Proximity | Escalate Ep. 1: Access

Everyone in the room wants something from Ben Langley. For the one man who wants nothing from him, that comes at a price.

SCENE 1 - THE DOORMAN

EVERETT POV

It’s 6:46 PM and he’s early. That’s not unusual because Everett Shaw is always early. He steps out of the revolving door into the lobby and the doorman looks up from the sleek front desk.

“Evening, Mr. Shaw.”

“Evening.”

The doorman is older, grey at the temples, posture like he served somewhere once. He knows Everett’s name but Everett doesn’t know his. It’s been three weeks and he should have it down by now. He should ask on his way out.

The lobby is all soft tones and indirect lighting. Like a museum, thinks Everett, as he crosses to the elevator.

He glances up at a discreet security camera tucked into a corner on the ceiling, and is sure the doorman is watching him. It’s likely the doorman has been watching him since before he even got close to the entrance of the building, and then followed him into and out of the revolving door. Everett is also sure he’ll be watching as Everett goes up in the elevator, then all the way to the front door of Ben’s apartment. That’s a thing Everett can’t get comfortable with. The constant watching. It’s not surveillance of him as much as it’s a strange sort of curiosity. At least that’s what it feels like to Everett.

The elevator doors whisper shut and Everett’s reflection slides out in front of him in chrome and stainless steel.

Does he know why I’m here? What does he think I am… who I am to Ben?

As the elevator starts the twelve-second ascent to the fourteenth floor, Everett studies the man reflected back at him. Six-three, 270 pounds of hard-earned muscle, but at forty-five there are fewer sharp edges than before. While age has added a few pounds he wears it comfortably and without explanation. At least he had until he met Ben Langley, thirteen years his junior.

You’re built more for function than exhibition these days, Ben had teased. And that works for me.

Everett had just looked at him because it was such a Ben thing to say, and it made his heart melt a little more for the guy that day.

His hand moves to his beard. It’s thick, well-maintained and jet-black, with more flecks of silver than last week. He strokes it thoughtfully and one word drifts into his brain and plants itself firmly.

Boyfriend.

Maybe that’s the word the doorman thinks as he watches Everett on the security system. There’s a recognizable pattern in the data and based on that pattern, boyfriend would be the logical word a casual observer would land on. But Everett doesn’t like it. Not the definition or the part that has anything to do with Ben. It’s the other part. Being examined and sorted and labeled before he’s sorted any of it out himself.

He was my client, for Christ’s sake. What was I thinking?

The boundary between Everett, the cybersecurity specialist, and Ben, the wealthy client, had dissolved a little over a month ago and Everett still struggles with how they ended up here. Sure, there was the close proximity to one another over time, but something else happened during their time working together that was much deeper and both men had been caught off guard by it. And lately, Ben seems to be adjusting to it much better than Everett.

What’s my deal? Why can’t I just enjoy this…

Everett knows exactly why. He’s a widower who hasn’t had any kind of meaningful relationship since his wife died in a car accident ten years ago, let alone an intense physical and emotional relationship like the one he’s in now. What makes it even more confusing is the part of this that he never knew was a part of him. The relationship is with a man.

He puts his hand in his pocket and palms the key that Ben handed him two weeks ago. He’d slid it across the kitchen island without ceremony and Everett had taken it like it was no big deal, because that’s how Ben handed it over. When Everett got home that night he took it out of his jacket pocket and set it on his desk, then didn’t touch it for two days. He stared at it a lot, but didn’t touch it.

Is this moving too fast? What am I doing?

He unlocks the wide front door to Ben’s loft and steps into the tasteful gallery entry.

“Yo, Ben.”

Nothing.

He notices Ben’s keys and watch are on the console just inside the door, the place he usually drops them as soon as he walks in.

Everett moves through a wide cased opening into the living room flooded with late day sun, and scans the vast space.

No Ben.

His eyes shift towards a series of windows with a panoramic view of the Hudson River. As the last vestiges of the day dip behind New Jersey, the steel and concrete of lower Manhattan bask in a gold light. As if in sync, the lighting around the room gently fades up in an almost imperceptible transition that matches the room’s light to the light outside the windows.

He turns and walks back through the gallery to the TV room and then the library calling out Ben’s name as he enters each room.

“Hello, Ben Langley. Yo.”

Nothing.

Ben is usually at the front door or in one of these rooms hanging out when Everett comes over. Tonight should be no different. It’s not a special occasion or anything. Just a drink before they head back uptown for dinner at a new restaurant Ben’s sister told him about.

