Page 12 of Takeover-
The door opened and Michael walked in. He pushed the door shut and leaned back against it.
He wore khakis, but slacks this time, matched with a sedate dark purple polo. Once more, Sam couldn’t see Michael’s feet, but he guessed boat shoes, no socks. Same brown eyes, same glasses, and an expression Sam couldn’t read because it kept changing.
Heat prickled along Sam’s arms and legs and the ache in his bones turned into fire. “Michael.”
“Holy fuck, Sam.” Michael didn’t move.
“I guess you didn’t bother to look up anything about your new CEO?” He could play this part. The businessman. The emotionless boss.
Michael pushed himself off the door. “No. They’re all the same.”
“How so?”
Michael didn’t look away. “They’re all suits.”
A hollow, yawning pit formed in Sam’s stomach. He covered by shrugging. “I’m a suit.”
Michael crossed to the desk and folded himself into the guest chair. “That’s the problem.” He leaned forward and gripped the edge of Sam’s desk. “Did you know that I worked here?”
“No. When I came back to the States, they told me that the recent problems had started when Mike, the testing guy, went on vacation. But I never thought—never suspected—you werethatMike.” He would make it through this meeting without cracking the mask. He had to. “It’s a fairly common name.”
Michael leaned back in the chair, his lips twisted into a smirk that wrenched Sam’s stomach into knots even as a tingle traced up his spine. “Well, that’s a convenient explanation.”
“Believe me, had I known, I wouldn’t have let you buy me that drink.”
The smirk faded into puzzlement and Sam could breathe again.
“I was going to replace Taylor as CEO before the blowup. There were deeper issues with him.” Like Taylor dabbling in shady stock practices that could have dropped the Feds on Four Rivers and sunk the company.
“They didn’t tell us that.”
“No. There wasn’t much point. Critical issues first, everything else can wait.” The rest would come out, once a case had been built, if the board decided to pursue.
Michael frowned. “The board met in Florida. The week I was away.”
Sam quelled the sudden desire to squirm in his seat. “Yes.” He paused. “Yes, I was there. I told you.”
Michael’s expression shifted—probably remembering—then snapped back into focus. “Why were you in Curaçao?”
He spoke through a very dry mouth. “To celebrate.”
A tremor ran through Michael. “You were my boss when we fucked?” His elegant fingers tightened around the arms of the guest chair.
“No. Not officially.” Sam leaned back, glad that the leather of his chair was cool against his dress shirt, because his skin certainly wasn’t. “Look, neither of us knew. We were strangers in a bar.” It was a mere technicality, if anyone ever discovered the truth, but he clung to it as hard as he held on to the image of Michael from Curaçao rather than the half-angry, half-horrified Michael that sat before him now. He hoped he wasn’t shaking, because he couldn’t tell. His nerves were on fire.
“Ships in the night.” Michael shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“No, not anymore.” Sam glanced at the cuff link still sitting on his desk. The next question might ruin all the memories Sam had of Michael before today. “Can you leave what happened in Curaçao behind?” Because it could never come out. If the board even got a whiff of that, Sam would be out on the street. Hell, Michael too, probably.
Michael’s white-knuckled grip on the chair answered the question quite clearly.
Both the cold drip of fear and the warmth of elation ran through Sam. That nighthadmeant something to Michael, then. Sam hadn’t just been a suit to fuck and leave behind.
Though, Sam really had no place to be smug about it, not when his pulse beat at marathon rate and with his cock semi-hard. That night had been in the forefront of his mind for two weeks. He could not succumb to the emotions Michael had churned up, but it was much too late for that.
Next question. “How much do you care about your colleagues?” Quite a bit, given what Sam knew of Michael’s past. Still, he wanted Michael’s answer.
Color rose into Michael’s face. “What the hell kind of question is that?
