Chapter Nine

Morning in the streets of New Orleans in July was like walking inside a humid oven. Sam folded his suit jacket over one arm and quelled his desire to take Michael’s hand as they strolled down Canal Street back toward their hotel. Michael had slung his jacket over one shoulder. His suspenders stood out against his white shirt.

It was only the intensity of the sex they’d had in the shower that morning that kept Sam from getting hard. Still, he admired the view, along with the thought of leather on flesh. His, preferably. He drew in a mouthful of wet air and grinned.

The morning hadn’t turned out so bad after all. A good hard fuck and then coffee with his lover. Couldn’t complain about that, even if the conversation from earlier still lurked in the back of his mind.

Sam took a sip from his takeaway cup. He could do this. He wanted Michael. Wanted to be out. Wanted—a normal life.

They both held their second coffees—the first they had consumed over fresh beignets and laughter in a French Quarter café. That had been a welcome respite, a glimpse at the kind of life possible. But as they neared the hotel, Sam’s doubts crept forward, the ones that told him this wouldn’t work, that he was foolish to try. He’d never held a successful relationship before grad school and he’d been playing the straight man for too long. But for Michael? Damned if he’d let go now. Time to throw everything on the line. Go get help and get his head screwed on the right way around. Kick the past into . . . well, the past.

The hotel rose above them. Those who knew Sam as a CEO, as the man who saved companies, they would be inside the doors. He was supposed to have lunch with William and Vijay Malik. While William acted happy about the deal with Sundra, his interest in Four Rivers at this juncture set entirely different nerves jangling. Especially given the information Fabian had offered. William was a venture capitalist¸ not a technologist—the only thing that should interest him about the deal was the buyout, even if he were running some sort of investment scam.

Perhaps he should have gone to the strip bar with them last night . . . to suss out William’s mind. Then there was the question of what William had known about Michael’s original role at Four Rivers—surely the board must have been aware of the news articles, the photos?

Yet they hadn’t given Michael his due. William also knew Michael was gay—had that come before or after the board had taken over?

“Stop that,” Michael said. He grinned in that way men do when they’ve gotten everything they’ve wanted.

Sam had likely worn a similar expression earlier, after Michael had come down his throat. “Stop what?”

“Thinking. You have that look.” The grin faded. “Whatever you’re worried about, it will be okay.”

They paused at the corner and waited for the light. “I know. It’s not about us. I’m enjoying this, being with you. I’m just worried about the merger and what could go wrong. Three weeks is a long time.”

Michael chuckled. “It wasn’t when it came to finishing the release.”

Now that was true. Remarkable things could happen in three weeks. Or horrible ones.

The light changed. “You going to be able to behave yourself?” Sam couldn’t help teasing. What he said earlier was true. He’d be happy to shout from the rooftops that he was Michael Sebastian’s lover. But they’d have to be careful for the time being.

“I’m the very soul of discretion,” Michael said. “Most of the time.”

Sam snorted and took another sip of his coffee.

“You going to be okay?” From Michael’s tone of voice, Sam knew he meant coming out. Dealing with the past.

“Yeah. I’ll find someone to talk to. Get my shit together. About time I did, really.”

“Good.” Michael grinned before he put on a more professional smile.

They entered the rotating door of the hotel, and Sam slipped back into the role of CEO. “I believe Greta has some people she’d like you to meet.”

Michael nodded. “She said she’d join me here at nine to fill me in on the day.”

The lobby bustled with conference attendees. Sam glanced at his watch. Quarter ’til. They weren’t even late.

They weren’t, however, the first ones. William stood near the self-service coffee bar, stirring too many packs of sugar into his coffee. He looked up and his attention flicked between Sam and Michael, his expression unreadable.

Shit. Sam smoothed over his own features and took another draw on his coffee. The niggling voice in his brain screamed at him to step away from Michael.

You’re overreacting. William was an idiot with a big wallet and a knack for surrounding himself with people who had financial and business sense. There’s no way he’d have guessed there was anything between Sam and Michael other than work camaraderie. The worst accusation William had leveled at Sam was that he acted like a programmer.

Sam nodded to William.

William tossed his stirrer and joined them. “Should have come with us last night, Randell. You missed an amazing set of tits.”

