by Anna Zabo
The look of incredulity. Justin must have practiced that one for ages. “But not for Ping-Pong.” Eli tapped his leg with his cane.
“Then what?” Curiosity in Justin’s voice.
“Macramé.”
Justin laughed, though. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not at all. I find tying knots into rope very soothing.” Especially when wrapped around limbs and torsos.
Justin’s smile faded as color rose up his neck. Yes, Justin. Imagine that for a moment. “And speaking of knotty issues, I need to go finish taking apart a proposal.” Eli turned his attention to Sam. “If you no longer need me?”
“No, thanks, E.”
Eli rose and turned from Justin, partly to cover his arousal, but mostly because Justin wore a look that made Eli want to stroke his cheek. “Door open or closed?”
Sam also had an interesting expression, one that said he would pay Eli a visit later. “Open’s fine.” Eli crossed the hall to his office.
Challenge accepted. They would both see how that went.
* * *
When Eli left, Justin could breathe a bit easier. He looked up at Sam. “Macramé?”
Sam shrugged. “You’ll need to ask him.”
That didn’t help the movie playing in Justin’s head, the one where Eli wrapped rope around Justin’s hands. As if Justin would let him. “He hates me.”
“No.” Sam folded his hands into his lap. “Eli rarely speaks to those he dislikes. He certainly doesn’t banter with them.”
Well, shit.
“Do you have a problem with Eli?”
Fear leached into Justin’s bones. “No.” He couldn’t afford to lose this job, especially on the first day. “He’s—he seems cold. Sometimes.” When he wasn’t setting Justin on fire with quips and smoldering looks.
“He expects a lot from you.” Sam leaned forward and rested his hands on his desk. “I do as well, for that matter. Eli is exacting, even with me, but fair. You’ll see.”
That sounded like a dismissal. “So after lunch, training with Eli?”
“Yep. That covers it.”
The bathroom fans up here were as silent as owls’ wings. No chance of jacking off. “Guess I should grab lunch.”
“Wise plan.”
Justin stood. Hours with Eli. Wonderful.
* * *
The forty-five minutes that Justin spent eating Middle Eastern food with engineering blew past far too fast. When they returned to the office, his coworkers disappeared into the back, leaving Justin at the mouth of the lion’s den.
Justin steeled himself and knocked on the doorframe.
A small startle, a final glance at the screen—checking the time, Justin realized—then Eli swung around and smiled. “Right on time.”
That sent a shiver down Justin’s spine. “I did tell you.”
“So you did.” The smile didn’t diminish. “Get your laptop and cord. I’ll show you the tasks on your computer. Kill two birds, as it were.”
When he returned, Eli was carrying a chair from the center table to his desk, his face twisted in pain.
“If you’d waited, I could have—”
The words died in Justin’s throat when Eli looked up. A fleeting glimpse of deep anger and pride, which vanished under what Justin had assumed was cold indifference.
A mask. Same one his sister wore sometimes. Shit. Car crash when he was fifteen. Meant Eli had been living with his leg for half his life or more. You’re a fuckhead.
Eli straightened. “I’ve told everyone in the office this—including Sam—and I will tell you. If I want your help, I’ll ask for it. If I don’t, then I don’t want your help. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” Justin clutched the laptop to his chest, which hurt like hell. He knew that look, had seen it on Mercy. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”
Eli patted the chair. “Come sit. I’m not mad, just . . .”
“Frustrated?”
Another sharp look from Eli.
Justin held the computer tighter. “My sister lost her legs in Iraq. I should know better.”
A look of understanding and compassion. “Justin, sit down.”
For once, the command didn’t rankle. Justin sat and placed the laptop on the desk. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, you weren’t.” No rancor. Eli slid into his own chair. “Is not thinking going to be an ongoing issue?”
Justin couldn’t help the flinch. “Don says I have a habit of leaping before seeing whether there’s ground underneath. Good sometimes . . .”