This is weird.

Everett walks through the dining room, also softly lit now, and then into the large, spotless kitchen. Empty.

He doubles back to the living room and from there turns down a long hallway that leads to Ben’s bedroom. Halfway down the hall Everett sees the door is cracked open.

He pushes it slowly and enters, and then he hears it. Water. The sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

“Yo, Ben.” He doesn’t say it above a whisper this time.

He crosses the wide bedroom and into a bathroom that’s bigger than Everett’s first apartment. Water is streaming from multiple rain-shower fixtures that are flush with the ceiling. Glass and grey stone cover every surface. An expansive picture window on the south-facing wall frames Freedom Tower, lit against the darkening sky.

And there, standing in the center of the window looking out, is Ben. His broad shoulders taper down sharply into a lean, tight waist, where a low-slung white towel accentuates his round, athletic ass. Before Everett can say anything, Ben turns around, fixes his grey-green eyes on him and smiles.

“Hey man, you’re early,” Ben says.

“You’re not dressed.”

“No,” Ben says, and he drops the towel. His cock is huge, uncut and curving slightly to the right.

Everett has learned there’s no possible way to stand in a room with an unclothed Ben Langley and not have a reaction. But he doesn’t have time to process the thought because Ben closes the distance between them in three steps. Ben takes his face in both hands, weaving thick fingers into his beard, and kisses him like they haven’t been in the same room together in a year.

The heat of Ben’s mouth and the roughness of scruff scraping his own still take his breath away, even though it’s been over a month since it happened for the very first time. He stands there, frozen in the moment, letting Ben kiss him, so he kisses him back. And they stay like that for several minutes.

“I moved the reservation,” Ben says, releasing himself from the kiss. “It’s nine-thirty now.”

“Ha. You assumed.”

“Nah, I knew.”

Then Ben firmly guides Everett backwards towards the shower and starts to pull off his jacket at the same time.

“Ben, I’m dressed.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Ben says, peeling the jacket off. “That’s exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing.” The jacket’s off and he lobs it towards the sinks and then moves on to Everett’s belt.

“Well, fuck,” Everett says, laughing. “You think I’d ever turn you down?”

He finishes what Ben had started with the belt, then hauls his sweater vest over his head and tosses both onto the newly formed pile with his jacket. Ben moves in and kisses him again, and starts pushing him back to the shower.

Everett shakes free and laughs, “Jesus, hang on… my shoes.”

Ben laughs into his neck, and Everett swears, and toes the shoes off one at a time without letting go of Ben’s waist. Then the water’s running over both of them and the rest of Everett’s clothes stop mattering.

It’s still new enough between them that they’re clumsy like a couple of teenagers. But then the pants come off, then the briefs, stocking feet sliding on the wet stone, and next the shirt. It’s soaked through and Ben has to peel it off Everett’s shoulders and down. Then it’s just the two of them under the water and it isn’t clumsy anymore.

Ben fits against him and it feels right. Everett’s thicker and has thirty to forty pounds on Ben, but they’re nearly the same height and almost equally sizable everywhere else. He gets his hands on Ben’s lower back and pulls him in close. Chest to chest, cocks rubbing against each other; Everett never knew this was something he wanted until Ben. And now it’s all he wants.

Ben grunts into Everett’s mouth so Everett kisses him harder. Ben drops his hands to find Everett’s swollen balls and massive throbbing cock, and goes to work on both, applying just the right amount of pressure that he knows Everett will respond to.

Without breaking the kiss Everett’s hands move up to Ben’s chest, his palms barely covering the fullness of Ben’s pecs. He massages and kneads them, feeling the firm muscle fiber beneath the thick hair, and Ben moans softly. When Everett’s thumbs start to circle Ben’s erect nipples, the volume of Ben’s moaning increases as if Everett is turning it up with a dial.

After a bit Everett pulls back and looks at Ben. He just wants to take in the face of the man in front of him, the full mouth and square jaw, straight nose and those eyes.

The most beautiful fucking eyes.

“What?” Ben says, looking back.

His thick, brown hair is slicked to his head and every muscle gleams under the streams of shower water flowing over him. It runs off his shoulders in rivulets, down his chest and abs, flattening the dark hair everywhere.

“Nothing,” Everett says. He lifts a big hand and places his palm on Ben’s upper chest with his thumb and fingers circling just below Ben’s throat. “You. Just you.”

