Zipper Fall (6 page)

Breathe.

I kept telling myself to breathe like it was a sacred mantra, inhaling deeply and exhaling very, very slowly, repeating the action over and over while I assembled the tray with our white, gold-rimmed client coffee cup on top of its fussy saucer, and a small bowl of honey-roasted nuts.

Then I spilled the coffee and had to clean it up and start all over again, which was why I took so long getting back.

Yamada was walking down the hall. His whole body language betrayed agitation. I was late, and that just wasn’t done—he’d come to fetch me.

“Oh, there you are, Wyatt! I was getting worried.” He gave me an assessing look. “You sure look like you need some help today. I got your laptop prepped and hooked up. You’re ready to go!”

“Er… thank you, Frank.” I lengthened my stride as much as the coffee tray allowed in an effort to get there sooner and take control of the situation. I worked best alone, and Yamada’s helpful demeanor filled me with a sense of foreboding.

I pushed the door open with my shined shoe as I balanced on the other foot and maneuvered the coffee tray inside.

“Here you go….” My voice died in my throat. My laptop was prepped, alright. Hooked up to the projector with the silver flash drive already in the USB port. My newest client sat stiff and motionless, his eyes riveted to the projector screen. The sound was turned very low, but even so, both he and I could hear the unmistakable sounds of pleasure from the man in the video. The eerie lighting showed him in stark, almost baroque light-and-shadow contrast. The image wasn’t perfectly centered and the inflated picture blurred the outlines somewhat, but even so, there was no mistaking his identity.

First, I thanked Yamada and shut the door in his face. Then I got in the way of the projector beam, deposited the coffee tray on my desk with haste, and reached to pull the stupid, treacherous flash drive out of my laptop.

“Gwrrraaaahrrr!”

The man on the screen climaxed, the image of his ejaculate projected onto the chest of my pristine shirt. I shot a distressed look at my client. He stared back at me, motionless, his wide grin gone.

I put distance between us by moving behind my desk and ejected the flash drive from the system. My wallpaper came up: bigger than life and absolutely gorgeous, his angelic face in postcoital languor graced the projection screen.

“Sorry….” I cleared my throat, fighting for a semblance of control over my runaway situation. “That was obviously the wrong presentation.” Words spilled out of my mouth without the benefit of my brain regulating their content. I pocketed the flash drive and searched my other pocket, fishing out an almost identical device after a bit of effort. When I plugged it in, the relaxed, almost monochromatic face on the projection screen was now partially obscured by a list of files. I clicked on “BWB Proposal”; a slick PowerPoint presentation replaced the unspeakable scene from before.

“You got a hard copy?” I asked, instantly regretting my word choice. “I mean, a printout.” Heat crept up my neck and stained my face tomato red.

He looked at me, bereft of words.

His prolonged silence gave me a false sensation of being in charge once again. I picked up the blue-bound portfolio. “All parts of the proposal are in here.”

I couldn’t say his name.

I just couldn’t.

“It has a space for notes, if you want to take notes.” God, my words just got up and left. My customary eloquence had disappeared. I just plainly could not summon all those smooth, comforting phrases I’d learned to use in the course of the last two years. I felt totally exposed and brand new, waiting for him to deliver his devastating strike.

His silence was unbearable.

I slid my hand up my face to wipe the dampness off my brow, brushing against the tender flesh he had bruised so easily the night before. The sensation was unexpected. I barely bit back a hiss of pain. Finally, I turned the projector off, stood up, and walked halfway around my desk. I leaned my butt against it as I folded my arms across my chest and stared into his shocked, pale face. “Just… just say something.”

He twitched.

“I know you’re really mad, and I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry you had to see that.” I didn’t say I was sorry
I
saw that, and I knew right away that he took note of my careful phrasing.

Jack Azurri rose from the client chair. He was somewhat taller than I, broader in the shoulders, and I was already well acquainted with the power of his punch. Cowering would do me little good, and besides, I had a thing against cowering.

I stood up straight and looked him in the eye.

It was his move.