“. . . but not others.” Eli chuckled. “Yes, that’s Don.” He paused. “You did fine with approaching Sam. Surely that was premeditated?”
“Oh, when I want something, it’s easier.”
“Good. That’s a starting point, then.”
“For what?”
“Giving you incentive to think.”
Holy fuck, the edge to that smile and bright flash of teeth. Every minute with Eli was like working in goddamned free fall.
Eli nodded toward Justin’s laptop. “Open that thing, and I’ll show you how to do the most hellish job in the office.”
Training with Eli wasn’t that bad. Expense reports were tedious and boring, but they gave a glimpse into the work Sam did. Justin drove the process as much as he could, Eli walking him through the steps.
“You do this for engineering, too?” Justin stretched, popping a few vertebrae in his neck.
“I tried having them do their own, but I ended up redoing them.” Eli tapped absently on his desk. No gloves. Those sat to the right of Justin, the faint odor of leather washing up from time to time.
“It’s not going to scale well.”
“Oh, don’t I know that.” Eli stretched his arms over his head—and shit, the man had muscles underneath the sleeves of his shirt. Smelled good, too. A scent clean and deep—sandalwood? “Theory is, when we’re big enough for it to matter, we’ll have better software, training, and staff.”
“But for the time being it’s not worth the struggle?”
Eli lowered his arms. “Exactly.” He tapped Justin’s computer. “Think you can repeat that?”
“Yeah. It’s straightforward enough, if you have the right paperwork.”
“Good.” Eli picked up a stack of files from farther down his desk and dropped them on Justin’s open laptop. “Enjoy. I certainly will.”
Walked right into that. “Been putting those off for a while?”
“I always do, for as long as I can. Thank you for getting hired before the quarter ends.” Eli’s grin was infectious.
Justin couldn’t help the laugh. “Now I know the true reason you didn’t veto me.”
That earned him a chuckle. “Back to your own office.”
Justin stood and gathered his laptop and his newly acquired files. “I’ll make sure I come by every five minutes with a question.” He gave Eli his slyest smile and fled for the door, but not before Eli’s reply caught him.
“You do that, and I’ll turn you over my knee and tan your bottom.”
It took every ounce of control Justin had not to spill the laptop and the files all over the hallway. He made it to his desk, but barely.
He would what?
Justin looked across the hall and Eli smiled back.
Maybe he shouldn’t have made that “challenge accepted” crack after all. More than anything, he wanted to test Eli’s threat. Every nerve in Justin’s body begged for release.
Bent over those knees? That hand on his ass? Justin collapsed into his desk chair. An hour more of work. Then three hours of lecture.
Would Eli really . . . ?
There went any hope of concentrating in class.
As the day wore on, every time Justin looked out the office door, Eli was there, across the hall, most of the time intently working, thankfully. But the last time Justin looked, right before five, he met a wicked smile. Eli casually held up a ruler—an old-fashioned wooden one.
Goo
se bumps rose on every inch of Justin’s skin. There must be a sign on Justin that pointed out every one of his buttons, because Eli pushed them all. The casual way Eli slipped his gloves on after he’d set the ruler down stiffened his dick even more. Justin turned away, because if he looked much longer, he would forget to breathe—and, fuck, did his balls hurt. Biking would be a torment. Maybe the pain would take the edge off the mind-boggling amount of heat and desire and Eli swirling in his head.
“Mr. White.”
That didn’t help. “Yes?”
Eli stood in the doorway, gloved hands on top of his silver-capped walking stick. “How are you coming . . .” Eli paused, just long enough that Justin knew the word choice had been intentional. ”. . . with the reports?”
“It’s been quite frustrating, actually.”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I’m lacking quite a lot of information.” Justin let his own pause sink in. “You were right about needing the correct paperwork.”
“If you ask, you’ll usually get what you want.” Eli tapped his cane on the carpeting. “See you tomorrow, Justin.”
“Good night.”
Then Eli was gone.
Justin lowered his head until his brow met the edge of the desk. He was pretty damn sure Eli wasn’t straight. “Fuck.”