He doesn’t say what he wants to say even though he feels it. In his chest and his head and every part of his body. He’s not sure if it’s the right word so soon. The only thing Everett Shaw is sure of is that it’s there, in him, and it isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Ben smiles, then drops to his knees and takes Everett in his mouth, and Everett’s head falls back against the grey stone with a thud.

I’m in trouble here.

And neither of them seems to notice the city night has come to life right outside the picture window.

---

SCENE 2 - THE ROOM

EVERETT POV

The restaurant sits in the Meatpacking District behind a tall door with no sign on it. Just a brass number and a host in a charcoal suit who says Ben’s name before Ben gives it.

“Mr. Langley. Welcome to Soroa NYC.”

Inside it’s warm and softly lit and humming with life. Old brick, rough-sawn oak and real candles glow on every table. The floor is wide-plank and worn soft. It’s a rustic old-world farmhouse that someone has spent multiple millions to make look like a real old-world farmhouse. And it does except that it’s scaled for the city and there’s a long zinc bar that runs down one side.

A tall, young woman who struts like she’s just stepped off the runway at fashion week escorts them to a table in the front and center of the room. It’s the one table in the entire restaurant that anyone who’s looking can see, visible from any point and every angle around the room. Everett sees it for what it is before he sits.

It’s a stage.

Everett is the first to enter the low-backed banquette upholstered in deep blue teal velvet. And when Ben slides in across from him, Everett feels the atmosphere shift. A strange quiet descends, holds for a few seconds and then just as quickly, a curious chatter starts, almost as if the room has taken notice of something.

“I hope you two have a lovely evening,” says their young escort with a smile. She hands them each a menu and Ben the wine list. As she turns to leave she pauses, and in the span of exactly two seconds, she looks at Ben then back at Everett, and with a hint of approval she winks. Then with a flourish she’s gone, strutting back towards the front of the restaurant.

What the… I’m not sure what that meant, Everett thinks. But he knows exactly what it meant because his neck and ears feel hot.

“What’s up,” Ben says, looking up from the menu. His eyes quickly read Everett’s face.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Okay… if you say so.” Ben’s mouth curves into a slight smile and Everett is pretty sure Ben can see the heat he feels spreading up his neck that now covers the entirety of his face.

The chatter has now grown into a dull roar and at the same time the curious glances begin. An attractive, well-dressed older woman sitting at the bar looks over the top of her wine glass, then looks again. She pokes her companion, another attractive older woman, and they’re both looking over the tops of their wine glasses now. Three businessmen talking at a four-top turn to stare, talk a little more, then turn to stare again. A server glances at their table on her way past, then slows to almost a full stop for a closer look. Everett sees all of it.

He looks across to Ben, who’s opened the wine list and is actively reading it. So Everett opens the menu. The food is French. Or Spanish. Maybe Basque. Everett reads the menu twice and can’t tell and doesn’t ask. He’s not going to be the guy who asks. When he looks up from the menu he feels the physical weight of dozens of eyes. He does a quick scan around the room and realizes the eyes are indeed looking at the table he shares with Ben, but it appears their primary focus is only on Ben.

Everett knows half the room has placed the face by now. Anyone remotely interested in sports would recognize Ben Langley, the gifted athlete and winning college football fullback. His athletic abilities made him a dominant figure in the national sport headlines and zeitgeist for four whole seasons, and then later because he walked away before the draft and into more inherited money than any pro football player could ever touch in a lifetime.

Then there’s Ben Langley, the respected financial savant, who not only inherited billions but also inherited the innate ability to make more, which he’s done successfully.

And many would see Ben Langley, the most eligible bachelor in New York. Young, handsome and wealthy, and very much on the market as far as anyone knows, but also obsessively private, so no one really knows for sure.

The other half of the room hasn’t placed a thing. They’re just looking at a very well-built, very good-looking young man in a dark jacket and running the internal dialogues people run on an exceptionally attractive person.

Everett runs it too. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t. Ben across the table in candlelight is a lot to sit with. But that’s not the thing that has him turned around tonight. The thing tonight is the whole room is leaning towards Ben Langley and he’s got his nose buried down in the Burgundies, and he hasn’t looked up once.

“You feel that?” Everett says.

“Feel what?” Ben doesn’t look up.

He means it. That’s the thing about Ben.

The wine comes and they order, and somewhere between the starters and the entrees there’s a shift up front, and heads are turning again. This time it’s a woman crossing the floor towards them. She’s petite and blond, with a full mouth and a square jaw. She’s stunning, with a face that rearranges the room on her short trip through it.

