Chapter 5

FIVE

Toby Tillman would not leave him alone. For days after the initial meeting, Robbie had to suffer through Tillman poking into everything he did, both in his classes and in the administrative work he sometimes helped Rebecca with. The man was pernicious and arrogant. Every time they got into a conversation, they butted heads. It didn't matter how many times Robbie took his dad aside and told him they could figure things out on their own in an attempt to get rid of him.

"Toby is a professional," his dad explained. "He comes highly recommended. He's already come up with half a dozen suggestions that will definitely make this place more profitable."

"Yes, but he's?—"

"He's what?" Dad had asked, the corner of his mouth twitching and his eyes glittering with far too much amusement.

"He's a nasty little wanker," Robbie had blurted, knowing full well he sounded weak and sullen. And probably like he had a thing for the little rat, which he did not .

His dad had just laughed at him. "Hurts when someone you don't like turns out to be better at something than you, doesn't it."

That had been the end of the conversation. Dad had left Robbie standing there, mouth working, emotions bristling, thoughts scattered.

Now, two days later, as Hawthorne House swarmed with guests there to attend the Renaissance weekend, Robbie still didn't know what to say.

He threw every bit of his emotional turmoil into his pottery demonstration, letting the wheel and the clay pull away the confusion and dismay that the past week had left him with. Usually, it worked. The current problem was that Robbie had far too many things to be dismayed about.

It wasn't just Tillman, he told himself as he kicked at the antique wheel to make it spin. It was his family, the impending gig with The Ceramics Challenge, and, if he were honest with himself, the break-up with Keith. Everything weighed on him, telling him he was a mess, he wasn't good enough, and he was destined to fail.

His art seemed to be reflecting that at the moment. He was making a simple mug, one of the sort hanging from pegs along the corner posts of the outdoor workshop that tourists purchased as souvenirs. He could form and shape the clay in his sleep. But it wasn't even noon yet, and he'd already had to scrap half a dozen false starts.

As yet another mug spun out, losing its shape, Robbie leaned back with a heavy, irritated sigh, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist and probably streaking it with wet clay. No, it was Tillman. That bastard was the only new element on his list of things that distracted him. He'd been dealing with his family for ages, The Ceramics Competition was entirely scheduled now, and he didn't care about Keith anymore. Tillman was the only new thing that had charged in and messed up Robbie's life.

As if the universe could hear his thoughts, Tillman strolled up to his workshop with a smug, "Aren't you supposed to be an internationally recognized potter or something?"

The thwarted emotions that had been swirling through Robbie's gut for days, like a lump of clay that wouldn't center, suddenly came together and had a direction to vent in.

"Aren't you supposed to be a proud member of the working-class?" He nodded to the ridiculous, velvet-trimmed costume Tillman wore.

Surprisingly, that jab had some effect. Tillman glanced down at himself with a sullen frown. "Early made me put on a costume," he said, a slight growl to his voice that went straight to places in Robbie that he refused to acknowledge. "Apparently, you all rent costumes out. While I approve of the extra measure to make money, I'm not entirely convinced Early isn't getting revenge on me for getting their pronouns wrong."

Sensing a vulnerability, Robbie snorted and raked Tillman with a gaze. He did look like a prick in his Elizabethan doublet, pantaloon, and hose. The semi-authentic codpiece that poked out from the front of the pantaloons was the icing on the cake. It didn't matter that the costume was predominately black with silver trimmings, Tillman still looked like a fool. Early wasn't even remotely the sort to seek revenge for anything, but Robbie was glad they'd stuck Tillman in the velvet.

Although, for some reason, a rebellious part of Robbie was more attracted to the snake than ever.

"You look like a prat," he said, standing from the wheel and taking the ruined mug he'd just scraped off the bat to a tub of clay to be reclaimed later.

"I just look like a prat today ," Tillman said with a sneering grin. He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the posts that supported the overhanging roof. "You look like a knob every day, even dressed like a bloody peasant."

