The Tow City Affair {MxM}

Torinne Imadi looked at his watch. He was twenty-five minutes late, it was not his fault, but still annoying. His last client had wanted changes to a design that was already perfect. Now he was in the elevator, going up to the top floor of the Inata Tribune building in downtown Tow City.

The elevator dinged. 32nd floor. Executive level.

“Another spoiled rich kid,” he muttered, adjusting his portfolio bag. At 32, Torinne had seen enough of them. Young guys who got daddy’s company and thought they knew everything about style.

The doors opened. Marble floors, glass walls, very expensive.

“Mr. Imadi?” A woman in a black suit walked over. “Dr. Mason will see you now.”

“Dr. Mason?” Torinne frowned. “I thought I was meeting with Dr. Robith.”

“That is Dr. Robith Mason, sir.”

Torinne followed her down a long hallway. The walls were covered with old newspaper front pages. Big headlines about wars, elections, disasters. The Inata Tribune had been around for fifty years.

They stopped at double doors. The woman knocked and opened them.

“Mr. Imadi is here, Dr. Mason.”

“Send him in.”

The voice was deep and confident. Torinne walked into the office and stopped. The room was huge. Floor to ceiling windows showed all of Tow City spread out below. A massive desk sat in the middle, and behind it, was not what he expected.

The man standing up was young, maybe 27 or 28. Tall, with dark hair and sharp features. His suit probably cost more than most people made in a month but it was his eyes that caught Torinne’s attention. Dark brown, almost black and intense.

“Mr. Imadi.” The man walked around the desk, hand extended. “I’m Dr. Robith Mason.”

Torinne shook his hand. Firm grip, screaming confident. The handshake lasted a second longer than it should have.

“Dr. Mason. Thank you for seeing me.” Torinne tried to hide his surprise. This guy was the CEO? He looked like he should still be in college.

“Please, sit.” Robith gestured to the chair across from his desk. “I’ve heard good things about your work.”

Torinne sat down and opened his portfolio. “I have some ideas for your anniversary gala. The Tribune’s 50th, right?”

“Right.” Robith sat back down, leaning back in his chair. “But before we start, I have to ask. Are you always this punctual with potential clients?”

The question hit like cold water. “Excuse me?”

“You’re 25 minutes late.”

Torinne felt heat rise in his chest. “Traffic in Tow City is unpredictable but if you’re more worried about me being late than seeing my work…”

“I’m worried about professionalism.” Robith’s voice was calm but firm. “This gala will have five hundred guests. Important people. Politicians, business leaders, celebrities. I need someone who understands that details matter, including showing up on time.”

“And I need a client who understands that good work takes time.” Torinne put his portfolio on the desk harder than he meant to. “But since we’re talking about details, what exactly do you want? Besides lecturing someone older than you about being professional.”

Robith raised an eyebrow. “Older?”

“I’m 32. You’re what, 25?”

“27.”

“5 years older, then.”

Something changed in Robith’s expression, like he was seeing Torinne differently now.

“Most people don’t mention the age thing,” Robith said. “They’re too scared.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” Robith said, his voice quieter now. “I can see that.”

They looked at each other for a moment. The air in the room felt different, more charged and tense.

Torinne cleared his throat. “So about the gala..”

“Right.” Robith sat up straighter. “The gala. It’s on October 15th. Black tie. We want something elegant but memorable. The Tribune has a reputation to maintain.”

“What’s your budget?”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

Of course it wasn’t. Torinne opened his portfolio and pulled out some sketches.

“I was thinking we could play with the newspaper theme,” he said, spreading the drawings on the desk. “Black and white color scheme, but with gold accents. Very classic.”

Robith leaned forward to look at the sketches. He smelled expensive. Some cologne that probably cost more than Torinne’s rent.

“This is safe,” Robith said after looking through the drawings.

“Safe?”

“Predictable. Black and white, gold accents. Every corporate event looks like this.”

Torinne felt his jaw tighten. “These are just initial concepts. Starting points.”

“Are they?” Robith looked up from the sketches. “Because they look pretty finished to me.”

“They’re professional concepts based on what your assistant told me you wanted.”

“My assistant doesn’t speak for me.”

“Then maybe you should communicate better with your staff.”

The words came out sharper than Torinne intended. Robith’s eyes narrowed.

“Careful, Mr. Imadi.”

“Or what?”

“Or you might find yourself designing birthday parties instead of galas.”

Torinne stood up. “You know what? Maybe I should leave. Find a client who actually wants to work with me instead of just criticizing everything I do.”

“Sit down.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Robith stood up too. They faced each other across the desk. Robith was taller, but not by much.