Ben is up and out of the banquette before she reaches the table. The hug is real, both arms, the two of them grinning like kids. Everyone in the room is fixated.

Everett stands too, because that’s what his mother raised him to do.

“You came,” she says to Ben.

“You said it was impossible to get in. That was a dare, right?”

She laughs and turns the family face on Everett, warm, curious. She has Ben’s grey-green eyes.

“Avery. This is Everett Shaw.” Ben’s hand finds the small of Everett’s back. “Everett, my sister, Avery Langley.”

“Everett,” she says warmly. She takes Everett’s large hand in both of hers and looks him in the eye, then says: “Ben has told me a great deal about you. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

But before Everett can respond, the man behind Avery steps forward. He’d come up two steps behind her, let her have her moment, and now he’s stepping in for his moment. He’s clean-shaven with thick, dark hair combed straight back, wearing a suit that’s a cut above everything around it, and a smile that’s aimed directly at Ben.

“And this is Julian,” Avery says. “Julian Sloane. He’s the reason you waited six weeks for a table.”

“Ah, this is your place,” says Ben. He nods and extends his hand.

“Yes, it’s mine.” Julian’s British, the accent carrying a share of the load for him. He takes Ben’s hand in both of his. “But Avery exaggerates. All you had to do was call, just like you did today. The truth is, I’m the reason you didn’t have to wait tonight.”

Everyone laughs. It’s polite. Julian gives Ben’s hand back and then fixes his gaze on Ben.

“So. The famous Ben Langley. I’ve heard so much, from so many people, that I’d half decided you were invented.” He holds the look a beat past comfortable. “I see now that a good deal of it’s true.”

“Most of it’s exaggerated, I’m sure,” Ben says.

“I doubt that very much.” Then Julian looks at Everett and focuses on him for the first time. “And who’s this?”

“Everett’s a friend of mine,” Ben says.

Friend.

It isn’t wrong. But then there isn’t a word that seems right. Everett’s the one who hasn’t given Ben a better one, so friend is what Ben has to work with. That’s Everett’s rational justification but that doesn’t make the sound of it sting any less.

But Julian’s already shifted his attention back to Ben, and is now talking about his business. He has a restaurant in Miami that’s on fire and he explains why. Then there’s the one in Chicago, just off Oak Street, where even he can’t legitimately get a reservation for six weeks. But it’s the location in LA he loves more than all of the rest, because it’s where Julian’s Soroa dream manifested into reality. This is his first in New York and it’s the one that’s frightened him the most, so of course it’s the one he wants the most to succeed. Time will tell if it becomes his favorite.

Ben pays Julian his full attention, and seems genuinely interested, because that’s how Ben Langley is with just about everyone.

“Julian, now tell Ben your most exciting news,” says Avery. She’s been quietly standing next to Ben listening to the conversation and not interrupting. Apparently it’s a trait that seems to run in certain parts of the Langley family.

“Oh yes, well, the most exciting news,” says Julian, “is my second New York location opens next Wednesday. In Hudson Yards. And I’m having an enormous party. Everyone worth knowing is coming, and a fair crowd who think they are will be there too. I would be honored if you came, Ben. I’ll see to the details myself, with VIP status, private room, whatever you’d like.”

“That’s generous,” Ben says. “You don’t need to do any of that.”

Julian’s smile holds its shape a half-second too long before he answers. A micro-expression that’s out of sequence. Most people would miss it, but Everett didn’t.

“I know I don’t,” says Julian. His hand settles on Ben’s shoulder, presses once, then a squeeze. “I want to.”

“Thank you, Julian,” says Ben. He seems unfazed by Julian’s hand on his shoulder.

“Absolutely.” Julian drops his hand. “And come with whomever you’d like. Or come alone.”

Everett watches the whole performance and lands where he was always going to land from the minute Julian walked up. This man is hitting on Ben and he’s smooth enough that calling it out would make Everett the problem in the room.

Avery touches Julian’s sleeve, says she has to go pull an investor off the bar before he buys a bottle of something he can’t pronounce. She kisses Ben’s cheek, tells Everett it was wonderful to meet him, again, and sounds like she means it. Then she’s gone.

Which leaves Julian, who turns to Everett like he’s just remembered he’s standing there. The look goes down and comes back up, taking inventory.

“And how do you two know each other?”

