Chapter Six

Sam poured himself a coffee from the self-serve kiosk in the hotel lobby, and then joined William at a seating arrangement within view of the elevators. Eight forty-one in the morning at a hotel in New Orleans that bordered the French Quarter. Not that they’d see any more of the local area than on the whirlwind tour William had insisted they take last night. Sam took a sip of his coffee.

There’d been no time to double-check any of Fabian’s information, so he opted for doing as Fabian did—keeping William close—at least at Forum.

“Sebastian better be on time,” William said.

“He will be.” Michael was a poster boy for punctuality. He had four more minutes before their appointed meeting time.

William grunted. He looked jet-lagged and cranky and clutched a coffee of his own. Not surprising, given he’d arrived from the West Coast. In New Orleans, life happened two hours earlier for William and an hour later for Sam and Michael.

If only Sam had been able to enjoy that extra hour with Michael. But no, William had kept them out late, forgetting that morning came much earlier than in Palo Alto. Besides, there had been no good way to negotiate a possible rendezvous with Michael.

When they’d returned to the hotel, predictably, William had tried to get both of them to head with him to a strip club.

“But then, you don’t do women, do you Mike?” The animosity in William’s words had set Sam’s hackles up.

Michael had laughed. “Nope.” Then he’d stood and towered over William and said good night before retreating to the elevators.

Sam had pointed to his watch. “You’ll hate tomorrow if you go.” Then he’d paid his tab and fled, too.

By the time Sam reached the bank of cars, Michael was gone. Then again, Sam wasn’t even sure Michael would agree to another tryst. He’d kept his distance at the airport, slept part of the way on the plane, and his conversations with Sam had been more about work than pleasure. The glint Sam had seen in Michael’s eyes when he’d told him about Forum and shown him the cuff link was gone.

Sam took a swig of coffee and winced at the awful taste. Perhaps that was for the best. In three weeks, Sundra would hopefully acquire Four Rivers, and Sam would be packing his bags and moving to Boston to take the job Fabian had offered. He’d been right—the data store company was a perfect gig and it gave him a chance to return to a city he’d fled once before. The contract should be at his apartment by now. A sudden tightness caught Sam in his chest and he checked his watch, then the bank of elevators. Eight forty-three.

There wasn’t much time left for them.

“Ah, here he is.” William looked behind Sam, toward the doors to the street just as Michael stepped past Sam’s chair.

Coal-gray fabric draped elegantly down Michael’s very long legs, and black leather suspenders peeked from beneath a perfectly tailored jacket. When Michael raised his hand to check the time, a silver hint of a cuff link caught Sam’s attention. Michael dropped his arm too fast to make out the design of the link, but nothing glinted from Michael’s other cuff. He held a takeaway coffee cup that smelled of good beans and chicory.

The hair on the back of Sam’s neck rose. Was Michael wearing the Copernican link? A sign of . . . something?

“I’m not late, am I?” Michael’s strong voice rattled the marrow of Sam’s bones.

“No, right on time.” William answered, which was good, because Sam doubted he could put two words together. He had to find his center really fucking soon because he could not be seen like this. Sam took a slow breath and fought to normalize his heart rate.

Michael wore a suit as if he’d been born into power, as if he lived in one. So very different from the way he looked in khakis, tropical prints, and Birkenstocks. His tie was a swirl of blue and black, with hints of blood red, and even when Sam rose, Michael seemed to tower over him, tall and lean, with impossibly broad shoulders.

Commanding.

William must have felt that too, because he stood straighter, with an air of alertness, and had put out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Mike.” Gone was the hostility of the previous evening.

Michael took the offered hand and shook. “William.” He turned. “Sam.”

Instinct overrode sense, and Sam reached out to shake in greeting. Michael’s hand was electrifying and warm, his grip strong and confident. The silver at Michael’s wrist was, in fact, the link Sam had given him. Holy shit.

“Michael.” Somehow, Sam managed to say the name without sounding as breathless as he felt. His cock threatened to harden, a serious problem, given that he would be speaking to an audience in a half an hour. It was a damn good thing Michael never dressed this way in the office.

“I noticed a beignet café on our adventure last night. Stopped in this morning for nonbland coffee.” He held up his cup. “Highly recommended if you want a local taste.”

“Have to remember that for tomorrow,” Sam said.

William snorted. “Not me. Mornings come too early here.”

