When Love Taes Over

Thanks to everyone who read this story, commented and emailed. I'm sorry it took so long to finish, but writing it was a much harder task than I imagined. It made me appreciate the prolific authors on this and other sites so much.

There will be a short epilog coming soon to tie up any loose ends.

*****

When Love Takes Over Ch. 10: The Finale

When Chance pulled away, my first thought was to rush after him. To jump in my truck and follow him so I could explain what the situation was with Reed. But after the first waves of guilt washed away, what took its place was anger.

I realized I was pissed with Chance more than anything. Pissed that he was acting like a 14 year old girl upset over a misunderstanding in homeroom I had spent most of the last 7 years of my live placating someone else, and I wasn't in the mood to keep doing it now. Especially when my future was on the line.

I really liked Chance and wanted to explore a possible relationship with him, but I was damned if I was going to let my romantic life dictate my career choices again. I needed to focus on the Dauphine Cottage project and my potential buyout, and I was going to do exactly that.

Reed had promised to email all the pics and specs on the cottages to me so I could start making my own plans for them. However, I knew getting everything together would take some time, so instead of rushing to the computer, I went ahead and packed for the trip to New Orleans.

It didn't take long to get my paint samples and drawing supplies together, but putting together something that resembled a professional wardrobe was a much harder task. Since my initial success working out with Chance, I had put even more emphasis on weight lifting, diet, and fitness which had resulted in even more weight loss. But the side effect was that most of my clothing no longer fit.

I had purchased a few new items of clothing for my new physique, but only a handful: a couple of pairs of jeans and khakis, a polo shirt or two, and a few button downs to wear to church or the rare client meeting, but nothing that said "high end interior designer capable of handling a multi-million dollar project." I put the best of the lot in a bag, sighing. I would have to take some of my precious project prep time to ransack my former wardrobe that was stored at the warehouse. Surely it contained some things from my former life that I could make work.

By the time I had everything packed and ready for an early start tomorrow, the files had arrived in my email. I ignored the urge to call Chance and buried myself in work.

I slept surprisingly well, though I dreamed repeatedly about the cottages. They were also forefront in my mind as I drove through the Delta dawn, and by the time I arrived in the city right before lunch, I felt I had a good general idea of the way I wanted the project to proceed.

Reed had made arrangements for people working on the project to be able to park in a nearby hotel's parking garage, so when I arrived in the Quarter, I was able to go directly to the project. Reed and Ben were meeting me there with a picnic lunch so we could get right into discussions.

It had been months since I had seen Reed, and, as always, I was struck by just how attractive he was. Even this early into the summer, his olive complexion had darkened into a glowing tan, and his shorts and polo shirt showed off his lean, toned frame. For better or worse, though, I didn't have much time to focus on his appearance as he launched into telling me more about the challenges we were facing.

"Part of the problem we're facing with making changes is that they will only agree to the sale if we can guarantee this place is fully operational by mid-October. They want to host some friends here for Halloween."

I looked around, mentally calculating. It was the end of May..."That would give us a little more than four months. Shit. Still, it's doable."

"I agree," Ben said. "Most of the exterior work is done; besides, all that had to go through the Vieux Carre' committee and can't be extensively altered anyway. And most of the plumbing fixtures are fine. And Nigel and Greg are good with the basic layouts. It's really just the cosmetic things and the decor that they objected too."

We walked through the various cottages; I made notes and quick sketches while they answered my questions. As we toured the compound, I felt is magical atmosphere again. This place could be utterly fantastic. And, as I noted the changes that had occurred since my last visit, I was confident I could help bring it alive.

After looking at photos of the couple's other properties ( judging by the amount of media coverage of their various homes and hotels they had fantastic media and PR connections) I thought I had a good grasp of why they had objected to the design proposal. They seemed to have eclectic tastes and their properties all looked very different depending on the location and the architecture.

