The Administration Series (50 page)

"Not really. But —" Warrick shook his head, then leaned back. "Never mind. Off you go."

"Do you want to cancel next week?"

Warrick considered, looking down at his hand. "No, I don't think so," he said eventually. "I'll call you if I don't feel up to it, but it's not a bad break —" He grimaced. "Allegedly, anyway, and it should be a lot better by then."

"Good." He dropped the cuffs into his pocket. "Because, in case you'd forgotten, you owe me a fucking expensive dinner and a blowjob."

Friday, late afternoon.

Warrick had an end-of-the-week feeling, something relatively new. Since the foundation of the corporation, weekends had been simply the days when it was quieter at SimTech and he could get some work done without a constant stream of employees, suppliers and investors eating into his attention. Also the days when he spent a little time with friends or family, although sometimes he found himself resenting even that much distraction from work.

In essence, the weekends themselves hadn't changed that much. The difference was Friday evenings. His evenings with Toreth.

Not every Friday, but regularly enough that he'd begun to find himself distracted on Friday afternoons. At first it had annoyed him, and he'd tried to force himself to concentrate. In the end the effort hadn't seemed justified by the benefits, and he'd given up. Instead he simply scheduled things that required less attention. Winding down, preparing for the evening. Another element of ritual that, he had to admit, added to the experience.

Friday wasn't the only day. Occasionally one of them would set up an extra meeting. A couple of times a month they'd also do something in the sim, either a genuine trial, or his own, unofficial experiments into translating his real-world experiences with Toreth into the virtual realm. Unsuccessful, so far, although the failures had been very enjoyable. It was something that the sim couldn't do, and he even knew what was missing.

Fear. The touch of fear he sometimes felt with Toreth, the knowledge of what he was: dangerous, ultimately uncontrollable and addictively good at fucking. At giving Warrick what he needed. A slightly unhealthy attraction, possibly, but the danger was undeniably and desperately arousing.

There had been no call from Toreth today to announce that he was too busy, or simply to say he wasn't coming, without any reason supplied. That didn't mean it was definitely on. Three or four times over the last seven months he'd arrived at the hotel, waited for an hour or so and then gone home, annoyed and unfulfilled. Toreth would call, or he'd call Toreth, and they'd set up another meeting. No apologies, no explanations.

Thinking about it, he checked the place and time again, just to make sure — a new hotel, with dinner beforehand this time. Not long now. A few hours, time slipping away, seeming to pass more slowly with every minute until it would be almost a shock when the bedroom door closed behind them and the game started in earnest.

What would it be tonight?

Warrick glanced at his watch and smiled. Daydreaming time away, and at SimTech, too, something he wouldn't have believed possible this time last year.

Not quite the end of the working day yet, though. He had another meeting, which ought to have started fifteen minutes ago.

Cele was late, which didn't surprise Warrick at all. She shared Toreth's erratic timekeeping, although Cele's applied as much to work as to social appointments. At least this time she'd called SimTech to say she'd been held up at the studio. While he waited for her, he considered what he was going to say to her. Business-wise, he had everything planned out. It was the personal side that filled him, if not with dread, then with a certain degree of apprehension.

She had always been his sister's friend first, and his second. But when Dillian had left for Mars, she'd made him promise to keep in touch with Cele — primarily, he suspected, so that Cele could keep an eye on him. In the months before she left, Dilly had tried to persuade him to go on a string of dates with acquaintances of hers, all of which he'd declined. The last thing she'd said to him at the 'port was, "Don't spend all your time in the sim, will you?"

Well, now he certainly wasn't spending all his time in the sim, which ought to make her happy. On the other hand, he'd hardly mentioned Toreth in all the times he'd spoken to Dilly over the last months. Partly it was the investigation — and Marian. Dilly had been contacted by I&I and questioned (although not, he thought, by Toreth in person), and so he'd had to tell her something about it. Not, of course, about how things had ended. He didn't want to get into a conversation about Toreth that would lead too close to dangerous topics.

