by K. Webster
“You don’t have to wear a tie here,” he says, his voice soft. He gestures at his button-down dress shirt sans tie. My eyes linger at the way the pale gray material clings to his broad shoulders.
“You make it sound like I have the job,” I mutter.
“Do you want the job?”
I pick at the knot of the tie, irritated that Madden tied it so tight. “I do. I really do.”
Scott smiles as he reaches forward. “Let me help you.”
This close, I’m transfixed by how good-looking he is. His dark brown hair has been styled messily on his head, making him seem playful and not at all the serious businessman the articles claimed him to be. It’s the green eyes that are so captivating. They tell stories—stories I want to know one day. And his mouth…
I lick my lips absently as I wonder what it’d be like to kiss him—kiss anyone for that matter. His hands are strong and sure as he unties the knot at my tie. Each time his fingers brush the flesh at my throat, tingles shoot through me. When he begins pulling the tie from around my neck, I’m stricken in horror.
What am I doing?
This feels…sexual.
I grip his wrist and then grab the tie. “I can do it.”
Disappointment flickers in his eyes, but he forces a smile before leaning back in his seat. The top two buttons are undone on his shirt and my eyes linger at that small patch of skin. I quickly stuff my tie into my pocket.
“Why do you want to be here, Malcolm? Sell it to me.”
I close my eyes and let out a breath of air. “I love creating graphics. Ever since I was a child, I was constantly drawing and coloring, but when I learned how to do it on the computer, it was a game changer for me. It started with practicing recreating video game characters or scenery, but then I evolved into my own creations. With the right coding, I could make my graphics move and speak. I thought maybe video game graphics was the direction I’d go in, but I like the idea of creating a little bit of everything. When I saw the ad for Hawkins Group, it sounded like something I could do—something I wanted to do.”
When I dare a glance at him, his green eyes are narrowed at me as he stares intensely at me.
“Did you bring some of your work?”
I pull out my 100 MB Zip disk from my pocket. “You have a Zip drive?”
“I do. In my office. Come on,” he says as he stands and plucks the Zip disk from my hand.
Suddenly eager to show off my work, I stand and gather my portfolio folder. Scott is easily a half a foot taller than me. But unlike when I stand beside my brother, I don’t feel insignificant. Scott’s eyes are alight with excitement to see what I have to offer and that makes me feel ten feet tall.
I follow him out of the conference room and when Sorro sees me, she smiles before mouthing, “I told you so.”
I can’t help but smile back and give her an awkward wave. We pass by an office where I can hear Wade speaking on the phone. Then, we pass by an empty office before walking into the one on the end. It’s large with a huge window overlooking Pearl Street. I don’t know what I expected from his office, but it wasn’t this.
It’s fun.
He really is like a kid.
I marvel at all the toys in his office. The man has an obscene collection of yo-yos piled up all over the place. But what has me grinning is his Beanie Baby collection in the windowsill. Mom would love this guy, even if his collection seems wimpy in comparison to hers. Eager for something to talk about, I walk over to the window and point at the Beanie Babies.
“This one’s worth eight hundred dollars,” I tell him. “Don’t take the tags off.” I frown when I realize one of the valuable ones is missing the tag.
“They’re priceless,” he tells me, coming to stand beside me. “My sister gave those to me. She always called me her lion.” He lets out a sigh as he touches the lion one. “She’s gone now.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Hell knowing her. She was always a trouble starter,” he says fondly. “Wherever she is, I hope Dad’s with her.”
The urge to hug him is overwhelming, but I refrain. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” he says quietly. “Let’s see what you got.”
Scott
I sit on the edge of my desk and motion for him to take the driver’s seat. At first, he seems unsure, but then settles the moment he sees my computer.
“Wow,” he croons. “This is really nice. Mom has a new Hewlett Packard at her job, but nobody at Lockheed has anything this cool, not even her boss man Al.”
He’s like a little kid in a candy shop as he marvels over my iMac G3. It’s teal and awesome as fuck, even if I don’t know how to work it half the time.
“Glad you approve,” I tease.
His smile falls and he darts a nervous glance my way.
Leaning forward, I clutch his shoulder. “I’m joking, Mal. I like you and if you’re as good as you say you are, I think you’d make a great addition to our team.”
He flashes me one of his shy smiles, but his brown eyes gleam with excitement from behind his glasses. “I’m as good as I say,” he tells me, his tone matter-of-fact despite the smug statement.
I watch in wonder as he easily flies through plugging the Zip disk into the drive and navigating through the computer to pull up the files. Once he has it pulled up, he taps the screen.
“Have a look,” he says, confidence in his normally unsure voice.
Sliding off the desk, I come around to stand behind him. As soon as I see the 3D animated orange wearing Jordans and doing jumping jacks, I gape in shock. I was expecting something a lot more basic.
“What else?” I say, urging him to show me more.
The next item is an aerial view of a home. It’s not a real picture, but it may as well be with all the details that’s gone into it. He mashes a button and the view zooms in until it cuts inside the house and we’re staring at a kitchen.
“Dude,” I mutter. “You didn’t tell me you were this good.”