The design team Reed had chosen had, however, in this case gone, with the goal of unifying the various structures. The cottages, though of similar scale, were all very different. One was two stories with a gallery running the length of the second floor. One had peaked ceilings in the main living area and French doors instead of windows. One was small, one room, but had soaring ceilings and was filled with light from windows on three sides. The designers had decided to minimize these differences by using very similar materials, colors, and furnishings in each unit. It would have made for a tasteful, elegant, and serene final product. It would also have been incredibly boring.

Walking through, I rapidly made plans on how would could differentiate the various buildings. The exterior colors for stucco and shutters would have to stay the same, and we couldn't make any changes to the lights and other fixtures on the facades that faced Dauphine St. because of the historical commission, but I could use differing lanterns, planters, etc. on the back facades that faced into each cottages private courtyard.

"Didn't you say that you still have some of the original furnishings that came with the cottages?" I asked Reed.

"Yes, they're at the warehouse. The place had been neglected, so they all couldn't be salvaged, and the pieces run from decent antiques to junk, but I had everything that I thought could be used or sold stored."

"Cool," I said, "I'll run by the warehouse in the morning and check everything out. I need to go there anyway and dig out some decent clothes for the lunch on Wednesday and the presentation."

Reed looked pained. "Oh. I didn't think you wanted anything you left at the warehouse, so I donated it all to Bridgehouse."

I stared at him and slowly started counting to 10 silently. I was pissed, but I told myself in the increasingly uncomfortable silence that I had indeed told him I didn't care about anything I had left in the house. And I honestly didn't, but time was of the essence on this project, and I begrudged wasting even a small bit of it on clothes shopping.

"Besides," he said, trying to placate me, "You've lost so much weight, nothing would have fit anyway."

It wasn't worth a fight, I thought. "I suppose so. I guess I'll call Jude in the morning."

Though I had cared about clothes and enjoyed shopping a lot when I was younger, that had changed as I had gotten older. Especially after having to spend so much time shopping for materials and furnishings for our various homes and projects, wasting hours looking for clothes in a department store had become a torture for me. But since I had a need to look a certain way for our various professional and social obligations, I had been convinced by Reed to use his personal shopper. Jude, at Saks.

Reed, of course, had loved shopping for clothes, and for him, Jude functioned as a fellow worshipper at the shrine of couture, and they had happily spent hours together crafting Reed's meticulous appearance. They were both willing to spend hours in finding the absolute perfect tie to finish a suit. For me, as long as it fit my body and the occasion, I was fine. I did need to put together a bit of a professional wardrobe considering I would need to meet with the cottage clients and the various vendors for this particular project over the next few months. For better or worth, people do treat you better the better you are dressed, and for this project, paint splattered jeans and faded tees wouldn't suffice.

"Actually," he said hesitantly, "I made you an appointment with him for tomorrow afternoon. And an appointment at the hair salon for 10 in the morning. I was afraid you still had that Duck Dynasty thing happening" he said, reaching out to touch my hair which now brushed my shoulders, oblivious to my mounting anger over his high handedness, "I guess I was right."

I just stood there, icy rage coursing through my body. How like him. His need to control everything was infuriating. And, of course, the knowledge that he was right about my need to project a more professional image, especially with the high stakes involved only made me angrier. As usual, he took my silence for approved acquiescence, and had moved on to discussing the lunch on Wednesday. Breathe, I told myself, breathe.

"Thank you, Reed," I finally managed to get out between clenched teeth. "How very thorough. I don't know how I've managed without you these last months."

He stopped mid-sentence and looked at me uncertainly, sensing the sarcasm behind my remarks. Before the situation could escalate, Ben emerged from one of the cottages where he had been taking some measurements. He seemed to realize the tension between Reed and me.

"Look," he said, "I don't know about you two, but it's been a long afternoon, and I could use a drink. Let's head back to my place, have a well-earned cocktail, and I'll throw together some dinner."

By the time I had driven to Ben's house, I had calmed down. I was irritated with Reed, and part of me wanted to spite him by blowing off my appointments and showing up on Wednesday in ripped jeans and a weave to my waist, but I wasn't twelve. I wasn't going to risk blowing up a multi-million dollar project that could secure my future by letting my butt hurt feelings rule me. In the design profession, image is very important, and I knew that showing up to meet Nigel and Greg looking like I stepped from the pages of G.Q. would help me immensely, so I was willing to swallow my pride and proceed with my makeover.

