freedom of choice.

All hot topics. Why? Braxton was tired of wondering. He did

his thing. Fuck everyone.

He set his glass on a passing tray and made sure everyone

was happy. Making his way to the band who he had hired to

entertain, he stood beside them, caught the manager’s attention

and was approached.

“Everything okay, Mr Todd?”

“Yes. Just making sure your boys aren’t boozing between

sets. I need them ‘til midnight.” Braxton checked his watch. He

had a long way to go until the magic hour.

“Have I ever disappointed you?”

“No, never. But I did see your drummer tossing shots

between sets.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Braxton patted the man’s back and headed to the kitchen to

make sure the food supply and preparation was also going well.

He entered the kitchen to see a hive of activity.

“Mr Todd!” The head chef spotted him immediately and

waved. “Any complaints?”

“None. Thank you. Anything you need?”

“A blowjob, but I can’t at the moment.” He laughed and

removed sizzling chicken from the grill.

“Keep up the good work!” Braxton caught his nod and left

the kitchen. He walked out of the noise and chaos to a quiet spot

on a terrace near a pool. Resting against a low railing which kept

the swimming pool secure, Braxton rubbed his temples and

closed his eyes. All he wanted to do at the moment was sleep. He

was exhausted.

He thought about Fabian and envisioned him perfectly. As he

did, he removed his phone from his pocket and texted Brianna, ‘ I want Fabian. Hire him. ’

‘ ’ was sent almost immediately.

He smiled and pocketed his phone, staring beyond the high-

rise buildings to the night sky, seeing no stars through the

ambient light. “I need a fucking break.” He ran his hand over his

hair and sighed.

~

After his workout Fabian had showered and was sitting on the

sofa in his living room with a large bowl on his lap—salad

topped with sliced chicken breast. He cooked his own food,

simply because the ingredients of prepared food made him

wince. His feet propped up on the coffee table, Fabian ate his

late dinner and pointed