Brendon had four older siblings, each more responsible and more publically refined than Brendon ever hoped or wanted to be. He knew that his father wanted him to be more like them; his mother, Grace, didn’t much mind, she just always shook her head and tutted in disappointment to support her husband as Boyd berated their soon for whatever dumb shit he’d done most recently. There was Matt, and then Mason, his older brothers; Matt was next in line to take the reins of the company (Brendon didn’t even know what it was, just that his father owned it and that’s why he had a ridiculously substantial inheritance to look forward to- if he didn’t blow it with his father before he got his hands on it, the likelihood of which was increasing every day), and Mason was a self-described entrepreneur, more like Brendon than Matt but still way too uptight and self righteous for them to get along too well. Brendon didn’t talk to either of his brothers much. Then there were his two older sisters, Kyla and Kara, who had started a joint make-up/fitness company of some kind that, again, Brendon didn’t care enough to ask about. He preferred their company to the rest of his family, but again. He hardly saw them. That left Brendon, the troublesome child, the nuisance, the liability, the one that Boyd wasn’t proud of and the liability he needed to sort out if he wanted to keep their family’s relatively clean-slate image. Brendon knew some secrets about the Blake family that would cause endless scandals, and all it would take would too much alcohol and the wrong people for those to slip out of their youngest son’s mouth. Whenever Brendon met up with the rest of his family, all he got was ‘friendly advice’ and ‘gentle reprimands’. He avoided them as much as possible without distancing himself too much from that at-risk inheritance.

In last ditch efforts to clean him up a little, Boyd had recommended his son hire a PA, to act as a glorified babysitter/servant to make sure Brendon didn’t step too far out of line that it was irreversible. There was no way he was going to be another Matt or Mason, but the problem with appearing on the cover of magazines every month was that not all publicity was good publicity for someone like Boyd Blake. Brendon had, typically, scorned the idea, accusing his father of just wanting someone to stop him having fun and snitching on him to his parents. This was, to certain extents, true; but Boyd laughed it off and was smooth enough to convince Brendon that a PA would just make having fun [i]easier.[/i] Glorified servant. Brendon was certainly used to being in charge and commanding people, but somebody he personally employed? The possibilities were endless. His first PA was a disappointment who did that job that his [i]father[/i] wanted to do- [i]not[/i] buy drugs for him, reccomend he miss a party every so often, keep him relatively in check while behind the disguise of being friendly and helpful. Brendon got bored of having someone breathing down his neck and fired the guy, citing [i]irreconcilable differences[/i] like it was a divorce and [i]a difficult working relationship.[/i]

Unfortunately, Boyd got back on his case to hire another one, this time giving him the freedom to interview and pick his assistant himself, without heavy-handed guidance from his father. This was a big mistake, because Brendon didn’t have a professional bone in his body, so it took him half an hour to trash 90% of applications before even reading them, spilling wine on some, and picking the rest based on names alone. Then, the interview process- completely informal, in Brendon’s living space, complete with vintage red wine that cost a neat few hundred dollars, bought and consumed just because it was expensive. In honesty, Brendon preferred the cheaper wine, but felt sort of dirty drinking it, like he should ditch the Alexander McQueen, too, and throw his Versace off the balcony of his penthouse. So he was something of a sycophant- he had everything he could ever want, it was in his nature to be over and self indulgent. His favourite applicant, Ryan Ready, was apparently too good at pretending Brendon wasn’t a complete nutcase that he even won the man himself over and got the job in just a few hours (and the only reason it took that long was because Brendon was obliged out of courtesy to see the remaining applicants). After he’d shooed the last one out, he lounged back into the plush velvet of the sofa and called him, laughing fluidly at Ryan’s surprise. You start tomorrow, he’d said, find somewhere to live close to mine, you’ll be able to afford it. And that was that.

