Chapter 130: Tasteless brunch

As Bree drove on, Tom brought out his phone, dialled Josie’s number and adjusted himself on the seat comfortably as if that would add to his confidence.

The phone rang and Josie didn’t answer until on the second ring;

"Hi, Tom."

"Good morning." he said.

"Good morning." Her voice was warmer than before, still controlled, but no longer closed against him like when she had talked to him at the massage parlor.

"I have good news about the mafia boss," Tom didn’t beat around the bush.

That caught her at once. "What is it?" she blurted.

Judging from her tone, Tom could tell she clearly expected the details over the phone. A small smile of disagreement made its way onto his lips as he glanced at the moving street outside, keeping silent for a split second. And that was deliberate, not that he didn’t have what to reply with, immediately.

"Actually, I’m not in the right place to talk about it properly right now. I just thought to quickly let you know that I have worked on it for you." He said smoothly.

"Ah, right. Forgive my impatience, I understand you’d be busy yourself. What time can I call you so we discuss it?" Josie asked calmly, sounding apologetic.

"The only window I have is dinner, after what looks like a long day." He let that line settle before adding; "You could invite me to dinner. So while I finally get a break from the long day, we’ll go through it properly there."

Josie was quiet for a moment and when she spoke up, she sounded torn. "Uhm, I actually have a dinner date with a client..." she trailed off but Tom did not push. He waited, knowing she was considering.

"I can reschedule that, though," she finally continued. "Would you have time by six for an early dinner?"

"I’ll make time for you," Tom said, turning the sentence just enough for the value in it to land.

He heard the shift in her voice when she answered. She sounded appreciative. "Alright. Six."

The call ended afterwards.

Tom lowered the phone with a quiet smile. The second daily task was no longer theory. It was fixed on the calendar.

From the driver’s seat, Bree glanced at him through the mirror. "Will I be following you to the dinner?"

"No, I’ll go alone." he replied

Bree nodded simply and continued driving, already accepting the boundary without argument.

~~~~~~~~~~

After a few minutes of driving, they finally arrived at the venue for the brunch.

The brunch was being held at a five-star hotel, in a designated outdoor space of the hotel, arranged with utmost elegance.

A long table had been arranged. And on it were covered dishes in different sizes, holding different delicacies. They were different drinks in different, appealing bottles. Even the drinks looked chosen for image as much as taste. Everything about the setting said brand prestige and internal ranking.

Bree followed a step behind Tom as they entered. Just from the entrance, Tom saw the men - his supposed colleagues he was meeting.

They were five in numbers. They all stood near the arranged dining area. All of the men were taller than Tom was, broader through the shoulders, and dressed elegantly, exuding the easy sophistication of people who had been trained to look expensive and breathtaking in any room. They were the definition of "Pretty men"

Their conversation was already alive before they noticed him, and the subject was obvious enough and loud enough that Tom’s steps slowed near the entrance.

"I still wonder what kind of connections this new guy used to waltz in like that," one of them said.

"I checked," another replied. "Nothing spectacular on paper. The main thing attached to his name is a celebrity designer wife."

A third gave a short, dismissive breath. "Even that looks like a paraded title. No formal model training. No proper channel. He just cut through."

"Well, the staff said the CEO found him impressive because he’s endowed down there." the first one added, with a chuckle.

The others let out a low laugh at that.

"Is that an achievement now?" someone else asked.

"Obviously. Huge is the new kink..." Another replied in a mocking tone.

Tom’s fist tightened at his side.

The System dinged into his mind at that moment.

[If Host shrinks here, then Host has not learned as much as he thinks.]

Tom swallowed once, forced air into his chest, and raised his head.

Bree remained still behind him, close enough to support, far enough not to interfere too early. The men continued for another beat, encouraged by the belief that they were still speaking in private.

"Our guy probably realized he has nothing tangible to offer and decided to depend on enhancement drugs... That’s what is at work." One said with a strong conviction.

Tom blinked as if to tell himself that he had heard enough. Then he started walking towards them, bringing up a shameless little smile on his face as he did.

He approached with the shameless little smile already in place, stopped directly in front of the man who had just spoken, and asked mildly, "Is your own manhood so small that you believe others with big ones are definitely on enhancement drugs?"

The man’s face changed at once. Embarrassment flashed through his eyes before arrogance could cover it.

"What?"

Tom chuckled in a dismissive manner. "Don’t take that personal, bro. I thought I’d join the conversation. It sounded interesting."

The five of them stared at him as if he had stepped out of the wrong room entirely. Being overheard was one thing. Being answered with open shamelessness was another. Three of the men glanced at one another in disbelief then scoffed.

Tom glanced back at Bree and laughed under his breath. She understood immediately. She nodded and laughed with him, just enough to hold the frame and keep the moment from collapsing into awkward silence.

The men exchanged looks. Whatever mockery they had been enjoying could no longer sit comfortably in the open. One by one, they straightened and began introductions as they desperately needed something to clear the tension.

"Hi, I’m Lahey."

"Nat."

"Stiles."

"Brit."

"Jay."

Tom kept the smile on his face. "Thomas Harlow. You can simply call me Tom."

Lahey gestured toward the table with thin courtesy. "We should sit."

And that, they did.

For a short while, the brunch pretended to be civilized. Plates were filled. Glasses were lifted. Then the conversation turned, as Tom had known it would, into a display.

Nat was the first to lean into it. He cut into his steak without looking particularly interested in eating and said, "I trained under Marchand in Paris for two years before I even took local campaigns seriously. My agency wouldn’t let me book major face work until I had the European portfolio clean. That’s the proper route."

Stiles gave a short nod, clearly pleased to follow. "Mine was London first. Central Saint Martins pathway, then private runway coaching. My father paid for the whole track. By the time I entered commercial campaigns, I already had four years of formal posture and movement work behind me."

Brit swirled the drink in his glass. "I came in through Elite youth development. Boarding school, then the agency’s training house. Most of us here didn’t just ’show up’ one day and get chosen."

Their eyes moved to Tom with varying degrees of politeness.

Lahey smiled slightly. "And you, Tom? Which institute?"

Tom met the look without rushing his answer. "College."

That was all he gave them.

The word landed thinly in the middle of their sophisticated histories. For a second, nobody spoke. Then the exchange of stares around the table turned sharper, unkind in the way only insecure status could manage.

Nat was the first to break the pretense completely. He threw his cutlery down with open distaste, the sound sharp against the plate. "I’ve lost my appetite."

That was all the signal the others needed.

Stiles pushed back from the table. Brit rose with him. Jay followed almost immediately.

"We have a shoot scheduled for three. We better go get ready for that instead of wasting time here." Stiles said. It was barely one o’clock. "No point wasting time pretending to be colleagues with a nobody." he added sharply.

Tom swallowed hard but he didn’t look up at the men.

Then like that, they left with a quiet scorn, their departure performed enough to function as an insult. The elegant brunch setting made the walkout look even smooth, like the room itself had agreed with them.

Tom remained seated and kept eating.

He used every bit of control he had not to let the cut show on his face. The food had little taste now. The elegant outdoor space suddenly felt colder. Still, he did not follow them with his eyes for long, and he did not shrink into the chair they had tried to leave him alone in.

Then he realized that one of them was still sitting... Lahey.

Tom lifted his gaze, locked eyes with him, and flashed a small smile.

"Aren’t you leaving too?"