Sidri had given it to him as a reminder that the very first photo he’d taken as a photographer under the umbrella of MM&M had been for their international Coca-Cola campaign. The people at Coke were over the moon, already clamoring for more. Not only was it validation that Allen belonged at MM&M, it was proof positive that his photos would be accepted in the ad world.
“This is your time,” Sidri had said when she gifted him the tiny watch. “Cherish it, guard it wisely, and never, never take it for granted.”
He’d taken her words to heart, all right. After wearing the tiny watch on a cord around his neck that first day, he determined it was just too delicate to risk wearing it day in, day out. He ordered a small Plexiglass box that he could use to both display and protect the precious watch. From that day on, the little box was either on his desk where he could see it at all times, or in his pocket where he could hold it like a lucky rabbit’s foot.
Since Sidri gave it to him, it had never once left his side. Everything in him rebelled at the thought of leaving it behind, yet the voice of reason in his mind screamed that he couldn’t make a clean break if he kept such blatant reminders of his time with Sidri. He couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving it, yet knew he couldn’t take it with him.
And so here he’d been, staring at the tiny watch, paralyzed by agonizing indecision for the last three hours.
9:00 p.m. Everyone in the office cleared out hours ago, ready to get a head-start on Super Bowl partying. The huge, empty floor echoed with memories of laughter and good-natured ribbing over whose team would suck the hardest come Sunday. Allen had had to beg off getting dragged to a dozen different bars tonight, all with random groups of rowdy coworkers hell-bent on drinking their team’s way to victory.
Yesterday, he’d been looking forward to it. Had planned to join whichever group included Sidri just so he could have the thrill of her company, even surrounded by other people. But after this morning’s disastrous confrontation with Tatum, Allen couldn’t bring himself to smile and drink and pretend all was right with the world—not when his whole universe was about to come crashing down around his ears.
He’d had every intention of hiding in his office until everyone left, then snapping up his boxes and hauling ass out of there before anyone had a chance to realize his intent. But so far, all he’d done was hide. All he had to do was truck his boxes down to his car and drive away. E-mail his resignation Monday morning and start over somewhere else. Change his phone number, sell his townhouse. Make a clean break.
So why couldn’t he do it?
There was no question he had to leave. Allen cringed, imagining the scandal if his illicit attraction to both of his bosses became known. The rumors alone would be agonizing, people whispering behind his back, falling silent when he walked into a room, only to laugh and point when he walked on by. He could practically feel the glares, the looks of disgust, the pity in the eyes of people he considered friends. If Allen was perverted enough to lust after a man and a woman at the same time, what other freakish things did he indulge in? And did Sidri and Tatum know about Allen’s depravity when they hired him? Worse, did they approve of it?
Would they hate him for wanting them?
Lord help me, that’s it, isn’t it? That’s why I want to run away. Not because there might be a few disapproving looks, or a few giggles at his expense. Those things would be difficult to handle and certainly wouldn’t help his reputation or his career, but ultimately, they meant little. Some other rumor would start going around the next day or the next week. A few days of humiliation, and afterward no one would remember it.
He wasn’t afraid of the rumors or dirty looks. He was afraid Sidri and Tatum would hate him. They were a couple, obviously in love. How sickening would it be to discover there was some pervert out there, fantasizing about kissing both of them? And then, even worse, to discover said pervert was someone they’d once considered a friend? He could already picture the disgusted look on Tatum’s face when he realized another man wanted him, could practically feel the revulsion pouring from Sidri’s hard green eyes. The moment they found out, Allen would become a pariah.
And they would find out. After sitting through one meeting with the two of them, even with eight thousand miles of separation, Allen knew he would not be able to hide his lust for very long. Something would happen, he’d reveal the sickness in his soul, and then the two people he valued more than anyone else in his entire life would revile him forever.
He couldn’t face that. Wouldn’t put them through that. He could and would walk away. Even if they ended up hating him for walking away from the company, the feeling wouldn’t hold a candle to the heartache he was saving them by walking away in the first place.
Yet despite his resolve, that little voice inside kept whispering, Coward. And so he sat. And stared at the clock. And wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.
A knock on Allen’s closed door nearly had him jumping out of his skin. Who the hell could that be? He’d thought he was alone. Must be a janitor, come to empty the trash. Scowling, he ripped the door open, prepared to scream at the person to leave him the fuck alone.
But the words froze in his throat. Sidri stood there, dressed in jeans and a scoop-necked sweater paired with electric pink Airwalk sneakers. She typically wore her hair down for work, but now it was caught up in a messy ponytail, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat. That little black sweater did nothing to hide her voluptuous curves, and those mouth-watering jeans really showcased just how high and tight her magnificent ass really was. The way the denim hugged her sweet thighs and emphasized the tantalizing dip at her waist made him want to drop to his knees and rub his face all around those sinful hips. He wanted to draw those long legs around his waist, knock those cute-as-hell sneakers off her feet so she could cross her ankles at the small of his back, and slam her against the doorframe. With his throbbing cock pressed against the taut vee of denim between her thighs, he’d be able to tell when the bump and grind of his hips made her wet enough to dampen the thick fabric.
