Rikard Sebastian Leon, Chief Executive Officer of Cœur de Lyon Enterprises, eldest Scion of Leon Sidhe Clan, Knight Protector of the Gray Court, and the Big Bad Boss Man to his staff, had had a terrible weekend. Looking back, it had actually begun about a week ago, but since Friday evening, it had progressively worsened. A strange itching sensation had been building within him, making him antsy. He had even been unable to focus on his dinner date with the extremely lovely, extremely available, extremely easy and appropriately named, Mona Montgomery.

Alas, for his sex life, however, because of his lack of focus and general irritability on Friday night, Rik had ended up with a face-full of expensive cabernet sauvignon and a case of raging blue balls, when Mona had stormed out of Mizuna in a snit. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have made a comment about how her nasally voice was like listening to railroad spikes being driven through sheet metal, but dammit, the woman had a voice to make dogs howl.

All day Saturday, the itching had grown stronger. Even his legendary even temper had cracked under the pressure, leading to a rather unfortunate incident with the High Laird of Clan MacTíre—that smarmy, redheaded Highland bastard. The only reason a Blood Feud hadn’t been declared right there and then was thanks to his youngest sister stepping in and defusing the situation before it had become a right debacle.

On Sunday, sure enough, the itching had intensified to the point Rik had felt as if he was being constantly assaulted by static electricity. While practicing with his troupe, Rik had almost skewered his best friend, and had nearly gotten his ass beat by the oversized mouse-muncher. Fucking overly-sensitive felines!

Last night, he had been unable to sleep at all, his entire body aflame for something indistinct and indiscernible. Rik didn’t feel ill, not that the Sidhe ever got sick, and the sensations weren’t unpleasant, per se, they just kept him tense and on edge, and were slowly driving him insane.

Glaring blearily at the alarm clock, those accursed indigo digits taunting him, Rik tossed aside his sheets and rolled out of bed. The expensive Egyptian cotton had irritated his sensitive flesh, every whisper of the fabric an annoyance. Stretching his large, naked body in a fruitless attempt to get the kinks out of his muscles, Rik grunted as he made his way to the bathroom.

“Fuck it,” Rik muttered as he blearily stumbled into his bathroom, groaning in relief as he made use of the facilities. Washing his hands, he splashed some cold water into his face as he tried to clear his head.

Making a decision, Rik threw on a pair of boxer briefs, ignoring the insistent throb of Little Rikky, and pulled on an old, worn pair of cut-off sweat pants and a muscle shirt. Shouldering his gym bag, he grabbed his wallet and keys, shoved his big feet into a pair of ratty sneakers, and headed for his office.

Almost exactly a mile away from his penthouse, Rik jogged the distance easily, not even breaking a sweat between the chilly early morning air and the familiar routine. This early in the morning, the lobby was empty as Rik headed for the executive elevator to the private gym shared by the top few floors of the building.

For the next hour, Rik proceeded to hit the weights until every inch of his large body burned with a deep ache, but even wearing out his muscles did nothing to numb the nervous tension racing through his veins or ease the tightening knot in his gut.

Every one of his senses just seemed to be getting sharper, painfully so: his eyes burning as they struggled to focus, his ears straining to catch the slightest sound, the feel of every hair on his body prickling with awareness. Hell, he swore he could almost taste something, but it was indescribable and sadly, all he could smell was his own Eau de Rikard, and he had to admit that he smelled rather ripe.

“Fuck!” Rik dropped the weights and stepped back, running a frustrated hand through his sweat-slicked hair. Grabbing his towel, he wiped down the equipment with jerky motions, put away the weights, and shoved his gear back into his bag. He stormed…er, strode in a manly fashion…up to the office so he could get ready for another damned day of dealing with his family’s Mortal World obligations.

Using the en suite bathroom attached to his private office, Rik stood beneath the powerful jets of the shower and rested his forehead against the cool slate tiles. Closing his eyes, Rik felt the tingle in his body growing sharper, stronger, and when the sensations settled deep within his groin, he let out a low, frustrated groan. Wrapping his fingers around his burgeoning cock, feeling it lengthening and thickening with startling rapidity, Rik cursed.

Fuck! I haven’t been this horny, or this fucking frustrated, since I was a teen! And Rik hadn’t been a teenager in a very, very long time.

Releasing the death grip on his dick, Rik ruthlessly turned the handle of the shower instead, cranking it as cold as it could go. He clenched his jaw as the icy shards tore into his overheated flesh while every muscle in his body tightened to the point of pain. He forced himself to stand there, rigid and unflinching, for as long as he could, until his flesh was more blue than tan beneath the golden hairs that dusted his chest and lower body.

Shutting the water off, Rik grabbed a towel and briskly dried himself off as he stepped out of the shower. Rubbing his hair dry before he tossed the towel to join his gym clothes, Rik grabbed his bag and pulled out his shaving kit.

With the crisp, efficient expertise of someone who had spent decades performing the same routine, Rik lathered his cheeks with cream and used his straight razor to remove the weekend growth that shadowed the square lines of his jaw. Clinically, he regarded the face staring back at him in the mirror.

Heavy, dark shadows lurked beneath eyes that were both amber and jade, set into a face that had made him one of the most eligible bachelors in both the Mortal and Uncanny Worlds—even in his Mortal guise. His thick, damp hair was a dark gold, liberally streaked with dark honey and liquid sunlight, cut ruthlessly short on the sides and back but long enough on top he could sweep it back in a timeless style.

