Boyfriends for Now

Chapter One

Ben

Ben McRobbie raced through the streets of Chicago, the cold winter wind biting at him as he ran. Two trays of large coffees teetered precariously in his hands as he dodged a particularly oblivious tourist, not having even a spare second to shoot them an apologetic look. He was late and his boss was going to kill him.

Ben liked working at Astor & Anders, the high-tech company that had pummelled social media into the ground with one opening weekend. He had all the potential, according to his grad school advisor, to break into the field. The only thing was, Ben was a terrible intern, and he was sure that he was going to get sacked before anyone even had the chance to notice that so-called potential.

He darted around a group of college students chain-smoking outside the coffee shop, careful to hop over the extended legs of one of the students who had just given up. Winter break was days away for most of them and he didn’t have the heart to tell them to get out of his way.

That might have been the one characteristic that made Ben such a bad intern: he was, in no uncertain terms, nice. He didn’t have that cutthroat mentality that all the other interns seemed to have in abundance; he was just… trying his best. He knew that everyone else was, too.

He slid past the lobby door of Astor & Anders, only stopping when the security guard yelled his name. Ben’s head shot up, a sheepish expression growing on his face, and he dutifully handed Jim his cup.

Thanks, kid, Jim said gratefully, already tossing the lid off to take a huge, unflinching gulp of the steaming coffee.

Ben winced in sympathy to his long dead taste buds. He glanced around the lobby, taking in the bright Christmas decorations. They’d been up for weeks already, of course, but Ben loved the giant, ten-foot tree and it’s obnoxious fake presents underneath. Soft Christmas music played in the background, beneath the busting of the offices, and Ben was once again reminded of how much he loved Christmas. Then he caught a glance at the big clock at the end of the lobby above the reception desk that was blinking mockingly at him — he was already seventeen minutes late. I’m going to be killed, Ben sighed.

Jim laughed and waved him through the security pass. Ben resteadied the two cup carriers then shot off through the lobby. If he hurried, he could make it before he was officially twenty minutes late and that was something, right? That was the marker of being late, he thought. Being twenty minutes was unredeemable but eighteen? Totally fine. All he had to do was make it to the elevators and—

Oomph!

His body slammed hard against a wall and he ricocheted off of it in elaborate, dishevelled precision. Ben fell back, arms flinging wildly as the coffees tumbled from their safe carriers, and promptly landed on his back.

Hot coffee coated his arms and torso, the emptied cups half in his lap and half on the lobby floor. He splashed around haphazardly for a moment to fling the coffee off of himself. Groaning, Ben forced himself halfway up, kneeling as he blinked his bleary eyes. He tried to figure out what he crashed into.

Eyes scanning up, Ben’s jaw dropped. With horror, he realized that it wasn’t a what but a who.

Towering over him with wide eyes and coffee stains all over his silk white button-up, was Astor & Anders CEO and namesake, Anthony Astor.

Ben had just collided with, spilled coffee all over, and humiliated himself in front of, Billionaire. Tech. Mogul. Anthony. Astor.

It took him a few times of repeating the words in his head before he was able to realize what he’d done. Gaping like a fish, he stared up at the man.

From this angle, Astor looked like an angel: the soft fluorescents of the building’s lobby framed his head like a halo. His auburn hair laid on top of his head, a few inches tall, the curls wild and as unscrupulously styled as the magazine layouts had always suggested. His dark eyes, rumored by more than one Twitter account to be so intense they could pierce a person’s soul, were focused entirely on Ben.

Who was still on the ground. Covered in coffee. Staring up at him mutely.

Ben snapped back into his body. Scrambling, he tried to stand up, only to slip in the spilt coffee and land back on his ass.

Um, was that—a—good shirt? Ben’s mouth ran full speed ahead, completely uncaring that his entire future was resting on this moment.

Astor cocked his head to the side. This is a Stefano Ricci.

Ben nodded as if he understood. Is that a brand?

Astor looked around the room as if someone else could help him. Unfortunately, Ben was the intern, who would normally be forced to intervene on behalf of the higher ups, and he could no more intervene in this situation than he could fix it.

Um, Ben slowly got up. He slipped a little again but managed to wave his arms out like a windmill until he got his balance. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he tried to figure out what to say. I’m… the intern… I’m delivering coffee.

Astor looked pointedly down at the spill on the floor. He cleared his throat but said nothing.

Ben bit down on his bottom lip, considering. He barrelled forward with his explanation, unasked. And, um, clearly, that is a task I’ve… not… finished. I was close! Well, I was late. Twenty—wait, no, almost twenty, but not quite twenty minutes late.

