André

by Jayce Ellis

  “Sounds like you might not be the only one with feelings.” Mr. Johnson’s words were thoughtful, quiet, reserved, just like the man. But the truth of them hit me like a steel bat to the stomach.

  I knew Marcus was still attracted to me. He’d made that patently clear, for better or worse. But the caring, that was something I hadn’t foreseen. Maybe hadn’t trusted myself to see. I liked it, though. Craved it.

  “So, now what?” That was Fiona. “The internship’s ending earlier than you expected. What happens after that?”

  And therein lay the question. We were pushing up on Labor Day, and I knew he, like Brian, would be back to school soon. We didn’t have much time, next to none, really, and it was a great excuse to stop now before anything got started. That idea, though, rang hollow in my ears, even as I spoke.

  “I doubt there will be any next. He’ll be leaving in a few weeks, I’ll be working longer and harder on this case, and...” I stopped, shrugging. “Maybe it just isn’t in the cards.”

  “Son, is the reason you’re holding yourself back from telling him how you feel because of these work positions?”

  “That’s part of it,” I admitted. “I’m trying not to get any wires crossed, and I’m still required to give him an evaluation. I don’t want him thinking for any reason my review is based on our personal issues and not his work performance.” That worry had gnawed at me for days, refusing to be sated. Mr. Johnson speaking on it so eloquently made it rush back to the forefront.

  Fiona waved her hand at me. “Okay, but so wait. He’s only going to be your intern for like another week, right? Not even that. Unless he totally bombs the presentation, is there any doubt to give him a good recommendation? You haven’t pulled me aside to bitch or complain about him, and I haven’t had to get on his ass since that first day.”

  “He is, but...” I trailed off. Marcus wasn’t my employee, something Fiona was quick to point out. My desire for him had started well before the internship, and nothing in the past ten days had dampened it. If anything, spending that much time in the same space with him had accelerated it beyond what I’d think was normal. I didn’t even know the meaning of that word anymore.

  “André,” Mr. Johnson said, and me and Fiona both angled our heads at him. “Let me tell you one thing, if nothing else. These positions you’re in? They’re temporary, especially this one. You see the end date on that wall. Don’t let titles keep you from what’s important.”

  It sat on the tip of my tongue to ask him what that was, but I knew. I knew, and he knew, and Fiona knew. She slid closer to me and ran her hand up and down my back. “He’s right, you know. If the two of you really have feelings for each other, maybe it’s something you pursue regardless. Boss man getting freaky with the intern. Sounds like a book I’d read.”

  She winked at me at that, and I let loose a hoarse laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” I said.

  “Never. It’s taken up permanent residence there.”

  We all laughed, and Mr. Johnson shook his head. “What am I going to do with you, girl?”

  “Not a thing, Mr. Johnson. Not a single thing.” She winked and did a little shimmy, and I chuckled again.

  I pulled her in for another quick hug, then shook Mr. Johnson’s hand over the ledge of the desk. Both of them were right, but there was a wide gulf between talking about it and being about it, one I wasn’t sure I knew how to bridge.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marcus

  I slumped in my chair and squeezed my eyes shut, holding them like that for a few seconds before blinking rapidly. The computer screen was killing me in ways I wasn’t ready for. I understood how André’d worn down so quickly, and had a much better grasp of what Brian and Shelby had been talking about last week. But André remained hyper-vigilant about my hours, not allowing me to even consider taking work home. I’d wanted to push, especially given the time, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t working after we left either, so I’d let it go. And as conscious as he was of me, I was equally conscious of him.

  I hated the stress on his face, the way his brows drew down and his shoulders hunched up around his neck. The deliberate flexing and squeezing of his fingers. I don’t know why it hadn’t really hit, but things were real for him in a way they weren’t for me. At the end of this, I went back to Wharton, back to classes and forced group projects and shit. For him, his business was on the line. My stakes didn’t come close to his. At least that’s the excuse I gave for why it irritated me so much when André stood and fastened his suit jacket at just after six Thursday night.

  “You going somewhere?” I asked with a laugh. We had tons left to do. We’d done so damn much, but for everything we thought we had figured out, there was always one more prospect, complication, consideration to be made. Which was normal, but with the deadline barreling down on us, my nerves were shot.

  “I have a networking event to get to.”

  “You have time for that with all we’ve got going on?”

  André huffed, then rolled his shoulders back. “Of course not, but I have to be realistic. I can’t put all my eggs in this basket. If I don’t get this partnership, I have to keep my options and my contacts open.” He checked his watch, then scrounged in the front drawer, pulled out a pack of antacids and shoved them in his pocket. “Why don’t you head home? I know you’ve got to be exhausted, and we can pick up tomorrow.”

  I just stared at him, what I’m sure was an unimpressed look on my face. That coolly professional you-are-full-of-shit expression I’d practiced like putting on armor. “Nah.” I said the word slowly, a slight shake of my head. “You go on ahead. I’ll finish this document I’m working on and head out.”

  He paused. “I don’t expect you to work when I’m not here. You know that. You don’t have anything to prove to me.”