William spoke loudly, turning a few heads. Sam tried not to wince. He didn’t dare look at Michael. “One more drink, and I’d have been asleep in the back of the joint. Glad you and the others had fun.”

William snorted. “You wouldn’t know fun if she bit you.”

Sam gave William his best banal smile before setting down his coffee and donning his suit coat.

William turned to Michael. “What about you, Mike? Want to see what real men like?”

Sam’s blood turned to ice. Holy shit. He hazarded a look to his left. Michael still had his coat tossed over his arm. He looked down at William and the difference between their heights was breathtakingly apparent. Michael’s expression was completely neutral. “I’m not going to answer that.” He shifted his attention and looked over William’s head. “Good morning, Dr. Bachman.”

“Good morning, Michael, Sam.” Greta stood behind William, with an expression that was only half as blank as Michael’s. The other half was disgust.

Sam saluted her with his coffee. Thank God that was over. Fucking William. He owed Greta, even if she didn’t know it. Like old times.

She cleared her throat. “Are you ready, Michael?”

“Yes.” He finished the last of his coffee, tossed the cup, and put on his jacket. Another gray suit, but this one lighter than the previous day’s. The tie had the bright color of the tropics, but without feathers and beaks.

Pity. He was growing fond of tacky parrots.

Michael gave a nod before following Greta toward the main conference rooms.

William stayed, an angry flush creeping up his neck.

“Well, that wasn’t most graceful conversation to have first thing in the morning,” Sam said. “What the hell is wrong with you? Need more of that coffee to clear your head?”

William took a sip and twisted his face. “You weren’t drunk last night, or tired. You’re not interested in women, are you? Are you like him?” He thumbed in the direction Michael had walked.

Sam’s heart thudded hard, but he shrugged, mimicking nonchalance and ignoring the last part. “It’s not a secret I’m not interested in strip bars.”

“Coffee with your employee in the morning? You into that?”

Oh damn it. This better not be going where he thought it might. “We met to talk about Sundra and his potential role there.” He gestured in the direction Michael and Greta had gone. “They’re obviously interested in him, and the self-serve coffee over there is terrible.”

“All the right answers, huh?” William was smiling in a way that turned Sam’s blood cold.

What the hell did William know? And how? Sam racked his brain. “What are you talking about?”

William set his cup down on the table before replying. “On one of my visits to Four Rivers, I checked out the gym.”

Fucking hell. Sam forced himself to breathe normally, to remain relaxed. He hoped to God it worked because showing panic now would do no good. “And?”

“And I heard you. With him.”

William knew. He had known for more than a month. Sam’s fear—all the voices from his past—yelled and screamed, then twisted, cracked, and melted away. He couldn’t afford that emotion, not with William. “And?” He spoke softer than before, but that single word made William step back.

Sam smiled. This role—the asshole CEO—he could do. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” William might be ignorant of technology, but he played politics as well as anyone at his level.

“That depends on whether you actually care about Mike Sebastian.”

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don’t.” Sam spoke through the dizzying panic that dwelt in the back of his mind. “How much are you willing to risk your reputation to find out?”

“My reputation? I’m not the one fucking my employee.”

Sam chuckled and swirled the coffee in his cup before taking a drink. “If he were a woman, you’d be patting me on the back and asking for details.”

William face reddened. “That’s different.”

“No, it really isn’t.” And it wasn’t. Like it or not, Sam’s relationship with Michael wasn’t proper or ethical, even if he had fallen for him. “And knowing you, you’d congratulate me, then stab me in the back with it, just like now. What is it that you want?”

“Four Rivers.”

Sam nearly choked on his coffee. “Sundra has Four Rivers. I saw you sign the paperwork myself. I can’t deliver something you gave away.”

“I mean I want the office. To manage.”

The position that was Michael’s to take. That should have been Michael’s from day one. Shit. “You don’t know the first thing about routing. Or engineering.”

“I don’t need to. All I need to know is how to get people to work. I’ve done that. This deal is proof.”

And how to syphon funds. Sam didn’t crush the paper cup in his hand. For one, it still contained good coffee. He drank the remains. “I’m not so sure Sundra sees it that way.” Hell, if Four Rivers had followed William’s plan, only the intellectual property would be on the market, not the talent. Sundra wouldn’t have bought.

“That’s where you come in. You’re going to recommend me.”

