Just Business

by Anna Zabo

  A snort from Michael. “Nice to see you, too, Eli.”

  Hearing his full name made Eli swing back around. Michael had folded himself into one of the chairs at the guest table. “Why are you here?”

  Michael wore his usual five-o’clock best, though the tropical shirt had long sleeves and socks had sprouted between his feet and Dockers. Winter wear. “I wanted to see how you were.” Quiet words, and personal. No masks, no games.

  “I’m . . .” He never had managed to be able to lie to Michael. He stole a glance at the door, wishing for a moment he could see Justin and glad he could not. He returned his focus to Michael. “No, why are you here?”

  Michael sat forward, elbows on knees, and leveled a long, measured stare at Eli, as if trying to peer inside. Eli knew there were cracks in his façade and Michael was one of the few who could see every single one.

  “Justin White.”

  Like the shock from static or the first lash of a whip. Eli tightened his hands around the armrests of his chair. “What about him?”

  Michael tilted his head. “I’ve watched you scene before and fuck men afterward. Never with that kind of intensity, with that much passion.”

  The floor might have fallen away, because Eli tumbled fast enough to gasp. He held on to the chair as the room shuddered. Only it was him shivering in his warm office. Passion. Yes. That, too. “He’s . . . different from the others.”

  “No shit,” Michael said. “You took him on as a sub, didn’t you?”

  Now it was too warm in the room. “No.” The words were thick in his throat. “I took him on as a boyfriend.”

  Both of Michael’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Have you dated anyone since . . . ?”

  “Since you? No.” He was on his feet in a heartbeat, despite the protest in his leg. But he needed to move.

  “E . . .” Michael didn’t even need to finish the sentence.

  “I don’t know, Michael. I have no idea what I’m doing. You know I’m shit at these sorts of things.” He paced to the door, turned, and paced back. There, against the wall, was the cane he’d used to fuck Justin. And there was the spike of desire and elation at having done so. He faced Michael and waited.

  And waited. Michael straightened but didn’t rise. “I honestly came by to see if you were okay. Taking on a sub for more than an evening is unusual for you. But this . . .” He huffed a laugh. “This is a good thing, E.”

  “Is it?” He sat against his desk, not willing to give up the inches he had on Michael. Not in his office.

  Another chuckle.

  It was a strange, wonderful predicament. He relaxed and let go of the walls. “I haven’t felt like this with anyone. Not since . . . Noah. And that was puppy love. This is richer, more expansive. I can’t even describe . . .” His gaze strayed to the door again. “I can’t get him out of my mind. He’s infuriating. Brilliant. Amusing.”

  “Hotter than sin?”

  “I don’t believe in sin.” Eli focused on Michael. “But yes. That, too.” He paused. “I suppose people noticed.”

  Michael laughed. Loudly, too. “Noticed? Jesus, Eli! You knelt and kissed his tattoo. You cuddled with him on a couch, and then you took him home. Yes, people noticed.”

  Eli’s cheeks burned. “We spent the rest of the weekend together.”

  “Good.”

  Good? “That’s it? No comment, no quip?”

  A grin—one that always warmed Eli even in friendship—graced Michael’s lips. “If it makes you happy, E, it’s good.”

  It did make him happy—giddy, even. But . . . “I’m not sure Justin feels the same way.”

  Michael’s expression slipped. “What do you mean?”

  “He nearly left Saturday morning. I don’t know why.”

  Michael shrugged. “Nerves? You are a bit intense. Give it time.”

  “I know. It’s just—what if it doesn’t work?” Even thinking the words drilled a pit into the depth of his soul. Had he gotten attached to Justin’s snark and smile so soon?

  Michael studied his hands. “You’ve been there before.”

  He had, with the man who sat before him. It had hurt, that breakup, because there were so many things right about Michael. They’d settled into a good friendship, and that had allowed Eli to be there to help when Michael’s world—personal and work—had fallen apart.

  “I don’t want to go there again.” It had been bad enough with Michael. With Justin? He rubbed his eyes. “There are so many unknowns.”

