by D. J. Manly
Love Most Inconvenient 2
DJ Manly
Published 2009
ISBN 978-1-59578-566-4
Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2009, DJ Manly. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Liquid Silver Books
http://LSbooks.com
Email:
[email protected]
Editor
Lynne Anderson
Cover Artist
April Martinez
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb
Love sometimes comes along when it’s most inconvenient. In these three stories of inconvenient love, our heroes have more pressing problems than finding love.
In “The Planner,” Vincent is left trying to find someone who can coordinate events at a business he ran with his partner, a partner who has run off with a younger man. David is looking for his dream, and he’s not about to let Vincent turn him away.
In “The Boss,” Steven is trying to figure out how he is going to face his new boss the morning after he did a drunken striptease for him. Not only is the new boss a hunk, he’s not available.
In “Jupiter,” Alex is sentenced to do community service at the school that he trashed, and is drawn to a guy who represents everything he despises. Alex is about to learn more than just retribution for his crimes.
Kinks: m/m; anal play and intercourse, rimming; toys; mild bondage
The Planner
Chapter One
“I know dick all about this stuff.” Vincent Williams pushed his chair away from the desk. “Doug did all the fluffy stuff. I handled the books. How in hell am I supposed to run this place on my own?”
“He’s giving you the opportunity to buy him out, Vince. I think it’s a good move,” Bradley Ross told him, giving him that attorney look. “Hire people, people who know how to do the … ah … fluffy stuff.” He snapped his briefcase shut.
Vincent looked at his best friend. He and Bradley had been at university together. Actually, Bradley had been his first real fuck. But it would have never worked out between them. They were too much alike, both dominants with hard heads.
Two years out of university, Vincent had met Doug. He’d hired on as a part-time accountant for Doug’s fledging catering business, a business which had grown into one of the most successful special event planning enterprises on the East Coast. They’d built their company, Events, together, with Vincent crunching the numbers and Doug doing what he did best, charming the clients and throwing events that were talked about in the society pages and in Lifestyles of the Rich and Glamorous.
“I can’t believe he’s throwing everything away for a piece of ass.” Vincent ran a hand through his collar-length black hair.
“Are you talking about you or the business now?”
The question hung in the air like a heavy shroud. Vincent closed his eyes for a minute. Five years of his life down the toilet. He’d been positive that he and Doug were forever. They’d had a great life, nice house, more money than anyone actually needed, fantastic sex—at least it had been fantastic to him. “I hope Doug gets what he needs from Andrew, because apparently he couldn’t get it from me.”
“Doug was an idiot for leaving you,” Bradley said, his voice bitter. “One day he’ll wake up and realize what he’s done. I hope you’re not stupid enough to take him back.”
Vincent looked up at him. Bradley was standing there in his tailored navy suit and white shirt, his matching tie askew. He was getting those distinguished gray strands around the temples now, premature gray, but it suited him. “I’m surprised at you, Brad.” Vincent smirked. “I thought you liked Dougie.”
“He was a little shit,” he muttered, reaching over and ruffling Vincent’s hair. “You were too fucking good for him. You know I always hoped that we…”
“Doug,” Vincent said, holding up his hand, “we’re friends. Let’s not ruin it. We’d kill each other. Besides, I’m through with this stuff.”
“What do you mean, through with this stuff? You’re twenty-nine years old, for Christ’s sakes. What in hell are you planning on doing—joining the priesthood?”
“I didn’t say I was taking a vow of chastity. I mean I’m through with relationships.” Vincent stood up. “From now on, I’m a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy.”
“Oh, brother.” Bradley rolled his eyes. “You’ll change your mind. Now, should I draw up the papers? He’s offering you a good deal. Grab it before he realizes what he’s giving away.”
Vincent sighed. “Okay. Send the papers over. I’ll sign them. But I still don’t know how I’m going to run this place without him.”
Bradley gave him a hug. “Simple. Hire someone to head up the planning team, and do what you’ve always done—boss people around. You’re good at that.” He smirked.
“Gee thanks, Brad. I think.” Vincent walked him down the carpeted corridor to the elevator.
“We’re on for Friday night, beer and pizza. Game starts at seven.”
“Yeah, okay.” Vincent sighed. “I’ll bring the brews.”
The elevator dinged and Bradley got on. “Keep the faith, sweetie,” he said softly. “The pain won’t last forever.”
