Page 67 of Takeover-
“He has to, though. Part of the deal.”
Greta nodded. “In some ways, he’s too much of a go-getter to say put. Never willing to settle down.”
That pretty much described Sam to a tee. They rounded the corner and returned to the lobby. On the far side, near the bar, Sam sat. He waved when he saw them, but it was stiff—calculated.
Michael hesitated for just an instant, his heart dropping to his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greta look his way.I’m giving away too many signals.He walked forward, keeping his pace casual. But God, the look on Sam’s face. His smile didn’t even touch his cheeks or eyes. Something was horribly wrong and Sam was doing his damnedest to hide it.
As they approached, Sam gestured at the other chairs around the high-top table. “Please. I need to speak to you both.”
This time, it was Greta who paused, her expression frozen for just a second. Sam gave her a smile that was old and worn—the kind friends share—then she slid onto one of the chairs. Michael took the other. Sam’s gaze was wary, sad, fearful, and defiant, all mixed into a blur.
Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Greta beat him. “Oh, Randy. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Sam’s chuckle was strained. “The usual.”
Michael found himself being studied by Greta in a way that made heat rise to his face. It wasn’t sexual by any means… but it was knowing. Very, very knowing. Sam’s two words seemed to have told Greta everything.Shit.Had Sam changed his mind?
“I don’t buy that,” she said. “If this were the usual, he wouldn’t be here. Or you wouldn’t.”
Michael’s ears felt like they were aflame. She certainly knew they were a couple. And if Greta did… Michael’s innards twisted.Oh, fuck. Everything they’d talked about moments before might be gone.
This time, Sam’s laugh was more open. “Oh, now that’s true. I always ran, didn’t I?” He sobered quickly and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to run. William is trying to blackmail me.”
A burst of prickles raced down Michael’s back. Sam wasn’t running and they were in a fuck-ton of trouble. Elation and horror. “How did he—” His brain caught up and he swallowed. “I guess it doesn’t matter how.”
“Because indiscretion is indiscretion.” Greta said the words without emotion. “One of you reports to the other.”
Sam nodded.
A stabbing pain formed behind Michael’s eye. “It’s not—” His throat threatened to close tight. “He didn’t take advantage of me. It just—” Jubilation to despair.
“Happened?” She finished for him. “That’s fine. Well, no, it’s not, but for this, it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “Truly.”
Michael wasn’t sure if the apology was for him or Greta or both of them. He reached across the table and gave Sam’s hand a squeeze. “What I said before still holds.”
Greta blew out a puff of air. “You never make things easy, do you?” She raised a hand to catch the attention of the barkeeper. “I’m ordering a Bloody Mary and you’re paying, Randy. Then you’re going to tell me everything.”
“Deal.”
They added two waters to that order, and when the drinks came, they started. Everything meant everything, apparently, because Michael found himself telling her about Curaçao in general terms, but also the stupidity of the former CEO and what led up to Sam taking over Four Rivers. Sam filled in his own details—the financial corruption of Michael’s old boss, Taylor, his suspicions about William, though not what Fabian had passed along. Then he told his account of Curaçao—and how he and Michael both tried to be on the up and up.
“I take it that failed?” Greta’s amusement was evident.
Sam actually blushed, and that was answer enough. He cleared his throat. “Now William wants the site manager position.”
“Why?” Michael tapped a finger against the brushed chrome surface of the table. “He doesn’t know a damn thing about routers.”
“That’s the part that baffled me. He’s hardly qualified and hates that kind of work. He said something about using it as a way into Sundra, but that makes no sense. Unless he has his fingers in something else.”
Greta toyed with the celery in her drink. “Well, William won’t get the job even if you were to sing his praises. It’s a position for someone with a technical background, not a venture capitalist. And we don’t take well to bigots.”
Sam winced. “So you heard that part of the conversation this morning.”
Greta scowled into her Bloody Mary. “The man needs a muzzle.”
“He also tried to sink Four Rivers,” Sam said. “I’m not so egotistical as to think he’s just getting back at me.” Sam shook his head. “From the way he acts, he’s a homophobe, but I can’t think this is all about that, either.”
