Clickbait

by E. J. Russell

  “Uh. No.”

  Gideon dropped his legs, and Alex let him slide down to his feet. “You may be out at work, but I’m not sure either one of our careers would survive a live sex show on the jobsite.”

  Alex grinned. “Know what else is finished? The storage room.”

  One of Gideon’s eyebrows rose above the top of his glasses. “You don’t say.”

  “Yup. Walls. Floor. Door. No lock yet, but I think we can improvise. Besides, the rest of the crew won’t clock in for another half hour.”

  A sly grin lit Gideon’s face. “Lead on. God, I love construction sites.”

  Gideon cha-cha’ed his way into the construction company’s impromptu workroom—handily adjacent to the most awesome storage room in the known universe.

  “Mr. Wallace.” Jared’s voice echoed weirdly in the hallway and stopped him mid-cha.

  Gideon ran his hands through his hair—as if that would help. God, after sex, his cheeks—the ones on his face, thank you very much—were always as rosy as a pornographic Hummel figurine.

  He leaned out of the doorway. “Jared. I mean, Mr. Haynes. Nice to see you.”

  “Do you have a moment?”

  “Certainly. Step into my parlor.” Gideon stood aside and gestured for Jared to enter. The room was the only spot in the build-out not essentially complete. Come next week, it would be another storage space, but at the moment it was cluttered with construction detritus. “May I offer you a seat on this lovely paint bucket?”

  Jared sauntered into the room, hands in the pockets of his Marc Jacobs trousers. “No need. This won’t take but a moment.”

  Gideon leaned against the workbench and crossed his arms. He used to know how to appear calm and professional, but he usually wasn’t wearing a tool belt coupled with postsex hair. “Please. Go on.”

  “I got your preliminary mock-up for the new website. I’m quite impressed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not the least because you managed to sidestep Harrison.” Jared chuckled, and Gideon joined in, a little breathlessly. Was he about to get smacked again? How devoted to the Luddite was Jared anyway? “I can’t help but wonder, however . . .”

  He picked up something off the workbench. With a start, Gideon recognized it as the denim shirt Alex had removed before heading off in his T-shirt to wash away any sex residue. God. Gideon’s stomach tried to duck and cover. It was one thing if he got canned for inappropriate conduct; his gig was only temporary. But Alex had a lot more at stake. He was the breadwinner for his mom and dad now. If he lost his job, what would happen to his family?

  “Yes?”

  “When you can produce intellectual property of that caliber, why are you wasting time with menial labor? It’s beneath you, surely.”

  Shame cascaded down Gideon’s spine like ice water. Before he’d taken this job, before the lessons he’d learned from Alex about his own internal biases, he’d shared that exact opinion. Getting his hands dirty with the construction was something for the hoi polloi, not for the exalted Gideon Wallace, Prince of Presentation.

  Now though, he appreciated the worth of the “menial” part of the contract. He may not love it the way he loved web design, but it was necessary and important. Didn’t Jared recognize that? If the Portland Business Journal was to be believed, Jared Haynes was a tech wunderkind the likes of a young Steve Jobs or Bill Gates. But if he didn’t value hardware and infrastructure as well as software and web sizzle, Gideon had serious doubts about those claims.

  For that matter, Jared’s comments made it seem as if he was unaware that the website design was the carrot at the end of the build-out stick. Were the Luddite and the Clueless Consultant running his damn business for him?

  Gideon cleared his throat. “I feel it’s important to know the project from the ground up. It’s the only way to be sure the entire system is up to my standards.”

  “Ah. Precisely.” Jared’s expression was owlish. “I know exactly what you mean. I like knowing everything about every aspect of my company.”

  Do you, now, you pretentious prick? “Naturally.”

  “Are those the only clothes you have with you?”

  Gideon blinked, and managed—barely—not to check his fly to see if it was open. “Uh . . .”

  “I mean, do you have business clothes with you?”

  “I try to limit their exposure to wet paint.”

  Jared chuckled, a poor lightweight tenor compared to Alex’s bone-shivering bass. “The way I see it, we have a lot to discuss. I believe you have a great deal to offer, and I’d like to make sure you’re offering it to Haynes Industries. With compensation commensurate with your talent, of course.”