  A snort-laugh escaped me, and I couldn’t even feel bad about it. “I’m not trying to impress you, André. If my work so far doesn’t speak for me, I’m not sure much else will.”

  He bristled, sucking in a deep breath before smoothing a hand down his suit jacket. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m sure. Why don’t you go on? I’ll see you in the morning.”

  André stopped with his hand on the door. He squeezed it, turned the handle, then let go. “You know,” he said, his voice almost conversational as he walked back to me, but that bite was clear as day, “Harold told me you don’t socialize. Aren’t good with the whole networking part of the job.”

  I cleared my throat and sat straighter. “I think my work should speak for itself.” I believed that, but my voice still cracked like a prepubescent teen.

  The grin I got from André was absolutely filthy. I don’t even know if he meant it to be, but my hole clenched. I’d spent a lot of time—an inordinate amount of time—thinking about how it would feel to slide into him, to feel him choking my dick with his ass. But right now all I could remember was how he’d felt buried deep in me, pegging my prostate while he used my shoulders as leverage. What I’d give to feel that again.

  His eyes darkened the longer he stood there, then he shook his head. “What I’m saying is you should come.”

  “I have no interest in coming.” I couldn’t even play with the obvious double entendre, and from the way André stayed silent for a few beats too long, I guessed he was waiting for it.

  “I was specifically asked to do this, for a man I greatly respect, so I’m specifically asking you to do this as part of your internship.”

  When I say I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut... I blew out a deep breath and rose, smoothing my pants legs. I cocked my head at the low moan from the door, where André’s eyes were squarely focused on my waist.

  “You need something, boss? Change your mind?”

  He looked at me and snorted. “You wish. Let’s go.”

  The really fucked-up part about this whole thi
ng? I was eager to be out with him. It wasn’t a date, nowhere near it, but walking next to him on the street, watching him morph into the ultimate businessman, sex appeal oozing from him, especially in those mirrored aviators, sent me reeling. I wanted to grab his hand. To hold it in mine while we walked and let people see us. Together. And fucking hell what was wrong with me?

  The walk to wherever this meet-and-greet was was short, and André pointed to the back of the restaurant when the server approached. They nodded and I followed him there, where a few clusters of almost exclusively Black folks were standing around.

  “André Ellison! You finally made it,” someone yelled out, and André laughed, did a little stutter step, and was pulled into a strong hug before the man shook his shoulders. “You don’t ever come out. Who talked you into it?”

  “Who else?” André asked.

  “Harold!” he yelled, and everyone else there followed suit. Then they barked.

  I turned to André. “Que Dogg?”

  “Of course.”

  “They play ‘Atomic Dog’ and I’m out.”

  André snickered, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer for the first of a round of introductions of names and faces I didn’t have a chance in hell of remembering. I smiled and shook hands and didn’t let André more than a few feet out of my sight.

  I was used to being good at things. I honestly expected to excel at everything I tried. Networking stymied me, though, and as I’d gotten older and the anxiety I felt nowhere else became increasingly rampant when it came time to do this one thing and refused to be abated, I’d abandoned the concept completely.

  We waded deeper in, folks who could give two shits about the market and wanted to talk sports, or families, or clubs. Whatever.

  Someone clapped me hard on the back and I saw Harold staring at me, an almost amazed expression on his face. “You got him out here,” he said to André. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

  André laughed, and his hand landed briefly on my lower back, just enough to ground me, before he let it fall. “We both needed a break. I tried to send him home, but he insisted on accompanying me.”

  Harold snorted, looking at us both with knowing eyes. “You want me to believe Marcus Thompson insisted on attending a networking event?”

  I smiled big and wide and dipped my head. “Boss man wouldn’t let me stay at the office and work.”

  “Ha! That sounds more like it. It’s good to see you out, Marcus. There’s more to life than work. Something I’ve been trying to remind Mr. Ellison here of since he left.”

  Ahh, so it wasn’t just me he was concerned about. I looked at André, and he craned his neck to my ear long enough to whisper, “Don’t start,” before turning to speak to someone else.

  But he didn’t leave my side. He was a natural at this, warm and engaging and not stilted like I was. And he and Harold both made it a point to keep me involved in conversations. By the end of the evening I’d collected multiple business cards, met three more Wharton grads who offered their assistance for anything I needed, and wanted nothing more than to celebrate a successful night with some sweaty fucking.

  Close to two hours later, André leaned into me. “You ready to go?”

  “Yes, please.” We said our goodbyes, another ten minutes, and headed out, walking in comfortable silence until we got to the Metro.

  “All right,” André said. “I’ll see you in the morning. Can’t believe we leave tomorrow.”

  “I know!” André took a step back and I cocked my head. Surely he wasn’t... “Where are you going?” I stepped toward him. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and my dick perked up, but I was not going to be moved. “André.”

  “I need to make sure everything’s on the up and up before we go.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” I started walking the two blocks to the office.

  “Marcus, I told you,” he said, jogging to catch up to me. “I don’t expect you to work like this.”

