by L. A. Witt
But it had to be done. Teagan and I had been through this before, and we knew how it went—working upwards of twenty hours at a stretch until there wasn’t a legal substance on the planet that could keep us awake.
Takeout. Coffee. Catnaps. Coffee. Glue fumes. Coffee. Such was our existence when the firm demanded it. This time, I just tried to focus on the work, and not let myself get caught up in what I could have been doing during those late-night overtime hours and endless weekends.
Legally, the company was required to allow us to go home for at least eight hours at a time. And had we asked, they’d have let us. But there was an unspoken assumption that we would see this through, work our fingers to the bone and be rewarded with a few days off at the end. So we showered when we could, power-napped on a couple of cots in an empty office down the hall and subsisted on vending-machine food or offerings brought to us from the outside world by saintly coworkers. Contact with the outside world was reduced to e-mails and text messages, which wasn’t nearly enough contact with Rick.
It took its toll. By the ninth day, tempers flared. Between fatigue and additional demands sent down from on high, neither Teagan nor I were the most pleasant people to be around. The drafters wisely kept their distance and didn’t hassle us. No one spoke to us unless they absolutely had to, though she and I still spoke to each other. A little banter went a long way toward keeping us awake after umpteen hours, and we both knew how not to piss each other off.
The fact that our building had showers had become a double-edged sword; that was one less reason for us to leave the building. We both desperately wanted to go outdoors in daylight again, but we simply didn’t have time. At least we could shower. We just didn’t have an excuse to leave.
As we always did, Teagan and I muscled through, and by the twelfth day, we were down to one nearly completed model apiece. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, thank God.
“I need sleep,” she declared around eleven thirty on day twelve. “Any more of this, and I’m going to glue my own face to the platform.”
I laughed, something that took considerable effort. “Go home and get some sleep, then.”
“What about you?”
“I crashed for a bit a few hours ago.” I stood and rubbed my stiff neck. “If I can finish this sucker tomorrow, I can spend all day Sunday getting reacquainted with sleep.”
“Well, you’re a better man than I.” She yawned as she picked up her purse and coffee. “I’m crying uncle.”
“I don’t blame you.”
She started for the door, pausing to look over her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home?”
“Oh, I do.” I looked up from pressing one of several pillars into place. “But I need to finish this first.”
“Well, don’t kill yourself.”
“I won’t. I’ll be fine.”
“All right. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I’ll be here.”
Teagan probably hadn’t even reached her car by the time the anesthetic effect of silence kicked in. I didn’t bother turning on music; at this point, it would either irritate me or knock me out, and I was well on my way to the latter without the help of any music. My eyes grew heavier, my fingers less agile. I probably would have nodded off right there at the table had I not slipped with an X-ACTO knife and sliced my finger open. Cursing and muttering, I held a tissue against the cut for a moment while I searched for my coffee cup. I couldn’t even decide if the cut hurt or not. It just irritated me because it kept me from my damned work and meant staying here that much longer. The only reason it even kept me from my work was that my bosses wouldn’t be thrilled about me getting blood on a model again.
Once my finger had stopped bleeding and I’d drained another cup of coffee, I went back to the model. The very sight of it made me groan.
Almost done. It’s almost done. Then I can sleep. And I will probably dream about this stupid thing.
Sighing, I picked up the piece I’d been trimming when I cut myself.
At some point between finishing the northwest quadrant of the roof and tweaking a few spots on the mezzanine, I glanced at the clock. It was a little after two in the morning. Not that it really mattered. Time didn’t mean anything during these periods. Afternoon felt like the middle of the night. Midnight felt like noon. It was like having an unshakable case of jetlag.
I blinked a few times and forced myself to focus. Just needed to finish this, then I could get back to my normal life. Normal passage of time. Regular sleep. Rick.
His face flickered through my mind, and had I had the energy to do so, I’d have shivered.
My chest tightened. Hell, it even ached a little. This flurry of overtime had been so relentless, I didn’t realize until just then that I hadn’t seen him in almost two solid weeks.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. After all, Teagan and I were still required to attend meetings—keeping up appearances, according to Mitchell. So I’d seen Rick in the conference room, and I’d seen him in the halls. I’d seen my firm’s client, but I hadn’t seen Rick. I hadn’t seen my submissive. The man I’d been fucking.
And I missed him. Even when I hit the exhaustion threshold—that point when I’d rather glue my balls to the floor than think about sex—I missed him. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Seeing him in the halls and in meetings wasn’t enough.
Then Marie put her foot down and said they couldn’t afford for Teagan and me to waste time in meetings with this many projects on our plates. Teagan was so happy, she almost cried. Me, I didn’t quite know how to feel. When I attended meetings, Rick’s presence was utter torture, the looks we exchanged driving me further out of my mind than the sleep deprivation and all the shit I was consuming from the vending machines. But then when I didn’t have to attend anymore, I wasn’t in the same room with him, and…fuck.
Well. The sooner I finished this project, the sooner I’d finish the next one, and the sooner I’d have him again.
