by Andrew Grey
Martin inhaled deeply and sat back at his desk, picking up the phone. “Brock, were there any messages?” He patted his desk to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.
“Yes. I emailed them to you, along with the changes to your calendar for this afternoon. Your three o’clock got moved to three thirty, and I explained that you only had the half hour. You’ll get everything through the phone and watch. Carol called and said the Cartwright meeting has been scheduled for a week from Monday. She’s given me the details, so I’ll go ahead and make reservations for the flights and a hotel.”
“Excellent. Also contact a car service and have them pick us up. Engage the driver for the entire time we’re there. And research restaurants with gluten-free options on their menus for me. We’ll go ahead and make reservations. Cartwright will want to wine and dine us, I’m sure, but I want to keep that to a minimum.”
“Very good. Is there anything else?” Brock didn’t sound fazed in the least. Martin’s last assistant would have asked him to repeat himself three times before she said she had it, and then half the time it was wrong. It drove Martin crazy.
Martin thought for a minute. “I forgot that the clothes to be taken to the dry cleaners are in the trunk of my car. William drove me in this morning, and he probably still has the keys. Get them, and you can take the car to drop off the cleaning.” Martin ended the call as another came in. He took it and spent almost the next hour on the phone. By the time he hung up, Brock was back.
“Do you want to eat at your desk or in the conference room? It’s free, and I thought it might be nice for you to get out of here for a little while.”
“I’ll go to the conference room,” Martin said, and Brock’s scent diminished as he left. Martin finished up his notes on the meeting and went to the room, which was filled with the scent of the rich basil sauce. He sat down, and Brock put a plate in front of him. “Is this how they gave it to you?” Martin asked.
“No. I plated it. Here are your fork and spoon. I also have water and a fresh cup of coffee.” Martin heard Brock set them down. “A napkin.” He placed it in Martin’s hand.
“Did you get something for yourself?” Martin asked just before taking his first bite.
“Yes. It’s in the bag at my desk.”
“Go get it and bring it in here.” He took another bite as Brock left and then returned to sit in one of the plush conference chairs. “What did you get?”
“The pasta Amatriciana. It sounded amazing, and everything is better with guanciale. I also tried the gluten-free pasta, and it’s good.”
“You don’t need to get it because of me. I can’t eat gluten, but I can be around it.” Martin continued eating. He was really hungry, but also well aware that his watch was going to vibrate with his advance warning for his next meeting in only a few minutes.
“I always try new things. I guess it’s one of the things my mom instilled in me. She was an experimental cook, always checking cookbooks out of the library and trying whatever sounded good to her. She and I have had every type of ethnic food there is.”
Martin looked toward him but had a difficult time seeing any sort of detail. He sighed and tried to focus what vision he had. The shadows and clouds that made up Brock focused somewhat, but not enough to really allow him to see his face.
“I have another napkin for you.”
He must have food on his face. Martin took it and wiped his mouth and chin. “Do I have anything on my tie or shirt?” It was one of the hazards of eating anything with sauce.
“No. You’re perfectly fine.”
Martin knew he had most likely spilled food somewhere. It was a side effect of not really being able to clearly see what he was eating. He was grateful Brock hadn’t said anything.
Martin finished his coffee and water as his watch buzzed. “Thank you.” He pushed his chair back, and Brock lightly touched his arm, sending a shock of electricity running through him.
“Your shirt and collar are all twisted. Is it okay if I fix them for you?” Brock stood as Martin did, and Martin remained still, letting Brock adjust his collar. “There you are. I’ll take care of all this.”
“Thanks.” Martin returned to his office and gathered what he needed for his meeting. When he got back to the conference room, he knew Brock was already seated and waiting for him just by the chill that went up his back at Brock’s woodsy, musky, slightly sweet scent. Damn, the man was like scented man candy, and Martin wanted to lean in for more.
Then his attention shifted to the others in the room. “Good afternoon,” Martin began, clearing his head. “Where are we on the details of the Cartwright deal?” He went around the table to each of the department heads, who gave their assessment and progress report. “Edna, personnel plans?”
She cleared her throat. “As instructed, I put plans together to eliminate redundancies while minimizing the number of layoffs. There are support and staff functions both organizations have that are not going to be needed, which will result in the eventual elimination of approximately fifty positions. Of those fifty, approximately ten to fifteen of them can most likely slide into different, ongoing positions. In aggregate, the number of lost positions will be relatively small.”
Martin nodded. His goal wasn’t to downsize Cartwright or make them fit into the mold of Graham Consolidated. He really wanted their expertise and experience. They were one of the best in the business. “It’s important that all of us realize that we are going to need them just as much as they are going to need us if we are to survive long-term.” He paused as pens scraped across paper. “I’ll be meeting with Cartwright in a little over a week to try to put the finishing touches on this deal.” He resisted sighing. Maybe he’d be able to sleep once it was completed. “Are there any other questions or concerns?”