  I didn’t slow down, just walked until we hit the entrance. My keycard was in my hand and I buzzed in before André could stop me. He’d run out of words, relying on his glare as the elevator climbed the stairs to his floor.

  “Marcus, stop. This isn’t your job, your business. Go home already.”

  I spun to face him. “You work. I work. You don’t do a damn thing in that office unless I’m there.”

  He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. Then, “I swear, you get on my last ne—”

  Fuck that. I grabbed him by the neck and devoured his lips. Everything else could wait.

  André went rigid for a split second before fisting my shirt in his hands and dragging me closer. God, I’d forgotten how good he tasted. I circled his waist while he snaked an arm around my neck, and pushed him into a little nook next to the suite that I’d never noticed before. I braced my hands on the wall and peppered his lips with kisses, then covered his body with mine and deepened the kiss, snaking my tongue across the seam of his mouth before diving inside.

  André groaned into it, the sound music in my veins. I squeezed one ass cheek and pressed him tighter, where I could feel his dick against my thigh, right next to my balls. We stayed like that for a few minutes, letting almost two weeks of pent-up desire out on each other’s mouths and bodies, before he finally broke free and sucked in a deep gulp of air. I tightened my hand around his back, afraid he’d want to let go. To tell me this was a mistake.

  “Dear God, I needed that,” he said instead, and I laughed.

  “Me too.”

  I pulled back then and gave him space to breathe. He ran a thumb over my lower lip, then leaned in for another quick kiss. “Thank you for being here.”

  I smiled. “Nowhere I’d rather be, boss.” I smacked his ass. “Now let’s get back to work.”

  * * *

  The presentations were on Monday. As in three-days-from-today Monday. The absolute last thing we needed was another Clarymore meeting, and I ground my teeth at the notion of wasting even an hour here.

  My only consolation prize was that Brian and Shelby looked the same, twin expressions of impatience and unceasing tiredness on their faces. “How’re y’all doing?” I asked after grabbing a seat, checking it this time for the wobble factor.

  “Is it bad I don’t even care what happens anymore?” Brian asked. “We’ve all busted our asses, worked until our eyes bled, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Feel totally the same way,” Shelby said.

  I nodded, but I didn’t agree. If I’d been with anyone else, I probably would. But I wanted André to get this partnership. I wanted our weeks together, the days spent wanting and denying ourselves, to mean something. Beyond all that, I wanted to see André succeed, to prove to Clarymore they’d made a mistake in forcing him out. And then I wanted to celebrate all over his chest.

  The door opened, but it was Supe this time. He looked almost sheepish and gave us a half wave. “I’m not going to keep you guys. I know the presentations getting pushed up means you all have better things to do.” He chuckled, and I managed a strained smile.

  “But the Penningtons asked me to express how much we appreciate what you’ve done. Thanks to the success of this collaboration, Clarymore’s looking into doing more.” He paused and grinned at us. “So that’s that. Do you guys need anything from us over the weekend?”

  “The three additional days we were supposed to have?” Brian asked, and Shelby and I both chuckled.

  Supe laughed through his wince. “I’m sorry, guys. It was a surprise to us too, and I know it put you under the gun.” He checked his watch and stood. “If something does come up, Harold, Valerie, Mary and myself will make ourselves available. Don’t hesitate to reach out, okay?”

  We nodded, and he left as quickly as he’d come. We cleared out thereafter and I went back to the office. I was exhausted. I’d woken up an
hour earlier than normal to pack for the trip, listened to Jake tease me about the work I was not going to get done because I’d spend the weekend riding André’s dick, and then spent the morning poring over stocks to finalize our proposed portfolio. Having to break in the middle for the classic this-could’ve-been-an-email meeting had me about at the end of my rope.

  How it’d taken over an hour, I didn’t know, but it was almost ninety minutes before I returned to André’s building. I got off the elevator and ran into Fiona, holding her water bottle and phone. “Oh thank God,” she said when she saw me. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “What’s wrong? Is André okay?” I tried to move past her to the door, but she blocked me.

  “Did he tell you about Mr. Walker?”

  I remembered the name from his client list, but hadn’t worked on the matter, so I shook my head. “No, what’s up?”

  “He’s here. He’s a pain in the ass. They’re supposed to have a meeting next week, but he showed up unannounced and he won’t leave. I’m on the verge of calling security but—” Fiona looked back at the door and sighed.

  Yeah, that shit rarely went well. “You stay at your desk, okay? I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  She nodded, relief washing over her at not having to make a shit call. I straightened my jacket, rolled my shoulders back, and walked down the hall towards André’s office. Thankfully on a Friday afternoon it was pretty sparse in the suite, else the yelling I could hear well down the hallway would have folks gathered round the same way they’d been my first day.

  I opened the door to red. A man in a red shirt with a red hat who’d gone tomato faced, and André, sitting at his desk, knuckling the arms of the chair.

  “Who’re you?” the man demanded. I raised a brow at him and didn’t break focus until he sputtered and dropped in the chair.

  Then I turned to André. “Everything okay here? I heard yelling from the lobby and Fiona’s concerned she’s going to have to handle this.”