Michael smiled. “Better here than New York City? Three hours might kill you, William.”

William snorted again.

Michael gestured toward the conference area. Other suited men and women headed that way. “Shall we?”

William took the lead, with Sam and Michael falling into step behind. They entered the main conference area, where the opening keynote would be given. William surged forward to clasp hands with Vijay Malik, the CEO of Sundra Networks, but Sam lingered behind. Off-kilter and more than a little aroused by the man standing next to him, he needed some space to get his head on straight. He had to give his speech after the keynote, and Michael—wanted him. He was certain.

The hotel brew did nothing but cause Sam’s taste buds to shrivel, especially after the smell of Louisiana coffee wafting from Michael’s cup. He dropped his coffee into the nearest trash can. “Awful doesn’t begin to describe that.”

Without a word, Michael handed his cup to Sam. It was full, practically untouched.

He shouldn’t have, but he gave in and took a sip, then allowed himself a sigh at the rich flavor and sharp taste. He looked at the coffee. “Damn. If I had known this was close by, I’d have asked you to wake me.”

“You’ll be awake tomorrow.”

Sam nearly coughed out his next sip at the assuredness of that statement. “You know what they say about assumptions.”

A flash of teeth before Michael’s expression settled into a very professional mask. “I’m not assuming.”

A bolt of lust flew straight to Sam’s cock. That they were playing this game here, of all places, minutes before Sam had to climb on a stage and give his talk made the whole experience surreal, tantalizing, and terrifying. Especially when they’d pretty much told each other they wouldn’t do this anymore.

Except, of course, he’d started this round by brandishing the cuff link, because he couldn’t keep away from Michael. He’d known what Michael would do, how he’d respond. You’re playing with fire.

He took another draw of Michael’s coffee. “Do you mind if I finish this?”

“Not at all. I bought it for you.”

For him? Warmth, but not from lust, settled into Sam’s center. He didn’t say anything because he couldn’t, for the second time that morning. This man will undo me. Hell, he already had. Repeatedly. It’s why he kept sticking his foot outside the security and safety of being the straight, but prudish, CEO.

The closet was suffocating him. Slowly. Michael was a lifeline. And maybe Sam’s doom.

“We should sit. They’ll start soon,” Michael said.

Sam could only nod. He followed Michael to the front of the room and they took seats near the steps up to the right side of the stage.

Michael spoke again. “Every morning, you walk seventeen blocks to 21st Street Coffee, past several corporate coffee houses. I knew you’d appreciate a fine cup.” He stretched out his legs.

Michael knew him. The revelation spread like a flush all over his body. These past weeks, the scant months they’d spent working together, even when they weren’t speaking to each other, even though the past—and the present—came between them, Michael had paid attention. Boston seemed entirely too far from Pittsburgh, all of a sudden. Just as sitting inches away from Michael seemed too great a distance to span.

He was leaving because staying meant surrender to the strictures of corporate culture that looked down on gay as weak. Again, one word echoed in his head. Coward.

“Thank you.” Sam spoke low. “I—” He swallowed words that were entirely too personal. “That was kind.”

If Michael said anything, it was lost in the sudden stirring of the room as Vijay Malik walked onto the stage. Lights dimmed.

Sam pushed the mix of thoughts and emotions aside, focusing on the taste of coffee in his mouth, the affection of the man next to him, and the Sundra CEO.

Showtime.

***

Michael knew he’d unsettled Sam, but he doubted anyone else noticed. Payback for the cuff link in the office and for expecting him to drop everything and be at Forum. Never mind that it stiffened Michael’s cock to see Sam off-kilter. When Vijay Malik launched into his keynote, Michael shifted in his seat so that his thigh pressed against Sam’s in the darkened room. Sam’s hitched breath was music to Michael’s ears. Every so often, Michael shifted, to remind Sam he was there, next to him.

Sam sipped his coffee and focused intently on the Sundra CEO. After a few minutes he smiled and pressed back against Michael.

When Malik wrapped up his keynote touting the best year for Sundra yet, Michael moved his body away from Sam’s. Best to let Sam catch his breath and compose himself. A few minutes later, strong applause signaled the end of Malik’s speech. When it died back, Malik introduced the next speaker—S. Randell Anderson.

Sam rose and strode onstage with an air of confidence that had most of the room leaning forward. He launched right into his introduction to Four Rivers’ latest release and his experience as CEO.