Like hell. More like drop enough paperwork at Sundra legal to bury William. “Why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t I’ll let everyone know what kind of man Sebastian is. How the upstanding, well-loved Mike bent over to get ahead in his career.”

Sam’s heart stuttered and the cold edge of fear surged in. All thoughts of handing William over to Sundra faded. Shit.

Michael didn’t deserve to have his name dragged through the mud because Sam had lost discretion. Even if Michael were right about Pittsburgh and how well the community knew him, companies would notice. The scandal would limit his career choices. And Sundra was larger than just Pittsburgh.

There was something worse than being gay in business—cocksucking your way up the ladder. That it was Sam who ended up with a dick in his mouth didn’t matter. Everyone would assume the other way around.

It would destroy Michael.

“What happens if you get what you want?” It was a sign that Sam had caved, but he had to know.

William grinned, his teeth too white. “Your friend Mike keeps his job. You leave town. Everyone’s happy.”

Not acceptable. Nor was punching William in the face. Sam chewed on his tongue and said words that tasted of bitter, bitter defeat. “Let me have some time to consider.”

All fang and gloat, William had the aura of a predator with his muzzle in a kill. “You had better make up your mind by lunch, because you’re going to give a glowing recommendation to Dr. Malik then.” William picked up his coffee and walked toward the conference area. “See you later, Randell.”

Sam remained, planted on the spot of carpet, ice running in his veins. That gave him less than three hours to figure out some way out of this mess. All he wanted to do was run out the door.

What the hell do I do now?

Every answer he came up with was a bad choice that led to a broken career or broken heart.

Or both.

***

Michael shook Greta’s hand and some of the tension he’d carried since following her into the small conference room slipped away. “Thank you very much. I hope I meet your expectations.”

The talk—interview in reality—had gone well, though Greta had caught him somewhat off-guard with years’ worth of his goals and evaluations and project notes. Sundra had been busy and taken an unusual interest in the folks at Four Rivers. That was good—better than he had expected. It meant what Sam had implied was true—Sundra wanted more than just the software and hardware. They wanted the brains behind those as well.

“If the work you’ve done over the past seven years is any indicator, you’ll exceed them.” Greta gathered the spread of papers she’d laid out over the conference room table. “We’re glad to have you on board.”

What they wanted from him was straightforward—and essentially what he had done back when Susan had been CEO. Oversee all the projects at the office, coordinate the different teams. Be the person who orchestrated development. It would mean handing over the management of testing to someone else—he would miss that—he’d built a good team in the past four years. But to be involved from the ground up again? He wanted that—had for years. It’s what the board—and Rasheed and Susan—had taken from him.

And yes, technically he’d be a suit. He’d also have the title that should have been his ages ago—Vice President of Routing Development—but Sundra had a very lax dress code. The actual suit was optional; he could still dress like it was five o’clock somewhere.

There was one thing he had to ask, though. “How much of this was Sam’s idea?”

Greta stacked her papers and slipped them into an attaché case. A small smile curled the edge of her lips, then vanished. “Very little. He recommended you, but we do our own diligence. You’re not the only person we looked at. Whether or not Sam had said anything, you would have risen to the top of our list.”

More knots loosened in his shoulders.

Greta picked up her case, then opened the door and gestured for him to proceed her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve worked with Sam. It’s a shame he’ll be moving on.”

“He has to, though. Part of the deal.”

Greta nodded. “In some ways, he’s too much of a go-getter to say put. Never willing to settle down.”

That pretty much described Sam to a tee. They rounded the corner and returned to the lobby. On the far side, near the bar, Sam sat. He waved when he saw them, but it was stiff—calculated.

Michael hesitated for just an instant, his heart dropping to his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greta look his way. I’m giving away too many signals. He walked forward, keeping his pace casual. But God, the look on Sam’s face. His smile didn’t even touch his cheeks or eyes. Something was horribly wrong and Sam was doing his damnedest to hide it.

As they approached, Sam gestured at the other chairs around the high-top table. “Please. I need to speak to you both.”

This time, it was Greta who paused, her expression frozen for just a second. Sam gave her a smile that was old and worn—the kind friends share—then she slid onto one of the chairs. Michael took the other. Sam’s gaze was wary, sad, fearful, and defiant, all mixed into a blur.