He grasped the sculpted lapels of my suit jacket with his large hands and pulled me in the slightest bit as he peered into my face. His gaze was icy cold and without apparent interest. He looked over the damage he’d done me last night, emotionless. “Sorry about that.” His voice was low and without inflection.

“No, you’re not.”

He looked over me again, and I saw the anger from last night well up again. “Nah… you ain’t worth it.” He pushed me away hard; there was no time to regain my balance as I stumbled and bounced against the wall with an awkward thud.

I straightened myself up fast, alarmed to see his back in the doorway. “Wait. Don’t go. The presentation….” My voice had an edge of raw panic, and that must have caught his attention, because he turned back toward me.

“Oh yeah. Your precious presentation. Good thing I have a hard-copy.” He emphasized the last two words, smirking at my apparent discomfort.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and as the words left my mouth, I realized I did, in fact, feel remorse. “So sorry… for everything. Isn’t there anything I can do to make up for it?”

I saw him hesitate. He took two steps back inside my office and closed the door. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice edged with that cold, seething anger. “I don’t know what you’re good at.”

Without thinking, I blurted, “I’m good at a lot of things.”

He startled, then paused. “What… what did you say?”

“I’ll… I’ll do…. Just… don’t tell my boss.” I gazed at him with entreaty. “Please,” I added, my voice a mere whisper. Here I was with the object of my desire, my wildest fantasies, and… his seething anger was aimed at me.

Justifiably so, and it was killing me.

“What are you good at?” His face took on an intrigued expression. “Like, doing the advertising campaign for free?”

“Anything that’s mine to give,” I said. “I won’t steal from my employer.”

“Ah, there is honor among thieves,” he snarled. “You won’t bite the hand that feeds you; anyone else is fair game.”

“No. Not anyone.” I paused. “You aren’t fair game anymore.”

“Because?”

I blushed and looked away. Just at that moment, my cell phone went off in my pocket.

“Gwrrraaaahrrr!”

I froze, blood draining from my face.

“What was that?” he asked, his rage toned down by a hint of confusion.

“Gwrrraaaahrrr!”

“Sorry…. Let me get that.” To his utter shock, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and declined the call, then set it on vibrate.

“Are you for fucking real?” he asked, coming closer to me. “What are you, some psycho stalker?”

I shook my head. “I… I didn’t know you’d be home that night….” The oft-repeated word fell off my lips again: “Sorry….”

“I’ll make you damn sorry. I’ll give you one chance to convince me not to report you immediately.”

I considered my options. There was the video; if I put it on YouTube, it might even go viral. That was a weapon of last resort, though, because this guy was hotter than July and I wanted to actually get to know him. Not just his place, not just his stuff and the contents of his safe—I suddenly wanted to erase that awful, mortifying embarrassment I put him through, and there was only one way I could think of doing that. The way he had put his arm around me in the lobby earlier indicated that he didn’t, in fact, mind touching me. The way he was touching himself the other night suggested he might even swing my way. There was only one way to find out. I had nothing to lose, and if he stormed out, there was always plausible deniability.

The presidential treatment.

“Please. Won’t you sit down?”

Our eyes met. I saw understanding dawn, then a bit of hesitation as he glanced at the closed office door.

It felt like forever before he made up his mind and sat. I approached him from behind, running my hands up his shoulders and into his lush, wavy brown hair. It was gelled in place, but I didn’t care if I messed him up. My one and only goal was to make him feel absolutely, positively fabulous, and the only thing I had to go on was the video. Considering what I already knew about what he found pleasurable, I’d make sure he found my company as thrilling and as relaxing as possible.

I rubbed his scalp in gentle circles with my fingertips, progressing outward toward his jaw. “Relax,” I whispered by his ear.

He hesitated and then his shoulders loosened just the slightest bit.

“There… not so hard, is it?” I let my breath caress his ear and was gratified to hear him draw a deep breath. My fingers progressed outward, massaging his scalp and letting my nails scratch him the slightest bit.

He leaned into my hands.

Surprised, I leaned around and deposited a small kiss on the edge of his jaw.

“C’mere,” he growled, pulling me around. I complied, ready to go through with my penance. “Kneel.” I shrugged out of my jacket, folded it, and put it down between his polished shoes. Just when I was ready to kneel, my pride stirred and made me falter.