“You changed clothes,” Allen said stupidly.
Sidri held out her arms and did a little pirouette. “I decided to get comfortable. You like it?”
Did he ever.
Sidri cocked her head, giving him one of her signature half smiles. “I thought I saw your light on. Working late too, huh?”
He nodded. “Wanted to get some stuff done, since Monday…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. If he could finish that sentence.
She laughed, sweeping through the door and forcing him to scramble back or risk letting her collide with his hard-on. “Yeah, most of these assholes will still be battling their post-game hangovers on Monday. Good idea.”
That wasn’t what he was getting at, but he decided to let it go. She didn’t need to know he was quitting. Not yet. He could pretend for a little while longer.
Her eyes cruised the confines of the office, a little quirk coming to her lips as she noticed the watch sitting in the middle of his otherwise-empty desk. She stopped behind his Shelby Cobra chair, dancing her fingers over the lusciously soft leather appreciatively. Allen hid a groan, imagining those fingers dancing over him the same way.
He managed a small laugh. “Since I will probably be one of those assholes, yeah, you’re right about getting stuff done beforehand.”
She grinned. “Nah, not you. You’ll be here bright and early, as always, making everyone else feel miserable. Damn morning people.” Sidri shot him a mock scowl, which he answered with an eye roll. Shaking her head, she gave his chair another caress and moved back around the desk. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Wanna go get some Thai food? That place around the corner is still open.”
He hesitated. Ninety-nine percent of his brain was screaming at him to accept, that this might be the last chance he had to hang out with her on a personal level. But that tiny voice of reason kept whispering how stupid it was to prolong the agony. If he
was going to leave, he needed to do it now, not spend more time with Sidri and make it even harder to pack up and go. Allen bit his lip, vacillating.
Sidri, ever the decision-maker, rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and hauled him out the door. “Come on, sunshine. You need to eat, and so do I. I don’t get to see you for two whole days. Indulge me for once and let me have you to myself tonight.”
Stumbling, Allen let himself be led down the hall. God help him, he wished she wouldn’t talk like that. If he let himself, he could almost believe she meant it sincerely. Which just made it hurt that much worse when reality came crashing back in and he remembered she was with Tatum, that Allen’s presence in her life held no more significance than the potted plant outside her office. Still, her words warmed that secret place in his heart that desperately wished she cared about him. With a sigh, he stopped dragging his feet and walked beside her. Sidri shot him a grateful look, and he melted a little more on the inside.
The elevator ride down to the parking garage was made in comfortable silence. Sidri braced her arms against the handicap railing, looking relaxed and utterly fuckable, even in the harsh tungsten lights. Allen stood next to her, captivated by the curve of her graceful shoulders, the play of muscle in her toned midriff. The scintillating guitar riffs from Stevie Ray Vaughn’s classic hit, Pride & Joy, played softly in the background. It never ceased to amaze him how comfortable she was with his silences. She never demanded conversation, never put her nose in his business without being invited. And when he did share things with her, she never made him feel like he was boring or wasting her time. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said she enjoyed simply being in his company.
But of course that was just a pipe dream. What could a smart, vivacious, fascinating woman like Sidri ever find interesting about him?
“You drive,” Sidri said when the elevator dinged. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she bounced out the doors. “I haven’t had a chance to check out your new wheels yet.”
Allen laughed, gesturing toward his baby, which was parked two spaces away from the elevators. Of all the things he had to leave behind, the car was right up there as one of the hardest. The brand-new Viper was pure indulgence, purchased with his most recent bonus check. Shiny silver with black racing stripes, the coupe had racing bucket seats and a ten-speed manual transmission. It was his pride and joy.
Too bad he wouldn’t be able to afford the payments after he quit. Well, that made enjoying the time he had left driving it all the more important. Carpe Diem, after all.
Allen held Sidri’s door open, trying not to drool as she slid her sexy, long legs inside. He watched the way her fingers slid lovingly down the seatbelt, teasing the buckle around her hips so she could secure it properly. The custom seats were upholstered with dark-gray leather that was super smooth and butter-soft. Accented with white stitching and white leather inlays at the seat and shoulders, they matched the look of the car perfectly. The deep bucket seat cupped her ass lovingly, and the headrest was perfectly positioned to cradle her head. Fuck, she looked good sitting in his car.
Sidri folded her hands in her lap, then glanced up with a little smile on her face and one eyebrow raised in inquiry. Allen blushed, realizing he’d just been standing there, staring at her and preventing the door from being closed. Cursing himself for acting like a teenager with his first crush, he quickly pushed the passenger door closed and hurried around to the other side.
Getting in as fast as he could and trying to ignore the little smirk of amusement on Sidri’s gorgeous face, he quickly revved the engine. God, he absolutely loved the bone-jarring purr that vibrated right through his soul. They shared a grin, and he quickly backed out of his parking space and made his way out of the garage.
“Hmmm, now that is exquisite,” Sidri purred, running both hands across the silky gray leather dashboard. Allen groaned inwardly, watching her caress the car and wishing she’d caress him that way.