  “Oh. Well, I—”

  “I’d ask you to join me for a drink downstairs right now, but the retro-kink work clothes don’t quite fit the dress code. Let’s say on Monday after the holiday. Eight o’clock. Wear something to match the venue.”

  Wait a minute. Was Jared offering him a job, and the financial security that came with it, on one hand, while insulting him—and by extension, Alex and the rest of the crew who’d done Gideon a solid—on the other?

  He strolled out before Gideon could force a response. What the effing eff? Gideon plopped down on the paint bucket and threaded his hands through his hair, attempting to deal with the emotional whiplash.

  Jared had hinted at a position with his upscale company, with salary, perks, and bennies to match. Isn’t that what Gideon had always wanted? He shivered through another icy shower of shame, because he wasn’t entirely sure what his answer would have been if Jared had waited for him to gather his scattered wits. He’d recognized Jared as a bird of his own feather the first time they’d met, and damn it, a part of him still wanted to be a member of that flock.

  At the sound of Haynes’s snooty voice, Alex had ducked into a partially finished conference room. Pretending to tidy a few scattered tools, he dawdled near the door and tried not to breathe too loudly, so he could hear what Haynes and Gideon were saying.

  When he heard that back-assed offer, his fist tightened around the wrecking bar in his hand. He had faith in Gideon—up to a point. Gideon had a good heart, but this wasn’t his world and never had been. Haynes had offered him exactly the spot he deserved, and from the sound of it, the spot might be up close and personal with the CEO.

  Only last week, Alex had accused Gideon of mooning over Haynes. Now it seemed like Haynes had been doing some ogling of his own, and he’d just thrown Gideon an opportunity to hook up with a guy who was closer to his league than Alex would ever be. Alex edged out into the hallway until he could see a slice of the workroom reflected in the tinted server room windows. Haynes stood, relaxed, as if he couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to him. Why should he? Probably nobody ever had.

  The AC kicked on, and Alex shifted from under the vent, straining to hear over the hum. But the toe of his work boot collided with a paint bucket, and the clatter drowned out the conversation.

  Haynes sauntered from the room, a self-satisfied smirk on this face, the fucker, and passed Alex as if he didn’t exist. Pausing at the end of the plastic carpet-runner, he glanced at the blue cloth balled in his hand. He tossed it to the ground and wiped his feet on it before he stepped onto the carpet on his way to the elevator.

  Asshole doesn’t give a shit who has to pick up after him. Alex waited until the muted voice of the automated elevator PA system announced the lobby destination, and retrieved the crumpled fabric.

  His shirt. The bastard had wiped his feet on Alex’s shirt.

  Alex laughed, a staccato bark that bounced off the walls. Just fucking perfect.

  “Alex?” Gideon walked up behind him, his footsteps rustling on the plastic. Would he mention Haynes? Tell Alex about the offer? Say he’d turned it down?

  “Yeah?”

  Gideon blinked at Alex’s harsh tone. “Um . . . when the guys get in, I’d like to thank them. You think that’ll fly, or—”

  “Sure. Why not?�
��

  Gideon leaned closer, but the service elevator pinged and Manny and Cal got off. “Oops. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay.” Maybe he’d mention Haynes then, but Alex wasn’t holding his breath.

  Geekspeak: Liquid Layout

  Definition: Web layout that can adjust based on browser window size, even if the size changes within the same session.

  Who’d have ever imagined that he, Gideon Wallace, who never willingly touched any hardware component less fully assembled than a keyboard, could totally rock a network and hardware installation? True, he hadn’t exactly done it single-handedly, but damn it, the Luddite and the Clueless Consultant could line up to kiss his ass.

  Because by end of day on Monday, this project would be D-O-N-E, despite the curse of October-the-sequel and the holiday-he-dare-not-speak.

  Screw that. He allowed himself to think it. Allowed himself to say it. Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving-Thanksgiving-Thanksgiving. And what do you know? No sky fell. No garments were rent. No teeth were gnashed. Ha!