Michael relaxed his shoulders a bit. Everything he’d done today, he’d done with this result in mind—get Sam onto that stage with as much energy and power as he could. The future of Four Rivers depended on that, whether or not his secondary plan of coaxing the man into his bed came to fruition. He could be a manipulative bastard when he wanted. The suit helped—which is why he didn’t wear one often. That dominant role he liked a little too much, but it wasn’t one he desired full-time.

Which was why, in so many ways, Sam was perfect. Submissive at times, but not always. They fit. Except for the boss and not-out part.

On the stage, Sam rarely kept still. He paced to the side of the screen that displayed his presentation, so close to careering over the edge of the platform that the tension in the room was palatable.

Pure Sam. Intelligent, beautiful. In command.

Well, for the moment. Michael resisted the urge to smile. Sam still wanted Michael. His expression when Michael had arrived in the lobby had been priceless, and one Michael planned to remember. The curve of those lips and the startled, yet hungry, look. Oh yes, Michael cleaned up well, and Sam, for all his type-A control, needed to surrender to power now and then. An image of a very different Sam than the one on stage—naked and on his knees, hands tied behind his back, mouth open in silent pleading—flashed through Michael’s mind and stiffened his dick.

Tonight, with any luck.

It would have to be Sam’s choice, though. Michael wasn’t going to chase after him—just entice. Play. Sam certainly was no Rasheed, but he still had a closetful of issues—and unless he did something about those, there was no hope beyond New Orleans.

Michael’s heart ached for a moment and he took a breath. A quick glance at his fellow conference goers told Michael that the room listened intently as Sam spoke of leading from within, of being a part of a team not the head of it, of trusting your employees rather than lording over them.

He doubted it was a speech those in leadership roles expected, especially when Sam stopped and challenged them to walk the talk.

Sam’s adherence to his own code was one of the things Michael lov—

Michael pulled his legs in and stared at Sam, as enwrapped as everyone else, but for an entirely different reason. His entire body numbed then blazed with heat. Oh, shit.

Admiration. Desire. Lust.

Love?

Shit. But there it was. Of course it was there, or at least the start of love. Why else was he still here, after swearing up and down to himself he wouldn’t be?

Sam was his boss. They could play their power games around the rules, in the corners of life, but this . . . there wasn’t really any way around love.

He couldn’t date his CEO. He’d known that from the beginning. He wouldn’t date a man in the closet. He’d learned that mistake with Rasheed.

Yet he wore Sam’s cuff link, the one Sam had pressed into Michael’s hand after he’d slapped and fucked Sam into bliss. He’d brought Sam coffee. Dreamt about him.

Of course it was love.

On the stage, Sam wrapped up his speech. “If you want your employees to work hard, you have to work harder. If you want them to give up their nights and weekends, you better as well, and make it worthwhile. It’s not a privilege to sit at the top—it’s a responsibility.” Sam’s voice boomed over the crowd. “So take up the true mantle of leadership, the true cost. Risk your hide, and the reward will be all the greater.”

Every transgression carried risk. Michael shifted in his seat. This time, he wouldn’t run, no matter what passed between Sam and him. There were other options, other ways they could solve the tangled mess they’d fallen into—if Sam felt similarly. If Sam cared enough to stop hiding who he was.

Rasheed hadn’t been willing to change for Michael—he’d been willing to change for his family, for society—let go of who he was and be someone he wasn’t. Sam might be hiding from his colleagues, but unlike Rasheed, he accepted his sexuality. Embraced and reveled in it.

Rasheed wouldn’t even fuck with the lights on.

Why, then, was Sam so hung up? He needed to know. Needed Sam.

First things first. Four Rivers had to be safe, and there had to be a secure future for the employees—or as secure as one could be in the corporate world.

Then, Michael would take the leap he swore he wouldn’t again.

It was just a matter of figuring out which cliff to jump from.

***

After his speech Sam couldn’t find Michael at all. He’d vanished from the front of the room during the scant minutes Sam spent talking to Dr. Malik. When he made his way back to where he and Michael had been sitting, only the chairs and Sam’s coffee remained. Given that William was also nowhere to be found, Michael might have been dragged off to some meet-and-greet.

