Page 29 of Takeover
He’d paid—and Four Rivers had paid—for that mistake. “I made plans to move out and told both Susan and Rasheed I wanted my third of the company.”
Sam had a distant look for a moment. “I’m guessing this all went down right before they sold their shares to the board.”
“Bingo,” Michael said. “Susan was amenable, as was Rasheed, since it meant a bigger cut for him. Four Rivers was large enough that we needed more venture capital, so it was a good time to switch all of that around. Or so they said. The process was supposed to take a couple of months.”
Sam shook his head. Probably because he knew enough to guess what had happened next.
“I believed in both of them—in their integrity and honesty. But in the end William and the board owned the majority of the shares and Susan and Rasheed were on their way to California. I was supposed to get a nice big cut of Four Rivers, but they hadn’t made that contingent when they sold their portions.”
“William and the board screwed you over.”
A searing burn tore through Michael and he dug his nails into his palms. Four Rivers had been his dream. “Yup.”
Sam was silent for a moment. “Susan and Rasheed went to California together, didn’t they? As a couple.”
The anger loosened. “More than anything, Rasheed wanted a normal life—to him that meant a heterosexual life. And Susan loved him in her own way and understood who he was. I suppose she could live with that.”
Again Sam fell into silence and Michael let it stretch and fill the room. Finally, Sam stirred. “You stayed. At Four Rivers. After all that, why didn’t you walk away?”
Michael found himself swallowing through a very tight throat. “It was all I had left of him. Of them. Of those years of friendship.” He took another breath. “I couldn’t just leave the people I’d hired to fend for themselves against a board full of vipers and their new hand-picked executives.”
“So that’s why you hate the board—the suits.” Sam leaned back in his chair. “And why you don’t trust me.”
Sam cut right to the bone. Again. “I thought this was a conversation about me?”
Sam’s chuckle was dark and delicious. “Is it?”
He deserved that. “This is why I don’t trust the board.Youaren’t the same.”
“Bullshit. I’m a suit.” Sam twisted the word into something ugly. “Your boss.”
His beautiful, masochistic, type-A, closeted boss. Michael shivered, despite himself. He wanted Sam. More now than ever—but Sam was correct. Michael didn’t trust him.
“Of all the people in this company,” Sam said, “you know me far better than anyone else. Have I ever given you a reason not to believe that I mean what I say?”
Michael raised his gaze. Sam still watched him, but now the lines of hurt etched his face. “No, you haven’t.” If anything, Sam had given him every reason to believe. Been more open with him than anyone had ever been, including Rasheed.
“I understand where you’re coming from now, but please consider where I sit. You have no idea what it’s like to balance the wants of that board of vipers—as you call them—with what is right for the company and its employees. I want to see you all rewarded for the years of work you’ve put in and the shit you’ve taken. They want to get as much money as they can.”
“I know.”
“No you don’t. Fuck, Michael, if you did, this would have been a very different day.”
Those words were like a two-by-four to the shoulder blades. He flinched under the impact.
“I am a suit,” Sam said. “You’re right about that. I’d like to think that I’m altruistic, but that’s not entirely true. I do like helping people—it’s a great feeling—but I love the rush of success, the high when everything works out, especially if I’ve had to cajole the board. The money’s nice, but I give a lot of that away. What the hell am I going to spend it on anyway?”
Sam as an adrenaline junky made sense. The running. The desire to be thrashed. “I don’t know. Most higher-ups I know seem to like cars.”
“I haven’t owned a car in years. I move around too much.”
A different shock hit Michael. “How do you get to work?” Pittsburgh wasn’t an easy town to live in without a car. Sure, there were buses, but they kept cutting the routes. Besides, Sam on PAT Transit?
“I walk. I’m renting a furnished apartment downtown.”
“But—how do you get groceries?” There wasn’t a store for miles.
Sam laughed and the sound danced through Michael—painful and sweet. “The Strip District? The Public Market? It’s not like I can’t walk a couple dozen blocks.” His grin widened as if he could read Michael’s thoughts. “Sometimes I even put on jeans and a T-shirt and take the bus to Squirrel Hill.”
