Page 32 of Takeover
“I won’t argue with that.”
Sam pulled out his wallet, put the corporate card in the folder, and handed it back to the waiter. His cheeks hurt from grinning. Lighter heart, full stomach, and Michael was no longer mad at him nor running out the door to get away. There was only one way the night could be better—but he wasn’t asking. No sex. No play. Even if the heat in his core kept creeping up his spine every time the skin at the corner of Michael’s eyes crinkled just so.
Too many ghosts between them. Rasheed. The closet Sam had stuffed himself into after that one night in grad school.
Sam’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to think about that. Not here, not now. Not the bruises on that student’s face or…
“Why’d you let him go?” Michael’s voice pulled Sam back into the present conversation.
“Hmm?”
“The David-for-hire.”
“I prefer choosing, not having someone chosen for me.” He’d nearly asked the Adonis to stay. “Besides, my colleagues would have hung that over my head—not only sleeping with a prostitute, but a male one. It’s—” Sam paused, then sighed. “It’s not good to be out in this profession.”
The check came back. Sam added the tip and signed. He’d not hesitate to send that perfect chest back today. He’d much rather have a tall, dark-haired man who had the balls to order him to his knees. Even if he did regularly wear shirts with palm trees and parrots.
When the waiter left, Michael spoke. “Is everything business to you?”
“No.” He held eye contact with Michael. “It probably should be. But no.”
Michael didn’t move.
The heat Sam had felt under his skin flared to life. He could take Michael home. He knew what words to say, how to get under Michael’s defenses, which buttons to push. The desire was there—he saw it in the tick of Michael’s pulse point at his neck, the way he swallowed, the sweet look of indecision that flitted across his face.
Sam could chase those ghosts away. Have Michael one more time.
No. Rasheed. The job. The student kneeling in tears in the alley—God, tonight of all nights, why did he have to think about that?
Michael was only an itch. He’d jack off later, alone. “It’s late. We should call it a night.” He pushed himself away from the table and rose.
Michael stood, but more slowly, his breathing shallow. “Do you ever make mistakes?”
Fuck.“Yes, of course I do.” All the damn time. Every day he denied who he was. That day he hadn’t reported what had happened. Sam waited a moment, but Michael said nothing more, so he headed for the door. Michael followed.
Once outside into the cooler night air, Sam spoke again. “Accepting a drink from you was not one of them.”
Even in the dimmer light, Michael’s relief was evident. The relaxing of his shoulders, and unclenching of his hands.
“I’ve had businesses fail. Sometimes the miracle doesn’t happen.”
“You can just leave when that happens.”
The sour taste of bile rose in Sam’s throat. Someday, Michael would learn to think before he spoke edged words. “I could, yes. I never have. I stay until the end and try to get as many people jobs elsewhere as I can. I figure it’s the least I can do.”
Michael seemed to chew on those words. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe someone like you exists as a CEO.”
Man, what Taylor must have done to Michael and Four Rivers when he took over. “We’re human. Some are good, some are bad, like in everything else.” Some remained silent for all the wrong reasons. Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m down a block and across the street.”
Michael looked toward their office tower, even though it was obscured by many other buildings. “Short commute.”
“It is exceedingly convenient.” They walked the block and crossed the street. And lonely. No community. It would take a handful of words to convince Michael to come up. Goosebumps rose on Sam’s arms, hidden by his shirt and jacket. Would Michael use his hand or his belt? Or find something in the apartment? The man had a creative streak.
“Do you ever worry that someone will out you?”
There was that cold trickle again. Haunted eyes staring back at him. “Yes.” He paused and considered. “I’d like to think that my track record is more important than who I prefer to bang, but I’ve seen guys like me come out. No one calls them anymore. No company needs their help. The well dries up. It’s… I haven’t given awayallmy money. Just in case.” Sam looked up at the white brick building that was his home at the moment.
“You hate it,” Michael murmured, a little too close to Sam’s ear.