Rinsing off his face and patting it dry, Rik tossed the hand towel over to join the discard pile. Pulling out a suit from the closet he kept stocked, just in case, Rik shrugged into a tailored silk shirt, the stark white fabric setting off the golden tone of his skin, while the cut emphasized his broad shoulders and strong arms. Forgoing an undershirt, he fastened the mother-of-pearl buttons before he pulled on a pair of briefs. Sliding his long, powerful legs into a pair of black silk slacks, he tucked his shirt into the waistband and hooked a pair of suspenders on to keep them in place around his narrow waist.

Grabbing his bag and suit jacket, Rik padded barefoot across the cool, polished mahogany floor of his office. As he stepped onto the thick burgundy rug beneath his heavy wooden desk, he could no more resist wriggling his toes in the plush carpet than he could the sigh of satisfaction that escaped his lips.

Tossing his jacket over the back of his massive leather throne—and yes, it more resembled a throne than anything that could be merely referred to as an ‘office chair’—Rik slumped back into the comfortable monstrosity as he gave his day planner a moody glare.

Flicking it to today’s date, April 3rd, Rik stared.

Scrawled at the top of the page, in a deceptively graceful scrawl and in bright, sparkling gold ink, was a note entered by neither he nor Lizzy, his personal assistant; unfortunately, he recognized that handwriting all too well. Only one person would dare write in his carefully arranged schedule with such impunity, especially in that ink—his grandfather, whose humor tended towards a certain twisted sort of whimsy.

8 AM Interview – Sam Kelly. <3

Growling to make a werewolf proud, Rik fished his cell phone out of his bag and quickly thumbed to the appropriate contact on his list. Flicking the phone to speaker, he tossed it on the desk while he fished his socks out of his gym bag.

“Allo! Allo?” A deep, masculine voice purred when the line connected.

“Gods curse it, Grand-père, what do you mean I have an interview this morning? What interview?” Rik barely managed to not roar, but the question still emerged as more of a shout than anything else. Rik’s mood wasn’t made any better, however, by his grandfather’s laughter.

“And a bon jour to you as well, Rikard,” Jean-Paul Leon replied lightly. “I take it you have not had your morning café yet?”

“I just got to my desk,” Rik bit out, struggling to tug on a sock as he glared pointlessly at his phone. Leaning back in his chair, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes and took a slow, calming breath, he continued in a more level tone. “Good morning, Grand-père, I hope I did not wake you.” I totally hope I woke you up, you old bastard. Belatedly, Rik remembered his grandparents were out on the West Coast for business. Not that it really mattered, not when Rik was this upset.

“Non, I was awake. Just getting some breakfast for your grand-mère. We had a…late night. Oui, a very late night,” the dark satisfaction thrumming in his grandfather’s voice had Rik cringing. You’d think that after all these years, he would have gotten used to his grandfather’s ways, but nope, it never got any easier.

Clearing his throat and desperately wanting a subject change, Rik asked, “So who is this Sam Kelly I’m supposed to be interviewing? And why? What are you planning, old man?”

“Planning? Moi? Nothing, nothing,” Jean-Paul’s sly tone lent absolutely no credence to that, but he continued before Rik could respond. “I want you to interview Sam Kelly for the Landsmaster position at the Estates. I emailed you the resume and portfolio last night.”

Letting his now sock-clad right foot fall with a thump, Rik quickly fired up his computer, glaring—again, pointlessly—at the monitor while everything booted up. “Dammit, Grand-père, I already had someone lined up for that. He’s supposed to be here later this week.”

“So?” Jean-Paul blithely replied, and Rik could see his grandfather’s dismissive wave, even from half a continent away. “If I must, consider it an order, mon petit-fils. I am still Patron of the Clan, oui?”

Involuntarily stiffening at the pulsing thread of command lacing his grandfather’s voice, Rik bit back another growl and simply replied, “Yes, Grand-père. I will interview Mr. Kelly and go from there.”

When Jean-Paul erupted in laughter, Rik muttered an oath. “Give Mémé my love,” he gritted, cutting the connection as he pulled up the email from his grandfather.

Absently scratching the left side of his chest, Rik read through the attached documents. After a few minutes of perusal, Rik had to admit that Sam Kelly’s resume was impressive.

Mr. Kelly had graduated magna cum laude from the University of Oregon with a major in Environmental Studies and a minor in Landscape Architecture, before completing a Masters in Environmental Engineering with a thesis titled ‘Mother Nature’s Sustainable Beauty: Balancing the Needs of Business with the Natural World.’ The accompanying portfolio also displayed some truly incredible pieces, with detailed schematics and photographs of the actualized designs, including a ‘Fairy Garden’ designed for the developers of a rather popular gay app, which earned a reluctant bark of laughter from Rik.

Mister Sam Kelly seems to have a rather pointed sense of humor, Rik noted as he opened a browser window and did a quick Google search. The top search results, however, squelched any admiration for the man his grandfather wanted him to hire.

Oh, fuck no!

Sam Kelly’s name was plastered all over the Portland news for being responsible for developing a system that had started one of the worst forest fires in Portland’s history last summer. Luckily, no one had been killed, but the devastation had resulted in hundreds of acres of forest being wiped out and millions of dollars in damages to the surrounding businesses. The ski resort the system had been designed for had been forced to close indefinitely and Sam Kelly had been fired from Wylde Industries with prejudice.

He’d be lucky to be allowed near a tree, much less ever work as an environmental engineer ever again, especially for Rik’s family! Rik would make damn sure the man never went near his family’s estate if it was the last thing he did.

Just as he was about to click another link—not that he needed any further reason to not hire Mr. Kelly, but curiosity was a bitch—Rik’s intercom kicked on and Lizzy’s cheerful voice echoed in his office, “Mr. Leon? Are you in yet?”