by Jayce Ellis
Nope. I wasn’t having it. “When’s the party?”
André raised a brow. “Saturday night. Brunch on Sunday.”
“Presentation Monday.” I checked the calendar. That was the Monday before Labor Day, and hell, I’d be going back to school that weekend. Damn, our time had just gotten chopped in half.
“But yeah,” André said, seemingly lost in his own little world. “I’m flying down Friday night, then will be there for the party Saturday and the brunch Sunday, and head back that evening.”
“So you’re gone the last three days before this new date. Chances we pull that rabbit out of the hat?”
“Slim to none.” He blew out a noisy breath and looked away. “Maybe I should call Harold and withdraw.”
“You staying with your folks?” I asked, my mind refusing to give his words credence.
He snorted. “Absolutely not. No, I’m staying in the hotel where we’re having the party.”
There was a whole lot of history in that absolutely not, but I didn’t have time to dig into that. “Okay, fine. I’m coming with you.”
André jerked his head to me. “What?”
I shrugged, like it was the most obvious solution. It was. “I’m coming with you. There’s no reason we can’t work in between whatever events you have with your family. I’ll handle the bulk of it so you can spend time with them, but you’ll be able to review and stuff. No one even needs to know I’m there.”
He blinked at me. “We got a suite of rooms, but I’m pretty sure they’re full up by now.”
Yeah, that...didn’t dissuade me. “If they can roll a cot in your room, I’ll be fine.” I wouldn’t be fine, because cots were miserable creations designed to torment me, but no way would I take away a discounted room from a family member so I could hide and work.
He stared at me, his eyes roaming over my face, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to believe what I was saying. Finally, he nodded. “I have a king. I’ll see if they can put in two queens instead.”
I raised a brow.
“No, Marcus. Two queens. We’re not sharing a bed.”
“As you wish, boss.”
There I went again, acting as if the sex was inevitable, as if I was irresistible, as if this wasn’t my temporary employer.
I shook my head. “Man, André, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You’re sitting up here trying to keep this professional between us, and I keep talking out of my ass. I’ll stop doing that.”
Now he laughed. “I didn’t say you had to do all that.” He sobered after that. “But for real, even with you handling other matters for me, of which I am beyond appreciative, I don’t see how we’re not going to pull late nights all week.”
The man was determined to burn himself out. “We have to have limits, boss. Like I said, we’ll alternate working Ellison clients, so they have a full day’s worth of work daily, and then both put some major hours in on Pennington at night. I know your mind is stuck on what you’re not doing, but you’ll screw up the partnership long-term if you don’t set limits now. We can do a few early mornings too, if that’ll help.”
“Seven?”
I groaned. Somehow, I knew he’d say that, because it was the same thing I’d thought. Go home, get seven or eight hours of sleep, then be back to the office by seven the next day? They were long days, but it needed to happen.
Because no matter how we tried to fight it? To pretend otherwise? It was almost a given that we wouldn’t be as productive in Tallahassee as we wanted to be. There might be a couple of hours here and there, but André would be entertaining, so I’d be doing a good chunk of that workload. Still, we didn’t have a choice. We’d get it done.
“Seven a.m. ’til eight p.m. Half an hour for lunch?” he suggested.
“And half an hour for dinner,” I added.
“Dinner?”
I pointed a finger at him. “I’m not letting you work thirteen-hour days just to go home and eat shit. And I know that’s exactly what you’ll do. So yes, dinner. If you don’t eat here, you can at least take it home.”
“You gonna cook for me all week, baby?”
The air hung heavy over that last word, a clear slip on André’s part. I could let it go. But I didn’t. I wanted him to know things had shifted on my end. I wasn’t entirely sure how, or when, but I wasn’t anxious for the internship to be over just for the sex. I wanted to cook for him, massage him, all sorts of shit I’d never considered before. And I needed him to know.
I took my time looking him up and down, my gaze lingering on his crotch until he adjusted himself and muttered something I couldn’t hear.
“Yeah, baby,” I told him, “I’m gonna take good care of you this week. Just you watch.” I turned to my desk, and didn’t exhale until I heard the soft click of him leaving the room.
Chapter Thirteen
André
Take-charge Marcus was a motherfucking problem. Oh, he was excellent, but he actually showed up Tuesday and today with breakfasts, lunches, and dinners in tow. I didn’t know where he lived or what his kitchen setup was like, but it was impressive as hell. As was the fact that he was so goddamn bubbly first thing in the morning. I was used to waking up that early, but it didn’t matter how long I’d been doing it. I was not a morning person. Marcus was entirely unfazed, and I hated and envied him in turn.
Tonight he said he’d kept it simple, taking leftover rotisserie chicken—homemade rotisserie chicken, not the store-bought one I lived on—and turning it into the most divine potpie I’d ever had. We’d gotten a little lax about how much time we allowed for these meals, but I couldn’t complain. Just having someone here was beyond a godsend, even if it meant later nights.