  Michael shook his head, but the smile had returned. “Oh, Eli. That’s part of the thrill.”

  And the terror. “I’m not in love.”

  Michael stood. “You’ve always been such a horrible liar.” It took three steps for Michael to cross to the door on his long legs. “One of your best qualities.” His smile was heartwarming, then he was out the door and crossing the hall to Sam’s office.

  In Michael’s wake sat Justin. Meeting his gaze only made Eli’s heart race faster. The world wobbled and tilted. Michael had been right, as usual. He really couldn’t lie for shit.

  Chapter Twelve

  Justin shut his apartment door and threw his keys onto his kitchen table. A night at home—such as it was. That had become a bit rare over the past five weeks. He’d spent quite a few nights at Eli’s—it was closer to work and school. But he needed to do some laundry, balance his pitiful excuse for a bank account, and call his parents.

  None of those he wanted to do in Eli’s pristine house.

  As usual, his mom answered the phone.

  “Hey, honey, how are you?” Relief colored his mother’s words.

  Justin winced. She always worried when he didn’t call regularly. “It’s only been a week, Mom.” He’d even called on Thanksgiving from the party at Sam’s house.

  She chuckled, but it lacked humor. “I just like hearing your voice.”

  For so many months, not too long ago, she’d heard nothing from him at all. His fault for becoming trapped by Francis. “I know. I’m fine. School is going really well.”

  “Your advisor likes your work?”

  “Yup. I met with Don a few days ago.” He filled her in on the highlights of his classwork and the capstone . . . as far as he could without boring her to pieces with talk of finance and business psychology. “And working with Sam Anderson is still fantastic. I’m learning so much.”

  “He’s not worried about your schooling, right? Or pressuring you too much? I know you enjoy the job, but . . .” There was the hint of mom worry. “You’ve done so much toward your degree. Don’t leave it behind.”

  He’d left his last, very good job for the high of being fucked and beaten into submission. For a moment, he felt Eli’s lips on his neck and Eli’s voice in his ear. This what you’ve been craving? Like Francis had said.

  Justin stood to shake off the memory. “Sam knew about the MBA when he hired me. There’s no pressure, Mom.” Not from Sam, anyway. “Don says it’s great experience. I’m getting credit for it.” Something clanged on the other end and Justin glanced at the clock. It was just past seven . . . so six there. “Did I call during dinner?”

  “I’m getting things ready. Mercy had a support meeting tonight. Also your father’s picking up some extra hours at the shop.”

  Time and a half. Justin kicked at his bag. If he hadn’t screwed up so royally in California, his dad wouldn’t be working so hard right before retirement. “I’m sorry I’m not helping out more.”

  This time, the sound of running water slid behind his mother’s voice. “Justin,” she said in a sweet and gentle tone he didn’t deserve, “you help out more than enough as it is. Moving to Pittsburgh, getting your MBA . . . That’s quite enough. Sounds like things have turned around for you.”

  “They have.”

  “Focus on that. Mercy wouldn’t want you killing yourself over her, and neither do we.”

  “I know.” But he owed them so much. They’d saved him.

  “You still having issues wit
h that man at work? The one with the cane?”

  Oh shit. Eli. He hadn’t mentioned him during the last three calls. “No!” He coughed. “No. He’s . . .” Beautiful. Demanding. Wanton. Justin glanced at his apartment. It could fit in Eli’s living room and half of his kitchen. “He’s been fine.”

  Silence on the other end. Even the clanking of dishes had stopped. He pictured his mother, her long silver hair pulled back, hand on her hip, while the other held the phone. Her lips pulled thin. He’d never been able to discuss a man he liked without tripping over himself. He knew exactly what was coming next. Dreaded it. Maybe if he talked about Eli, he could figure his head out.

  “Is there something between you two?”

  Justin bit his tongue and answered. “Yeah. We started talking more. We’re . . .” How hard was it to admit? “We’ve been dating.” God, how would his mother react? Hell, he couldn’t believe he was dating Eli.