He answered the questions, and they talked over various options and ideas before adjourning the meeting. After, he spoke privately with a few people before sitting with Brock in the conference room. “Did you get all of that?” Martin asked Brock, whose fingers still clicked over his laptop keys.
“Yes. I’ll have the notes finished for you soon.”
Martin got up and closed the conference room door. Brock was too good to be true, and Martin didn’t get it. He was always afraid people were going to try to take advantage of him. Since his sight had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer rely on it, he’d been the victim of attempted deceit more times than he could count.
“Send them to my inbox when they’re done.” His watch was already vibrating to indicate he needed to be ready for his next meeting. He returned to his seat and started shifting his mind to the next topic.
“Of course.” Brock stopped typing, and Martin could feel himself being watched. Sometimes it weirded him out knowing he was being stared at and not being able to return it. “Let me get these finished and sent, and I’ll meet you for your next meeting.”
“There’s no need. Carol will be attending for Edna, and she can keep the notes for that one.”
The laptop lid clicked closed. “All right.”
When Brock didn’t move, Martin wondered what was going on. When predictable things happened, he knew how to react, but he was a little at a loss at the moment and felt out of whack.
“Is there something you need?” Martin asked.
Brock cleared his throat. “Just that you have to tell me what it is you want. I’m trying to guess at a lot of things, and I’m talking to Carol….”
Martin smiled. “You’re doing a great job so far.” He sighed. “Tomorrow, if there’s time on my schedule, I need you to put me on the phone banks for an hour. I’ll go down to the financial order desk and work with the people there. It’s good to talk to our customers and get the lay of the land, as it were.”
“Is that where you started in this business?” Brock asked.
Martin nodded. “In the beginning, I did everything I possibly could. I swear I didn’t sleep for the first two years. I took orders, s
et up accounts, and even devised investment strategies. Jack Hannah came on board with me, and he’s a genius. So he took over the actual money management pretty early. After that, it was about managing growth and our own investments in people and talent.” He sat back in the chair. “Sometimes I miss those heady days when every success, even the smallest one, seemed so huge, so important. Now I spend my days in my office, reading emails and returning messages.”
Brock didn’t say anything for a beat. “You steer the entire ship, Martin. Everyone who was in that meeting hung on your every word. They’re with you and understand your plans, and they all support those plans. You are the man with the vision, the way going forward, and they all know it. Could you feel the excitement in the room?”
“Yeah, but I thought that might just be me. I want this deal so badly.” He was probably talking too much to someone he had just met yesterday. Martin wasn’t used to sharing his private thoughts. “It will bring my original vision to fruition.” His watch buzzed again, and Martin stood. He had another meeting to get to, and he wasn’t ready for it.
He left the conference room, went back to his office, and used his computer to pull up the materials he needed. “I need the revenue and expense projections,” Martin said, half to himself.
“They’re right here.” Brock took his hand and placed it on the file. “I also put them on the meeting materials with the summary page up front.”
Martin started the application, and within seconds the computer began talking to him, imparting the information he needed. Martin sighed softly.
“Just ask for what you need, and I’ll do my best to have it for you.”
“Thanks.” Martin slipped into his chair, listening and easily committing the numbers to memory before heading to his meeting, which went long. Afterward, Martin spent the rest of the afternoon in private meetings with various department heads. It was late by the time he was ready to leave.
He stepped out of his office and knew instantly that Brock was still at his desk. “Can you call William to drive me home?”
“William had a family emergency.” Brock jangled keys. “I still have these from earlier, so if it’s okay, I’ll take you home and go on from there.”
Martin paused and reluctantly agreed. “Did William say what happened?” he asked as he closed his door and followed Brock through the quiet office toward the elevators. He pressed the callbutton and waited for the doors to open.
“Not to me. But I got the idea from Carol that he’s going to LA to be with family. I’ll see if I can find out tomorrow. Do you want me to pick up a card or something?”
“Yes. Please get a card once you know what’s going on.”
They stepped into the elevator, and Martin stood still, wishing the doors would close faster so he could get out of this thing. The longer he was in there, the more he wanted to press Brock against the side of the car and lick him all over. The man was driving him crazy. Hell, he’d spent the last hour in his office surfing the internet just because he was hoping Brock would have gone home and the intense flutter in his belly would just go the hell away.
His right hand shook by the time they reached the ground floor, though the fresh air cleared Martin’s head somewhat. He paused, and Brock took his arm.
“Turn left and we’ll head into the garage. Then we’ll need to turn right. The car is four spaces down.” Brock guided him skillfully to the car. “The handle is by your hand.” Martin pulled open the door and slid into the back seat. He heard Brock slip behind the wheel. “Do you want to stop to get anything for dinner on the way home?”
“No. I have a personal chef who cooks for me. I have things I can heat up.” Martin released the breath he was holding and cleared his mind of deals, meetings, and revenue projections. Of course, as soon as he did, he thought of the intense man in the front seat. His pants grew tight, and he shifted to make things more comfortable, wishing traffic would move so he could get home and have a few hours to himself.
“We should be there soon,” Brock said. Ten minutes later, he pulled to a stop. “Okay, Martin. We’re here.”
