Page 13 of Takeover
More heat crept up Sam’s neck. There was truth to Michael’s accusation; the board did want to sell the company. The bonus Sam would get if they managed that was quite nice. But he wasn’t here just to make money—that was never the reason he stepped into a company like Four Rivers. He lowered his voice, but not his intensity. “I want to see that the right things are done.”
“And what right things would those be?” Michael didn’t move, but his dark gaze pinned Sam against the chair and sent a bolt of heat to his balls. “Fire staff? Push us to our limits before handing over our IP?”
Sam resisted the urge to fidget under Michael’s scrutiny. He leaned forward, taking control. “Not if I have my way.” He let that sink in. “The board wants out. They’d gladly sell the intellectual property and fire everyone if they could, if it wouldn’t be such a bad PR move. I’m here to prevent that.”
Michael continued his study of Sam. “And what do you want to happen?”
Sam hoped he hid the shudder that ran down his spine. What he wanted was to be stripped of his clothes, Michael’s lips on his and Michael inside him again. That wasn’t even an option. God. His legs shook. “I want this company—and the people here—to be acquired. Not just Four Rivers’ IP, but all the talent as well.” He paused. “That’s the only route to survival.”
“Is that even possible after”—Michael’s face twisted—“the debacle we just went through?”
“It’s a hell of a lot harder now than it was a month ago. But I think we can still manage it, as long as we can fix the damage done. Show them that we can turn things around, that the people here are as good as you say.”
Michael frowned. “Show who?”
Sam froze. Damn, the man was perceptive. “I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Hard words.
“Does it make a difference?” His response was soft, but equally unyielding. He might be submissive in bed, but the hell he would be in his own office.
Michael sighed, and finally looked away. “Not particularly, I suppose.”
“Are you willing to work with me, Michael?”
A genuine smile graced Michael’s face, one that sent electricity down every nerve. “Call me Mike. At least at work.”
“Mike.” There would be no calling him anything after work, no matter how much Sam wanted the man. One night had to remain just that. Too much to risk losing.
“What about you? Are you willing to listen to me?” Michael scooted to the edge of the chair, inching closer. “Or will you throw me under the bus when things don’t go smoothly? When my team finds issues? When I contradict you?”
Sam’s chest ached. So, back to being a suit. Fine. “I don’t punish people for doing their jobs. What kind of asshole do you think I am?” That came out far stronger than he’d intended.
But the shock on Michael’s face was priceless.
Sam softened his voice. “I’ve an open-door policy. I’m always willing to listen, and I do actually act on what I hear.”
“You don’t know how many times I’ve heard about an open-door policy, that the CEO wants straight talk.”
“I mean it.” Whether Michael believed or not. “I believe in honesty.” He ignored the voice in his mind that whispered about hypocrisy.
“I’m sure you do,” Michael said, his voice low, almost sensual. He reached across the desk and plucked the cuff link off the surface. “Just like you want me to forget Curaçao.”
It was as if all the air in the room vanished. Sam’s chest tightened, and he focused entirely on the shining piece of metal Michael rolled between his fingers.
“And I wonder,” Michael said, “can you leave that night behind?”
The proof that he couldn’t danced between Michael’s fingertips. Sam’s ass burned for Michael’s hand and his cock was full and stiff. He swallowed, though his throat was desert-dry, unlike his back. That was slick with perspiration, enough so that he’d have to wear his jacket to hide the wetness if he left his office anytime soon. Any ground he’d gained in this tête-à-tête, he’d lost in an instant. It must have showed.
“I thought as much.” Michael set the cuff link down on the desk. “So how do we navigate around it?”
Sam found his voice, though it cracked like autumn leaves. “Professional decorum.” He cleared his throat. “What happened in Curaçao—”
“Stays there?”
“Yes. It has to.” The salt of Michael’s skin, the velvet touch of his lips, the rough sound of his breath when he came… all that had to remain a memory. It certainly had no place here at the office in Pittsburgh. “Anything else would be breaking more corporate policies than I care to count.” And would unveil far too much about Sam to everyone around him.
“I can handle that.” Sam couldn’t tell if that was conviction in Michael’s voice or the knowledge of a lie well told. It too closely mirrored his own voice, his own lies.