Astor remained silent. Ben wasn’t sure if him saying something or if a hole in the floor opening to swallow him up was more likely. It was a draw.

I should… go get more! Coffee. And a mop? And a shirt? I… have a twenty on me? Do you want my twenty dollars? Ben asked the billionaire in front of him.

This, at least, surprised a response from the man. No, I do not.

Do you want a coffee? I mean… to drink, not to wear! Ben laughed at his own joke. He was alone in it. He was alone in this world, at this moment.

I’m gonna… go… if I can? May I? Have leave? he paused and then winced, adding, Sir?

Anthony Astor, Billionaire CEO — and yes, Ben’s mind was repeating this on loop like a Nick-at-Night commercial — furrowed his brow in confusion and blinked at Ben. Permission granted?

Ben spun on his heel, almost tripping in the coffee again, and then raced across the lobby. His shoes squeaked the whole way.

Jim! he moaned as he got to the door. He buried his face in his hands.

Aw, I know, little buddy, Jim clapped him on the shoulder. I saw.

That was Anthony Astor, Ben said, raising his eyes just a little. Jim was wincing, looking over his shoulder. Oh, God, is he still looking?

Nope, Jim lied. Ben looked; he was.

Oh, God! Ben’s head fell again.

It wasn’t that ba— Jim stopped at the fierce look Ben gave him.

I’ve got to go, Ben sighed. I need a mop—

I called custodial, Jim said, gesturing toward the side door. Already, a custodian with a mop was coming in to take care of the spill. Just go reorder those coffees.

Ben nodded. He could do that. Could he guarantee that he wouldn’t fall again? No way. But he could go reorder coffee. After all— The only thing worse than being late, he started, the unofficial slogan of all working-class employees at Astor & Anders.

Jim finished for him. Is showing up without the coffee order.

They shared a grin and the stress of the encounter bled out of Ben.

This wasn’t so bad. Sure, it wasn’t good but, like, it was fine! Anthony Astor wasn’t even still looking at him. Ben was, for all his efforts, a terrible intern. His bosses already knew that; so now the CEO did, too. Oh, well. Can’t fight facts.

With this in mind, he waved goodbye to Jim, darted out of the lobby, and bolted to the coffee shop again.

When the barista saw him, panting and sweating and covered in coffee ten minutes later, she didn’t even blink. It made Ben feel a burst of affection — and not a little bit of shame, too, for a second — but she remade the order and didn’t even recharge him. He tipped her half the amount he would have spent anyway and the two of them worked to makeshift some bubble wrap with napkins to make the drinks a little sturdier in their carriers.

Having learned his lesson, for at least the day, Ben decided to only power walk instead of run down the streets of Chicago as he made his way back to the office. He bowed politely to Jim, who laughed in response and waved him through.

Then, slowly, carefully, Ben hit the button on the elevator. He looked down at the drinks, all safely cocooned in their cups, and smiled.

Not getting fired today, Ben said to himself cheerily, before remembering that he was probably forty-five minutes late and sweating and covered in spilled coffee stains. He frowned.

Aw, hell, Ben said, shaking his head. "Come on, elevator."

The lights above dinged, but it was still only halfway down from the top floor where Ben was heading.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Ben frowned, twisting, but he couldn’t get it — the coffee carriers in his hands prevented any sort of movement like that. He resigned himself to ignoring it — it was probably just one of his bosses, anyway, ready to berate him for his unprofessionalism.

I know, I know, I know, he chanted in argument to them in his head. I’m hurrying!

The phone went to voicemail. Ben’s nose itched. He twitched before commanding himself to ignore it.

He glanced up at the elevator lights. Floor fifteen. Ding. Fourteen. He sighed, shifting from one foot to the other. The song changed in the lobby and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer started playing. Humming, Ben tapped his foot. A sound behind him grabbed his attention and Ben looked over — Jim was arguing with someone trying to get into the building without going through the metal detector. The guy was gesturing wildly and pointing at Ben. Jim’s hands waved in the air as he argued with him, anyway. Ben winced; he always skipped the metal detector. Everyone knew that if Ben lost it, he’d just eat a bag of donuts. He was as harmless as they came; still, the other guy did not seem to care. Jim caught his eye and Ben gave his best sympathetic smile. Jim rolled his eyes. Ben snickered, and the guy noticed, sending him in a whole new bout of fits.

His phone chirped from his pocket again, buzzing. Still laughing, he reached into his pocket without thinking to grab the cell. At the very last second, his eyes widening and breath catching, Ben realized what he was doing.

It was