by Peter Styles
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Undercover Lover
Peter Styles
Cover Designed by Duong Covers
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Chapter 1
Jeremiah Bird lay in bed, waiting for his boyfriend to get off the phone and come join him so they could have sex, as they did most nights, and then go to sleep. It seemed like, for the past three years, their entire relationship had been composed of him waiting on his boyfriend. Markus was a busy man, and Jeremiah counted himself lucky. There were any number of men and women who would kill for the spot he was in, and a few of them had gone so far as to try.
Still, he couldn’t help but wish that Markus would just let his phone die once in a while. In three years, his business had grown to more than just two people. There was an entire building full of employees, assistants, interns and senior staff members now. Surely, just every now and again, one of them could handle a call?
Don’t be so ungrateful, he reminded himself once again. He was the trophy wife in this relationship and he could only be that way because of how dedicated Markus was to his work. Everything he had, everything he owned, from these silk pajamas to those textbooks laying over there on the desk, was because of Markus.
“Maybe when he finally gets in here, I’ll show him just how grateful I am,” Jeremiah murmured softly to himself. His long fingers plucking at the soft bedsheets, which lay like captured clouds against his skin. A mirror took up most of the wall on the other side of the room, their compromise since Jeremiah wouldn’t allow Markus to record them having sex. It wasn’t that he was worried about a scandal, but a smart man made sure that a scandal never even had a chance of existing.
He looked at himself in the mirror now, rubbing the stubble on his chin and frowning slightly. It itched terribly but Markus liked the rugged look on him. Jeremiah supposed he should be thankful that he had American genes in his blood since most full Asians didn’t develop an affinity for facial hair until they were much older. All those sensei-types with flowing white beards and meticulously-crafted mustaches paid so much attention to their facial hair because of just how long it had taken to grow.
His eyes and hair were both dark, owing to his Japanese heritage, but there was nothing else about him that really stood out. He was a little too tall for his people; a little too thin to be truly attractive. His reading glasses, which he wore most of the day for school, made him look like a bug. In his pajamas, his reflection seemed to him reminiscent of a pauper in prince clothing, all gangliness and no grace.
Oh yes, he was very lucky to have Markus.
Speaking of Markus, he turned his head as he heard footsteps outside in the hallway. His hopes rose but were quickly dashed as he heard his boyfriend raise his voice, shouting into his phone. “I don’t care what you have to do, just get it done!”
There was a brief silence as Markus gave whoever it was his customary few seconds to respond. Then, “Forget it. Your incompetence is impeding this company’s path to success. You’re fired, Mr. Jackson.”
Mr. Jackson. His assistant. Great.
That was the fourth one this year, and it wasn’t even May yet. Markus went through assistants like popcorn, consuming bowls of them every year. Of course, it always started out so perfectly. Markus would hire some idealist young guy or girl with secretary experience, touting their worth up and down the entire city… until the moment when he overloaded them to the point that they couldn’t finish their work in a single day. That signaled the beginning of the end, a rapid downward spiral of mood and confidence until they were ultimately fired and replaced.
But, just like popcorn, Markus would refill his bowl again in only a few days.
Maybe a better analogy would be replacing dead fish, Jeremiah thought, pondering for a moment as he plucked loose strands from the blankets.
Suddenly, the footsteps down the hallway resumed and Markus threw the door out of the way as he made his grand entrance. Every entrance he made was a grand one, Jeremiah thought, and not the least because he had a flair for drama and a love for making himself known. Those helped, but an entrance was nothing without the person entering and Markus… he was something else.
Over six feet tall and nearly as broad, he was the son of a high school football star who went on to break every record his father ever made. His skin was as dark and rich as the night, as bitter as the blackest coffee, sliced through with a milky white splash of teeth that grinned fiercely. He was bald and had been that way ever since he started prematurely thinning just after graduating with his diploma. He soared through business school in three years then established a company in only one more.
Jeremiah had no doubt that his boyfriend could become President of the United States if he so desired.
“Everything okay?” he asked softly, watching as Markus pounded across the room and shed his clothes in the process. He bore an erection, as he usually did whenever he argued with someone.
“Whatever that bastard’s doing, it has to be illegal!” Markus snarled, climbing up naked into bed. The lights gleamed across his perfect skin. He moved like an oil slick, rapid and slithering, and the mattress tilted under his weight.
“What bastard?” Jeremiah asked, although he had an inkling of an idea as to the answer. He held out his arms for Markus, but the black man grabbed his wrists and pinned him down onto his back on the bed while climbing on top of him.
Then, he stilled and looked down at Jeremiah with narrowed eyes, as if just now realizing he’d spoken.
“Your assistant did something illegal?” Jeremiah pressed.
Markus shook his head, and the force behind the motion was almost enough to rock the entire room. “No,” he rumbled. “Chris Finley.”
