by Jayce Ellis
Oh, the hell with the presentation. I took a breath. I’d treat her like I would any initial client, and let the chips fall where they may. “Would a moderately aggressive portfolio help you sleep better at night?”
She seemed taken aback by the question, so I turned to one of the younger members, someone who looked around my age. “From what I can see, you’re currently in a moderately aggressive portfolio now, correct? That trends more aggressive than moderate?”
The younger man nodded. “I’m Neil, by the way,” he added.
“Excellent, Neil. I’m André. Let me ask you—”
“Mr. Ellison, if I may.” I looked to my left, into Marcus’s shining eyes.
“Of course, please.” I stepped back and let Marcus step up. He needed to be part of this, and I applauded him taking charge.
“Do you mind if I call you Neil?” he asked. The young man shook his head. “Great. Let me ask you, how much time does your grandmother spend checking the stock market right now?”
He laughed. “Oh my God, the channel stays locked on CNBC.”
“And yourself?”
“I don’t really bother. I mean, I guess I’ll check when a statement comes in, but other than that?” He shrugged and left the question unanswered.
“And that’s exactly right. If we were to move into more moderate accounts, would you be checking the stock market, seeing if there were days with major gains you weren’t aware of, grumbling about how there were missed opportunities?”
Neil shook his head. “No, can’t say I will. I mean, I like making money, but fluctuations are part of it. You’re not going to get all the ups or all the downs, so I don’t much worry about it.”
“And that’s exactly our point. While we have certainly prepared different options for you, you’re going to sleep well regardless of which option you pick, but your grandmother is not. The goal here, and the point of this partnership, is to choose something that allows everybody in your family to sleep as well as you do.”
And Nancy Pennington clapped again. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I want. They get it.”
“André,” Harold said from across the table, and we all turned to look at him. “All of their profiles were clearly in the moderately aggressive range. Why are you advocating for moderate?”
I grinned. Marcus had asked me the same question, more than once. “Harold, you and I both know you can’t rely just on someone’s questionnaire. It was unsurprising to me to see that the senior Mrs. Pennington’s answers matched her grandkids. It’s probably what she felt she should want, what she felt she should be comfortable with, and was based on conversations they’d had. But if you look at their history and their communications, it’s clear that as much as she was trying to make herself comfortable with it, she just wasn’t.”
Nancy nodded. “He’s absolutely right. I kept telling myself that I could be comfortable with something more aggressive, something in small and emerging markets, the international and foreign companies, but I’m a simple woman. I just want my five hundred index, my Dow Jones, and my real estate and move on with my life. I’m fine with that. Besides,” she added with a little grin, “I’m not going to live long enough to bear the fruits of all those super aggressive returns anyway. When I’m gone, they can do whatever they want.”
I refrained from laughing, just barely, but another man, probably Mrs. Pennington’s son, stared at her in horror. “Mama, don’t say things like that.”
She waved a hand at him. “Oh hush, you know it’s true.” Mrs. Pennington turned back to us. “Thank you so much. I know I didn’t even let you give your actual presentation, but y’all are the ones I want.”
“Wait, what?” That was Phil, the first words he’d spoken.
“I like them. They get me, and they read deeper into the surface than the other ones did. I want to partner with them.”
“But I thought—”
Now she waved a dismissive hand at him. “I know what you thought, that one of the other firms were a better fit. You’ve been trying to tell me that since we chose them as a finalist. But I wanted to hear what everyone had to say, and I’m glad I stuck to my guns.” She ignored Phil and peered at Harold. “So, what paperwork do we need to sign?”
I glanced at Phil, at the sullen look on his face. Until he caught my expression and blanketed his clear frustration under a tight smile. I wasn’t surprised he’d tried to blackball me, but I was grateful for smarter heads. From the look on Harold’s face, Mrs. Pennington’s words were news to him. Interesting.
Next to me, Marcus leaned down close, so no one could hear. “So I guess it’s winner’s choice for tonight.”
That brought me back to where my attention should be. I’d gotten the contract. Holy hell.
I breathed out a sigh and sank into the chair, Marcus sitting to my left. I had done it, and now I got to celebrate with the guy sitting by my side. Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.
Marcus
Clarymore’s building was just a few blocks down the street from André’s. We walked in, but Fiona wasn’t at the front. I followed him to his office, my hand against his back. When we entered the room, he clicked on the light and shut the door. I perched on the edge of the desk and drew him close to me.
“Congratulations,” I whispered, before pressing him firmly against me and kissing him.