“Kane Stuart,” says Everett. “The private wealth management advisory, Stuart Capital. I run a cybersecurity firm and he’s a client. And Ben is a client of Kane’s. That’s how we met.”

Julian’s whole face opens. “Kane. Kane Stuart helped me build my entire portfolio. He’s a financial genius. The man found money in rooms I didn’t know had doors.” He eases off Everett half a degree. “He’s here tonight, you know. With Penelope. I sat them myself, back corner as requested.”

The entrees arrive on the arms of two servers, and Julian steps back with a small bow that took practice to look unpracticed. “I’ll leave you to your dinner. Ben. A real pleasure. Think about next week.”

Then he’s gone too, and it’s just them and the food.

“He’s going to be a problem,” Everett says, watching Julian move to another table across the floor.

“He seems pretty typical for this business. He’s just a restaurant guy opening new restaurants. That’s all.” Ben picks up his fork. “Eat.”

---

SCENE 3 - THE MACHINE

They eat, and the food is very good, whatever it is. Talk comes easy for Ben and Everett, and this meal is no different. Except Ben keeps steering the conversation back to Everett’s company. How’s business? What’s up with the job out on Long Island? Did it close? Is Henry David, Everett’s COO and right-hand man, able to carry the load Everett won’t put down? Everything Ben asks is because he’s genuinely interested, and he listens to each of Everett’s answers like Everett is the only person in the room. Because to Ben, in that moment, he is. And Everett feels the pull to hand him all of it.

But there’s one thing Everett doesn’t hand him and it’s something he’s been turning over in his head and can’t find a flat side to. It’s about tonight and the doorman at Ben’s building, and the knowing look from the young woman who seated them. It’s the insatiable curiosity of the whole room turning towards Ben like he throws off some kind of heat. And it’s Julian Sloane, and people like him who make it patently obvious that what they want most is to get Ben into bed.

And all of that is just tonight. But what about before tonight? And before Everett? There are plenty of people who are still around because of Ben’s inexplicable pull. Like Drew Callahan, Ben’s contractor. He did Ben’s loft renovation four years ago and has had a key to it ever since. This is all new enough for Everett to wonder if he’s the exception now or only the most recent. He already knows what Ben would say to that. Ben doesn’t think in exceptions. But right now Everett can’t think in anything but.

As Everett watches Ben eat the last few bites of his meal, he sees it with fresh clarity. He sees how every person that comes in contact with Ben wants something from him, even if it’s just the story they get to tell later about the night they stood next to the incredibly handsome billionaire athlete Ben Langley. After a month, Everett finally sees the machine running at full volume, all of it, all at once, an endless stream of noise.

“Yo, Everett.” Ben waves a hand across the table. “Where are you, my man? You with me?”

“Yeah, just a few things on my mind, it’s nothing,” Everett says, refocusing.

Ben tilts his head and looks at Everett a few seconds longer than the sentence is worth. Then he nods once and lets it go.

Everett returns the look and shifts in the banquette. He’s found a locked door, Everett thinks. He didn’t try to open it but he just let me know he found it. He’s still inside that thought when a hand comes down on his shoulder.

“Everett Shaw and Ben Langley. Two of my favorite guys.”

“Kane Stuart,” Everett says, and he’s already on his feet. Kane is tall, fair, blond and late thirties. The build takes discipline, gym time kept like a standing meeting, which Everett knows because he spots him on the bench and at the squat rack a few times a week.

They shake hands and it’s firm, friendly.

Kane runs Ben’s money, most of it, and now the slow undoing of it. Everett respects him, tolerates some of his controlling tendencies, and would take his call at any hour, which is right where both of them like to keep the relationship.

Then Kane turns to Ben and shakes his hand.

“You two clean up well,” Kane says with a smile, his blue eyes moving between them.

If he’d seen us in that shower earlier, he wouldn’t call it cleaning up.

A smile creeps across Everett’s face and then he sees the same thought surface in Ben. A laugh punches out of them both at once, too fast and a little too loud.

Kane doesn’t acknowledge their laughter and instead turns to the woman standing beside him in a black dress. Dark hair, dark eyes and a stillness on her that reads as confidence.

“Everett, Ben, I’d like you to meet my wife. Penelope.” Kane sets down wife like a card he’s excited to play. “Pen, this is the Everett I’ve told you about. He’s the man who keeps my business safe and secure. The best cybersecurity specialist on the East Coast.”