He hoped that was the reason. Had his speech pissed off Michael somehow? No. Their philosophy of leadership wasn’t that different. But there was no way for Sam to slip free of the crowd of people working their way forward to speak to him. No chance to find Michael and ask him what he thought.

How many of the folks anxiously working their way forward had actually listened to the content of his speech? He had no idea. Even if he reached one person, that might change corporate culture for the better—and that would be worth all the energy. That was part of the reason he’d worked so hard to get where he was despite all the costs. He pushed the desire to find Michael aside and walked forward to greet those waiting for him.

Much to Sam’s delight, the questions and conversations were thoughtful and heartening—proof that his way of leadership wasn’t unknown or unappreciated. As he spoke to the attendees, other sessions started. Eventually, the crowd about him thinned and cleared. Twenty-five minutes later, Sam exited the conference hall. Time well spent.

Sadly, the coffee from Michael had gone cold, but like all good roasts, it held its flavor. Sam drank the rest of it, then tossed the cup. He might have a chance for another warm brew tomorrow. Pinpricks ran up his spine. Had Michael asked for a night together? It wasn’t a question he could ask Michael in the middle of a tech conference. Sam still felt the heat from Michael’s leg pressed against his and he wanted more. So much more. Had Michael done such things with Rasheed? Probably not, from what Michael had said. Good.

How would those people he’d just spoken to have reacted if they had known Sam was gay? That he longed for the touch of another man? Hell, he probably wouldn’t have been asked to make a speech. He wasn’t nearly at the level where gay no longer mattered and could be celebrated. You had to be head of Apple or American Eagle for that—not someone like him.

And certainly not someone like that grad student in the alley. Sam rubbed his head. He had grown up sheltered, protected. He’d never experienced anyone hurt like that before—not at someone else’s hands. Worse than the movies. The smell of blood, fear, anger, and hopelessness.

Sam stared at his hands. Nothing he could do about that now. The past was past. He exhaled and stuffed the memories back into the corners of his mind, where they belonged.

A quick check of his watch told him there was time to kill before Michael gave his technical presentation.

Sam could spend it with his head in the clouds, or make himself useful.

The latter was the better option. Time to see what the competition was up to. He wouldn’t be leading Four Rivers—or Sundra—into the future, but he would leave a sheaf of advice for the next person. If Sam had his way, it would be Michael who would run the Pittsburgh office—take the position that should have been his from the beginning.

Sam browsed the exhibitors’ hall, making mental notes of the protocols touted, the research explained, the hardware advances on display. Of most interest were the snippets of conversations. He cataloged it all, then found a quiet spot to type several quick notes into his smart phone.

Ten minutes before Michael’s talk, Sam found the listed room and took a seat. At the front, Michael was deep in a conversation with Miles Breck, the VP of Engineering at Sundra. William hovered near by, looking like a nervous hen—or a shark waiting for a kill, Sam couldn’t decide which. William’s presence infuriated—the man had done just about everything to fuck over Four Rivers and Michael and for what? To fuel a scam? Damn. Maybe he should just drop all the information he knew on the legal department at Sundra and be done with it.

William likely guessed who Sam wanted in the head role in Pittsburgh, but it shouldn’t matter—the directors would cash out and William remained on the board of several other companies. It made no sense to linger after that.

William had screwed Michael once before. Was this somehow personal? A different set of pinpricks tracked down Sam’s limbs. William’s comments from the previous night sounded in Sam’s mind. You don’t do women, do you Mike? Shit. This better not be about that.

Sam made another note on his smart phone. He had a few more favors he could call in, folks who could verify what Fabian had said. Most of all, he wanted William away from Michael. There’d been enough pain in Michael’s life from that man.

A name and a voice reached out from Sam’s past. “Randy?”

Next to him stood a familiar—if somewhat older—woman. “Greta?” Indeed, the woman was the spitting image of one of his undergrad partners-in-crime, Greta Bachman. Still all legs and brown curls, though now she wore a sedate gray pants suit. Her leather shoes had flames on them, like a motorcycle.

Some things never changed.

She sat down. “All grown up and a superstar CEO. How the hell are you?”

He snorted. “Not very starlike. But I’m doing well.”

“I’ll say. I was at your keynote. Same old passionate Randy, making waves.”

Waves? Maybe. He brushed the words away. “What about you? Last I’d heard, you were off getting a PhD. Is it Dr. Bachman these days?”