In addition, there was the difficulty of knowing what to say about him. A weekly or biweekly dinner and fuck (or often plain fuck) wasn't what Dillian would consider a relationship, and in truth Warrick agreed. Just sex, however good, didn't qualify, whatever Marian had thought. While he found it very satisfactory, he doubted Dilly would understand. It would be easier to explain it in person than over a time-delayed comm link.

As for
what
they did, that was none of Dillian's business, or anyone else's, come to that. However, too-obvious bruises had already caused comment and necessitated some explanations — to the SimTech staff medic, for one, and to one of his admins. Difficult conversations, but he understood their concern. The broken wrist three months ago had been the most awkward incident. In the end, he'd frankly lied and attributed it to a slip in the kitchen. Far more palatable than handcuffs and an accidentally tipped-over chair.

The bruises had grown worse, lately, until he'd had to ask Toreth to concentrate his attentions on less visible areas. Toreth had agreed, and complied, mostly. Sometimes they both became too caught up in the game to remember. A case of overexuberance last week was the cause of the current fading marks on his lips and cheekbone.

Cele was bound to notice them. She had an artist's eye for detail that picked up on everything. She would worry, as the other people had worried and he'd tried to reassure them that there was no need.

Toreth would stop, if asked. His trustworthiness in this area, if in few others, was the reason the bruises were there in the first place. Trust made it work. When things went well, when he felt his own control starting to slip away, he trusted Toreth to know how far to take things and when to stop.

Danger and trust. A paradox.

There had been plenty of mistakes and misunderstandings, but sex was the one thing Toreth was always happy to talk about. Then, with the rules more clearly defined, the next time would be better.

That there had been so many next times surprised him a little. He'd never imagined that Toreth's interest would last this long. Not that he was complaining in the least, but he'd spent so long braced for the day when Toreth would simply stop calling that the expectation had become ingrained. It was one more reason, beyond the nature of the relationship, that he didn't mention Toreth to other people.

The comm broke the spell, reception calling up to say that Cele had arrived, so he told them that he'd be down to collect her.

When the lift door opened, he spotted her at once. The sun caught her polished silver jewellery and picked out the reddish highlights in her brown hair as she leaned over the reception desk, talking to Lillias Brinton.

"Cele!"

She looked round. "There you are!" She turned back briefly, patted Lillias on the shoulder, picked up a large folder from the desk, and crossed over to him with her usual quick, confident walk.

They stepped into the lift, accompanied by a couple of SimTech staff returning from a very late lunch, deep in technical conversation. Warrick made a mental note of their names so that he could speak to them later about commercial confidentiality. He disliked having to circumscribe the SimTech staff's days, but they had a canteen in the building for people who had to talk about work while they ate. He doubted the discussion had started the moment the two stepped into the lift, or even into the reception area, which was still classified as public for corporate espionage purposes.

As the lift rose, Warrick caught the scent Cele was wearing — something musky.

"Nice perfume," he said.

"I should hope so. You gave it to me for New Year." She laughed at his expression. "Or did you?"

Caught out, he had to smile. "All right, I confess. I was too busy to buy the presents before I got there. I did tell Mother to buy perfume; I just left the details up to her."

"I should've guessed Kate. Much more her taste than yours."

It was then, as she looked at him, that he saw her smile lock in place and her eyes narrow. No more was said until they reached his office.

When the door closed, she said, "Come over by the window."

The couple of people who'd asked already had taken a while to build up to it, but he hadn't expected anything indirect from Cele. He stood in the sunlight while she examined his face, turning it from side to side with impersonal fingers. He could smell oil paint and turps on her hands.

"Where'd you get the bruises, Keir?" she asked.

"From a man called Toreth, in an entirely consensual and mutually satisfactory fashion."

Cele looked at his cheek for a moment longer, and then released him. "You've kept that quiet."

One day he'd find something that would actually disconcert her. "I'm full of surprises."