And as far as confronting Reed about how his making these appointments without my approval pissed me off, what was the point? Even if I convinced him he was in the wrong, which I knew from history wasn't particularly likely, what would I gain? A fight right now would just be another obstacle to overcome in pulling off saving this deal. It was easier to just suck it up and move forward. At any rate, by the time I was at Ben's pulling my bag from the truck, I was in an okay place. The good news was that, with all the events of the afternoon, Chance and his behavior yesterday were out of my thoughts.

While Reed helped Ben pull together a dinner of spaghetti carbonara and salad, I took a quick shower. By the time I emerged clean and in a pair of comfortable gym shorts and a loose tee, I was in a much better mood. A glass of chilled Pinot Grigio and a large helping of pasta furthered my contentment, and by the time we are all sitting around after the meal, each with just "one more glass of wine," I was in a very mellow mood. We had spent dinner discussing the cottages, but by now were in the mood for a different topic.

"So," said Ben, coming back into the dining room after putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher, "tell me all about the prom. I want pictures!"

"Me, too," added Reed.

"Sure," I said, grabbing my i-pad and placing it before Ben. I had brought it with me to the table to show some inspiration pictures I had pinned for various courtyard schemes. Reed scooted his chair closer to Ben so they could both look.

I started them a few pics before the prom ones so they could see the changes I had made to the house. Ben was especially impressed with the transformation and made some suggestions about changes I could make to enhance the house even more. But the big interest for them was the prom pictures.

"Wow," Ben exclaimed looking at the pictures of the transformed shed. "This looks like something out of Southern Living. Y'all did an amazing job."

"Honestly, it was Chance's idea," I said, and as I did I felt a flash of something like homesickness thinking of him and the dance that had happened...what...just two days ago. "And the whole community pitched in. It was really was a group effort."

"Did you like the boutonniere?" Reed asked. "I bet you were surprised."

"Ummm..." I stuttered uncomfortably. "I...I...sure was. Sorry, with everything happening, I forgot to thank you."

"No worries, " he said, his eyes glued to the pics as Ben swiped through them. Shit, I thought.

"Do you have any of you and Chance?" Ben asked. "I can't wait to see him in a tux."

"He actually wore his dress uniform," I said.

"Oh my god," Ben said. "I bet he looked hot. I was right," he said as the first pic of Chance in his dress whites appeared. "Wow, I had forgotten how good looking he was."

"That's Chance?" Reed said in a strangled voice. I had forgotten they hadn't met when I drove down to get my things from storage. I looked at the pics; Chance did look like some sort of model, but I was mainly relieved to see that in the photos, both his and my boutonnieres read as just colored blobs, so hopefully Reed wouldn't notice the one I was wearing was actually a rose instead of an orchid. And I knew him well enough to know that he had been very specific with his order.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Ben asked me before cracking up at a pic of me mugging for the camera in my disco era white suit. "Where on earth did you find that?"

"It was my dad's, believe it or not. He was quite a clothes horse back in the day, but he always did have questionable taste."

"Actually, the two of you look great," Ben said, continuing to swipe through pics of us at the party. "With the dress whites and your white suit, it looks like your wedding day, especially this one," he said scrolling back to a picture of us standing in front of the official prom photo prop, the antique tractor. We were embracing and were looking toward each other with big smiles on our faces. Remembering how happy I had been that night, I felt a pang remembering how yesterday had gone.

"I think I need more wine," Reed said abruptly, pushing back from the table and heading into the kitchen. He brought back a bottle of red, but I had already drank more wine than I usually did these days, so I passed on another glass. Ben did have one more, but Reed ended up drinking most of the bottle which was a bit odd, since he wasn't usually a big drinker, at least by New Orleans standards.

As Ben sipped his Pinot Noir, he filled me in on all the local news and gossip. Reed occasionally interjected a comment, but spent most of the time refilling his glass and staring at pics on my pad. Finally, after another in a series of jaw-splitting yawns, I declared my intention of heading to bed.

