Page 84 of Under Construction

He doesn’t look up, but the small smile tugging at his lips is impossible to miss. It’s enough to make Dennis snort, shaking his head as he turns back to the bamboo delivery.

Later, during the supplier meeting, Chris sits beside Dennis at the conference table.

Professional distance restored—except for how Dennis’s foot hooks around Chris’s ankle under the table. For how Chris’s eyes linger on where Dennis’s collar hides fresh marks.

"The recycled wood panels are delayed," the supplier drones. "Raw material costs—"

"Unacceptable." Dennis’s voice carries that edge he inherited from his father. "We have installation deadlines."

"Market fluctuations—"

"Are factored into our contract." Chris leans forward, all business now. He pulls at their linked ankles, dragging Dennis’s foot closer to his chair beneath the table. "Your margins are protected. Our timeline isn't negotiable."

Watching Chris handle suppliers does something to Dennis. The way he switches from playful site manager to ruthless negotiator. The way he knows exactly which pressure points to push.

The way he backs Dennis’s vision without hesitation.

The supplier caves eventually. They always do when Chris gets that look in his eyes.

"That was hot," Dennis tells him after, crowding Chris against his office wall. The construction noise filters through the windows. Hammering and drilling that almost—but not quite—drowns out the rush of blood in his ears, fueling the burn in his cheeks as he leans in closer. "The way you shut him down."

"Yeah?" Chris’s hands find his hips like it’s second nature, tugging him closer without a thought. "Like watching me work, princess?"

"Like watching you win." Dennis nips his jaw. "Makes me want to thank you properly."

"During business hours?" Chris's mock scandalized tone doesn't match how he's already untucking Dennis’s shirt. "How unprofessional."

Dennis’s teeth scrape the unmarked side of Chris's neck, leaving tiny, neat love bites in their wake.

If Chris gets to mark him up, so very visibly, it's only fair he gets to return the favor—with more finesse, of course.

His palm slides down Chris's front, cupping his very prominent interest in current proceedings through his cargos. "Says the man who fingered me through the Zoom budget meeting yesterday."

"Had to keep you relaxed somehow." Chris spins them, pressing Dennis against the wall. "You get too tense during financial discussions."

Their laughter turns to gasps as hands find skin. They should wait. Should maintain some boundaries between work and whatever this is.

These days, professionalism seems to slip further with every locked door, every stolen moment.

They’re getting bolder. More careless. Or maybe they just couldn’t care less?

Either way, neither of them seems to mind.

Not when Chris's mouth is hot on his neck and Dennis’s hands are already behind himself, wrestling Chris's belt open and they've never been good at waiting.

Not when Chris keeps proving himself invaluable in ways Dennis never expected.

Not when every professional victory feels personal now.

They actually manage to work after that.

Chris reviews structural reports while Dennis updates timeline projections, both pretending they're not stealing glances when the other isn't looking.

"These compression tests are interesting," Chris says, frowning at his tablet. He's perched on the edge of Dennis’s desk, shirt still wrinkled from their earlier activities. "The bamboo's performing better than standard materials."

"Of course it is." Dennis can't help the pride in his voice. "That's why I chose it."

"Didn't believe it at first," Chris admits. "Thought you were just being stubborn about sustainability."

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