Robbie fought not to take the bait as he wiped his hands on the old, stained apron he wore for Renaissance weekend demonstrations. "It's called authenticity," he said, moving closer to Tillman.

He crossed his arms as well, but he stood straight and tall instead of leaning. He figured that he had about six or seven inches of height on Tillman, but that didn't stop the man from looking like he wanted to crush Robbie under his heel.

"Business good?" Tillman asked with a smarmy smile, as if he knew something Robbie didn't.

"It's wonderful," Robbie said flatly.

It was a lie. Usually by that time of day he would have sold a dozen mugs, give or take. Only about four people had bought anything since they'd opened the grounds, though. The teenager who'd been hired to man the retail aspect of the booth was at the far side, chatting up his girlfriend. Since Robbie wasn't having any luck getting his creative mojo going for the day, the few people who had paused to watch him work had moved on.

"And you consider this a good use of your time?" Tillman goaded him further.

"Of course it's a good use of my time," Robbie said dismissively. "This is my family business. My family means everything to me."

"Really?" Tillman said, eyeing Robbie like he was full of shit. "I thought you artists were all about the art. Isn't that why your brothers are off on adventures and your mum is in Africa?"

"It is all about the art," Robbie said, far more of a war inside him, all of a sudden, than he expected. "This is art." He gestured back to the wheel.

Tillman stared him dead in the eyes. "Throwing pots and making mugs for foreign tourists at your daddy's house is your art?"

Robbie clenched his jaw and hugged himself tighter. "At least my family business isn't making books or selling drugs on a street corner."

He'd meant it as a joke, a dig, but the furious flush that tinted Tillman's face and the way he pushed himself straighter, like he would once again flip Robbie the bird and walk off, told Robbie that he'd accidentally hit on some level of truth. He wondered whether it was the book making or the drugs.

"Fine," Tillman said. "Hide away here at Hawthorne House for the rest of your life instead of making a name for yourself, like your brothers have. I don't fucking care."

The curse slipped out just as an incredibly wholesome family with far too many children walked passed. The mother glared at Tillman, and then Robbie, as if the word was Robbie's fault.

"If you're so determined to help our family, which I sincerely doubt, then do have a care not to offend the paying guests," Robbie snapped.

"I absolutely intend to help your family," Tillman said as if arguing he would do the exact opposite. "It's my job. I'm damn good at my job."

"I've no doubt," Robbie said, taking a half step back and preparing to turn away. "You're very good at meddling in people's business and telling them what to do."

"I bet you just love being told what to do," Tillman said with heat in his voice and his eyes.

Robbie bumped into the corner of his work bench as he tried to turn away from the rush of conflicted emotions that flew at him. The moment of turmoil didn't stop there either. If fencing with Tillman wasn't bad enough, Keith chose just that moment to walk up to the workshop.

"Hey, Robbie," Keith said, all smiles and perfect good looks. "You're looking well."

Every one of Robbie's roiling, conflicted emotions focused on burning bitter anger…that he couldn't do anything about.

"Hey, Keith," he said, faking a delighted smile. He even walked around the end of the workshop counter so he could greet his ex with a hug.

The hug was a bad idea. Putting his arms around the man he'd shared so much with for so long brought back sense memories that had him instantly reeling. Keith's body was so familiar. He knew everything about it, from the shape of his back to the scent of his skin.

Stepping away from Keith as the hug ended sent him straight back to the rejected, vulnerable place he'd only just managed to crawl out of in the last few weeks. With Tillman standing right there, watching everything with a calculating look, the timing of it all couldn't have been worse.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Keith asked, turning his megawatt smile on Tillman.

Robbie's anger turned to something much worse. He tried to swallow the jealousy as he said, "He's not a friend. He's an efficiency expert Dad hired to figure out ways Hawthorne House and the school can make more money." The trouble was, he wasn't sure who he was jealous of.

"It's about time," Keith said, offering his hand to Tillman. "I'm Keith Hornby, Robbie's ex."

