Quiet Storm, Season 2, Episode 6 (Rising Storm) by Julie Kenner

at first, but it turned hot fast, and Jeffry’s pulse was pounding when he pulled away.
    “My hotel’s just a few blocks over. Want to get out of here?”
    “Yeah,” Jeffry breathed. “Yeah, I really— oh, shit .”
    His body went icy cold as he looked at the man across the dance floor. A man who was holding his phone up, very obviously taking a picture.
    “Who’s that?” Scott’s voice was tight.
    “Bob Wickersham,” Jeffry said. “One of my dad’s assistants.” He stepped back, away from Scott. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
    He headed for the door, Scott right behind him.
    “Are you sure?” Scott said as Jeffry hurried out of the club and started walking toward Congress and the space where he’d parked his car. “Just because you know the guy...”
    “He’ll tell my dad. The shit is going to hit the fan, and I can’t—” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Look, I really wanted to go with you. But I just—I’m just not in the mood anymore.”
    “I get that, I do. And I’m not mad. I’m just saying that maybe it’s nothing. He’s in the club, too. And I’ve seen him around, so I’m pretty sure he’s gay. That means he gets it. I can’t believe he’d out you. Especially not without talking to you first.”
    Jeffry hesitated. His friends had said more or less the same. “Maybe,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t know.”
    Scott nodded slowly. “Look, let’s take a rain check, okay? You won’t feel right until you get home and know it’s nothing. But just promise me you’ll call, okay?”
    “Yeah. Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. He felt like an ass for blowing off what could be a really awesome night. But Scott was right. His head wasn’t in it anymore.
    They’d reached his car, and Scott kissed him goodnight. And then Jeffry was on his way back to Storm trying very hard not to worry about what Wickersham, one of his dad’s more oily assistants, would do.
    By the time he reached his house, he’d talked himself into believing that Scott and his friends were right—no way would Wickersham tell. He pulled into the driveway, noticing that the downstairs lights were still on, even though it was past one in the morning. Good. That must mean that Brit was still up. Probably downstairs with Marcus. He’d talk to her while his courage was up.
    But then he went inside, and it wasn’t Brit who was waiting up—it was his father and his grandmother.
    His father’s face as Jeffry entered the kitchen was as stern as Jeffry had ever seen it, and when he stood up, he projected such power and authority that Jeffry knew exactly why the man always won elections.
    “It’s about time you got home,” Sebastian said, his voice tight with control. “We need to talk.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Payton pulled her robe around her and hurried down the stairs. She’d heard Sebastian take a phone call from his weaselly assistant about some huge crisis for Sebastian’s career, and then she’d heard him call Marylee and ask her to come over. But as she had no interest in speaking with her husband’s bitch of a mother—especially not in the middle of the night—she’d pretended to sleep through the conversation.
    But now she heard Jeffry’s voice, and that made no sense. What on earth could Jeffry have to do with a career crisis? And so she hurried down the stairs just in time to hear Jeffry say, “I’m really not in the mood, Dad. I’m going to bed.”
    “The hell you are,” Sebastian said. “You are going to stay right here, and we are coming up with a plan to handle this.”
    “Absolutely,” Marylee sniffed. “Do you realize the damage you’ve done to your father?”
    “What’s going on?” Payton asked, hurrying into the kitchen. “A plan to handle what? What has Jeffry done?”
    “He went to a gay bar,” Sebastian growled. “And there are photos .”
    Payton looked between Sebastian and Jeffry, wondering if she was simply too tired still to understand the problem.
    Marylee