Desperate Enemies 3 Adam Carpenter (books like beach read .TXT) 📖

down. Punctuated by mini-runway exhibitions and video clips from Paris, New York, and Miami, a menagerie of awards had been given away, the winners graciously accepting their accolades. It was now time for designer of the year. Tyler Wood, for sure. Sawyer doubted anyone in the room thought differently.

The presenter took the stage. Sawyer looked on with embarrassment as Max Melbourne acknowledged the audience from his perch before the microphone. “Thank you.” Max cleared his throat. “I have the honor of presenting the final award of the evening. . . to a designer who has truly made a mark this year. It's doubly my honor because, well. . .” Polite chuckles wafted from the crowd, here and there. “I know, I know. . . but he's my client!” Max motioned for people to calm down. “Before I call him up, I'd like to do a shameless plug for the Melbourne Modeling Agency.” Max nodded into the darkness where the tech people were stationed. The stage lights dimmed and a video began to play on the screen to Max's right.

Sawyer couldn't bear to watch. He was sure that Max had cut any reference to him from his promo. Which was bullshit, because if it hadn't been for Sawyer, Max would never have won Tyler's account in the first place. Instead, Sawyer watched the faces in the audience; many of them people who, before the last few days, he would have called colleagues. Friends.

Some friends.

But something was wrong. Their expressions, glued forward, were those of shock. He whipped his head around, stunned at what he saw.

On the big screen, Max Melbourne was dropping his pants, forcing himself at Sawyer. His voice boomed, “You know what I do to the other guys I represent? I fuck them.” Sawyer countered, “You fuck them over.” And Max smiled, “No, I just fuck them.”

The audience at the Four Seasons shouted in anger but not as loud as Melbourne himself, trying to get someone to turn off the damn video. Seconds later, the crowd booed Max off the stage. The agent fled into the wings, out of sight.

And still the video continued, whipping the audience into a frenzy that nonetheless hung on every word.

Max: “Poser!”

Sawyer: “It's what I do, Max. I'm a model.”

At that, the crowd erupted in applause and whistles.

The lights came back on and Tyler Wood ran onstage, asking everybody to settle down. “Well!” He laughed. “Leave it to Max Melbourne to upstage the winner. I'm told I am Designer of the Year, but I'll tell you, if the past two days has taught me anything, it's that all the support and praise. . . it could all disappear. Like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I share this award with my staff who works hard for me every day. And the models who make my clothes. . . make me look so good. Right now, I'd like to call up my star.” Tyler scanned the room, which was still relatively dark. “Sawyer? Sawyer Block, are you still here?”

Sawyer stood, immobilized. Then slowly, he responded, walking toward the stage. When he reached Tyler's side, the designer leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “Sawyer, I know you've had a tough couple of days. But I'd like you to know—this is your award too. And you have a job with me as long as you'd like it.” Sawyer blushed, fighting back tears.

Wood motioned him to the mike.

Clearly, it was expected that he say something. “Um. . .” The microphone squeaked with reverb. Sawyer backed up a half step. “I just wanted to say to everyone, to all of you. . . I'm sorry. Sorry for leading you to believe I was something I'm not.” He looked at the familiar faces. “In case you haven't heard, I'm gay.” People started laughing. But, Sawyer realized, they weren't laughing at him this time. They were laughing with him. “I'm—”

His thought was lost in his throat. Coming up the main aisle, emerging from the darkness, was Dane, dressed smartly in one of Sawyer's suits.

“I'm. . . in love.”

Dane looked up at him, flowers in his hand. Sawyer beamed back a thousand watt smile.

“I'm in love with this man.” He pointed to Dane. Four hundred heads turned to the new arrival. “Dane Walters, with all these people as a witness, will you marry me?”

The room burst into pandemonium.

* * * *

Dane kissed Sawyer passionately, melting into his lover's arms. They parted lips for a moment to look soulfully into each other's eyes. Sawyer traced the masculine features of Dane's face with a finger.

They'd had a good laugh when they first returned to Sawyer's hotel room. Dane explained that he started recording the Skype session when things went south with Melbourne. Then he jumped into the car and headed to Los Angeles, not sure what he was going to do when he got there. Fortunately, he ran into Tyler Wood in the hotel lobby. They shared a good conversation. It was then that Dane learned about the video clips for the awards dinner. When they met, Tyler had been heading to the hotel's special event coordinator to submit his own clip. And that gave Dane a great idea. Posing as one of Max's harried staff, he passing the coordinator a “new video” that Melbourne insisted be used for the show.

“You know, you never did answer my question.”

Dane turned from the city lights twinkling outside the window to find Sawyer kneeling before him. “Yes, baby, I want you, now and always.”

“You sure?”

“I've never been so sure of anything in my life.” His gaze dropped to his fly. “But while you're down there. . .”

* * * *

Danvers Converse was busy at his desk when the telephone rang. He picked it up and listened. Then, without speaking a word, hung up.

“Well played, Mr. Block. Now it's my move.”

He pulled a piece of paper from his desk drawer, picked up the telephone receiver, and began dialing.

“Good evening. Is this Diana Block?”

* * * *

Their orgasms had