When my eyes refused to stay open, I took a break and went down to the employee locker rooms. After showering and brushing my teeth so I felt less gross and slightly closer to human, I headed back toward the NSFW Zone for another marathon session.
I’d just stepped off the elevator when I saw Rick.
And damn it, my knees almost collapsed out from under me.
I want you, goddammit.
He met my gaze, and to my horror—and relief—he immediately excused himself from his conversation with Mitchell and Dion. He looked right at me, tilted his head slightly and started walking in the opposite direction.
My heart sped up. What the hell?
But I couldn’t resist. Without so much as a cautious glance at my bosses, I surreptitiously followed him. The hallway turned, and I went around the corner just in time to catch him disappearing into the men’s room.
I glanced around. Did I dare?
Oh fuck it. Let the whole goddamned company catch us.
I stepped into the men’s room. He didn’t even wait for the door to shut before he pulled me to him, cupped my face and kissed me.
My whole body was suddenly hot and cold all over, featherlight and ready to sink right through the floor. I was so fucking exhausted, my body didn’t even know how to be turned on anymore, and my brain couldn’t remember how to be afraid we might get caught—all I could do was wrap my arms around Rick and kiss him for the first time in too damned long. I’d been missing him like crazy but hadn’t understood just how much until now. Until I had him in my arms, until he was kissing me hungrily like this, until I could almost feel my body rationing energy away from nonessential things like my heart and my brain so I could muster up just enough to get hard and come.
Rick loosened his grasp, and we separated enough to meet each other’s gazes in the restroom’s cool light. God, weren’t we a pair. Here he was dressed like GQ, and here I was after three days without shaving. I hadn’t even worn a tie in I didn’t know how long.
I was o
ut of breath, my hand unsteady as I touched his face. “This is insane.”
He ran his fingers through my damp hair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s—”
“No one’s going to catch us.” I pressed my foot against the door just to be sure. “I’m not worried.”
“No, I…I meant, it’s a little out of line.” He kissed me again. “Me taking charge.”
My shoulders sagged, and I held him tighter. “I don’t even care about that right now. I just miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
The days-old fatigue was even heavier now. “I’m sorry about all this,” I whispered. “I know it’s… I mean we just…”
He pressed his lips to mine again. “It’s the nature of the beast in this business. It’s all right. I’ll have to put in some long hours sometimes too.”
“Still.” I touched my forehead to his. “This is killing me.”
“We’ll make up for lost time. When this is all over, anything you want…” He pulled me closer. “Anything. Just say the word.”
You. I just want you.
“I should let you get back to work.” He kissed me again, lightly this time, and we managed to pry ourselves apart. “I just…needed…”
“Me too.” And now I don’t want to stop. “But yeah, I should get back to work. This will be over soon. I promise.” Though it took a lot of energy, I added in my Dom voice, “And then you’re all mine.”
The result was worth the effort: Rick pulled in a breath and tugged at his tie. “Yes, please. I can’t wait.”
“I won’t keep you waiting long.”
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t dare risk another kiss, or we’d have been there all day. So, we straightened our clothes, as if we’d really rumpled them all that much. Then we walked out of the men’s room as if nothing had happened.
“How much longer do you think you’ll be doing this?” he asked. “The crazy hours?”
I shrugged. “I still have a few more models to finish. Maybe another week?” Jesus. Seven more days of this shit. I was going to collapse, I was sure of it. Rubbing the back of my neck, I muttered, “I’m getting too old for this.”
“How many of your projects are mine?”
I halted, because I suddenly couldn’t think and walk at the same time. “Three, I think? They’re…they kind of blur together after a while.”
Rick pursed his lips. “Let me see what I can do about shifting the schedule around. I don’t want to run you into the ground like this.” His cheeks darkened. “I mean…um…”
I managed a quiet laugh. “I know what you meant. And I appreciate it, but you don’t have to. I can do this.”
He shook his head. “No. You need a break.”
The Dom in me wanted to put my hands up and insist that, no, I could do this. I did not need someone to lighten my workload for me.
But pride was no match for exhaustion, so I just sighed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Because I need to see you again.” The desperation in his voice made my knees shake.
“You’re not the only one. And I promise, we’re going to make up for lost time.”
Rick shivered. “I can’t wait. Let me know when you’re free again, and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear for you.”
I looked him in the eye and growled, “Damn right you will.”
His breath hitched.
Jesus. I want you.
“I really should go,” I said. Before I drag you right back into that men’s room and get myself fired.
He nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I mean it—as soon as you’re free.”
“Absolutely.”
We headed in separate directions, and I almost made it to the elevator before a voice barked, “McNeill!”
Oh for fuck’s sake. What now?
I turned around to see Mitchell striding toward me, shoulders back and jaw set. “Yes, sir?”
He stopped in front of me and pointed in the direction Rick had gone. “Would you like to tell me what that was all about?”
“What—” My blood turned to ice. Shit. How much had he seen? “Sorry?”
