Page 41 of Takeover-
Chapter Six
Sam pouredhimself a coffee from the self-serve kiosk in the hotel lobby, and then joined William at a seating arrangement within view of the elevators. Eight forty-one in the morning at a hotel in New Orleans that bordered the French Quarter. Not that they’d see any more of the local area than on the whirlwind tour William had insisted they take last night. Sam took a sip of his coffee.
There’d been no time to double-check any of Fabian’s information, so he opted for doing as Fabian did—keeping William close—at least at Forum.
“Sebastian better be on time,” William said.
“He will be.” Michael was a poster boy for punctuality. He had four more minutes before their appointed meeting time.
William grunted. He looked jet-lagged and cranky and clutched a coffee of his own. Not surprising, given he’d arrived from the West Coast. In New Orleans, life happened two hours earlier for William and an hour later for Sam and Michael.
If only Sam had been able to enjoy that extra hour with Michael. But no, William had kept them out late, forgetting that morning came much earlier than in Palo Alto. Besides, there had been no good way to negotiate a possible rendezvous with Michael.
When they’d returned to the hotel, predictably, William had tried to get both of them to head with him to a strip club.
“But then, you don’t do women, do you Mike?” The animosity in William’s words had set Sam’s hackles up.
Michael had laughed. “Nope.” Then he’d stood and towered over William and said good night before retreating to the elevators.
Sam had pointed to his watch. “You’ll hate tomorrow if you go.” Then he’d paid his tab and fled, too.
By the time Sam reached the bank of cars, Michael was gone. Then again, Sam wasn’t even sure Michael would agree to another tryst. He’d kept his distance at the airport, slept part of the way on the plane, and his conversations with Sam had been more about work than pleasure. The glint Sam had seen in Michael’s eyes when he’d told him about Forum and shown him the cuff link was gone.
Sam took a swig of coffee and winced at the awful taste. Perhaps that was for the best. In three weeks, Sundra would hopefully acquire Four Rivers, and Sam would be packing his bags and moving to Boston to take the job Fabian had offered. He’d been right—the data store company was a perfect gig and it gave him a chance to return to a city he’d fled once before. The contract should be at his apartment by now. A sudden tightness caught Sam in his chest and he checked his watch, then the bank of elevators. Eight forty-three.
There wasn’t much time left for them.
“Ah, here he is.” William looked behind Sam, toward the doors to the street just as Michael stepped past Sam’s chair.
Coal-gray fabric draped elegantly down Michael’s very long legs, and black leather suspenders peeked from beneath a perfectly tailored jacket. When Michael raised his hand to check the time, a silver hint of a cuff link caught Sam’s attention. Michael dropped his arm too fast to make out the design of the link, but nothing glinted from Michael’s other cuff. He held a takeaway coffee cup that smelled of good beans and chicory.
The hair on the back of Sam’s neck rose. Was Michael wearing the Copernican link? A sign of… something?
“I’m not late, am I?” Michael’s strong voice rattled the marrow of Sam’s bones.
“No, right on time.” William answered, which was good, because Sam doubted he could put two words together. He had to find his center really fucking soon because he could not be seen like this. Sam took a slow breath and fought to normalize his heart rate.
Michael wore a suit as if he’d been born into power, as if he lived in one. So very different from the way he looked in khakis, tropical prints, and Birkenstocks. His tie was a swirl of blue and black, with hints of blood red, and even when Sam rose, Michael seemed to tower over him, tall and lean, with impossibly broad shoulders.
Commanding.
William must have felt that too, because he stood straighter, with an air of alertness, and had put out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Mike.” Gone was the hostility of the previous evening.
Michael took the offered hand and shook. “William.” He turned. “Sam.”
Instinct overrode sense, and Sam reached out to shake in greeting. Michael’s hand was electrifying and warm, his grip strong and confident. The silver at Michael’s wrist was, in fact, the link Sam had given him. Holy shit.
“Michael.” Somehow, Sam managed to say the name without sounding as breathless as he felt. His cock threatened to harden, a serious problem, given that he would be speaking to an audience in a half an hour. It was a damn good thing Michael never dressed this way in the office.
“I noticed a beignet café on our adventure last night. Stopped in this morning for nonbland coffee.” He held up his cup. “Highly recommended if you want a local taste.”
“Have to remember that for tomorrow,” Sam said.
William snorted. “Not me. Mornings come too early here.”
Michael smiled. “Better here than New York City? Three hours might kill you, William.”
William snorted again.
