“I love Parisian restaurants. Nothing else like them in the world, huh? Though there was this one place in Singapore that rivaled them!”

This guy was trying so fucking hard.

I had to sigh to myself as I leaned against the bar and tried to pay attention to the skinny little thing who was trying to throw himself at me. He probably assumed that was how Leonel had got his start, and…

Well, he wasn’t totally wrong. It just hadn’t happened like that.

Or had it?

I tightened my hold on my glass and sipped. “Mmm,” I agreed absent-mindedly. Apparently that was all the encouragement the guy needed to go on.

“What’s your favorite place here? Maybe we could get away there…”

I idly checked my watch, then flicked my sleeve back down. “A bit late for that.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” The guy wasn’t taking the hint. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

“We’re flying back tomorrow.”

“Here’s to the end of fashion month!” The guy held out his glass to clink and drank, then hummed contentedly. “That’s right. The end.”

That was it. I was going to walk away. I didn’t have time to be nice to these assholes. I slammed the rest of my whisky and put the glass on the bar, then took out my phone to send a text.

Every damn time someone hit on me, I thought of Leonel.

It was getting to be a pain in the ass.

“Business?” The guy sounded disappointed.

Oh. That gets him to stop.

I nodded. “Sorry.”

“Of course. Lovely to meet you. See you around?”

“No doubt.” I nodded. No doubt. I did the obligatory air-kiss across the guy’s cheeks, being very careful not to actually touch skin.

Once he was gone, I looked back to my phone, then nibbled my lip. I hadn’t heard from Leonel directly. I’d kept my distance at the presentation, not approaching or interacting with any of the models, but instead socializing with others.

Then, he and Joaquín had been free to go out and fuck themselves up as much as they wanted as long as they could be up for the airport tomorrow. That wasn’t to say I didn’t worry, though. With both of our asshole exes lurking around the city…

It wasn’t insignificant that Alex was there, poaching models.

And for Leonel, it could be an interesting opportunity. He was big enough that his name alone would pull jobs. Not if he kept up the attitude, but for now.

I had been lucky to sidestep the repercussions of making that same decision. I was fast enough on my feet to see a business and modeling retirement opportunity all in one, and I’d consequently started my business.

Would Leonel have the contacts or the knowledge in his pretty little head to start his own agency when his career crashed?

I doubted that.

I growled under my breath and stalked for the door. Alcohol wasn’t going to help me get over him. And admitting my feelings? What was I, a lovesick puppy? Never again. I’d wait until someone told me they wanted me first.

Didn’t stop me composing a text in the cab on the way home, though.

-Afterparties going well? Congrats on making it to the end of the month.

By the time I arrived home and hit the pillow in my bedroom, I still hadn’t heard back from Leonel, but I kept my phone on the bed as it charged overnight.

Just in case.

It was a little surprising how easily I woke the next morning. Then again, I had limited my drinking, considering the kind of hangovers I was used to dealing with after end-of-fashion-month parties.

Paris was good at handling the hordes of exhausted fashion industry insiders with a desperate need to drink their faces off and forget the successes and failures of the week. I just wasn’t sure my heart was in that place anymore.

It wasn’t surprising when we all piled out of our rooms at eleven to see that Joaquín was the worst-off. Leonel was middle-of-the-line in the hangover stakes, while Hunter was sunny and happy. He never seemed to suffer from them, so it was hard to assess how much damage he’d done to himself.

The rest of the guys -- Luca, Ivon, and the lesser-known models -- were in varying states of disarray.

Raymond was grumpy as he herded everyone in the limo and instructed the driver to load our luggage, but that was just his normal morning self.

“Thanks, man,” I told him on the way by and half-hugged him, then climbed into the front row with Paul. The discussion earlier about quitting still weighed heavily on my mind.

“Doing good?” Paul asked. He was sleepy and possibly a little drunk still, but he was smiling anyway.

“Fine, thanks,” I replied and took a deep breath. I tried not to look at Leonel as he climbed in and past me.

God, this was going to be awkward if he wasn’t talking to me anymore. That wouldn’t work as boss and employee, and would put a serious crimp in… whatever more we’d had going on.

Don’t be another relationship ruined by fucking fashion month.

The circuit -- New York, London, Milan, and Paris -- was a pressure cooker even for established couples.

Couples.

I shook myself out of it and stared out the window as we drove to the airport, nobody saying much. The hungover guys definitely appreciated the silence before travel chaos really kicked in at the airport.

Even there, Raymond did his usual excellent job getting everyone coordinated. Despite his being just the manager for some of these guys, not even all of them, Paul and Hughie and I all let him take charge.

At the airport, once we’d checked in and breezed through security -- a couple of the models getting busted for forgetting full shampoo or water bottles -- we compared seat numbers.

I joined in with a grin. “Way ahead of you all. 4A. Anyone got 4B?”

“There’s no 4B on this plane. Just A and C.” That was Raymond, a font of knowledge.

“I have 4C.”

Leonel.

I caught his gaze for a moment but smiled instantly. No way was I letting that awkwardness on to anyone else until we talked.

He smiled back and reached out a fist to casually bump mine. “Seat buddies. You losers are all in, like, eleven.”

“You guys elbowed to the front of the lineup,” Hunter complained.

“We’ll wait for you on the other side. Maybe.” Leonel rolled his carry-on ahead of the group, his head up and alert.

We crashed at the gate in a group, taking up a whole section of seats as we bantered at each other. This was the bit I enjoyed -- the camaraderie.