  The vengeful cosmos could join the ass-kissing line, because here he was, grocery shopping with his man. It was so . . . so domestic. It ought to make him run screaming for the nearest club, but instead he had to suppress the urge to break into song. He compromised by humming “A Whole New World” as he studied the shopping list Ruth had prepared for them.

  God, the days since their storage-room sex had been endless, with Alex tied up with his dad or extra preholiday shifts, and Gideon in a desperate push to get the servers ready to bring online by Cyber Monday. They hadn’t even crossed paths at work more than twice, when normally Alex cruised by the server room like clockwork—much to the detriment of Gideon’s concentration. If Gideon didn’t know better, he’d think Alex had been avoiding him.

  But now, here they were, together again, although not exactly alone. Piloting their cart in Gideon’s wake, Alex seemed preoccupied, a skosh distant. But then they could hardly make out in the produce section, not without causing a riot.

  Gideon dodged another crazed day-before-T-Day shopper intent on playing bumper cars in the Fred Meyer aisles. He brandished the list. “God, Alex. How did your mother manage to cook this volume of food by herself? And how the hell did four people manage to eat it all?” He cast a glance at Alex from under his eyelashes. “I can understand how a strapping specimen like you might handle it, but Lindsay and your mom are just little bits.”

  Alex pulled the cart to the side of the aisle to let a wild-eyed woman with a wailing baby get by. “We always had people over. Folks Mom knew from the hospital or guys from Dad’s crews. All the orphans. The ones without another place to go.”

  Gideon stopped in front of a display of canned pumpkin and premade pie crusts. “Now I know what made Lindsay the nurturing sweetheart that she is. Your parents, your family. You’re special.” He tossed two large cans of pumpkin in the cart. “When was the last time you hosted?”

  “The year after Dad was diagnosed. Four years ago now.”

  God, Gideon wasn’t the only one with Thanksgiving baggage to unload. He placed his hand over Alex’s on the cart handle. “This year will be one for the books. We’ll break my damn Thanksgiving curse and give your family something to remember. It’ll be good. I promise.”

  Alex stared at Gideon’s hand on his. No longer bandaged, although the scars from his run-in with the box knife were dark-pink slashes across his pale fingers. How was Alex supposed to resist the random touches, the flirty grins, the sly glances? You can’t. Why bother to try?

  His mom had always said eavesdropping was its own punishment, and she was right, as usual. Alex had spent the days since he’d heard Gideon make a date with Haynes feeling like a piano was about to drop on his head.

  “Hey.” Gideon patted his hand. “Having a moment, are we? Don’t tell me—you’re one of those guys who gets freaked out by crowds. Whoops.” He scooted closer to Alex to let another shopper by.

  “Nah, I’m okay.” Alex made an effort to smile. Don’t waste the time you’ve got. You don’t know when it’ll end. “For a guy who claims to hate Thanksgiving, you’re really getting into this.”

  “I know. What can I say? Surprised the hell out of me too, but in my book, anything worth doing is worth overdoing well.”

  Alex studied their cart. “I’d never guess.”

  “Oops. I forgot the champagne. Meet me by the cucurbits.”

  “The what?”

  Gideon grinned. “The gourds of many colors and suggestive shapes.” He darted away through the crowd.

  Alex pushed the cart through the aisles toward the produce section. He was pretty sure the champagne wasn’t on his mom’s list. They’d never served it, mostly because some of the folks they’d invited for dinner had been in recovery and she hadn’t wanted to be insensitive to them.

  Wouldn’t hurt to have a little alcoholic bubbly on ice this year though. Not like they’d serve any to Ned, but the more Gideon seemed to open up, the more Alex felt like he might have something to celebrate.

  If Gideon would only come clean about his conversation with Haynes . . .

  “Whew!” Gideon wedged two bottles of champagne into the cart. “It’s like armed combat in here. Thank goodness I have my own personal juggernaut.” He hip-checked Alex and zoomed off toward the bins of squash.