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Greta beat him. “Oh, Randy. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Sam’s chuckle was strained. “The usual.”

Michael found himself being studied by Greta in a way that made heat rise to his face. It wasn’t sexual by any means . . . but it was knowing. Very, very knowing. Sam’s two words seemed to have told Greta everything. Shit. Had Sam changed his mind?

“I don’t buy that,” she said. “If this were the usual, he wouldn’t be here. Or you wouldn’t.”

Michael’s ears felt like they were aflame. She certainly knew they were a couple. And if Greta did . . . Michael’s innards twisted. Oh, fuck. Everything they’d talked about moments before might be gone.

This time, Sam’s laugh was more open. “Oh, now that’s true. I always ran, didn’t I?” He sobered quickly and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to run. William is trying to blackmail me.”

A burst of prickles raced down Michael’s back. Sam wasn’t running and they were in a fuck-ton of trouble. Elation and horror. “How did he—” His brain caught up and he swallowed. “I guess it doesn’t matter how.”

“Because indiscretion is indiscretion.” Greta said the words without emotion. “One of you reports to the other.”

Sam nodded.

A stabbing pain formed behind Michael’s eye. “It’s not—” His throat threatened to close tight. “He didn’t take advantage of me. It just—” Jubilation to despair.

“Happened?” She finished for him. “That’s fine. Well, no, it’s not, but for this, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “Truly.”

Michael wasn’t sure if the apology was for him or Greta or both of them. He reached across the table and gave Sam’s hand a squeeze. “What I said before still holds.”

Greta blew out a puff of air. “You never make things easy, do you?” She raised a hand to catch the attention of the barkeeper. “I’m ordering a Bloody Mary and you’re paying, Randy. Then you’re going to tell me everything.”

“Deal.”

They added two waters to that order, and when the drinks came, they started. Everything meant everything, apparently, because Michael found himself telling her about Curaçao in general terms, but also the stupidity of the former CEO and what led up to Sam taking over Four Rivers. Sam filled in his own details—the financial corruption of Michael’s old boss, Taylor, his suspicions about William, though not what Fabian had passed along. Then he told his account of Curaçao—and how he and Michael both tried to be on the up and up.

“I take it that failed?” Greta’s amusement was evident.

Sam actually blushed, and that was answer enough. He cleared his throat. “Now William wants the site manager position.”

“Why?” Michael tapped a finger against the brushed chrome surface of the table. “He doesn’t know a damn thing about routers.”

“That’s the part that baffled me. He’s hardly qualified and hates that kind of work. He said something about using it as a way into Sundra, but that makes no sense. Unless he has his fingers in something else.”

Greta toyed with the celery in her drink. “Well, William won’t get the job even if you were to sing his praises. It’s a position for someone with a technical background, not a venture capitalist. And we don’t take well to bigots.”

Sam winced. “So you heard that part of the conversation this morning.”

Greta scowled into her Bloody Mary. “The man needs a muzzle.”

“He also tried to sink Four Rivers,” Sam said. “I’m not so egotistical as to think he’s just getting back at me.” Sam shook his head. “From the way he acts, he’s a homophobe, but I can’t think this is all about that, either.”

Michael still reeled from some of the information Sam had spilled. “What do you mean ‘sink’?”

“He wanted to give you a week for testing after freeze.”

Michael sat back in his chair. Sam had gotten him three and he’d been furious. If they made it out of this, he’d owe Sam. Big time. Now more than ever. “Well, shit.”

Greta put her drink down. “I saw your test plans. That’s— No way in hell you could have done your testing in one week.”

“It’s all very hinky,” Sam said. “And I was dumb enough to give him an opening.” He scrubbed his face.

“We.” Damned if he’d let Sam take all the blame. “You didn’t act alone.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched as if to smile. “No, I didn’t.”

Michael stared at his water. William had never been kind, had always been an ass to him, even from the day the board took over. Michael still had no idea what Rasheed and Susan had told the board about him. He looked up. “Do you think he knew about me? From before?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “The paperwork I had access to was scrubbed clean.”

“Before what?” Greta’s question had the snap of irritation.

Well, she had asked for everything. “I helped found Four Rivers. Why I’m not on any of the paperwork is screwed up and entwined with personal reasons, but I was there.”

“From day one,” Greta said.