I tuned out most of it but joined in with the jokes now and then. I didn’t want to come off as completely aloof to my own guys, after all.

When it was finally time to board, I led Leonel past the ticket agents as we waved our tickets. “Not worse for wear today?”

“Nah. I got an early night.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” I hoped it didn’t offend him again.

“Early relative to the other nights,” he clarified with a quiet laugh. “And we slept in.”

“That’s nice,” I agreed. “Gonna sleep today, too?”

“Soon as I get home… I’m crashing.” He released a relieved moan. “Even if it’s nothing like a hotel room.”

I raised a brow. Leonel was in a pretty fancy place himself, unless he had a surprisingly cheap apartment there. “Really?”

Then he paused, looking at me hard for a second before looking away. “Yeah. Uh, about the… hotels…”

I knew exactly what he was talking about. Raymond had told me about the extra charges for the hotel room. Luckily, whenever we were dealing with star talent, that shit was built into the budget.

That was an advantage of being a CEO who’d been there, done that.

“I wouldn’t make a habit of it,” I told him, trying to keep my tone out of the lecturing range. “But don’t worry about this time.”

Leonel breathed a sigh of relief, barely audible, as he swung himself down into his seat, tucked the bag under his seat, and buckled up.

I sat in the aisle seat, then stretched my legs out and buckled up with a hum of contentment. “I love being at the front. The front of the customs lineup is the best place to be.”

Leonel hummed in agreement. “And the free booze section is the best section.”

We kept chatting about nothing at all, really, until the airplane door closed, the flight attendants were seated, and we were rolling across the ramp toward the runway.

Only then did I notice Leonel’s fingers digging into the armrest until his knuckles turned white. I reached out to cover his hand with my own and offer a smile.

“You okay?”

He flinched but nodded, staring out the window instead. “Yeah. Sorry.” He didn’t let go, though.

I patted his hand lightly. “You’ll be all right.”

“Probably,” he gritted. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

“No, it doesn’t. You usually drink before the plane, don’t you?”

He turned his startled gaze to me. “You know that?”

Oh, yeah. Someone not closely following whatever Raymond told me about that one specific model probably wouldn’t know that. My cheeks flushed, and Leonel started to grin in delight.

“You’re totally stalking me.”

“I’m not,” I defended myself heatedly, but damn it, my cheeks were burning as I turned my gaze away now, staring ahead down the aisle. “I’m just paying attention to the -- ow!”

Leonel had grabbed my hand, and was digging his nails into the side of my hand as the plane lifted off the pavement.

My eyes widened and I bit my lip firmly, but now that I was expecting it, it wasn’t that painful. I brought my other hand over to cover his as he stared out the window, apparently unwilling to even admit he was holding my damn hand. It was almost laughable if it weren’t so concerning.

For a long minute we said nothing, just sitting like this, me rubbing slow circles into the back of Leonel’s hand with my other thumb while he crushed my hand.

Then he abruptly let go and brushed his hands on his jeans, trying to shake out the tension. At last, he looked sort of in my direction. “Sorry. Just got startled.”

“It was a bit bumpy.” The tiny jolts had been nothing to me, but for someone afraid of flying…

I hadn’t known the poor guy was that badly off.

“Anyway...” he muttered.

I cleared my throat. “So, it’s probably awkward to bring this up, but… why didn’t you message me back last night? Or let me take you out somewhere? Aside from the fact that I’m your boss and it’d be weird.” I kept my voice down, just in case someone else could hear, even though we were all several rows back.

“I’m not your booty call,” he murmured back, his voice sharp but also low. “I don’t want to just be that.”

“You’re more than that,” I instantly assured him. “You’re the best damn talent we have. I don’t want you feeling like you can’t hang around me, or that you have to. My agency doesn’t work that way.”

I didn’t mean to stress the word my, but I did anyway.

Leonel considered me for a moment, then glanced behind and around us.

Then he gripped my chin in his hand and hauled me in for one quick, fierce kiss.

Our lips were hot and wet together, a potent reminder of how fucking good he’d been that very first time, in the changing room…

It gave me hot and totally impractical ideas.

Fuck, why hadn’t I just chartered a plane?

I pulled back when Leonel did, my vision a little hazy. “Well, there’s a mixed signal if I ever heard one.”

It was his turn to blush as he folded his arms tightly across his chest and leaned back in his seat, adjusting the pillow behind his head. He closed his eyes to get some sleep.

There was something off about the way he was responding, though, even to these little moments.

It was like he didn’t quite want to admit what was wrong, but there was something eating him up.

I stared at him for a minute, then gazed off across the backs of seats as I tried to wrap my head around my own thoughts. I needed more than hot hookups with Leonel -- it was clear we both needed and wanted that, from the little hint he had just let slip.

But were we ready? I was afraid the answer was no.

And right now, Leonel didn’t need a boyfriend. He was going through the biggest changes of his life -- the sudden explosion of fame, losing the ability to go out and be invisible on the streets among the masses, learning how fickle fame and friends were up here… probably even dealing with more money than he was used to having.

He needed a friend, and I didn’t know how to be that person.

When the flight leveled off, I tore open both our blanket packages and draped one across Leonel as he turned in his seat to tuck his head against the pillow and the window, his back to me. His breathing was uneven and he kept drumming his fingers as if he were tense.

Hell, he looked tense even from this angle. But I wasn’t going to ask. Leonel could deal with his own shit, and if he couldn’t, surely he knew I was there for him.

I reached out and rubbed his back lightly, then pulled his blanket a little further up and unfolded my own.