"You brought a hookup to my house!"

"Pete, listen to me-"

"You had one rule, Ryan. One!"

"He isn't a damned hookup! I didn't sleep with him. I didn't even touch him."

"Then why is he here?"

"He's agreed to be your fake boyfriend for a while."

"What?!" Pete boomed.

"Keep it down before you wake him. He's no doubt going to have a hangover.".

"You brought him here drunk? He's going to sue for kidnapping and then sell the true story of me trying to pay a gay to pretend to date me."

"No he isn't. Trust me, he needs the money."

"Exactly how much money does this guy need?"

"I promised him fifty thousand dollars."

Pete glared at Ryan from his desk chair. Fifty thousand dollars? This guy better be perfect for that amount. That money could have when to buying another sports car. But now he was supposed to just throw it away to some drunk hookup fake boyfriend?

"Why would you promise him fifty thousand dollars?" Pete groaned. "That's a ridiculous amount of money."

"Its not like you'll miss it."

"That could have gone to a charity or something."

"Did you forget who you're talking to?" Ryan rolled his eyes. "You don't donate to charity."

"Fuck you. What am I supposed to do if he wakes up and realizes he doesn't want to do it? He could blackmail me."

"He won't."

"You don't know that!" Pete stood abruptly. Causing his chair to slid viciously against the floor and slam against the wall behind him.

"You're a little wound up. Have you had your morning coffee?"

"Shut up, Ryan."

"What about the morning cocktail?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes. You pulled an idiot move last night. I'm questioning your abilities with each passing second."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Pete. I'm telling you, this guy is perfect. He looks like the male version of America's sweetheart."

"So you picked him because you thought he was good looking?"

"No. Not my type at all. His friend on the other hand." Ryan gazed off into space. Thinking about the hot guy from the bar last night. "I would love to spill my seed-"

"Ryan!" Pete stopped him from finishing.

"Oh, right! The guy. He'll win the tabloids over in a week. He look like an angel. A perfect little innocent. And you'll never guess what his name-"

"Hello?"

A drowsy Patrick slowly walked into the open door of Pete's office. His jeans, that were too long for his short legs, were dragging under his sock covered feet. His shirt was wrinkled and ridding up on his stomach. Showing off his pale white skin. His was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Covering most of his face in the process.

"Hey man!" Ryan rushed over to him before Pete could say anything. "Did you sleep well?"

"I-uh I guess. I-"

"Ryan, what is this?" Pete asked in annoyance.

Patrick flinched at the sound of the deep, commanding voice. He'd only been focused on Ryan when he walked in. He hasn't noticed the dark haired, angry man standing beind the large desk. Patrick dropped his hand from his face and stared in astonishment. He was even better looking in person.

Pete stared at the young man's face after his hand stopped covering it. He was perfect. For the job, he meant. He was pale, meaning he wasn't superficial enough to think tanning was a big deal. His hair was a light brown and a dry mess on his head. Which meant he didn't dye it or use too much product. His lips and nose were perfectly imperfect. No previous surgeries then. And his body type showed he definitely wasn't a model. Not fat but not too thin. He was squinting slightly. So so must use glasses or contacts. A step better than model pretty. The boy next door.

Ryan noticed Pete and Patrick staring at each other. He was a genius. He walked away from Patrick to stand beside Pete. He nudged him with his elbow. Pete's gaze snatched away from Patrick to glare at him.

"He looks like an angel right?" Ryan smirked.

"Christ, Ryan, the kid looks fifteen!" Pete said instead of agreeing with him. Because, yeah the kid looked like an angel. But he wasn't about to admit that.

"He's not. He was at the bar."

"Fake IDs are easy to get and plentiful."

"Shit. You're right." Ryan glanced over at the bed ruffled man. "Kid, you're not fifteen are you?"

"Fuck you." Patrick's voice was heavy with sleep. "I'm twenty four."

"See!" Ryan grinned, slapping Pete on the back. "He's way over the legal age." He turned back to Patrick. "Do you remember why you're here?"

"Duh, I'm not some idiot." Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. "You're paying me to pretend to date him."

"And he's not going to sue." Ryan walked up and sat on the front of Pete's desk. "Pete, meet your boyfriend Patrick. Patrick, meet your sugar daddy Peter."

"Patrick?" Pete repeated. Of course. The fucking kid was named after a saint.