  She started speaking a few times, the sounds staccato in his ear. Finally, the question formed. “You’re not . . . in one of those relationships again? With the collars and whips and . . .” She trailed off.

  Justin wrapped an arm around his middle. She’d seen him after he’d left Francis, the bruises, the cuts on his wrists from hanging in rope too long. “It’s not like it was with—”

  “Justin, please please please don’t do this to us again.” Her voice cracked and broke his heart.

  She’d read between the words and tone. His back bore Eli’s marks and his ass was still sore from the last glorious caning scene. His memory of that crumbled to ash. “Mom, it’s not . . .” The words stuck in his throat.

  It’s not the same. Was it? He was wrapped up in another rich, domineering man’s life.

  “You’re not living with him, are you?”

  “No!” Sure, he spent a lot of time at Eli’s, but he still had this place. Still had his own life. Mostly. Except on weekends and some evenings. “I’m in my apartment, Mom.”

  A sigh of relief. “Good.”

  “We just see each other at work. Sometimes on the weekends.” Most of them. Hell, he’d even taken to doing his homework in Eli’s kitchen. It was quiet, and Eli rewarded him with sex and pain. Justin shivered.

  “It’s not like it was before.” Lie. Even his mother heard it.

  “Oh, honey.”

  “I’m being careful, Mom. I’m not going to vanish again.” Justin glanced over at the suit that hung from his bathroom door, perfect its plastic bag. Finely tailored to his measurements, bought with Eli’s money for him to wear this weekend so Eli could take him to dinner and a show in the Cultural District without being embarrassed.

  His gut felt full of rocks and pins. Bile rose.

  “I know you need to live your life,” his mother said into his ear. Justin closed his eyes when his stomach tumbled. “But please be careful? And call. Or e-mail. Mercy loves hearing from you.”

  Keep in touch. Don’t become trapped again. Don’t become a thing again. Justin swallowed. “I will, I promise. He’s not like the other guy, Mom. I swear.” Dusty words. He barely heard them over the pounding of his heart.

  “I hope so.” The sounds of pots and pans resumed. “I should go. Your sister will be home soon, and I need to get this in the oven.”

  Justin opened his eyes. The suit was still there. “I love you, Mom. Thank you.”

  “Love you, too, honey. And we’re here for you, you know that. Anytime.”

  For anything. He shivered again. Was the apartment cold, or was it the ice in his blood? As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t turn away from the suit. “I know.”

  “Bye, sweetheart.”

  “Bye, Mom.” He didn’t turn off the phone until he heard the click on the other end. Even after, he stared at Eli’s suit. A gift, Eli had said. Justin had trusted that.

  Fuck. He was doing it again, wasn’t he? Justin set down the phone and dropped his head to his hands. Hook, line, sinker. He’d been caught.

  * * *

  Conference calls must have been created by a bastard who actually got off on people being truly miserable. Eli rubbed his temple to abate the growing headache and stared across his guest table at Sam, whose creased brow gave away his annoyance.

  At least he wasn’t the only one.

  “Mind if we take a bit of a break? Say five minutes?” The smooth voice of Gerald Cunningham slithered from the speaker like a snake over rocks.

  “Not at all.” Sam’s cheerful tone didn’t match his haggard expression.

  “We’ll start again at ten ’til.”

  “Great.” Sam hit the mute button on the Polycom. The false joviality fell away. “They’re toying with us.”

  Sanhex still hadn’t signed the deal. They’d been working on their shit anyway, in good faith. “You think?”

  “Eli,” Sam snapped. He rubbed his forehead. “Sorry. I shouldn’t . . .”

  He waved it away. “No, I’m being a prick. I thought we had this all worked out.” They even had an unofficial e-mail from Sanhex’s CEO saying they planned to sign today. Now this hellish call to explain everything again. When Sanhex did commit, the money—and the references—would be more lucrative than gold. It was a gamble, but one Eli had agreed with.

  “One of us is going to have to go out there.” Sam leaned back in his chair and blew air, puffing out his cheeks. “Or both of us. Jen and Fazil weren’t enough.”

  “If I go, I’m taking a crop and using it on Gerald’s ass.”