“Thanks.” Martin opened the door, got out, and felt his way to the sidewalk.
“What time would you like me to pick you up in the morning?” Brock asked.
Martin groaned to himself. This was going to be hell.
“Six.” He turned toward the house and climbed the steps, went inside his brownstone, and closed the door. Finally, he could breathe. Now all he needed to do was figure out how he was going to put Brock and his man-candy scent, honey-coated voice, and attentiveness on the back burner, because no matter what Martin thought, there was no way he was acting on this attraction.
Chapter 4
“SO, HOW’S the new job?”
“It’s great, Mom.” Confusing as hell sometimes, but Brock thought it was going well. “Martin is a good boss, but he runs hot and cold, and sometimes I can’t figure out why.” Martin invited him to eat lunch together a few times after Brock had gotten something for both of them, and they’d talked. Martin seemed interested, and Brock would tell him about his life—little things that didn’t mean anything. Then when Brock was done and at the point in the conversation where he expected Martin to share, Martin always grew gruff and finished eating before hurrying off to a meeting.
“Some people are private,” his mom told him after he explained briefly. “Maybe the guy got hurt badly—who knows?” She gasped softly. “You don’t have a thing for your boss, do you?”
“Mom….”
“Well, let’s face it. We’ve talked twice since you started, and all we talk about is him. Martin this, and Martin that…. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure things out.” There was a hint of humor in her voice. “I’m only teasing.”
“I like him. I’m learning so much just by watching him. Everyone around him wants to make him happy. You know that kind of person. His employees work hard, not because they fear him, but because they kind of love him. Yesterday we spent time on the order desk again, taking calls. Everyone in the room watched him, and soon they emulated his call style. A room full of people, and he taught them something important, in an hour, without telling them how to do anything.” Okay, maybe he was getting a little Martin-centered. Not that he was going to do a single thing about liking his boss, who seemed to turn him six ways from Sunday.
Brock had no intention of telling his mother, but there were times when he swore Martin leaned closer… to smell him. And then there was the way he held Brock’s arm. Yes, Brock was guiding him, but the touch was sensual, intense. God, all of this was probably in his imagination and he was making way too much of it.
“It’s good that you like your boss.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Anyway, I think I told you that I’m traveling tomorrow. Martin and I leave early in the morning for Milwaukee. We should be home late Wednesday.” He was looking forward to the trip, while at the same time wondering if it was a good idea. Still, he’d committed and was going to go through with it. Brock reminded himself to be professional and to keep his head where it belonged, no matter how many times he had imagined Martin naked in the shower with him, using his strong, inquisitive hands for something other than checking where things were on his desk or typing on his computer.
“Have a good trip, honey. Call me when you get there so I know you’re okay.”
They said their goodbyes, she hung up, and Brock tossed his phone onto the bed. He figured he might as well get packed, because he had to be up early in the morning to pick up Martin, then head to the airport.
IT WAS still very dark when he pulled up in front of Martin’s home. There were no lights on, which worried him until he rolled his eyes at his own realization. Martin probably didn’t need the lights on in his own house. Brock double-parked and got out, hurried up to the door, and rang the bell.
A light came on and then the door opened. Martin stood just inside, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else.
“A
ren’t you ready?” Brock asked, nearly swallowing his teeth at the incredible specimen of manhood in front of him. Brock looked his fill, because, damn, just… damn. Martin’s rich, honeyed, smooth skin, sculpted chest, and firm belly were worthy of any work of art.
“What, it’s… shit.” Martin shook his arm and groaned. “The watch must have died.” He stepped back. “Come on in. I’m packed. I just need to shave and get dressed.” He hurried up the dark stairs as though they were nothing.
Brock grabbed the suit bag from the hall and carried it out to the car. He carefully laid it across his suitcase and returned inside.
Martin came down a few minutes later, carrying a small bag, and went right to the door.
“Is that everything? I have your wardrobe bag in the car.”
“Yes. That’s all.” Martin locked the house, and at the base of the steps, Brock guided him to the car. There was just enough unevenness that he was concerned Martin might trip.
As soon as Martin was inside, Brock climbed in the driver’s seat, pulled out, and went as fast as he dared up toward LaGuardia and into the outrageously expensive parking garage.
“I have a handicapped hangtag, so take the first spot you can,” Martin explained once they’d entered.
Brock found a spot near the doors and pulled in, then grabbed a cart to load the bags.
Martin took his arm. “Please go slowly and let me know of anything uneven ahead. I have the cane in my bag, but….” He gripped Brock tightly, and they went inside.
A skycap met them almost immediately, taking the cart and leading them to the first-class counter, where they were easily checked in and on their way to the nightmare that was security. Brock kept checking the time, but he needn’t have worried. He and Martin were guided to the front of the line and then through with their carry-ons and on their way to the gate.
“That’s never happened to me before,” Brock told Martin, who shrugged.
“I hate this place. There’s so much noise, with overlapping announcements and people everywhere, It’s hard for me to make sense of anything.”
