Page 41 of Takeover
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 speechSam 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?”