  Sam gave him a look that could peel paint from walls. “Not funny, Eli.”

  It wasn’t. But the quirk that had always gotten him into trouble at every other company, very much wanted to rail at the executives of Sanhex until they submitted to him and listened. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m just—”

  “Frustrated.” Sam glanced at his watch.

  Only a couple more hours and he’d be off to dinner and a show with Justin. “At least it’s Friday.”

  “Amen to that.”

  The speaker crackled back to life. “We’re back!”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Here we go.” He unmuted. “And we’re here.”

  About ten minutes into explaining, yet again, their plan to pull Sanhex out of its tailspin, Gerald asked for a face-to-face ”to smooth things over with the board.” Just as Sam had predicted.

  Eli stabbed the mute button. “You do not want me going.”

  Sam chuckled. “I’m tempted to send you. They need their asses handed to them.” Eli opened his mouth, but Sam held up his hand. “I said tempted. I’ll go. I may hand them their backsides in a bucket, but . . .”

  “You’ll get the deal.” Sam could negotiate anything with the right amount of force, a friendly smile, and knowing exactly when to bend.

  The latter talent had never come to Eli. Ever.

  Sam unmuted the line. “Of course. When?”

  It took another couple of minutes to work out the general schedule before they were finally able to hang up. Eli ran a hand through his hair. “Are you sure we need this?” There were other companies, other opportunities. Not so lucrative, but not every decision revolved around money.

  “We knew they’d be a hard nut to crack.” Sam stood and stretched. “But this is their last chance. If I don’t come back with a signed contract, they can fuck themselves.”

  There was the CEO he knew and liked. “Good.”

  Sam grinned. “So, which show?”

  Not any question he’d been expecting. He stretched out his leg. “Hmm?”

  “Justin’s got a suit hanging on the back of the door.”

  That would be a giveaway, more than Justin’s snapping. He’d been a bit more moody lately, but with the weather, everyone was temperamental. “You’re not going to believe me.”

  “Oh?”

  “The Nutcracker.” Eli attempted to keep a straight face as he watched Sam’s expression morph into confusion then stay there.

  “But you’re . . .” He waved a hand and leaned on the chair.
/>
  “Jewish?”

  Sam had the decency to blush. “Well, it is very Christmasy.”

  He couldn’t hold back the grin any longer. “I know. I snuck out of the house to go when I was seventeen—just to piss off my parents. Friday night. Missed temple and everything.” He shrugged. “It’s tradition now.”

  “You . . . are very weird, Eli.” Sam pushed off the chair. “Can’t see it as Justin’s thing, though.”

  He rose, ignoring the twinge in his bad leg. Too much sitting. “He’s never seen it.” Justin had been as confused as Sam when Eli had suggested going, but there had also been a spark in his eyes and that sexy little quirk to his lips. You’re taking me to watch guys in tights? I’m in. “And he does enjoy theater.”

  “There’s theater,” Sam said. He crossed the room and opened the door. “Then there’s The Nutcracker.”

  And there was Justin, across the hall, all spiky hair and eyeliner. He was going to look stunning in his suit. And even better when Eli peeled it off at the end of the night.

  “What’s wrong with The Nutcracker?” Justin’s smile was just as cocky as his clothing.

  That threw Sam. “It’s very . . .”

  “. . . Christmasy,” Eli said, deadpanning the word. He leaned against the doorframe.

  Justin shrugged. “I can do Christmas if it involves watching fit men in tight clothing move in ways that should be illegal.”

  Sam raised his hands in surrender and stalked into his office.

  Fazil walked down the hall, toward the front of the office. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last bit,” he said. “Coffee, anyone?”

  “Always.” Justin rose from his desk.

  “I’ll even buy.” Why not? It was Friday. He had a hot date and the offer to pay halted Fazil in his tracks. Excellent.

  Fazil rotated around. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

  “Yes.”

  That he’d raised a blush on Fazil and caused Justin to snort? Made up for conference call hell.

  “For everyone?” Fazil held up a sticky note that had three orders on it.