“You throw down the kitchen,” I said around a mouthful. “When’d you start cooking?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Since forever. My mom stopped working when I was around ten. I don’t think she much liked staying at home, but she enjoyed cooking.”
“That’s an interesting age to become a stay-at-home parent, isn’t it?”
“She got sick. Never went back to work after that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
There was a story there, because Marcus’s voice was a little too monotone, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “You an only child?” He nodded and my shoulders sagged. At least he hadn’t completely shut down. “Wow. Must’ve been nice to have someone always at home.”
His lips thinned and I was pretty sure that was the wrong thing to have said. But he shook himself and blew out a long, slow breath. “It was fine for a while. I loved being able to help out, do anything I could to make things easier for her, especially since Dad worked a lot of overtime then. At some point I stepped back.”
“Why?”
Marcus rolled his eyes and huffed. “You get tired of being told it’s girly to be in the kitchen, up under your mama’s skirts and shit. I kinda just wanted to be left alone.”
I snorted. “Amazing how cooking is women’s work until it’s time to get paid for it, isn’t it?”
Marcus paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “I never really thought about it, but that’s the damn truth.”
“I didn’t think about it either,” I said, waving a hand at him. “That’s Fiona.”
“She’s a force of nature, and I love her.”
We toasted our red Solo cups to her and went back to it.
“You looking forward to this weekend?” Marcus asked.
I paused. Marcus had said he was going to stay in the hotel and work, but I didn’t expect him to do all that. Chances were strong he’d run into at least some of my family members, so I needed to give him a heads-up now. Especially if shit popped off and I went south.
“I’m the oldest of four boys,” I told him. “Me, George, then Wallace, and Tracey. And I’
m the only one who left home. Not sure my parents have forgiven me.”
“That’s interesting. Is it because you’re gay?”
I’d thought about that question for so many years, and I still didn’t have an easy answer for it. “Not specifically, no,” I finally said. “This sounds stupid to everyone I try and explain it to, so I’m gon’ need you to hold your laughter until you leave.”
Marcus’s brow was clear to his hairline. “Okay,” he drawled.
“My father isn’t the type who believes in applause. You’re a man. You do shit because you’re a man and that’s what men do. His biggest issue, when I said I was gay, was that I was still a man.”
Dawning shone over Marcus like a light bulb. “That’s why bottoming is hard for you.”
“Which is stupid, I know. And I know it’s bullshit,” I hurried to add.
He held a hand up. “I get it. I know you don’t personally think that.”
I blew out a heavy breath. I knew I didn’t need to explain, but... I needed him to understand. That the issue was me, not him. Never him.
“After that,” I said, picking up the story, “Mom and Pops called a family meeting.”
For reasons I couldn’t describe, Marcus’s shock at my parents feeling the need for an Ellison Family Meeting so I, the eldest Ellison son, could explain my penis preference to my brothers, sent me into a fit of laughter. I clutched my stomach and laughed until I cried.
“It’s so ridiculous, isn’t it?” I said as I wiped my eyes.
“You okay over there?” Marcus asked, his voice light with a matching humor.
“It’s wild. I never really stopped to consider how absurd that was. Never told anyone but you.”
Well, that made Marcus smile. I liked that. “How did your brothers take it?”
“They’re brothers.” I shrugged, like it didn’t still rankle. “They tease. All the time. It’s their way of showing it doesn’t bother them.”
“But it bothers you.” Not a question. Said with absolute surety.
“Stupid, yes, I know.”
“Shiiiiit. It would irritate the hell out of me. At some point that mess gets old. Who wants to hear that every time you go home?”
I blinked at him. It was no exaggeration to say this was the first time I’d ever told the story without people dismissing it out of hand.
“What?” he asked when I didn’t respond. “You were expecting me to tell you to get over it?”
“Frankly? Yes.”
“I was called girly, along with every other euphemism you can think of, for years. I don’t have the energy to decipher whether it’s joking or malicious, even with family.”
He got it. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t telling me I was being irrational. I didn’t know what to do with someone who understood me so well, and my gut clenched with a pang of...something, that my time with him was barreling toward the finish line.
Marcus, thankfully, switched to a more immediately pertinent topic. “So what am I getting into this weekend? I’ll try to keep myself scarce, but if I see someone, how should I react?”
“Be yourself.” I said the words maybe too quickly, a little too sharply, because Marcus raised his brow at me. I tried again. “I’m not hiding who I am when I’m down there. And if they see us together, I’m not hiding who we are to them.”
“What exactly are we, André?” That voice of his would be my undoing.
I grinned at him. “You’re my intern. And I’m not saying that to be dismissive, but that’s the reason you’re coming down with me.”
Marcus’s eyes darkened, like the presentation was the last reason he was accompanying me to Florida, then he pointed with his fork to my plate. “Eat your food.”