"Toby Tillman," Toby said with a far-too delighted smile. "The pleasure is all mine."

Robbie's went simultaneously hot and cold as the two men shook hands. Where did Tillman think he got off saying the pleasure was all his when no one had said anything about pleasure to begin with?

"I'm glad someone has finally stepped in to help the Hawthornes reach their full potential," Keith went on. "I always thought that so much more could be done with this estate. Isn't that right, Robbie?"

Robbie had spent enough years with Keith to know what he was really saying. He thought Robbie himself could do better.

Ultimately, Keith was the one who thought he could do better. That's why he was an ex.

"We're brimming with ideas for the future," he said, his false smile growing tighter.

It did not help the acid knot in the pit of his stomach when he caught Tillman's assessing look. In fact, the way Tillman glanced between him and Keith said he had guessed at far more than met the eye.

"I came by to see the matinee performance of the play," Keith said, shifting like he was ready to move on. "I brought John Piper with me. You remember John?"

Robbie definitely remembered John. John was the guy Keith had met at the gym, the one who had his shit together and had just opened his third tacky tourist shop along the beach in Brighton.

"Yeah, I think," Robbie said as casually as possible.

"I don't want to leave him waiting," Keith said, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. "It was nice to see you again. Let's get together for lunch one of these days."

"Absolutely," Robbie said, still managing to smile.

He watched Keith walk away, feeling like part of himself left with him. Granted, it was a part he didn't particularly like or want, but it was a part of him all the same.

"So you're into pretty man-whores, are you?" Tillman asked.

It was just the punch Robbie needed to yank him out of his spiraling thoughts, but it would have been nicer if he hadn't been yanked from one arsehole to another.

"Don't you have something better to do than bother me?" he asked.

He intended to go back into the workshop to try again at the pottery wheel, but instead, his body shifted into motion. He had too much angry energy swirling in him to concentrate on mugs. He needed to walk.

Tillman followed him, of course.

"My job here is to find ways for your family to make more of a profit off the estate without selling it or altering everything that makes it unique," he said, walking quickly to catch up to Robbie's longer stride. "These Renaissance weekends are a big part of that."

Robbie huffed. "Next, you're going to tell me that we should expand them and I should dedicate the rest of my life to production pottery while dressed as a peasant."

Ahead of them and off to one side, Keith stepped out from the side path that ran parallel to the one Robbie and Tillman walked on. John was there, looking at some of the leather goods one of the vendors was selling. The two of them smiled at each other, then Keith stepped in to greet John with a kiss.

It hurt. He didn't want it to. He resented every moment that he felt bad over Keith. But it was more than that. Keith had moved on and left him behind. His mum and brothers had left him behind. And if Tillman had his way, everything around him would move on. Where would that leave him.

"God, you are a poor little rich boy," Tillman laughed beside him.

Only then did Robbie realize he'd stopped to watch Keith and John.

Furious with himself, he pushed on, heading in the opposite direction than the outdoor theater, where he assumed Keith and John would head.

"Don't be ridiculous," he grouched at Tillman. "Things with me and Keith were done a long time ago. I don't get hung up on exes."

That made Tillman laugh loud enough to draw glances from the same family who had heard him curse earlier and were now watching a juggler perform in the street. They glared at the two of them even harder than the last time.

"I hate to break it to you, mate, but you're bleedin' obvious," Tillman said.

"Well, of course you find a bit of human emotion to be ridiculous," Robbie snapped back. "Seeing as you don't have a heart anywhere in that stunted body of yours."

Tillman laughed again, but there was a harder edge to it now. "Weak," he said, shaking his head. "If you're trying to insult me, you should go for something other than my height. Like my piercings or the fact that I still live at home."

Robbie jerked to look at him, eyes wide.

"Oh, that's right," Tillman went on with a sly grin. "I'm not the only one who still lives at home. I guess the difference is that I'm just past twenty-five, whereas you're, what, forty?"

"Thirty-four," Robbie said, seething.

