Page 31 of Takeover
True. What he now knew about Michael’s past—Rasheed and Susan, the way the board had screwed Michael—that tumbled around in his brain faster than the alcohol in his blood. The headache was gone, though. The anger, as well. “Since it brought us here, to this moment, it was worth it.”
Michael stroked the condensation on the wall of the glass. “I’m sorry.”
He spoke so quietly, Sam nearly lost the words under the music and the chatter in the bistro. The room swam, but not due to his consumption of beer. Giddiness and apprehension collided, leaving Sam breathless. “For what?”
“For the server room. For being pigheaded.” Michael paused and dropped his voice even further. “And for leaving the locker room like I did.”
Sam leaned forward so he could hear Michael over the noise. A few more inches and their foreheads might have touched. “I didn’t know what to make of you running like that.”
“You’re my boss. In Curaçao, it was one thing, but here…”
Sam ran his finger around the top of his glass. “Here it’s more than a little improper.” If they’d been different people, a romp in the shower wouldn’t have meant anything… but they were who they were. “Had I known about”—he waved, not wanting to say Rasheed’s name aloud—“your past, I wouldn’t have pushed.”
“I know.” Michael paused and a tiny grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”
The deep notes in Michael’s voice sent sparks down Sam’s spine. He tried to hide his own smile. Probably failed. That afternoon would top his favorite memory list, for sure. “Ditto.” He sat back to give them both more space. If he hadn’t moved away, he’d close the distance and start their problems all over again.
Michael sat back as well. “They don’t know. Your colleagues.”
That sucked the heat out of the room. “That I’m gay?”
Michael nodded and picked up his beer.
He owed Michael this much, certainly. “No. They think I’m a prude.” Because men at his level weren’t gay. Or rather, gay men didn’t make it to this level. It was bullshit, but that was that. He’d chosen to play the game to get what he wanted—make the tech world a bit better for the people in the trenches, make a pile of cash, and thumb his nose at the establishment. The bitter taste in his throat returned. Except he was the establishment now. “They used to send women up to my room. I’d send them straight back down. Never occurred to them that there might be a reason other than morals.”
Michael choked on his beer. “They sent you call girls?”
“Sure. At industry events. They also invited me out to strip joints. It’s a thing.” The first time a woman had shown up at his door, he’d waffled between wanting to quit and wanting to beat the living shit out of the guy who’d made the call. He had tipped the woman well and sent her on her way.
He would never resort to violence. Ever.
Maybe he should have quit back then. Made different choices. Michael sat an arm’s reach away. So close. Too far.
“That’s a shitty thing,” Michael said.
“I don’t disagree with you on that.” Sam drank the last of his beer. Venture capitalists—the ones like William—had more money than soul. After two more attempts to entice Sam, the women had stopped appearing at his door. “They sent me a guy once, as a joke. I sent him back like the others.”
An odd look passed over Michael’s face, curiosity twined with trepidation. It was an expression Sam had seen on many people, though never during a conversation like this. “What?” He let his irritation seep into his voice.
Michael’s face reddened and he finished his beer, placing it decisively on the table. “Was he hot?”
Sam clamped down on the laughter that threatened to pour out. That would only draw attention to them, and he liked this place. A block from his apartment, it was somewhere he could fade into the background. People-watch. Dream. He took a deep breath. “Utterly. You know the statue of David? He looked like that, I swear to God.”
“You could tell that from under his clothes?”
“He wasn’t wearing anything under his coat.”
Michael’s mouth worked, but no sound came out for a long moment. Then a deep exhale. “And you sent him away.”
“With five Benjamins.”
Michael’s eyes were wide, his mouth open. The dumbfounded look.
Sam chuckled. How he loved doing that to Michael.
If he stayed, he could keep doing that to Michael.
Their waiter came with the bill and he grabbed the black folder before Michael could. Wasn’t hard. “Working dinner.”