The doors closed. Vincent stood there for a moment, studying his reflection in the gold mirrored door. He was six-four and in great shape, having installed a gym in the office four years ago for the staff. His black hair was thick, a little wavy, his brown eyes large and wide set. He had a square jaw, and one of those fashionable shadows. He knew he took himself a little too seriously sometimes, but was he really that bad? Doug had often accused him of being “such a man.” But they’d balanced one another. Doug was outgoing, flamboyant sometimes to the point of being outrageous. He thought with his heart, didn’t look ahead, was spontaneous and a little reckless. Vincent was the rational one, the levelheaded businessman. Maybe he was too unemotional. God, but he missed him. He missed the way Doug used to wake him up in the morning, lips caressing Vincent’s dick. He even missed that silly little song Doug used to sing to him … sugar is sweet, my love, but not as sweet as you…
Everything had been good between them until Andrew had come to work for them. Vincent hadn’t trusted that little twerp from the minute he set eyes on him. Andrew looked like a blond angel, delicate, fine boned, with a soft, silky voice, and he’d always seemed eager to please. Too eager. Several times Andrew had walked into Vincent’s office and given him that come-on look. He had a habit of telling the staff stories about his one-night stands, and he didn’t spare any of the details, resulting in them being practically pornographic. Doug was enchanted by him. The customers adored him. Vincent couldn’t stand him. One day, a few weeks after Andrew had been hired, Vincent told Doug he thought they should let Andrew go.
“Let him go?” Doug had squawked, looking at Vincent as if he’d lost his mind. “Why in the hell would we do that? Andrew is doing a bang-up job. I’m thinking of promoting him.”
“He’s a sleaze.”
“Why, because he tells raunchy stories?” Doug laughed. “Lighten up. You’re so stuffy.”
“Stuffy?”
“Yeah. We should have sex like that.”
“He’s full of shit,” Vince
nt had protested. “Don’t tell me that you believe all that stuff? And even if any of its true, why in hell does he have to come in here and tell us all about it?”
“I like hearing about it,” Doug replied.
“Turns you on?”
“Well, something has to.”
“I thought we were okay in the bedroom. Is there a problem?”
Doug smiled at him. “No. It’s just that it gets a little old, you know? We need to spice it up.”
“Well, maybe it’s not just me,” Vincent threw back defensively.
“I didn’t say you, I said we. Now, can we drop it? I’m not firing Andrew.”
“Even if I don’t want him here?”
“We have to both agree, and I don’t. So the subject is closed.”
Little did he know that Doug was already fucking Andrew at that point. A few weeks later, he began to suspect something was going on. Then he found them together, and in Doug’s and Vincent’s bed, on top of that. He had stood there numb while Andrew hastily threw on his clothes and Doug sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed with his face in his hands.
On the way out, Andrew had come close to him and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, beauty, it was you I wanted to fuck all along.” If Andrew hadn’t hightailed it out the door at that moment, Vincent would have sent him flying across the room.
He and Doug had had one hell of a fight. They’d said some things that neither one of them could ever take back. Vincent had spent the rest of the evening drinking in a nearby bar, finally coming home in a cab, and somehow crawling to the sofa. When he’d awakened, he’d been almost prepared to forgive Doug, despite the pain and the betrayal. What would he do without his Dougie? But Doug was gone. He’d packed his clothes and left. There was no note, nothing.
At the office, everything was chaos. There was no one to take care of all the events Doug was coordinating. Barbara, the office manager, was in a spin. Doug’s departure cost the company thousands of dollars, not to mention that Vincent was stuck trying to appease and compensate an array of really pissed-off clients.
Finally, three weeks later, after Vincent had compensated the irate and temporarily suspended all activity, some attorney in Switzerland contacted Bradley with an offer to sell him Doug’s share of Events. This was the final death knell. Doug didn’t even have enough respect to contact him personally. Apparently he’d run off to bloody Switzerland with Andrew, prepared to throw everything away.
Vincent jolted out of his unwanted memories when he noticed Barbara standing beside him. She too studied him in the reflection of the elevator doors. Barbara was fifty years old, but with her boyish salt-and-pepper bob and her matronly gray suit, she looked sixty. She also had a mouth like a sailor. Without her, he would have closed the door on this place weeks ago.
“What in hell are you standing here for? Get over yourself, you’re beautiful,” she said.
“Why, thank you, Barbara, old girl”—he placed an arm around her slight shoulders and gave her a squeeze—“you’re not so bad yourself.”
She pushed him off. “Don’t get fresh with me. I want to know what’s going on. Are you buying this place, or aren’t you? If not, I’m expecting one hell of a severance package, cookie.”
He smiled faintly. “I guess I better buy it. I don’t think I could afford that.”
She followed him as he walked down the hallway. “You bet your ass you couldn’t. I don’t come cheap,” she told him. “And don’t think you can run this place on your own. You don’t know dick shit about planning parties, mister. So I better start putting out some help wanted ads, don’t you think?”
“Who do we still have on staff?” He turned to look at her.
“You, me. You laid everyone off except for a skeleton crew. We’ve lost some of the caterers. They’re going elsewhere. And they’re calling about their compensation packages.”
“Well, call them back. Get as many of them as you can. Tell them if they come back, they’ll all be paid for the time they missed.”
She jotted everything down on her clipboard. “They’ll like that.”
“I’ll make up an ad for a coordinator. We need one fast.”
“Looks like you’ll just have to coordinate, honey, until we find one. We got clients waiting, big ones. We need to get back on the horse.”
Vincent nodded. “Okay, pick the most important clients and bring me a list. No weddings. I’m not doing any fucking weddings.”
