Chapter Nine
Nash
“A birthday party?”
Standing next to my desk a few days later, Alex echoed the words cautiously, as if they were in a strange language he’d never heard before. I sighed.
“Yes, a birthday party. Aaron Johnson has worked for Snow and Associates for like a hundred years, hasn’t he? It’s his big five-oh, and you’re going to be an awesome boss and show him a little appreciation for his long years of service by providing a cake.”
Alex frowned, more deeply than before, so that little furrows appeared on his forehead. They were cute. He was cute.
He was also dumb as a stump, and didn’t have the slightest idea how to motivate the people who worked for him. I guessed that when you inherited a giant company, you didn’t really have to work at honing your people skills.
The thing was, as a manager he had a lot of good points. I knew from reading up on the company that he’d grown it. A lot. In fact he was generally acknowledged to be a business genius. He had the knack for expanding into new markets, adding new products, and making stockholders very, very happy. He just didn’t have the knack of inspiring his people to work hard for him.
Which was where I came in.
The way I figured it, one of the duties of an executive assistant was to make the boss look good. Besides, I was getting really tired of walking around the vast offices of Snow and Associates and seeing the people who worked there look epically miserable.
Hence, a party. These people needed a party, more desperately than any group I’d ever seen.
But Alex looked confused by the entire notion.
“My father never threw a birthday party for any of his employees,” he objected. “In fact, he never threw one for me.”
Ugh. I imagined Alex as a dark-haired little boy, all alone on his birthdays, never getting so much as a cake with his name on it despite his dad’s nearly inexhaustible money, and an unfamiliar anger surged inside me. Alex’s father sounded like he’d been a grade-A asshole, but I refrained from saying so, because no one wanted to hear that about his own parents… no matter how true it might be.
“Look,” I said, as persuasively as I could manage, “it’s not a big deal. I’ve got it all set up. We have a big ol’ cake with Aaron’s name on it and a metric fuckton of candles, and we’ll all sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and have a piece of cake. And then everyone goes back to their offices with smiles on their faces. Happy employees are productive employees, Alex.”
“Productive employees need to remain at their desks during working hours,” he intoned, and I knew he was quoting his father again.
“Making them sit unmoving at their desk for ten hours doesn’t make them productive. These are human beings, not robots. They need breaks every now and then. They need a little fun.”
Alex looked more confused than before. “Fun?”
“Fun.” I planted my feet and glared up at him as fiercely as I could. “Don’t argue with me, Alex. I know what I’m doing, okay? You have one job right now. One single solitary job. Now go do it.”
He sighed, looking immensely put-upon.
“Fine,” he said sulkily, and stalked off.
Five minutes later he was back, Aaron Johnson in tow. Johnson looked absolutely terrified, which was good, because it meant Alex had played his part exactly as I’d told him to. “Do that scary CEO thing you do,” I’d told him, and lowered my voice to imitate him. “’Johnson! My office! Now!’”
Obviously it had worked. Poor Johnson looked like he expected to be fired in the next two minutes, or possibly thrown out a window. I almost felt bad for the guy.
Still playing the part of Evil Boss From Hell (quite convincingly), Alex swept past my desk and threw open his door. Cries of “Surprise!” erupted from the assembled executives, and I saw Johnson’s mouth fall open with shock. Even though I couldn’t see into Alex’s office from my angle, I knew what he was seeing—a huge HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner, quite a few silvery balloons emblazoned with 50 and OVER THE HILL, and a giant sheet cake with so many candles it would be a fucking miracle if the sprinkler system didn’t go off. And best of all, all the top executives, gathered together to celebrate.
As far as I’d been able to find out, something like this had never, ever happened before at Snow and Associates. But if I had anything at all to say about it, it was going to happen over and over again, every last damn time someone had a birthday.
Because the people at Snow and Associates badly needed a little fun. And so did Alex, even if he didn’t realize it yet.
For a long moment Johnson stood there gaping, and then a delighted smile lit up his face.
Success, I thought, grinning to myself. Johnson and Alex disappeared into the crowded office, and I went back to working on setting up Alex’s schedule for the next week.
Since I wasn’t a CFO or a vice-president or anything along those lines, I’d decided I should remain at my desk, no matter how tempting that enormous cake looked. There was really only one executive I was interested in “mingling” with, anyway. A few moments later, though, someone placed a paper plate heavily laden with cake on top of the papers in front of me. I blinked at it, then looked up, and saw Alex. He was seated on my desk, one leg swinging a bit, and there was an expression on his face I couldn’t quite identify.
But he’d brought me food, which made me happy. The thought that even amongst a group of suits, I remained on his mind, made me happy, too.
“Thanks.” I picked up the cake and stabbed it appreciatively with the little plastic fork he’d brought me, then spoke through a mouthful of it. “Oh my God. This cake is totally awesome.”
“Glad you approve. Don’t choke yourself to death on it. That’s a fork, not a shovel.”
I attempted to make a cutting reply, but it came out as an inarticulate mumble. Not my fault. I had cake in my mouth. His lips curved slightly, but then he looked back into his office, and his expression grew more solemn.
“You were right, Nash.” His voice was soft, and more than a little self-reproachful. “I’ve never seen my people so… so cheerful. I do overwork them, don’t I?”
“Well,” I said, or tried to, except my mouth was still full of cake. I swallowed a huge chunk of it, and went on. “Well, I guess they don’t mind all that much. You don’t get to be an executive for a company like this unless you like to work long hours.”