He stabbed his finger in that direction again. “Did I just see you having a conversation with Rick Pierce?”
“I, uh… We were…” I cleared my throat. “He just had a question for me about—”
“A question? About what?” He stepped closer, invading my personal space enough to raise my hackles.
I thought as quickly as my tired brain could think. “He wanted to know about—”
“Mr. McNeill.” He pushed out a sharp breath. “I don’t need to tell you how important it is that we keep Horizon Developing happy. That’s why everything Rick Pierce or Dion want to know needs to go through a properly informed liaison. Am I clear?”
I was too tired to argue, and fatigue had eroded my internal censor just enough that “I’ll talk to the man I’m fucking whenever I choose” was a bit too close to the tip of my tongue. “Sorry, sir. I’ll refer him to you next time.”
“Good.” He clapped my shoulder. Don’t touch me, motherfucker. “How are those projects coming along?”
“Getting there. Should have one more done before close of business today. The next within ten days.”
“Excellent. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks.”
On my way back to the NSFW Zone, I ground my teeth. Though I supposed it wasn’t entirely a bad thing that he’d pissed me off—seething anger was more effective than a 5-Hour Energy spiked with speed, so I was actually awake now.
Being awake meant I could work. Working meant getting done. And getting done meant being with Rick.
Soon. God, please, soon.
* * * * *
Irritation kept me going for a couple of hours. A nap followed by a metric fuckload of caffeine carried me for a couple more. After another dinner from a machine—if I never saw another Dorito again, it would be too soon—I threw back a 5-Hour and settled in to get back to work.
I opened a tube of glue, and the fumes smacked me in the face. My eyes watered and my head spun. Cursing, I rubbed my eyes with my other hand. I was used to the potent glue fumes, but fatigue made me more sensitive to them, and they compounded the headache that had already set up shop between my temples.
I put the cap on the glue, then went to my desk. I rested my elbows beside my keyboard and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. Just one or two more days, and this would be over. The throbbing behind my eyes dulled slightly, but when I opened them, it intensified all over again. So I closed them. Folded my arms on the desk. Rested my head on my arms. Just for a few…
“Jon?”
Blinking, I raised my head.
“You okay?” Marie asked.
I nodded and leaned back in my chair, twisting a crick out of my neck and rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “Just tired.”
“So go home and get some sleep.”
I scratched my stubbled jaw. I’d grabbed another shower and a change of clothes a few hours ago, along with a much-needed shave, but the five-o’clock shadow was already creeping back in. As was any exhaustion I might have cured with my little catnap.
How long was I out anyway?
I looked around, trying to find the clock. The clock that was in the same place it always was. Christ, I’d been out for an hour and a half. No, half an hour. Right?
Marie gave me a pointed look. “Jon, you need to go home and get some rest.”
“But I have got to finish this thing.” I yawned and rubbed my eyes.
“Are you okay to drive?”
I sighed. “Probably not.”
“Then you have no business anywhere near this model.”
“I’m fine.” I cocked my head. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”
“You’re not the only one burning the midnight oil these days, you know. I was actually just about to head home, but I thought I’d check on you.”
I offered a sheepish look. “And you busted
me asleep at the switch.”
She laughed. “After this long, you were bound to crash eventually. Need some coffee?” It was funny how she could be such a ball-buster—she had to be in this place—but actually had a compassionate side. God help her if the partners ever realized she secretly treated us like human beings sometimes.
I stretched my sore arms. “I don’t think cocaine would even wake me up at this point, but yeah, I could—”
“What you need is sleep.” She nodded toward the door. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m almost done.”
“Jon, if you push yourself much further, you’re going to start hallucinating.”
There was no point in protesting. I was surprised I hadn’t started hallucinating, so I stood and pulled my jacket off the back of my chair. The simple act of putting it on took more effort than usual. The jacket suddenly weighed fifty pounds. Damn, I am tired.
Marie was more coherent than I was, so I took her up on the offer of a ride home. The drive was a blur of streetlights and darkness. I must have nodded off a dozen times, and probably would have slept the whole way had it not been for the blasting air-conditioning and radio. I didn’t object to either; those were to keep my boss awake long enough to get me home in one piece.
After she’d dropped me off, I managed to get my shirt and shoes off, then collapsed into bed, and that was it. I sank into blissful darkness.
Darkness that was peppered by images of foam-core, X-ACTO knives, drawings, and the smell of glue and coffee, but darkness nonetheless.
Chapter Sixteen
The night off was helpful, but there was still work to be done. The next afternoon, after a solid ten hours of sleep, I returned to the NSFW Zone with a cup of coffee and a fresh case of 5-Hour Energy.
And the second I looked at the unfinished model, the caffeine jumped ship and my body threatened to collapse all over again. Fuck. Right then and there, I promised myself an actual vacation as soon as this chaos was over. I was getting too old for this shit.
But for now, it had to be done, so I sucked it up, sucked down some coffee and got to work.