I took another bite and let the warm, quiet stillness wash over me. This weekend would test my patience, both in terms of keeping my cool with family members and with not jumping Marcus’s bones and riding him until I couldn’t stand straight. I’d called earlier in the week about getting two queens, and they said they’d try to switch rooms, but couldn’t guarantee anything. I don’t know what it meant that I was hoping they’d fail.
“You look beat,” Marcus said, interrupting my thoughts. “Why don’t we pack up and go home?”
I shook my head. “We don’t have time to end early.”
I didn’t get more out before Marcus was waving me off. “Can we be real?” I quirked my head to the side and motioned him to continue. “I’m trying to be good here. I’m trying not to lock the door and take you right now, to show you all the joys of bottoming. To feel something I’ve been fantasizing about since I laid eyes on you. It’s fucking with me and I’m having a shit time concentrating.”
Honestly? It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one this affected. Under any other circumstance, I’d want to see where this could go. But we were racing the clock—and it seemed inevitable the clock would be the victor.
I finished my last bites of food, then shut my computer down. “Sounds good. Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“You have really stepped up this week. More than I could have imagined, and more than I hoped for. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” Would he call me out for changing the subject, even under the guise of a compliment?
Marcus’s entire countenance changed, and he grinned almost like the impish little boy he’d probably been while sitting at his mom’s counter. “Pleasure’s been all mine, man. Let’s knock out these last few items, get our presentation solid, and then kick its ass.”
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
* * *
That was the longest ride home I’d had in a long time. I was almost used to the uncomfortable tightness in my pants, and having switched to looser cuts hadn’t helped. But the way the rest of my body practically vibrated with awareness? I wasn’t ready for it, and I wanted—needed—to get inside and figure out what it all meant.
“André!” Of course, Fiona would be right there, chatting animatedly with Mr. Johnson, when I walked in. I could spare some minutes to speak with my friends, especially given how wired I was.
“Hey, McIntosh, how’s it going?” I asked after a quick hug.
“Good. Just shooting the shit. You’re home pretty late, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Got the presentation coming up. Been grinding to get it done.”
“You know that’s not healthy for you, son.” Mr. Johnson, always the voice of reason.
I smiled. “Trust me, you’re not the first person who’s yelled at me,” I said, laughing. “My intern and the receptionist have both jumped down my throat.”
“Look at him talkin’ about me like I’m not standing right here,” Fiona cut in, then looked at Mr. Johnson. “I’m the receptionist, if you didn’t know, and you darn right I said something to him.” She huffed and stared at me, daring me to argue.
“Good.” Mr. Johnson thumped his pen on the desk for emphasis, and I laughed. Pops used to do that when I was a kid to make a point. It was way more effective than him screaming at me.
Fiona was nodding along, though. “You sound just like B. He’s been working some serious hours at Clarymore, and it sucks because school is about to start, so I’ll go from not seeing him for one reason to not seeing him for another.”
She stopped then, like she’d caught herself being way more open than she’d planned. When I really thought about it, Fiona and I had kept our friendship fairly surface level, especially since we, for all intents and purposes, worked together. Somehow I’d assumed her relationship with Brian was the same, but she clearly harbored some serious feelings about him.
I gave her a one-armed squeeze. “It’ll be okay, love. He’s local, and you know he’ll always make time for you. I feel him on the stress, though. This—” I checked my watch. It wasn’t quite nine. “This is the earliest I’ve been
home in two weeks.”
“True, but,” Fiona said, tapping her lip as she considered me, “there’s something else going on. For as hard as you’re working on this presentation, you look, I don’t know, happier somehow. Not a bad thing, but what’s up with that?”
I didn’t see Fiona nearly enough at Crestline for her to be this perceptive of my non-work persona, the past few weeks notwithstanding. Still, I couldn’t help but shake my head. I’d been itching for someone to talk to about Marcus, the weird and roiling feelings I was unaccustomed to, the warmth I felt when he was near, and Fiona was a good listener.
“I think I have a thing for my intern,” I said.
Well, Fiona found that hilarious. Probably because she’d watched me and Marcus’s interactions and knew we were hanging on by a thread. She threw her head back and laughed, the sound bright and vibrant and clanking around the foyer. It was infectious, and I couldn’t help but chuckle too. Mr. Johnson just stared at me with those all-knowing eyes of his, and that silenced me.
“In my defense,” I said, “I met him before the internship started. I didn’t know I’d end up working with him.”
“So there’s history there,” Mr. Johnson said quietly.
“Yeah. Not much, but it’s there.” I coughed then, and Mr. Johnson’s eyes narrowed, then widened and, even though he’d seen Marcus a grand total of two times, I knew he knew who I was referring to.
“What do you like about him, son?”
“Beyond the fact that he needs little to no direction, he’s warm. Thoughtful. Takes care of me.”
I paused after that last statement. I hadn’t actually meant to let that come out, but Fiona grabbed hold. “Takes care of you? How?”
Oh hell, might as well. Briefly, I told them about how the firm had upped the presentation day, about my family trip this weekend, about the way he cooked for me and checked on me and made me take breaks so I wouldn’t wear down.