“Yes, you are very lucky to have him, Kane,” says Penelope. “You’ve told me so. That’s why you’d better treat him well.” Then she directs her full attention to Everett and takes his hand, shakes it and says: “Nice to finally meet you, Everett. Kane really does talk about you a lot.” And Everett likes her immediately.

Then she turns to Ben, kisses him on both cheeks and there’s small talk, because they’ve clearly met before. But then she turns to include Everett in their conversation and says: “What did you think of the food tonight?”

Both Ben and Everett agree it was outstanding.

“Julian is on a roll,” says Kane. “Are you going to the opening of his new place next week?”

“Julian mentioned it tonight,” says Ben. “So we are considering it.”

“We’ll be there,” says Penelope. “I do hope you two will make it.”

Then Kane puts a hand on the back of the banquette and his voice drops one quiet degree.

“Tomorrow,” he says to Ben. “We’ll pick back up where we left off last Tuesday.”

“Okay, sounds good,” says Ben.

“See you at 10:00 AM,” says Kane and he pats the banquette once, for punctuation. Then he steers Penelope towards the door and they’re gone too.

“I like them together,” says Everett. “Kane works so much it’s easy to forget he’s even married.”

Ben agrees and then says: “Alright, let’s get the check and go back to my place. I have a job to be done that requires a strong hand.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I think you might just be the man for the job,” says Ben with a mock seriousness. “Can I count on you to do the job?”

“You can count on me, Ben,” Everett says with a grin. “I am definitely your man, whatever the job.” And Everett means that in every way possible.

Outside, the cobblestones are wet and the car, a black Yukon Denali, is waiting at the curb. Ben doesn’t reach for the door handle right away and instead turns back to look at Everett.

“That thing I told you about, after our first night. The money.”

“Yeah, you’re giving it away,” Everett says. “Of course I remember.”

How could he forget? Six billion dollars, Ben giving away most of it and the wheels were already in motion with Kane. And the other piece of it Ben had added was that his father didn’t know what he was planning.

“You said you hadn’t talked to your dad yet.”

“I still haven’t,” Ben says, holding Everett’s eyes. “It’s time, though.”

Everett knows what Ben is really asking. Everett made Ben a promise that night, that when the time came, Ben wouldn’t have to talk to his father alone.

“My offer still stands, Ben. Whatever you need. I’m here for you if you need my help.”

“Well, I’m going to need that help soon.”

For Ben Langley, this is extraordinary. Here is a man who never asks for anything because the world is usually asking him for everything first. But he has just asked Everett for help, plainly and directly. This is Ben with his hand out.

And that’s when Everett feels the whole night turn over. Every person in that restaurant wanted something off Ben tonight. Now Ben wants one thing and it’s a thing not one of them can give him. But Everett can.

“Absolutely,” says Everett. “Of course I will help you.” He grabs Ben, a little rougher than intended, and pulls him in close, then wraps himself completely around Ben’s thick upper body. With his mouth next to Ben’s ear he says: “I will give you whatever you need, whenever you need it. I am one hundred percent with you.”

Ben’s head drops to Everett’s shoulder and after a beat Everett rests his cheek on Ben’s head and breathes him in. Then he tucks his face deeper into the curve of Ben’s neck, using the tight embrace to mask his shallow, muffled breathing and the wetness stinging his eyes.

Neither of them moves or says anything for a long moment, until Ben inhales sharply and says: “Alright, we have to go.”

They get into the car and Ben gives the driver his home address, which is silly because Michael is Ben’s regular driver and has driven Ben around the city and home thousands of times. Everett chuckles to himself because it’s a thing Ben has done every time he’s ridden in the car with Ben when Michael is driving.

They watch the city slide past in comfortable silence and after a few blocks Ben reaches across the seat and takes Everett’s hand in his and holds it. Everett looks down at their intertwined hands and then at Ben, and he smiles.

“Thank you, Everett,” says Ben. And nothing else needs to be said.

He gives Ben’s hand a firm squeeze and looks back towards the window. His mind is all over the place and there’s so much to reconcile with what he is feeling right now. And under all of it there’s a question that’s been waiting for Everett, and it’s the one with no clean answer: what is the cost of loving the man every person in the room is reaching for?

I’m screwed.

I’m in love with this guy.

---

Next week in Episode 2...

Ben takes the next steps towards giving away his fortune but hits a snag with one of the assets. Meanwhile some people who’ve spent their lives protecting that fortune begin taking their own steps. And a connection from the past resurfaces bringing with him new complications.