“That was years ago. But yes.” She studied the front of the room. “I hear you’re bringing Four Rivers to us.”

Us? “You’re with Sundra?” He hadn’t known.

“Director of Quality Assurance.”

Sam shifted in his seat and warmth touched his cheeks. He should have been aware of that. And Greta . . . she knew a whole host of his secrets. Thankfully, most were inconsequential—stupid college stuff. But he’d been vibrantly out as an undergrad. “You’re here to watch Michael.”

“I’ve heard he’s level-headed, smart, and passionate. Plus he knows his shit.” She crossed her legs. “Kind of like you.”

Time might not have passed at all. All the old rhythms were so easy to resume. “I’m not level-headed.”

She chuckled and dropped her voice to a discrete level. “That’s what all your boyfriends said.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or wince, and ended up coughing. “Shit, I didn’t know any of them talked to you.”

“All the damn time.” Her smile was infectious. “Is it still Randy? I see you’re S. Randell on the schedule.”

“I still answer to anything.” He paused. “But it’s Sam lately. At Four Rivers, it’s Sam.”

“Sam.” She nodded up to the front of the room. “And your test guy? What’s he like, really?”

Perfect. Hot. Demanding in every right way. Sam folded his arms and eyed Michael. “Passionate, as you said. An expert. He’s what makes the whole damn thing work.”

“The router?”

“The company. He’s been there since day one.” Sam felt Greta’s attention shift and looked over to meet her stare. “He can be an ass, but can’t we all? He’s good, G. You’ll like him.”

She studied Michael again. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

They settled in to watch the presentation. He and Michael had spent the last day in the office going over the slides. Michael had insisted they strip out anything remotely marketing-esque. Sam balked, but in the end, if this were to be Michael’s talk, it had to contain what he wanted, not what Sam thought sounded good.

The resulting presentation—lecture, in reality—was deeply technical. Within the first ten minutes, all the marketing folks slinked out of the room, but Greta leaned forward. She kept nodding her head as Michael talked.

Good. A flood of calm eased Sam’s muscles. Greta would be an excellent ally for Michael, and like-minded when it came to technology. Sam suspected they also had similar thoughts on how to run a team, if his memory of her organizing labs was anything to go by.

Michael would be in fine hands and have a fantastic advocate within Sundra, which is just what he needed. He would be safe and have the room he needed to grow into the leader he could be—that he was—and given a title to match.

Sam’s serenity shattered. He was saying good-bye. To the job. To Michael. Handing him over to Sundra. The realization punched him in the stomach. He nearly bent over and did suck in a bit of air. Not yet. He didn’t want to leave Michael yet.

He couldn’t stay. That was the nature of what he did. He never stayed. Never made attachments to a place. A company. A man.

Staying would mean . . . quitting. Failing. Leaving his career behind. He might as well come out at that point, the result would be the same. Would that be so bad, though? Sam shivered. For him? Maybe, maybe not. He doubted anyone would take a swipe at him now. And he was so screwed in the head lately, he wasn’t sure he cared.

But for Michael? It might be disastrous. Sleeping with the boss? No one would respect Michael, whether they cared about his sexuality or not.

Michael moved in front of the slide about one of the draft protocols and explained why one implementation was preferable to another. Hands went up—questions. Answers. Small arguments. Michael handled it beautifully. Every so often, his jacket opened to reveal the long black braces Sam wanted to grasp and use to pull their bodies together. A flash of silver glinted at Michael’s wrist when he gestured at a slide.

An exceptional man.

Sam had been lucky their paths had crossed, but if he lingered, if he continued to twist his own rules, he’d break to pieces what they were trying to build at Four Rivers.

Employees shouldn’t get fucked by their CEOs. And that’s what everyone would see if he stayed, even if the reality were the opposite.

He had to let Michael go. There’d be no coffee in the morning because there’d be no tonight. The best thing—the level-headed course of action—would be to stay apart.

Not just a blow to the gut, but a series of them, each worse than before.

Sam leaned back, forced himself to relax, and schooled his expression. He caught Greta’s glance from the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn. Instead, he followed Michael’s movements, the dance of his hands, the flow of his pants as he walked, the expanse of his shoulders. Sam memorized the sound of Michael’s voice, the depth of it, the cadence, like water flowing down a street of cobblestones.

The person most dangerous to the future of Four Rivers now was Sam. Time to fire himself from Michael’s life.