A very quiet chuckle came from the inside office.
Holy shit. He’d forgotten about Sam. Oh, fuck. Hey, Mercy, I got a new job. Lost it on my first day, too.
Justin lifted his head and pushed back from the desk. Time to get out of here and down to campus. Get his head screwed on straight or this would be the shortest job he ever had. He grabbed his backpack and bike helmet and steeled himself to say good-bye to Sam.
If Sam was angry, he didn’t show it. He looked up from the paperwork and smiled.
“I’m heading out. Class tonight.”
“Have a good one.”
“Thanks.” Justin headed toward the outer door, but Sam called his name. He peeked back into the office. “Yes?”
“You’re doing fine. Very few people can hold their own against Eli.”
Justin wet his lips and searched for something to say. There wasn’t anything, just heat radiating from his face.
“Have a good class, J.”
“Thanks.”
This time, Justin escaped the office and unchained his bike. He had no idea what to make of Sam’s comments—other than whatever game he and Eli were playing didn’t upset the boss.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Last time he’d flirted like this, he’d ended up in Francis’s trap. No job. No money. No freedom. Justin swallowed bile. Eli had a job, at least. That put him in an entirely different category. Justin pushed off and pedaled toward campus.
Chapter Four
There was an unwritten rule about Pittsburgh weather that in October, when the leaves crunched under foot, there would be one day with clear blue skies and temperatures in the seventies. Eli glanced up. That day had arrived right on schedule and had made the entire office itch to get out—even Sam.
After an obnoxiously long telephone conference, Sam offered Eli lunch and lured Justin along with the promise of buying. Engineering had scampered out earlier. If Sanhex hadn’t been such shits, the whole office might have gone out together, though Eli didn’t mind the smaller group.
Justin stood out against Sam’s suit, with his rock t-shirt, leather wrist brace, and ripped blue jeans. His casual clothes had grown on Eli, especially when he could admire Justin’s ass as they walked up Murray Avenue. One benefit of his leg—which ached like hell, despite the good weather—was that his pace was slower than Sam’s or Justin’s. He’d let them take the lead.
Sam said something and Justin laughed. Eli smiled and the pain in his step faded a bit.
Justin had settled in nicely the past few weeks. He’d managed to wheedle all the necessary expense paperwork out of Fazil in a matter of days, rather than the two weeks it usually took Eli. Even Sam had coughed up missing information for Justin after a single inquiry.
Perhaps the pretty face helped, even with straight-as-sin Fazil. Or the offbeat demeanor. Certainly Justin’s fine features still drove Eli out of his mind. Not that he’d let Justin see that. Instead, he left his ruler and his gloves on the edge of his desk—and didn’t Justin stare at those every time he entered the room or walked past.
Was it idle curiosity? Hard to tell—Eli had certainly met plenty of men who talked the talk and ran the fuck away when an actual flogger and a set of cuffs came out. If Justin was a submissive, he was likely a horribly bratty one. Every one of Eli’s nerves sang at that thought
They reached the top of Murray and Sam stopped outside of the Silk Elephant. Thai tapas. Perfect for lunch.
“One of Eli’s favorite places.” Sam held the door open for both Eli and Justin, the bells on the door clattering pleasantly.
“You like things hot?” A quirk to those lips.
Sam wore a poker face. Badly, but that was Sam for you.
The hostess smiled. “Welcome, three for lunch?”
Eli nodded, avoiding Justin’s question. “Yes, please.”
“We’re clearing off tables right now. Won’t be more than a few minutes.”
“Excellent.”
They waited by the door while the staff worked. By the looks of things, they’d arrived just at the end of the lunchtime rush.
The bells on the door chimed, sounding the arrival of more patrons. Eli paid the ringing no mind until a man’s voice sounded at Eli’s back, as musical and cutting as he remembered. “Do you ever wonder what became of our son?” In Ladino, of course, so Eli would understand but no one else would.
