Page 10 of Takeover
This was so so so not good. Michael wanted that voice to beg him again. Wanted that man on his knees and that mouth wrapped around his cock.
Shit. Michael gripped the windowsill. There was nowhere to run. He could only listen.
“As you’ve probably guessed, my name is S. Randell Anderson. TheSis for Sam, by the way.” He paused and his gaze skimmed over the crowd, lingering briefly on Michael. “That’s the first question everyone asks.”
A flutter of laughter.
Sam smiled. “You can call me Randell or Sam or Randy or You Fucking Jerk. I don’t particularly care, as long as you’re willing to work with me.” Another pause, and the smile faded into that same intense smoky look Sam had held in the bar. “And I do mean work, because the next several months are going to consume you and me. I apologize in advance to your families and friends for that, but you all know why I’m here.”
No laughter now.
Sam glanced around the room. “Four Rivers Networks is in dire straits. That half-baked release that went out into the field did more to kill your reputation than a string of low sales quarters. If something isn’t done, by this time next year, this office won’t exist.”
The murmurs returned and Sam held up his hand. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you everything will be okay and if we’re all one happy corporate family, sunshine and rainbows will cover the building with gold and money will fart out our asses.” He leaned into the microphone and his voice boomed. “Not going to happen.”
A deathly silence hung over the lunchroom, broken only by the sound of Sam’s shoes as he walked back and forth in front of them. “However, I wouldn’t be here if there were no hope, no way of turning things around. The first task I want everyone in this room focused on for the next month is to put out the quality release that should have gone out to our customers. I know you can do it because you’ve done it before. That will go quite some way toward regaining your reputation as a builder of world-class networking software and equipment.”
Michael’s brain swam and the garish colors of the room made him nauseous. This couldn’t be happening. If Sam were a CEO, then Michael was sure as shit he wasn’t openly gay. Someone in his team would have mentioned that, so Sam was another fucking Rasheed.
A woman at one of the tables raised her hand, catching Sam’s attention. “And what are you going to do?”
“That’s a good question.” He pointed to the table. “What’s your name?”
“Metap.”
Good for Metap. Jennifer sat next to her and together they were a force to be reckoned with. Someone had to challenge Sam. He fucking couldn’t at the moment.
“Metap,” Sam repeated. “I’m going to smooth over a ton of ruffled customer feathers and try to make sure they don’t cancel contracts. I’m going to work with your managers to get you all what you need to get the job done, and I’m going to be the wall between you and the idiot directors who don’t know how much effort it takes to put out the highly complex product you do.” Sam looked over his shoulder at William. “No offense.”
That gained Sam a few chuckles but William looked pained.
Sam worked the room like a pro. Said all the right things. Begrudgingly, Michael had to give the man credit. Sam-the-CEO didn’t sound like your average suit—he wasn’t coating it with sugar then flinging poo at them. Maybe… this CEO might work out after all. His cynical side scoffed at the thought. The same board had demoted Michael, despite his role in starting the company. They’d hired Taylor and Vince. He couldn’t trust anything the board did.
But there was Sam, in the front of the room and a deep part of Michael wanted to trust him.
Because Sam had trusted Michael. Surrendered to him. Had come for him.
There was that light-headedness again. How the hell were they supposed to work together? All Michael wanted to do was pull Sam out of the room, find somewhere private, and kiss the man. Or fuck. Or tan his ass. God, to feel that mouth again, taste his skin, hear him beg for more and more.
He wasn’t supposed to like the CEO. He certainly wasn’t supposed to lust after the man. And after dating—and hiding that he was dating—Rasheed, he wasn’t about to march down that path to disaster again.
Sam took several questions, but Michael didn’t hear them over the thumping of blood in his head. He studied the way Sam’s lips moved, how his fingers held the mic, the way the curve of his smile crinkled the lines near his eyes. Every time their gazes met, Michael felt the same burn of desire he had felt in Curaçao, to strip the suit off and master the man underneath.
Sam. His brand-new CEO.
* * *
Sam’s fingersshook as he toyed with his one remaining Copernican universe cuff link. He’d bought the pair the first time he’d made enough money to afford something utterly frivolous and expensive, and chosen the design to remind himself that he was not the center of the universe despite his status and success.
So many of his colleagues had succumbed to thinking that the world revolved around them, that they were there to lead the little people and whip them into doing what they should, never realizing that the so-called little people were the ones who inspired and innovated and motivated. Those CEOs acted as if every invention had sprung fully formed from their skulls.
Four Rivers Networks was a fine example of that. The board might have hired Sam, but he worked for the employees. These folks here had been royally screwed over by an incompetent and near-criminal CEO and had suffered under an egomaniacal VP of Engineering. Every one of them deserved better. It was a wonder they hadn’t all packed up and moved on to one of the larger high-tech companies in Pittsburgh or left town altogether like the Four Rivers founders had.
When he’d asked the engineers why they hadn’t jumped ship, they’d pointed toward the one person they loved working with and for, the man who’d kept those two idiots in check for the last three years, the person who motivated a small team of engineers to create a product that scared the pants off larger routing companies.
Mike Sebastian. Sam stared at his cuff link. Michael.
The same man who’d lovingly bound Sam’s hands with his own damn tie, spanked his ass, then fucked him until he couldn’t see straight.