“Okay.” She turned to go then paused, glancing at Vincent over her shoulder. “And boss, if it’s any consolation to you, I didn’t like that fucking asshole, Andrew. He was full of it. And no one can fuck the way he claimed.”
Vincent’s eyes widened for a second. “I didn’t know you were listening to all those stories, Barb.”
She shrugged. “Only when I was bored.”
* * * *
Luckily, most of the staff came back. Barb put a full-page ad in the paper for a coordinator, and they were as busy as ever. Vincent was working like a crazy man. He signed the papers Bradley sent over and purchased Doug’s share of the business, faxing everything to the bank and to Bradley’s office. As he dealt with fussy clients and overcooked pasta salad, he almost regretted his decisions.
One night, several weeks after he became sole owner of Events, he found himself practically crawling to the elevator. He was beat. He really needed to find someone to replace Doug, and soon. He wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace. He paused just before pressing the elevator button, noticing that Barbara was still in her office. “Hey”—he popped his head in the door—“I thought you’d gone home.”
“I will soon,” she said, punching something into the computer. “I just need to finish up these invoices.”
“I really appreciate you picking up the slack for me, Barb,” he said. “I haven’t had a minute to check the books at all.”
“You look beat. You should go home and get some sleep.”
“I will. I’m just going to stop by the Crystal Room to check on the Bryant retirement party.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said with a wave at him.
“I think I’m going to hire a new secretary.”
She looked up at him. “Why? You’re not happy with my work now?”
“It’s time for a promotion. You’ve earned it. You’re my assistant now; how about a raise in salary, a new office, your own secretary. What do you say?”
She grinned. “I say you’re using your head.”
He laughed. That was Barb. “Any replies to the ad?”
She frowned. “Only ones you don’t want to know about.”
He sighed. “Damn.”
“It won’t be easy to replace Doug.”
That hit home. He blanched.
“Oh God, Vince, I’m sorry.”
He held up a hand. “I know what you mean, and I agree. Doug was good at what he did. What happened between us doesn’t change that. Now, shut down the computer, and come on. You can finish that tomorrow. I’ll walk you to your car.”
In the parking lot, she reached up and touched his cheek. “You’re a good man, Vincent, and one hell of a hunk. If you liked pussy, I’d take you home and give you a night to remember.” She winked at him.
He threw back his head and laughed, gave her a hug, and held the door open for her as she slid inside. “Thanks, Barb.”
“Now, go to one of those sweaty macho bars and get yourself laid. You deserve it.”
“Not a bad idea.” He nodded, lifting a hand as she drove off. He stifled a yawn and got into his car. He made a quick stop at the reception hall, spoke to the client, who was extremely satisfied, and then drove downtown to the gay district. He’d stop in and have a quick drink at the Iron Fountain, a bar that he and Doug used to drink at when they first got together.
When he pulled into the parking lot, he discovered that it wasn’t called the Iron Fountain anymore. It was called the Love Tunnel. Go figure. That’s what he got for settling down
like an old married man.
He felt a little overdressed when he walked in and looked around. The place was packed with wall-to-wall men, many of them shirtless and wearing incredibly tight pants. The smell of leather was unmistakable. Some techno tune blared in his ears as he made his way to the bar, pausing to glance up at the naked dancer, who was strutting his stuff in a cage built like an intricate apparatus.
Vincent was wearing an expensive dark olive Armani suit, and he was already feeling the heat. He shrugged out of the jacket as he ordered a gin and tonic, grateful that at least he hadn’t worn a tie. When two hands clamped onto his ass cheeks like a vise, he slopped his drink all over his pale yellow dress shirt. He turned around to face that dancer he’d spied jumping around in the cage, his considerable assets now barely covered by something which resembled a loincloth.
“Buns of fucking steel,” said the dancer with a laugh, his long pale hair plastered to his head. His body was slick with the results of his exertion, and Vincent couldn’t deny that it was a huge turn-on. At least, his cock seemed to think so. He held out his hand. “I’m Frankie. Guess I gave you a scare,” he said, eyeing Vincent’s shirt. “You should take that off.”
Vincent took his hand.
Frankie pulled him forward and said in his ear, “God, you’re so hot. I saw you from the cage, and I thought I’d better get down here and stake my claim. Almost every fucking guy in the joint is hard looking at you, baby. Come home with me.”
Vincent was in shock. Was this guy shitting him? He glanced around. Some guy smiled at him; another winked. Damn. He laughed, put his drink down. “Where do you live?”
“I got a room across the street; convenient, eh?”
“Ah, yeah,” Vincent said. “Don’t you have to get back up there?” He looked at the cage.
“Naw, Denis is going to cover for me. Come on baby, I can’t wait to get you out of that expensive suit.”
Frankie excused himself to get his clothes, then returned while doing up his shirt. Without a word, he headed for the door. Vincent figured he was supposed to follow. When they got outside, Frankie grabbed him and pressed him up against the wall, kissing him hard. He placed one hand on his cock and squeezed. “Oh yeah,” he said, backing away, “just what I thought. You’re hung, fully loaded, baby, just the way I like it. Come on.”