Brendon liked to pretend he didn’t care what people thought of him, but nevertheless he found himself wondering whether Ryan considered him a spoilt brat. Maybe that observation would sadly be true, but still- he never gave much thought to have people perceived him, usually, but since this guy would have full access to pretty much his entire life and timetable, he wasn’t just another nameless face. He was Ryan Ready, his personal assistant, underqualified but surprisingly good at his job, English major, apparent guitar player (they’d talked about it before, but Brendon could tell before he even mentioned from the callouses of Ryan’s hands). Brendon liked him, and that was more than he could say for most of the characters he tended to associate with. Behind the party animal was- well, a party animal, but he had a heart and a conscience that some of his rich and famous ‘friends’ (who didn’t really qualify as ‘friends’- he was pretty sure his father paid some of them to stick around him) didn’t have. Ryan and Brendon had settled quite easily around eachother within the first day, and a week later, when they talked it was just like they were close friends, even if Ryan called him [i]sir[/i] and [i]Mr. Blake.[/i]

This odd, quickly developed friendship meant that Ryan was comfortable enough that he wouldn’t lose his job that he snapped to his boss on the phone, clearly a little annoyed that Brendon demanded his full attention at 3am. Brendon was about to pull the ‘I’ll cut your bonus’ card, but he heard Ryan’s compliant movements in the background and settled against the balcony edge, satisfied and taking another drag from his cigarette just as Ryan hung up. Honestly, he already had soda- coca-cola, anyway, so he hoped Ryan would bring Dr. Pepper or something. In all honesty, it was just 3am and he wanted company, and he was in the slightly tipsy mood to take chances, even more so than he did when he was sober. Fleeting scenarios played through his overactive imagination, one starting up just as Ryan set the sodas on his side to announce his arrival. Brendon grinned, shaking his head free of thought and turning his attention instead to his PA. [i]No problem[/i]. Somewhat amazed that Ryan didn’t look like a corpse, he shrugged one shoulder, pulling free a can of Dr. Pepper and cracking it open after Ryan had taken his offer of a shared cigarette.

[i]No, Brendon. I don’t think I intend to, either.[/i] Affronted, he turned away, glancing out at the skyline and shrugging off his suit jacket, placing his can on his edge of the balcony after he’d taken a sip. [b]”It’s fuckin’ [i]divine.[/i] And I don’t use that word lightly,”[/b] Brendon warned, turning back to watch Ryan lean his chest over the balcony and smoke the remainder of his cigarette. It was 3am, and Brendon was just a little tipsy, and his heart was thrumming with a want that emerged from nowhere, but made itself known pretty quickly. He glanced back out into the night, but then turned and leaned his back against the balcony edge instead, staring back through the curtains that were half-drawn closed into his warmly lit apartment. He realised belatedly that he didn’t want to be alone tonight. He wanted to share that bed with someone. [i]Were you actually out, or were you just lonely?[/i] Sharply, he snapped his head in Ryan’s direction, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing with uncertainty and initial offence. [b]”[i]I[/i] don’t get [i]lonely.”[/i][/b] Came his unconvincing response, as he remembered that he’d left his glass of wine back in the apartment, and became preoccupied with that thought halfway through his reply.

[i]You could just ask me to come over.[/i] Brendon laughed, his eyes even crinkled at he corners, and he reached a hand up to fix his hair despite having done nothing to have messed it up in the past few hours. [b]”Yeah, right. That isn’t very professional, is it?”[/b] He mused, taking another sip from his can and closing his eyes as the still, warm evening was interrupted by a gentle, cool breeze. Turning towards Ryan slightly, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and bit his lip hard when he realised he [i]really[/i] didn’t want to spend the night alone. A week, he noted in his head- he’d managed to last a week without coming onto someone. He hadn’t done it yet, per say, but it was helpful to count on anticipation; his urges tended to rule his head, and if only Ryan had stood a little closer he was 90% sure they’d be in his bed right now. That’s usually how it went with Brendon. Oh well. [b]”Would you even say yes if I asked you to just come over?”[/b]