“You came here asking for this job,” Robith said. “The least you can do is finish the presentation.”

“The presentation where you tell me everything is wrong?”

“The presentation where I push you to do better work.”

“This is good work.”

“It’s adequate work.”

Torinne felt his hands clench into fists. “Adequate?”

“It’s what every other designer in the city would do. Black, white, gold. Safe choices.” Robith walked around the desk, stopping in front of Torinne. “I thought you were supposed to be different.”

“Different how?”

“Bold, creative. I mean, someone who takes risks.”

“You want risks? Fine.” Torinne grabbed his sketches and flipped to a blank page. He started drawing quickly, angrily. “You want the Tribune’s history? Let’s make it dramatic.”

He sketched as he talked, his pencil moving fast across the paper.

“Red and black. Blood and ink. The colors of journalism. Giant screens showing historical front pages, but moving, animated. Like the news is coming alive.” He kept drawing. “Lighting that changes throughout the night, telling the story of 50 years. Raw, powerful, in your face.”

Robith watched over his shoulder, close enough that Torinne could feel his breath on his neck.

“Go on,” Robith said quietly.

“Tables arranged like a newspaper layout. Sections. Politics, sports, entertainment. Guests move through the story of the paper.” Torinne’s anger was turning into excitement as the idea developed. “Food stations designed like old newspaper stands. Waiters dressed like reporters from different eras.”

“Interesting.”

“The whole thing culminates with a live front page being printed. Tomorrow’s paper, covering the gala itself. Guests take home a piece of history.”

Torinne finished the sketch and stepped back. Robith was still standing close behind him.

“Now that,” Robith said, “is not adequate.”

Torinne turned around. They were standing very close now. Close enough to see the gold flecks in Robith’s dark eyes.

“Is it what you wanted?” Torinne asked.

“It’s exactly what I wanted.”

The air between them was filled with tension. It wasn’t just anger anymore, it was smething else.

“Good,” Torinne said. His voice came out rougher than he meant.

“Good,” Robith agreed.

Neither of them moved. They stood there, looking at each other, the sketch forgotten on the desk behind them.

“Mr. Mason?” The intercom crackled to life. “Your four o’clock is here.”

The spell broke. Robith stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

“Tell them I’ll be five minutes,” he said to the intercom.

Torinne started gathering his sketches. “I should go.”

“Wait.” Robith went back to his desk and pulled out a business card. He wrote something on the back. “My personal number. Call me tonight. We need to discuss details.”

Torinne took the card. Their fingers brushed.

“What time?”

“After eight. I’ll be working late.”

“Of course you will.”

Robith almost smiled. “You don’t approve of working late?”

“I don’t approve of working all the time.”

“What do you approve of?”

The question hung in the air. Torinne looked at Robith’s face, trying to read his expression.

“I approve of doing good work,” he said finally. “And I approve of people who know what they want.”

“I know what I want.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

They looked at each other again. The tension was back, stronger than before.

“I should really go,” Torinne said.

“Yes, you should.”

But neither of them moved toward the door.

“Your 4 o’clock..”

“Can wait.”

Torinne felt his heart beating faster. This was dangerous territory. Robith was a client, a potential client and getting involved with clients was always a bad idea but the way Robith was looking at him

“I’ll call you tonight,” Torinne said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Torinne walked to the door, feeling Robith’s eyes on him the whole way. At the door, he turned back.

“Dr. Mason?”

“Yes?”

“That thing you said about pushing me to do better work?”

“What about it?”

“Next time, try asking nicely first.”

Robith’s lips curved into a real smile this time. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Torinne left the office with his heart still racing. The elevator ride down seemed to take forever. By the time he reached the lobby, he was already thinking about the phone call later. He just knew that this job was going to be complicated.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was warm on his face. Tow City bustled around him, people heading home from work, traffic filling the streets. But all he could think about was dark eyes and an expensive suit and the way Robith had said “I know what I want.”

Torinne looked down at the business card in his hand. Simple black lettering. Professional. But on the back, in handwriting that was surprisingly neat, was a phone number.

He put the card in his wallet and started walking toward his studio. He had work to do before tonight.

But first, he had to figure out what exactly he was getting himself into because Dr. Robith Mason was definitely not what he had expected.

The way his body had reacted to standing so close to the younger man, that was not part of any business plan.

This was either going to be the best job of his career, or the biggest mistake he’d ever made, maybe both.

As he walked through the busy streets of Tow City, Torinne found himself smiling. When was the last time a client had challenged him like that? When was the last time anyone had pushed him to be better?

Most clients just wanted safe, predictable. The same thing everyone else was doing but Robith Mason wanted bold, risky and different.

Torinne could do different. The question was: how different were they talking about?