I’ve been dreaming of doing just this… have I not?

I’ve been obsessed with fantasies about this man—and how I’d make him growl with pleasure.

Why hesitate? Seize the moment….

First one knee, then the other hit the soft material, protecting my trousers from the industrial carpeting under his polished shoes. I looked him in the face.

“You know what to do,” he said with a challenge in his eyes as though he was daring me to proceed.

His legs felt strong and muscular under the fine wool of his trousers as I ghosted my fingers over his knees and thighs. His eyes were on mine, as still as deep water. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t flinch.
Suddenly I understood. He seemed determined to prove a true challenge. At that moment I felt a wild, irrational desire to hear those little sounds of ecstasy again. He wore a fine-grain leather belt with a silver buckle, which I unfastened. Then I popped the button and the inner hook of his trousers, and leaned in close enough to grab the zipper pull of his fly with my teeth. As I pulled his zipper open, the lush material slid against my hands and cheeks like a caress, and I shivered as a memory of his closet hit me.

Soft fabric.

Enticing scent.

The hiss and pant of pleasure.

Memories flooded me, and I felt my body respond. My lips felt dry—no wonder, they’d been parted for quite a while now, dried by soft little puffs of air making their way in and out. I licked them. Azurri tensed at that; I basked in the sight of those eyes darkening, his pupils dilating.

I let my fingers slide in to feel his silk boxer shorts, careful not to touch his cock as I freed him and discovered he was already half-erect. Teasing in a game of impromptu seduction, I let my head descend between his legs as I exhaled a puff of moist breath. He stirred, and I looked up. His eyelids slid halfway shut as he watched me with his pink lips slightly parted. I grinned.

“Wyatt.” His gravelly voice sent a shiver down my spine.

He eased his fingers into my hair, messing it up as his hand clenched into a fist. I thrilled at the feeling of his grasping hand guiding me as I opened my mouth. The head of his cock was warm and silky against my tongue, and I ran the tip around it in gentle exploration. My scalp stung a bit as his fist tightened, and I felt his legs straighten and relax.

“Wyatt!” His voice, which was a rough growl only moments ago, turned into a soft whisper.

I moaned, barely hearing, lost in the sensation of his silky hardness against my palate, letting my head bob as I slid my tongue up and down his shaft.

“Wyatt Gaudens, what is the meaning of this?” Auguste Bernard Pillory the Third’s head was stuck through the open door of my office, his expression shocked, his hand still on the doorknob.

I
STOOD
before Pillory’s desk. He leaned back in his black leather chair, his eyes on my flushed face, an expression of disbelief still etched into his features. His stunned gaze took in my disheveled hair, missing jacket, and a tie that was loosened and slightly askew. “Mr. Gaudens. Words fail me. You’ve been in my employ for two years now.” He paused, studying my sorry person for a while longer, not seeing what he was looking for. “You have a lot of promise. However… your sense of judgment is sadly lacking. This prospective customer could have been one of our biggest clients. Your conduct….” He paused again, and I jumped at my chance.

“Boss, I can explain—”

“Gaudens.” His lips thinned. “Your conduct was disastrously unprofessional, to say the least. You wish to explain? Be my guest, but my mind is made up.”

“I… I’m in love, boss.”

His thin, elegant eyebrows rose. “It is my understanding that you’ve never met this man before.”

“I’ve never met Mr. Schiffer before. Mr. Azurri and I are… well… our relationship, if you can even call it that, is complicated, and not always easy.” That, at least, was the truth.

Pillory swiveled in his posh chair and stared out the window for a while. “You may move your personal belongings out of your office today. I will give you two weeks' severance pay, but don’t expect any glowing references. My recommendation will state you are capable, talented, and resourceful, yet sadly immature.”

He stood, and I knew it was over. Suddenly it occurred to me that he was beautiful in a way I had never appreciated while he had still been my boss. Midnight black strands escaped from his ponytail, framing his face with those devastating, high cheekbones and changeable eyes, and I could only imagine the toned frame underneath his office attire.