“Yes. Except I was also—” Michael’s throat tightened. Because he still couldn’t betray Rasheed. Not even after all these years.

Greta took another sip of her Bloody Mary. “You and Rasheed Esfahani were lovers.”

“How did you know?” It was Sam who asked the question Michael wanted to. Good thing, because Michael couldn’t. Not through lungs so tight he could barely breathe.

“Mr. Esfahani told us.” She set her glass down. “I told you we did our diligence.”

Michael found his voice. “You spoke to him?”

“And his wife, yes. You were demoted when they sold the company. We wanted to know why.”

Wife. Susan. Shit, they had gone and done that, then. “You knew this before we sat down back there.”

“They think the world of you.”

Michael reached for his water, wishing it were something much stronger. Sam wasn’t the only one who’d need therapy when they got back to Pittsburgh.

Rasheed. Susan. His heart twisted into knots.

“They confirmed that where you ended up was not where you should have. It speaks volumes to your loyalty that you stayed. You care quite a bit about Four Rivers.”

That was an understatement. “Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Greta turned to Sam. “You have lunch with Dr. Malik, yes?”

“At noon. With William. Whereupon I am to warble about his wonders or William will toss Michael under the bus.”

Michael nearly choked on his water. “Me?”

Sam studied his hands. “He guessed that threatening me wouldn’t do anything. So he chose another target, one he thought I might protect.” He looked up. Lines of anger and worry marred Sam’s face. “It was a very good guess.”

That heartened Michael, as did the sudden realization of one of the other reasons they were sitting here. “You don’t want to see everyone back at the office screwed over by William.”

“No. Neither of William’s outcomes is acceptable.” Sam leaned back. “So I’m doing the only thing I can.”

Greta snorted. “You’re changing the rules.”

“I’d prefer to think of it as blazing my own path.” He paused. “But it’s not just mine anymore.”

It was also Michael’s. “I’ll take my lumps for . . . this inappropriate relationship,” he said to Greta. “I want what’s best for my team and the office. You can’t let William run them into the ground.”

Greta rubbed her forehead, then took her cell phone from her blazer pocket and stood. “Let me make a call. I’ll be back.” She walked away from the table.

Michael laid his hand on the table, palm up. Sam hesitated for a moment, then covered it with his own. Sam’s palm was sweaty and his pulse nearly as fast as Michael’s own. “He was in the locker room.”

Hell. “He couldn’t have seen anything.”

Sam shook his head. “But he very well might have heard quite a bit.”

“Or guessed from the clothing by the lockers.”

“Does it matter?” Sam sounded amused, but there was sadness layered on top.

“No. And I don’t regret that day at all.” He squeezed Sam’s hand.

Sam’s expression was thin. “I don’t want to regret it, but we did break the rules. A case could be made that I took advantage—”

“Hush. One could as easily be made that I came on to you. Especially since I did in Curaçao.” He paused. “I don’t regret that either.”

Sam exhaled. “Neither do I. That night was the second best night of my life.”

Curiosity got the better of Michael. “What was the best?”

“Last night.” Sam’s smile took on depth and warmth.

Just you wait. “There will be more.”

A redness tinged Sam’s neck and he coughed. “You’re not bothered by this at all, are you?”

He was. The position Sundra offered was everything he wanted—what he had once been. A correction for injustices done. But Sam—was more. Mornings and nights and all the times in between. Laughter and dinners and biking in the park. The job was, in the end, a job. Sam was everything Michael wanted in his life—someone to share it with. “Chance gives and chance takes. You cling to what’s important.”

Sam shook his head. “When you say things like that . . .”

“What?”

“I realize just how far I’ve fallen for you. Michael, I—” He looked up and froze.

Michael turned to follow Sam’s gaze, slipping his hand free in the process.

Greta had returned, but not alone. Dr. Vijay Malik stood beside her, looking none-too-pleased. “You two chose quite the interesting time for revelations.”

Michael stood. The sound of a chair scuffing carpet told him Sam had as well. “To be honest, I would have preferred a different venue,” Michael said. “But it seems someone had other plans.”

Sam stepped forward. “Regardless of us and whether we remain at Four Rivers, there are things you should know about William Vandershoot.”

“So I hear.” Dr. Malik gestured that they should follow.

Time to face their decisions.