"I'm pretty tired, too," Ben admitted, gathering the empty glasses and heading to the kitchen.

"I guess I should go home," Reed said, staggering a bit as he rose from the table..

"Hey," Ben said, returning from the kitchen just in time to steady Reed and to guide him back into his seat. "You've had too much to drink to drive. Why don't you crash here?"

"No. I'll call a cab."

"It will take forever for it to get here, and it's a long ride back to the condo. Stay here. The sofa in the study is very comfy. I promise. And I have an extra toothbrush."

"Okay, then," Reed slurred. "I'll stay here."

"Great," Ben said. "I'll just go get some bedding." He disappeared down the hall.

"Well then," I said, "I guess I'll say goodnight." I stood up to walk to the guest room.

"He's in love with you. Did you know that?" Reed said.

"What?" I asked, turning to look at him.

"Chance. He's in love with you. I can tell by the way he's looking at you in the pictures. Are you in love with him?"

I hesitated before replying. I was exhausted, a wee bit tipsy, and very confused, and I wasn't ready to bare my heart, especially not to Reed. All I could manage to say was "I don't know what I feel."

"Have you fucked him? Do you know that?" Reed snarled.

These, however, were questions to which I knew the correct answer. "That is none of your fucking business. That ceased being your fucking business the day you decided to stick your dick into John."

"I'm sorry," he said, looking defeated. "I just want to know if I still have a chance."

"This is not a conversation I want to have tonight, especially since you're drunk," I said. "We'll talk about it later." I escaped to my room as Ben passed me carrying a stack of blankets and pillows.

When I left the house the next day at 8 am, judging by the loud snores coming from the study, Reed was still sleeping off his grudge match against the bottle of Pinot Noir. Before starting that battle last night, he had given me a key to the warehouse and the code to the alarm system. I spent an hour or so looking through the antiques from the cottages and identified several pieces that we could use before heading to the salon for my haircut.

I was actually ready to cut my unruly mess of hair, though an undercurrent of bitterness about Reed's interference almost made me ask for a yard of weave instead of a haircut. But, in reality, my long locks were more the result of months of apathy about my appearance and an early mid life crisis than they were about any personal preference, so when the stylist asked "Are you sure you want to go short?" I was able to answer emphatically "Yes!"

In the end, I was very pleased with his work. The sides were very short, but the top was a bit longer, shaped into a retro style. The shorter hair brought out the blond highlights from a Spring spent working outside with Chance and emphasized my blue eyes. I did keep the beard, but I had the barber trim and shape it; the result emphasized the planes of my face and my jawline.

I had spent a lot of time in the sun over the last couple of months, though, and after cutting the long hair and trimming back the beard, the skin on my face was a bit patchy looking. In addition, I had a bit of a farmer's tan, so I reluctantly allowed myself to be persuaded into booking another of the salon's services, a spray tan.

I had to admit, however, as I admired myself in the mirror afterwards, the regrettably large sum I had just spent had been worth it. I looked like a new version of my old self; in fact, I hadn't felt so confident about my looks in ages. The thought crossed my mind that I wished that Chance could see me now. I banished it as quickly as I could.

With the additional treatment of the spray tanning, I didn't have much time before my appointment with Jude. In fact, I was a bit late, but he didn't seem bothered. Considering how much Reed spent on clothing with him and Jude's probable commission rate, I wasn't surprised he didn't make an issue of my tardiness.

"Brandon," he said, walking toward me with outstretched arms. "You look fantastic!"

Jude was a former twink who had kept his slim figure, inky black hair, and porcelain white skin into what was, I could only guess since no one knew the actual number, his late thirties. He had a sometimes acid tongue, but since that was balanced by an uncanny ability to pick the most flattering (and expensive) garments in Saks, he was a very sought after professional.

"Reed told me you had lost weight, but I had no idea you had gotten so buff," he said, tucking my arm through his and leading me to a private changing room. "I may have to size some things down. And I love the haircut. Very butch."