Page 12 of Voice to Raise
Today he wore loose khaki shorts that exposed his knees and calves. That shouldn’t have been sexy—but it was. He wore a loose cotton shirt, with several buttons undone.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Right becausethatis the most important thing going on at the moment.
I wore jeans, a henley, and a cardigan.
Early October had been a slow end to summer, weather-wise. Around Thanksgiving, the weather had turned cold and wet. Yesterday might’ve had brilliant sunshine, but the temperature had hovered around sixty. Today, so far, it was even lower.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wearing sandals and shorts. The temperature is too low for such clothes.”
“Who do you think you are, my mother?”
The response ofa good mother wouldn’t let her son go out in inappropriate clotheswas on the tip of my tongue. Before I could spit it out, though, I remembered his mother had died tragically. That, unless he had other relatives, he was lacked parental figures. “I just meant you should dress appropriately.”
He gave me a long perusal.
Long.
Slow.
Examination.
Don’t fidget. You still have the high ground. You were right. He was wrong.
Still, heat rose to my cheeks as his gaze met mine. I wanted to ask what he saw, but the dismissive flicker in his eyes assuredme he wasn’t having positive thoughts about me. “Can I help you? I have work to do—”
“You’re an asshole.”
Blossom, blessed woman, giggled.
I glared.
She held up her phone.
Is she asking if she can record this? Is she suggesting she should leave and will make more social media posts? And while we’re asking inane questions…who exactly is the boss?“Can I help you?”
“My phone is blowing up with notifications.” She pointed her phone toward Malik.
He offered a shy smile. Which morphed into amused. Which changed into predatory.
His ability to pivot so quickly—three solidly different looks in less than thirty seconds—took my breath away. Or perhaps that was because he turned that wolfish grin on me.
Our gazes clashed…then held.
Blossom slipped from the room and closed the door once she was in the reception area.
Since I still stood behind my desk, I gestured for him to sit on one of the two chairs facing me.At least I wasn’t sitting down—at least I still have some dignity. I needed to repeat this since my cock was becoming very interested in whatever Malik thought he was offering.
Maybe he’s not offering anything at all. Maybe this is all in your imagination.Although Malik made no attempt to hide his gay liaisons—I’d spent way too much time with my search engine last night—I didn't share quite so freely. My staff knew I was gay. None of us, though, shared that information far and wide. That fact wasn’t necessary for anyone who dealt with me to know. They should see me as the competent leader of thisorganization—not a queer man who lived in Vancouver.Enough navel gazing.“How can I help you?”
Malik cocked his head. “Are you going to act like nothing happened?”
I put my hand on my hip—clearly we weren’t sitting. “What happened? You got taken away by the police yesterday after chaining yourself to a bridge. That wasn’t behavior this organization condones. Blocking traffic for a few minutes is one thing. Forcing police officers to put themselves at risk—”
“No one was at risk—”