That was exactly what Jeremiah thought; Chris Finley. Markus would have completely taken over the real estate business in all of Manhattan if not for Chris Finley. Chris was the competition; the one who always seemed to be one step ahead of Markus. It was as if he had made it his life’s mission to steal every opportunity that he could. At least, that was how Markus saw it. Jeremiah was on the outside of the business, and he was of the unbiased opinion that the same opportunities one company sought would, of course, be beneficial to another. This wasn’t a matter of personal attacks. It really was just business.
Not that he would ever say so out loud, of course. It was his job to get Markus to wind down, not to rile him up more.
“What did he do now?”
Markus shrugged, growling a little. “What hasn’t he done? It’s all just more of the same, dammit. Somehow, he picked up the same damn client I was going to finish connecting with at the upcoming business meet. I don’t know how, since that client doesn’t deal with startups.”
“Aren’t you a startup too?”
“But I’m better than that bastard. We had the connections to grab that client. As far as I knew, he didn’t. And then suddenly he did. It has to be illegal. He has to be hacking us, or conspiring, or something.”
> “Maybe someone in the company is feeding him information,” Jeremiah suggested, although in his opinion that just wasn’t a likely option. He didn’t know a person, stupid or smart, who would risk double-crossing Markus like that. At least, not if they valued their life.
“That’s what I would have thought too,” Markus said. The tight, stressed look was fading from his face and he rocked his hips lightly against Jeremiah’s body. “It’s what I did think, months back when all this started to escalate. I fired all suspects, dammit! We put new encryptions on everything, all work emails are monitored, we have a camera on every single damn desk. And somehow the bastard is still getting information. Somehow he still knows.”
“So, if it’s not a leak, what could it be?”
Markus released his grip on Jeremiah’s hands as he started to rock back and forth with more intensity. Jeremiah held his waist, starting to move with him. “I just don’t know at this point. He’s psychic, apparently.”
Jeremiah let out a soft laugh. “Well, that can’t be it. He’s actually making accurate predictions.” They laughed together, softly. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find out what’s going on sooner or later.”
“Hopefully it will be sooner,” Markus grunted. Suddenly, his body went still and his eyes flashed as he looked down at Jeremiah. The smaller man squinted up at him, a little confused at the intensity of that gaze. It didn’t seem sexual but instead something else entirely. Something calculating, as if Jeremiah was a math problem that needed figuring.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
Markus grunted, the vocal equivalent of shrugging away a helping hand. “Don’t worry about it. I just might have a plan for later is all.”
At that, Markus started to tug and yank at Jeremiah’s clothes. Jeremiah let him pull the pajamas off, trying not to sound as perplexed as he felt. “Do I get to know later?”
“Oh, you’ll know very soon,” Markus promised.
That almost sounds like a threat.
But there was no more time for idle talk, as Markus leaned down over him and their lips crashed together. Their bodies were familiar with each other after years of intimacy, and they quickly became as one.
Chapter 2
It was a perfect day in the park, grass rippling in waves right alongside the curve of the river. Green against blue, the color of the world and all within its grasp.
Someday, Chris hoped everything he wanted would be within his grasp. He was content to work his ass off for it, but he did hope it would come eventually. Until then, this wasn’t so bad. Summer heat, cool breeze flowing in from across the river, and ice cream stands every twenty feet. Children flew their kites in the park, tossing frisbees and chasing each other amongst squeals of delight. Adults lounged in the shade of swaying tree branches, sipping beers and chatting with others. A mother breastfed her baby at a picnic table, beneath a blanket; the father sat beside her, the look on his face daring anyone to comment on such a beautiful and natural act. Two old women who should not have been in leggings jogged by, sweat streaming down their faces from beneath the headbands holding their hair up and out of the way. And there were animals everywhere, dogs on leashes and in designer purses, splashing in the river or roaming loose through the grass; squirrels ventured right up to the edge of picnic blankets, and some would even allow themselves to be hand-fed by those who were patient enough to wait for their approach; pigeons and crows took a different approach, of direct frontal assault on anyone who even looked as if they might have food in the near future.
A good day; a perfect day full of promise for the futures of everyone involved. And, hopefully, for the watchers like him who had to sit in the car and wait for their fate to come to them.
Chris was waiting for a potential investor. Not a particularly wealthy one, or one whose name was well-known outside of the lower circles of business, but an investor was an investor. What was good for him was going to be good for those who depended on him. He knew that, and he would never miss a chance to make an impression upon someone if he could. Even if he didn’t land this client now, or any other client at any certain time, they would remember his business tactics and speak of him to others, or return again in the future.