He laughs and fuck if the sound doesn’t send a pulse of pleasure right to my dick. “This is my early stuff. Let me show you what I made the other day.”
I’m stunned when a picture of a man who looks just like him stares back at us. He mashes a button and his mouth opens. Another button makes his eyes close.
“Holy shit,” I say, playfully swatting at his shoulder. “Where the hell did you learn to do this?”
“I taught myself,” he replies simply as if that statement isn’t fucking cool in and of itself.
“Can I keep the Zip disk and look at it more later? I want to see what all you can do and think. I need to think.” My mind is already whizzing at all the possibilities. The one thing my clients love best about Hawkins Group is we’re always a step ahead. And that was with me being the mastermind. With Malcolm at the wheel, there’s no telling how far we could go.
“Sure,” he says quietly. “I’m sure you have a lot of people to interview.”
I’m jerked from my thoughts and step away, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ve been interviewing for weeks. No one and I mean no one has had one ounce of your abilities.”
At that, he snaps his head up in confusion. “You like my stuff?”
“Man, I love your stuff. You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“Me?” he asks in astonishment.
“Hell yeah. And if you’re game, I’d like you to start tomorrow.”
“You’re giving me the job?”
Fuck, he’s cute.
“We were prepared to pay forty-seven thousand a year, but with your abilities, we’ll be sure to bring in more business. If you’re okay with frequent travel, I’d be able to offer you fifty-five instead.”
His mouth drops open. “W-Wait? You want to pay me forty-seven thousand dollars to do what I love?”
I laugh. “No, goofball. I want to give you fifty-five if you’ll agree to also fly with me to see clients and go to conferences when the need arises.”
> “That’s too much,” he breathes.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” I tell him, shrugging. “I want you. For Hawkins Group,” I clarify. “You’re the missing piece.”
“I, uh, I don’t know what to say…”
“You say yes and then you grab your coat. We can chat over the fine details next door. Say you’ll do it, man.”
“I’ll do it?”
“Sounded like a question…”
“Y-Yes. I want this,” he blurts out as he rises to his feet.
“Good,” I say with a grin. “I want this too. Oh, there’s one other requirement.”
He fidgets under my intense stare. “What requirement?”
“You have to get a company issued mobile phone.”
“I don’t have anyone to call,” he argues, panic flashing in his brown eyes.
“You have me.” I shrug. “I make all my employees have one. Wade hates his and Sorro gets in trouble for overusing hers. I just need to be able to reach you at all times. This job is going to be a lot of long hours. I’m kind of a workaholic and I expect the same of my employees.”
“I want to work,” he says quickly. “And I don’t mind being available for you. I just…I’m not good talking to people. I think you can see that.”
“You’re still young,” I tell him gently. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. This means the world to me. I won’t let you down.”
“Call me Scott. And I know,” I tell him with a smirk. “I wouldn’t hire you if I thought you would. Didn’t get this far making bad decisions. I know a good thing when I see it.”
Cleto’s is busy for a Tuesday morning, but we manage to find a high-top table near the window. All confidence Malcolm had shown earlier has been replaced by anxiety. He stares intently at the menu, the collar of his coat flipped up and his shoulders lifted as though he can hide inside the damn thing. It makes me wonder if I should offer to take him someplace more intimate. I’m about to suggest a quieter place when he flashes me a small smile.
God, I barely know the guy and his smiles make my stomach flop every time. I give him a wink before perusing the menu.
“They have a great spinach and artichoke dip here. I know it’s still breakfast time, but sometimes I get it on a bagel,” I tell him, pointing at it on the menu.
“Yuck,” he mutters before straightening in his seat. “I mean, uh, I don’t like spinach.”
I cock my head to the side, studying him. “What do you like?”
“I like eggs and cheese and ham.”
“They have the scrambler’s delight. Ham, cheese, eggs, and green onions all slathered under chunky homemade salsa. Sorro loves that one.”
His nose scrunches up. “Can we get it without the green onions and salsa?”
“Can’t promise it’ll taste as good,” I say with a chuckle. “Do you not like vegetables?”
He cringes as though I’ve insulted him, which confuses me. “I like plain foods.”
Kind of like my niece Britney. I quickly scan the menu for what she usually gets.
“The ham and cheese toasty bagel is really good. They can substitute grapes for your side rather than the home-style potatoes listed.”
He nods quickly. “That sounds great.” Then, he gives me a sheepish look. “I once told my mom I thought about becoming a vegetarian, mostly because I was looking for a reason to get out of eating meat…” A tortured expression crosses over his features.
“But then you realized you hated vegetables and eating them was necessary for being a vegetarian?”
He laughs—and fuck if I don’t get hard at the sound. “Pretty much. My mom wasn’t having it. Apparently that’s for fairies anyway.” He rolls his eyes. “I can eat all that other stuff, but I just don’t like it.”
I want to probe him and ask why his mother would choose such wording. Is he openly gay? Knowing that’s just wishful thinking on my part, I offer him a smile.
“I won’t force you to do anything that makes you unhappy,” I tell him in a conspiratorial tone. “Our secret.”
This seems to lighten the tension considerably because he relaxes. “I can’t believe I’ll get my own office. Thank you again for this opportunity. I’m blown away.”