"How long's it been going on?"

"A few months."

She pulled a chair round the desk and sat down. "So, what's he like?"

Warrick joined her, a little reluctantly. It was, he realised, the first time he'd talked about Toreth in detail to anyone.

"Well . . . tall. Short blond hair. Blue eyes. Attractive." Feeling the description was rather too physical, he added, "Intelligent." Personality disordered.

"Well endowed?" she asked cheerfully. "Good in bed? Go on — skip to the important stuff."

Somehow he managed to keep his expression deadpan. "I have no complaints."

"No, you don't look like you do." Another careful examination. "In fact, I will admit you're looking good. Capturing the essential happy glow of the well-fucked individual, as one of my tutors used to say. Anyway, carry on. Is he fit?"

"He certainly spends a lot of time in the gym."

Cele raised her eyes. "Good Lord, it's like pulling teeth. Come on — details, details."

Physique was always the part that interested her most. "Well . . . broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs. Looks like a swimmer — he does swim, I think. Not overly muscular, though, not like a bodybuilder. Well-proportioned is probably the best way to describe him. Very good skin."

Cele had a distant expression, as though there were an incomplete painting of Toreth hanging in mid-air and she was sketching in details as he gave them.

"Thighs? Calves? Backside?" she asked.

Now Warrick had an image of his own. "Mm. Definitely all of those."

She laughed. "Sounds fabulous. Do you think he'd let me draw him? Or sculpt him, maybe. I'm looking for a really buff model at the moment."

Would Toreth like to have an attractive woman paying attention to his body? Not a question that required much consideration. Or had it been an indirect way to request a meeting? "I don't know. One thing he doesn't have is a long attention span." For some things, anyway.

"Oh, well. Right — so he's good-looking, fit, smart, he's a great lay . . . and he hits you?"

Inevitable that they'd get back to that. "Only on request."

"Really?" Before he could answer, she lifted her hands, palms towards him. "I know, I know. But —" She held up a finger. "Firstly, I promised Dilly that I'd look after you, even though of course you don't need it, and I only said it so she'd go off to Mars and not spend all her time there fretting over her big brother, screw up her job, and make some terrible engineering mistake ultimately resulting in the grisly deaths of thousands. And secondly —" Another finger.

"Yes?"

She folded her hands in her lap and shrugged. "We lonely singles need to look out for each other."

"I didn't know you were lonely."

"Nope, sorry. We're not changing the subject." Now her tone was serious. "Go on, tell me once more. Humour me."

He looked her directly in the eyes. "It's absolutely, one hundred percent, totally and in all ways consensual. He does what I want, no more."

She smiled. "And no less?"

"Definitely no less."

"Good." She brushed off her hands. "Job done. Okay, I'm a happy camper now. So, when do I get to meet this kinky stud?"

"You don't. The social element of the arrangement stretches to pre-sex dinners, and that's all."

Cele pouted, which was always amusing but not so much so that he'd change his mind about keeping Toreth away from his real life.

"It's not possible," he said firmly. "If you really want to know more, ask Asher. She met him during the investigation."

"Investigation?"

"Yes. He's —"

"Jesus!" Her eyes widened. "I
thought
the name sounded familiar, and then I thought it couldn't — he's the para-investigator?"

Only a few minutes ago he'd wondered what would surprise her, and now he knew. "That's him."

Now she didn't look so happy. "Ash told me all about him already. She said he had an aura."

"Aura?"

"Like he wasn't using extreme violence right that second, but the situation could easily change the moment you pissed him off."

"Mm." Not at all a bad description. "That sounds a bit poetic for Asher."

"I got the feeling he made an impression. She told me what happened to the psychologist as well."

No, she didn't. "Marian died in custody."

"You mean they killed her."

Tactful, for Cele. He'd half expected 'your kinky stud killed her'.

"No." Warrick managed to keep his voice level. "It was unfortunate, but it was an accident. An unforeseeable accident. We had a report from I&I."