Their favorite Thai joint was a tiny, rundown hole-in-the-wall gem that only Houston locals ever knew about. Tucked behind a sprawling apartment complex on an unmarked two-lane road that most people assumed was an alley, it couldn’t be seen from street level. After parking, they had to walk between two buildings, down a flight of stairs, and through a small park featuring a couple of gazebos that had seen better days. There they found a small, nondescript building with a single door. A paper sign taped to the glass said “Taimen’s Place” in childish block letters.
Allen held the door open for Sidri, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as the delicious aromas of soy and Asian spices washed over them. The place had maybe twelve tables, pulled together from a hodgepodge of mismatched dining sets. The floor was black-stained concrete, the walls painted a garish shade of orange. Oriental brush paintings, Chinese knot sculptures, and potted fake orchids decorated every available surface. All in all, the place didn’t look like much, but there must have been something people liked about it—the room was packed to the rafters. Every chair at every table was filled, and there were maybe two dozen people standing against the walls, patiently waiting their turn for a table. Allen sighed, resigning himself. Looked like they might be here awhile.
Sidri, of course, had better ideas.
“Taimen!” Sidri called, waving happily as a tiny old man jogged up to them. He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, with wispy white hair clinging to the sides of his skull and peeking from inside his oversized ears. His almond eyes were sharply ringed with wrinkles, his cheeks deeply creased with smile lines. He hugged Sidri, gave Allen a short bow, and gestured for them to follow him. Sidri shot him a grin over her shoulder as they wended their way across the packed dining room floor, past the murderous glares of the people who were still waiting for their turns. Taimen ignored it all and led them straight through the kitchen doors at the back of the room.
The smell inside was incredible, waking Allen’s saliva glands with anticipation. The tiny restaurant proprietor led them to a table situated against the wall, not far from the massive brick ovens where they steamed rolls and toasted dumplings. Taimen’s even tinier wife, Ishu, sat at one end of the table, surrounded by six empty chairs and mountains of thick accounting binders. She smiled, gesturing for Allen and Sidri to take seats anywhere they liked, then turned back to her laptop and the pile of receipts resting in her lap. Since Ishu couldn’t speak English and the rest of the kitchen’s occupants were busy cooking up the food, their conversation would remain relatively private.
Taimen’s Place was a true “family-style” restaurant. There was no menu to speak of. You came in, sat down, and the owners brought you plates of whatever dish had been made that night, with no choices being offered. Some nights, it might be authentic Thai recipes with names no American could possibly pronounce. Other times they served things like Maine lobster or snow crab legs, usually made with Asian spices but sometimes based on more traditional American recipes. He and Sidri loved the place because no matter how many times you went, you’d never get the same dish twice.
Sidri settled in her chair and rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Wonder what they’re serving tonight. It smells amazing.”
Allen sniffed appreciatively. “Some kind of chicken, I think. Spicy. With some kind of vegetable dish, broccoli, and squash and peppers.”
She laughed. “You can tell all that from smelling it?”
“The nose knows,” he answered with a cheeky grin. She laughed again and met his smile with an amused twinkle in her eyes. Allen suddenly couldn’t look away, drowning in the glowing green pools of her depthless gaze. His breath froze in his chest, heart pounding erratically in the back of his throat. She was so beautiful. He could stare at her for the rest of his life and never get tired of her.
Could he really stand to leave her? Would he be able to survive ripping his own heart out? Right at this moment, cradled in the sheer magnitude of Sidri’s charisma, the answer was no. He wouldn’t survive it. Better to never breathe again t
han to leave her behind.
Christ on a pogo stick, he was so screwed.
Fortunately, the owner returned with two heaping plates of food, breaking the moment before Allen could do something damning—like kiss her. Allen wrenched his gaze away and fussed with his napkin to give himself time to settle down again.
“Crying Tiger,” Taimen said, his accent thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Chicken?” Sidri queried, flashing Allen a wink. He grinned in response.
Taimen nodded. “Chicken. Very, very spicy. I bring you milk, soda—no water, okay? Make it worse, the burning.”
“Sounds fabulous,” Allen said with relish. He loved spicy food.
They waited—wisely, it turned out—for Taimen to return with their drinks before taking their first bites. The flavor was incredible, layers of different spices that burst on the tongue one by one, followed by a shrieking wave of heat that nearly set Allen’s toes on fire. When he could breathe again, he complimented Taimen’s wife profusely—she being the one who created the recipes—and happily dug in. Sidri took a little longer getting past that first wave of spice, but eventually her plate was as empty as his was. Taimen brought them coffee and promised to return with the check in a moment.
Sidri sighed, resting her elbows on the table and crossing her forearms under her breasts. The move pushed her cleavage together, plumping her already generous breasts and making it impossible for him not to look. As always, she seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on him.
“You going to watch the big game on Sunday?”
Allen blinked, picked his tongue up off the floor, and tried to answer coherently. “Yep.”
Demons Within [For Love of Authority] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Page 6