A little smile curved on his lips. There was so much more to this line of work than simple advancement. Sometimes to go forward, one had to walk sideways for a time. There were plenty of others in the business who hadn’t figured that out quite yet, and it was only a matter of time before he bypassed them.
He could wait. He was a patient man.
Well, most of the time.
Chris glanced again at his watch, taking note of the time. His client was three minutes late. It wasn’t a big deal but this was his last scheduled item for the day and he wanted to get it over and done with.
Don’t be too impatient, he scolded himself. He could have been held up in traffic. It’s not like New York isn’t busy as hell.
He was good at taking his own advice, unlike some people, and his shoulders instantly relaxed down from their tensed state. A little smile continued to play on his mouth as he leaned on one elbow out of the open window to take in the scents and sounds of the carefree world. So little structure… it was refreshing.
And, okay, maybe he was enjoying the view in a different way. It was a river. A nasty one, but that didn’t stop people from playing in it or taking advantage of its nearness and using it as an excuse to strip down as much as was considered publicly decent. Chris lazily drank in the sights of muscular male bodies, sunlight and shadows playing along the tanned curves of college boys wrestling in the sand on the river’s shoreline. Their legs were toned, lines of muscle bulging as they leaped and ran and chased one another.
If he hadn’t been so tied up at the moment, he would have picked one out amongst their numbers – the one most like himself, probably – and bought him an ice cream, or a cold soda, and engaged him in conversation just long enough for it to be acceptable to then take him somewhere else and pound the living daylights out of his ass. No ties, no mess except the good kind. Summer was built for those sorts of relationships.
Maybe someone would eventually come along who would capture his interest in a more organic way, but he doubted that would be the case until years down the road. Until then, it was best to enjoy his youth and the ability to explore.
And speaking of enjoying his youth, here came someone wandering down the pathway who was clearly doing the exact opposite. He was a tall, gangly young man a few years Chris’s junior. His short black hair was messy in a way that probably took a fair amount of gel and time to accomplish. That was about all Chris could see of him, protruding over the top of a heavy book in which his face was buried.
He’s going to run into someone, or step on a squirrel.
Surprisingly, neither of those happened. The black-haired guy navigated around the many pitfalls in his way as though he had an array of parking mirrors glued onto his body, but he just never lifted his face from that book.
Chris was baffled, and almost a little frightened. He wasn’t much of a reader himself, because who had time for that in this fast-paced technological world? But he also didn’t know many readers in general and this guy was just so into it.
His gaze followed the reading man all the way down to the end of the path, where the sidewalk trailed around into a curve through a small stand of trees. An ice cream cart had been set up just beyond that, and the reading man was obscured by its colorful umbrella.
Slouching back in his seat, Chris let out a little sigh. And saw someone else standing right near his car window, looking a bit impatient.
“Sorry!” Chris exclaimed, leaping up from his seat. At least, he tried to but discovered from the sharp pain lancing across his chest that he was still buckled in. A blush heating up on his cheeks, he fumbled with the buckle, opened the car door and stood. The words that fell from his lips were lost beneath a cacophony of annoying dinging sounds as the car dutifully reminded him that the keys were
still in the ignition. Groaning inwardly, Chris grabbed them and then turned to shake his client’s hand – with the hand that was still holding the keys. Embarrassed even more than before, Chris shoved the keys in his pocket and then offered his hand again.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, tilting his head downward slightly. “I was daydreaming for a bit there and you startled me.”
In situations like this, he had long since discovered it was best to be honest. That was another advantage his youth gave him: forty-year-olds admitting their mistakes earned scorn, but a twenty-six-year old taking responsibility for his actions was touted as being somehow more adult and yet also endearing. Chris didn’t understand how it worked only that it did.
His client was older than him by at least a decade, caught in those awkward years between youth and old age. He wore an awkward smile that was tangled up beneath unruly beard hairs, but his eyes twinkled slightly and his smile evened out into one full of mischief.
“Daydreaming, eh?” The client grinned and nodded out toward the park in front of them. “More like admiring the view. Plenty to see today.”
Chris nodded his agreement, although he had an idea that they were both admiring different aspects. He held out his hand, motioning slightly with it to remind his client that it was still there. They shook hands.
“It’s a pleasure to meet with you in person, Mr. King,” Chris said.
“And you, Mr. Finley.” Mr. King scratched at his rough beard. “Shall we get on, then? The park isn’t far from my home so I walked, but I haven’t yet eaten today. I know a place…”
Chris nodded, taking the hint. “Let’s get going, then,” he said. “I’m eager to discuss a future partnership with you.”
Being the gentleman that he was, he went around to the passenger side and opened the door for his client. Only when it was done and he was shutting the door after having been given a sidelong glance did he realize that a straight male might consider this an odd thing to do. Well, there was nothing he could do for it now. Hopefully, it would be taken as an overeager quirk.