  Alex shook his head, grinning. Give up, Henning. You’re fucking toast. He followed and pulled up next to Gideon, who was studying the vegetables through his sparkly blue glasses.

  “What do you think, Alex?” He hefted a long striped squash about the thickness of Alex’s wrist. “Cock?” He winked and picked up a roundish, ribbed, green specimen in the other hand. “Or giant mutant balls?”

  Alex laughed. “I don’t think those are the official names, babe.”

  “Sadly, no. Delicata or acorn, what’s your”—he fluttered his eyelashes—“pleasure?”

  Alex shrugged. “Never heard of delicata.”

  “Trust me, you’ll love it.” He slipped a couple of the “cocks” into a plastic bag and set them on top of their already overflowing cart. “But why not do both? We shall fully embrace the T-day spirit of excess.” He picked up an acorn squash in each hand. “How many people are we expecting again?”

  “Only the family and you. Six.”

  Gideon’s brows drew together. “Wait. Is your aunt coming? The one who treats Lindsay like she’s about as bright as a box of hair?”

  “Jesus, no. Dad banned her from holidays years ago because her visits always ended with Lin in tears and me in time-out for trying to punch her or her SOB son. The other person’s Toshiko.”

  “Toshiko.” Why did Gideon’s mouth turn down like that? Wasn’t Toshiko one of his friends too? He shoved three acorn squash into a bag and mashed them into the cart on top of a bag of marshmallows. When he glanced up at Alex again, his smile was back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe the twenty-pound turkey was a little much. Oh well. Leftovers. That’s what Thanksgiving is all about, right?” He marched off toward the check-out line.

  Leftovers. Alex could only hope that he wouldn’t be the one that got left.

  Geekspeak: DoS

  Definition: Denial of Service; a malicious disruption of service, frequently executed by flooding a network with traffic, thereby blocking legitimate users’ access to websites or email.

  On Thanksgiving morning, Alex whistled as he opened the curtains in his dad’s bedroom. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you ready to party.”

  “Bah. Foolishness. Never been a party guy.”

  “That’s what you always say. But it’s Thanksgiving. This shindig you can totally get into—food and football, my man.”

  Ned perked up, his eyebrows peaked like little angle irons. “Football? I like football.”

  “We’ll park you in front of the TV and bring you a whole barrel of snacks. But first, we need to get you cleaned up.” Alex guided his father to the armchair next to the bed. “How about a clean shirt?” He
dug in the closet and pulled out one in soft blue flannel. “Here. This is nice. Think you can manage?”

  “I can dress myself,” Ned grumbled. “Not helpless, you know. Do I need a tie for this party?”

  “Not with flannel, dude. Besides, we’re going all-out casual.”

  Ned raised his chin and took a deep breath through his nose, his barrel chest expanding as he shrugged into his shirt. “What smells so good? Is that turkey? I haven’t had turkey in . . .” A gust of wind rattled the window above the bed, and he frowned. “Windows need weatherizing. We’d better take care of that today, Alex.”

  Alex froze, breath stalling out, and grabbed the closet door. “Dad? Did you just—”

  The doorbell rang, and Alex cursed under his breath.

  “That’ll be Harold,” Ned said, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Get the door, will you, Hank?”

  The bubble of hope that had swelled in Alex’s chest didn’t entirely deflate. The aroma of turkey had triggered a memory, if only for a moment. If it happened once, it could happen again.

  He settled his dad in his La-Z-Boy, one of the interminable pregame shows blaring away on the TV, and answered the door.

  The wind nearly wrenched it out of his grasp. Toshiko stood on the porch, holding a foil-covered dish in both hands, a New Seasons Market shopping bag looped over her arm and a big-ass leather tote on her other shoulder. As tiny as she was, she probably needed the ballast to anchor her to the ground in all this wind.

  “Hey, Tosh. Come on in. Let me take that.” Alex lifted the casserole in one hand and grabbed the shopping bag with the other. The contents of the bag shifted and clinked. “Jesus. What have you got in here?”

  “Wine in graduated degrees of dryness. The parameters for turkey specify a dry white, but frequently people follow liquor consumption preferences rather than prescribed food pairings.”