“Still.” He gazed through the open doors, where I heard the happy racket of conversation punctuated with laughter—sounds I hadn’t heard since I’d started here. “They need breaks too. You’re right. It’s just—for God’s sake, Nash, don’t gobble it, it’s not going to grow legs and run off your plate—it’s just that my father never would have done something like this. Not ever.”
“You’re not your dad. You’re you. And I think that’s a good thing.”
He blew out a long sigh. “He would not have approved.”
“Who gives a fuck? It’s your company now.”
He looked down at me, and all at once I figured out what that expression was. The corners of his mouth had turned up slightly, and his eyes had gone soft and warm. He was gazing at me, I realized, with a look of unmistakable fondness.
“Want another piece of cake?”
I looked mournfully at my plate, where the generous slice of pastry had already been reduced to a few pitiful crumbs. Yes, I wanted more of the totally awesome cake. But I also wanted Alex to spend a little time with the people who worked for him. I wanted his walls to begin to melt—not just when the two of us were alone together, but all the time. I didn’t want him to be lonely any more.
“I’ve had plenty,” I answered. “Go hang out with your executives for a while. Get to know them a little.”
“Okay,” he said, and straightened up. His hand dropped into my hair, rumpling it in a clear gesture of affection, and then he walked back into his office to join his executives.
I went back to work.
✽✽✽
“Why on earth do we have to take your car?”
I glanced over at Alex. He did look a little uncomfortable, his large frame tucked awkwardly into my none-too-big Cruze. But I didn’t think it was any tighter of a fit for him than his Ferrari was—it was just a whole lot less classy.
If he was going to hang out with me, I figured he’d need to learn to deal with unclassy.
“I asked you out,” I reminded him. “That means I drive, and I pay for everything. Everything.”
“That’s foolish,” he grumbled. “Considering how many cars I own—”
“I told you already, Alex, I’m not looking for a sugar daddy. If you want to go out with me, you’re going to have to put up with riding in my car half the time.”
“I never said I wanted to go out with you.” The grumbling didn’t appear likely to stop any time soon. “You didn’t ask me out, not really. You just said we should go see this movie. And if you really want to go out on a proper date with me, we should go to the opera, or—”
“When you ask me out,” I answered, “we can go to the opera. I mean, if you don’t mind me clutching at my ears when they bleed, and screaming in pain. But since this was my idea, we’re going to see a superhero movie.”
“Alternatively, there’s an excellent Italian film playing at the Naro in Norfolk—”
“A superhero movie, Alex. Not some boring art thing with subtitles. Don’t worry, it’s a good one. And I’ll buy the popcorn.”
I was amazed (and delighted) that he’d been willing to be seen with me in public. It had only been a week since the day I’d jumped him in his office. Since then we’d made out a few times, and he apparently had grown slightly more comfortable with the idea of dating a guy, to the point he was ready to crack open the closet door and maybe stick a toe out. I guessed that if anyone looked at us together, he’d freak, and I had resolved myself to not holding his hand publicly or anything like that.
But it was a start. He was trying, and I was glad. Because hiding in the closet is no way to live.
I found a parking spot a ways down the street from the movie theater, and parallel parked. The two of us got out and headed toward the building. I’d been horrified earlier that day to find out he had never seen a superhero movie. Upon further questioning, I’d discovered to my further horror that he didn’t even know the difference between Marvel and DC. I’d instantly announced that we were going to see the new movie tonight, and he’d agreed. Reluctantly. With a whole lot of the aforementioned grumbling.
He’d even agreed to not wear a suit, for once in his life. Instead he wore a nice button-down light blue shirt and khaki slacks. It wasn’t quite a t-shirt and jeans (“I do not have jeans in my closet,” he’d informed me, sounding as appalled as if the possession of denim were a capital offense), but it was a lot less armor than he usually wore. Me, I wore a decent pair of Levi’s and a Captain America t-shirt that kind of clung to the contours of my chest. I’d noticed him glancing at my pecs more than once, and it made me feel good. I might not be the Incredible Hulk, but I wasn’t a ninety-pound weakling, either.
I bought us both popcorn and Coke, despite more grousing from Mr.-I-Prefer-Champagne-and-Caviar, and then the two of us headed into the theater and sat down. The previews had already started, and he nibbled delicately at a kernel, looking simultaneously repulsed and intrigued by the artificial butter flavor, while I shoveled popcorn into my mouth in giant handfuls.
“If you keep that up,” he murmured, leaning over, “you won’t have any left when the movie starts.”
His warm breath brushed over my ear, and I tried not to shiver.
“I’m hungry,” I whispered back. “I have a mean boss who makes me work through lunch.”
Today I’d wound up spending my lunch break on my knees, giving him a long, and apparently quite satisfactory, blow job—the first I’d given him, but not, I suspected, the last. Not by a long shot. He laughed softly.
“That wasn’t work. It was fun. I’m supposed to be working on learning how to have fun, right?”
“Yeah. And right now having fun means watching the movie. Shut up.”
“I’m the boss,” he complained. “You can’t tell me to shut up.”
“Shut up. Sir.”
He snorted, and subsided into silence as the movie began. I dug around for some more popcorn, but discovered to my dismay that my bucket was empty. Oh, well. Fortunately he still had plenty. I reached into his popcorn container, and our hands brushed, sending an electrical jolt through me. I felt him jump slightly, too.
I remembered my earlier thoughts about freaking him out, and quickly tried to yank my hand back back. To my surprise, his fingers closed around mine, gently but firmly. He took my hand in his, and let our joined hands rest on his thigh.
It was nice. It felt warm and comfortable and intimate. There was only one problem. With his big, strong hand wrapped around mine, I couldn’t steal any more of his popcorn.
But I found I didn’t mind all that much.