He could tell what Tillman was doing. The argue, the banter. It was all just a defense mechanism to hide other things. Robbie had seen it a million times before. Hell, he'd probably done it himself at some point. It made him wonder what sort of frustrations and failures Tillman was trying to run away from.

Or maybe Tillman was arguing with him to distract him away from everything Keith and John had made him feel. Maybe the bastard was insulting him as a way of being nice .

A second later, Tillman shook his head and made a tsk sound before saying, "Imagine that. Thirty-four and still selling mugs and teaching classes at his family's school instead of going out there and conquering the world."

"I beg your pardon?" Robbie demanded, heat rising up his neck to his face as he turned onto the path that would take them out to the stretch of the property that was currently set up as a jousting arena. "My family means everything to me. And I'm two weeks away from filming a guest appearance on The Ceramics Challenge."

"Ooh!" Tillman said, mockingly impressed. "Isn't that something."

"Yes, it is," Robbie insisted. "It will garner nationwide recognition for my art and for Hawthorne House."

"I'm certain it will," Tillman said, cheeky as the devil.

Robbie felt like he might explode out of his skin with impatience over the utter lack of respect Tillman was showing him and had shown him since the moment they'd met. He stopped at the edge of the yard where a smaller, game version of the joust had been set up.

"What is your problem?" he demanded. "Are you so frustrated with your own life that you make it your business to go around messing up everyone else's? Are things that out of control at home?"

"My home has nothing to do with this," Tillman said, losing his smile.

"No, I'm sure it doesn't," Robbie said, dripping with sarcasm. "Just like I'm certain the way I ruffled your fur by suggesting someone in your family was a criminal didn't ring of the truth at all."

"You don't know anything about me." Tillman shifted into battle mode, like he'd been in that first day. With the addition of his black velvet Renaissance costume, it somehow made him seem more unhinged than when he'd been angry in a suit.

"You don't know anything about me either," Robbie fired back at him.

"I know you're a whiney prick with an ex-boyfriend who probably crushed his self-esteem and a family that you always feel you have to live up to. I know that you have no idea what to do with yourself," Tillman all but spat at him.

Robbie physically reeled back. He told himself it was because he was offended, not because Tillman was right.

"I know exactly what to do with myself," Robbie said. "And unlike you, I actually stand a fighting chance of getting what I want in life. You can fight all you want, but it's as clear as day who and what you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tillman demanded.

Robbie huffed a laugh and reached out to flick Tillman's lip ring.

Only, instead of the gesture being the insult he wanted it to be, that simple touch of Tillman's lip ignited something in him. The contrast of hard and soft, and the balls that it must have taken to get it done, not to mention keeping it in as he fought to join London's financial world, was more exciting than Robbie wanted to admit.

"If you put your hands on me, you'd better mean it," Tillman hissed at him in return, fire in his expression.

It was supposed to be a moment of strength, but instead, Robbie felt like a rug had been yanked out from under him. He told himself it was because the encounter with Keith and seeing Keith with John was too fresh in his mind. His emotions were mixed up and directed at the wrong people.

He was saved in the strangest way possible when Lionel, the kid who had been hired to run the jousting game, called out to him with, "Oy! Robbie! No one's buying tickets for the joust. Why don't you and your friend show them how it's done?"

Robbie glanced to Lionel, then dragged his eyes back to Tillman.

"I'm game if you are," Tillman said, darting a sideways look at the mock jousting arena.

"I hope you don't mind bruises," Robbie growled. "Because the joust can get physical, even though it's all pretend."

"That's just the way I like it," Tillman shot back, clearly talking about other physical things that could cause bruises.

Robbie had a sudden flash of what it would be like to be naked and sweaty and fighting for dominance in bed with Tillman. The split-second fantasy was so powerful and so alluring that he gasped aloud.

He rejected the whole thing immediately. It would be a disaster.

The joust, however, would be the perfect way to show the little prick just how powerful he really was.

"You're on," he said, then jerked away from Tillman and headed to the jousting arena.