Splinters of glass cut their way up Eli’s spine. His parents still lived in the area, but they’d all managed to carve out an existence that excluded one another. Not today, though, because here they were. If they still kept strict kashrut, they shouldn’t have been here.
“Maybe he would have grown into a fine man and not a . . .” His mother’s voice soft voice trailed off, but the missing word drove the stabbing straight into his skull. Monster. Fag. Whore. Disobedient son. He’d heard those and more.
Air. He needed to breathe. Unclench his jaw. Not think of Noah’s smile or the blood or the sound of metal crumpling or Rachel’s cut-off scream or Milka sitting next to him in the car as it turned and bent and shattered. His friends, his love: gone, all gone.
“He certainly wouldn’t have kept the company of miscreants. That one is as painted as a prostitute.”
Justin and his eyeliner. White haze ringed Eli’s vision, but everything else became sharp, including the beating of his heart, the ache in his leg, and the rage clawing through his chest. Eli spun, cane scraping against the floor.
“They’re my coworkers, actually.” He spoke English through years of bile and pain. He couldn’t navigate the heat in his heart and mind to even attempt Ladino. “My CEO and his assistant.”
The nearby banter in the restaurant quieted.
“E—”
He ignored Sam’s voice, his tug at Eli’s sleeve, and stared into unflinching eyes the same color as his own.
“Is that any way to speak to speak to me?” his father said, but then he’d always been strict with Eli.
“You shouldn’t be so rude.” So much worse to look at his mother. At one point, she’d actually loved him.
Justin pulled him away from the memories that lurked, the ones that might drag him under again. “The table’s ready.”
Eli managed a shuddering breath. “I’m dead to you. How can the dead be rude?” He put his back to them and followed Sam and Justin to the table.
Both men were quiet. Eli’s fingers shook. He shouldn’t have lost it, should have just ignored the taunting. But the hole in the center of his being, the one filled with loss, betrayal, and dishonor, hadn’t quite healed over. He needed to ignore the prickling at the backs of his eyes, too.
Eighteen
years.
“E . . .”
“Don’t start with me, Sam.” The words snapped out like a whip. Justin flinched.
Sam tilted his head. No anger. No condemnation. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You know we have your back.”
The tension in Eli’s shoulders eased. The waiter brought water, and a long sip of that helped as well. He blinked until his eyes stopped watering, until the storm in his head quieted. The voices, the screeching of tires, and the rending metal faded.
Justin wrapped his hands around his glass, his blue eyes wide. “Are you all right?” Concern and a total lack of snark. Eli hadn’t thought that possible.
“Yes.” Eli paused. “I will be. Give me a moment.”
Justin nodded and searched his water for several heartbeats. “What the hell had you in a meeting until twelve thirty, anyway?”
Sam sat back. “Sanhex wants assurances that we’d succeed in turning their mess around.”
Justin flipped open his menu. “But you don’t do that. No consulting firm can.”
“Exactly, and we won’t. It’s a big legal black hole. But they wouldn’t take that for an answer.” Sam gave the menu a cursory glance before setting it aside. Probably lamb curry. Sam had his habits and only Michael could break them.
Eli stared at the menu, but the words didn’t make sense. Somewhere behind him—he’d purposefully put his back to the rest of restaurant—his parents sat. Whatever they ate, the protein would likely be tofu—they might not be so strict anymore, but he doubted they’d dropped kashrut completely, so eating out meant vegetarian. Funny how they could bend the rules for themselves, but not for their own son.
Eli closed his eyes. There was the pull to order something pork or shrimp . . . and the resistance not to. The desire to rebel. The need to not react. His hands shook more, which made holding the menu hard.
Justin’s voice broke through the pounding of blood in Eli’s head. “Do you know what you want?”
“Yup,” Sam said. “Beef Massaman curry.”
Eli opened his eyes. “Not lamb?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded stretched and thin.
Sam shrugged. “Michael’s tired of leftover lamb. Suggested I try something else.”