He nearly shit a brick when I showed him the office between mine and Wade’s. Sorro helped him fill out the proper paperwork for hiring him and then we left his portfolio folder in his new office to break for our date.
Although, to him, it’s probably not a date.
I can’t help but pretend, though.
I’ve dated plenty of both men and women. And normally, I have a type. Delicate and beautiful. Confident. And Malcolm, though he’s cute as hell, is not my type at all. He’s awkward and nervous. I can barely get him to hold eye contact. But I’ve never been on a date with anyone that makes me feel so invigorated and hopeful. I felt this way the moment he stepped out of that Trans Am both flustered and angry. Strangest shit I’ve ever experienced. My brother-in-law, Lennon, is going to have a fucking field day next time I see him and recount all of this to him.
When the waitress drops by to take our order, I sense that he’s waiting on me to order for him, so I take it upon myself to do so. It makes it feel more like a date that way, but I try hard not to give too much hope to that idea. The last thing I need to do is scare away a good employee because I want to fuck his brains out. My dick is going to have to sit down on the sidelines.
For now.
“What?” he asks as soon as she sets down our drinks and leaves.
I laugh. “What do you mean?”
“You’re staring at me like something’s wrong with me.”
This sobers me up and I frown. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Mal. In fact, I’m marveling over that fact right now.”
He scoffs. “Everything’s wrong with me.” His head cocks to the side. “You don’t have to be so nice to me. I know I’m goofy and weird. Once I get comfortable working with you, it’s my hope that it’ll lessen.”
“I don’t know where you get these ideas in your head, but as I said, nothing is wrong with you. Clearly we don’t see the same person.” I’m miffed that he has such a low view of himself. I’ve barely known him an hour and I can see he’s someone special.
His dark brown eyebrows knit together. “My brother thinks—”
“Your brother.” I flash him a wicked look. “The whole reason for our date. We’re not here to talk about how he picks on you, we’re here to discuss what a dickhead he is. Remember?”
A laugh escapes him, lighting up his whole face. “He hates my music.”
“What kind of music do you like?”
He fidgets in his chair. “You probably hate it too.”
“I like everything. Try me.”
“Destiny’s Child,” he says, his brown eyes flaring in challenge.
“Say my name, say my name,” I belt out, earning a few startled looks from people nearby.
Malcolm snorts. “Oh my God! Don’t sing it!” He’s embarrassed but on my behalf. It’s fucking cute.
“What else?” I probe.
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not giving you ammunition to do that again.”
I press my fist to my chest. “You didn’t like my singing? I’m wounded, man.”
“You’re no Beyoncé.” He shrugs. “But who is, you know?”
“Crush on Beyoncé, hmm?”
His smile falls. “Sure. Doesn’t everyone?” Most guys with a working dick, yes. But not guys who aren’t into shapely curves and tits. His answer pleases me.
“Sorro listens to music a lot up at the office. Wade hates it when she puts on Deee-Lite. She gets really into singing that song.” I chuckle. “I’m more of a grunge man myself. Ever heard of it?”
“I have MTV.” He gives me a “duh” look. “Soundgarden. Pearl Jam. Nirvana. Alice in Chains. Just because I’m black doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with rap like my sister Melody.”<
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“Dude, I wasn’t stereotyping you,” I say as the waitress brings our food. “It was just a question.”
He relaxes and pops a grape in his mouth. “Ever been to any concerts?” he asks, chewing his grape over his words. “I wanted to go to a Fugees concert, but my mom threw a fit.”
“Why?” I ask before taking a bite of my breakfast burrito. “Fugees are the shit.”
“Right?” he agrees. “She said I was looking for trouble going to a concert like that.”
“Because…” I implore.
His shoulders slump and he gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Mal, bud, I can sniff out a lie when I hear one. Why didn’t she let you go? You were too young?”
He chews on the inside of his lip. “It was this summer. I was old enough. She thought…she didn’t think I could handle it. Even with Madden tagging along.”
“Did your mom forget you’re an adult?”
He blinks at me several times. “I’m an adult.”
“Exactly. An adult with a bitchin’ graphic arts job paying fifty-five grand a year.”
“An adult who’ll have a mobile phone,” he says, nodding. “Even though said adult only has one person to call. She doesn’t need to know that, though.”
I chuckle. “Soon you’ll be driving and living out on your own. Oh the horror!”
“Maybe,” he says with a sheepish smile as he cuts his bagel into pieces. “Hard to imagine.”
“If you can imagine a moving graphic styled after your own face, you can imagine anything, Mal. Let yourself live a little. You took the job. Why not take the rest of what life offers you?”
He cuts one of the bite-sized pieces into quarters. I wonder why he has such issues with food. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is easy,” I tell him. “Just do it.”
“Okay, Nike.”
“Aww, the kid’s got jokes.”
He bristles at my words and it’s then I realize my mistake. Without thinking, I reach across the table and brush my fingers over the back of his hand.
“I call everyone kid. It’s just a thing, not an indicator of your age,” I say softly. My fingers stroke over his soft brown skin again before I pull away reluctantly. “Truce?”