André didn’t hesitate, his hands coming to grip my shoulders and give back as fiercely as he got. I wanted to delve into his touch, to celebrate the way I knew we were both eager to do, but Harold had commandeered us before we left to demand a celebratory drink at Stan’s in a few hours. Three of them, in fact, and it’d be so easy to take André home beforehand, get round one in the books, and then do it again tonight. That was enough time for him to get hard again, right?
The idea burned a hole in my brain, and I was about to suggest it to him when the door opened.
“André—”
He broke off and stumbled back, and I reached out a hand to settle him. Fiona stood in the doorframe, holding a stack of mail. She’d probably noticed that the light had clicked on.
“Fiona, hi,” André stammered out.
She stepped in and shut the door. “The lights were on and I wanted to check how the presentation went.” She glanced from him to me, and back. “I guess it didn’t go poorly?”
He chuckled and ducked his head, and why was that the cutest thing ever? I looked at her. “He got the partnership.”
Fiona smiled, the grin stretching her face. “I’m so goddamn happy for you.”
André pulled her into a hug. “Thank you. I saw Brian there—”
She waved him off. “Brian wanted no part of that shit. He was excited for the opportunity, but knew early on it wasn’t for him.”
This conversation didn’t make a stitch of sense. “How do you know Brian?” I asked.
Fiona withdrew from André’s embrace long enough to raise one brow at me. “Brian is my boyfriend, dear.”
I must have looked dumbfounded, because André laughed, and it was pure joy. It hit me, maybe for the first real time, that Fiona really had been his right hand for all these years. And that hadn’t changed, even in the face of her boyfriend working for the same partnership. Not once had she been anything less than supportive. She didn’t actually work for him, but her presence here had probably kept him going on those long nights when he thought he couldn’t do it, way before I came along. I smiled and took her hands in mine, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Thank you, Fiona.”
“Well,” she said, stepping back and smoothing her skirt, one of those pencil skirts with the pleated edge that looked both amazing and impossible to walk in. “You’re welcome.” She turned to André. “Where we drinkin’? Because I’ve been running interference with your clients for the past two weeks, so you can buy me a drink. Brian’s gon’ be sleep anyway. That was a
ll he wanted to do when it was over. I’ma go home and find him buck naked, passed out. Bet you that boy won’t even make it to the bedroom.”
At that, I broke out laughing, not even the thought of Brian naked being enough to dampen my joy, while André pulled her in for another hug. “Stan’s,” he said. “Harold’s meeting us there.”
“Bet. About time I met this cat.”
Marcus gave her the details and she walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “Y’all, try to keep out of trouble between now and then. Don’t know that I need to see all that,” she said, waving generally in our direction, before shutting the door behind her.
“God, that was embarrassing,” André muttered, nuzzling into my neck. He was so confident, so self-assured, so desperately in need of ongoing affection. Giving it to him was my jam, and I couldn’t wait to do more.
* * *
Fiona was already at Stan’s by the time we arrived. She’d had no intention of waiting until we got off work to show up. The server escorted us to her table, and I looked around in a little bit of amazement. “For as much as I’ve heard about this place, it’s not that big.”
“It sure ain’t,” Fiona said, taking a sip of what looked like an amaretto sour.
“How’d you get a table with no one else here?” André asked.
She winked. “I know people.”
André held his hands up. “I don’t want to know any more about that.”
At that, she snorted. “After what I walked in on this afternoon? You’re one to talk.” Her grin faded and she looked at me. “So, now what? You’re back at Clarymore?”
I shrugged and nodded. “I guess so. I was supposed to be here for the rest of this week, because presentations were Thursday, but I’ll check in there tomorrow, figure out what’s what.”
Which didn’t bring the joy or relief I’d expected weeks ago. I didn’t want to go back to the open office concept and being the odd man out. I didn’t want the stilted attempts at conversation that were no more real than my equally stilted rebuffs. And I damn sure didn’t want the false congratulations I’d certainly receive. I wanted what I’d come to expect, to enjoy: working side by side with a man I cared about more than I could have imagined. I looked him over, my body reminding me that I got to have him tonight. The desire to walk him out and say the hell with celebrating was strong.
I coughed and looked up to find Fiona watching me, sipping quietly on her drink. She didn’t speak, then her eyes skirted over my shoulder and she smiled. “You must be Harold. It’s a pleasure.” I craned my neck and saw him approaching, his eyes dancing.
“And you must be the infamous Fiona I’ve spoken to so many times. The pleasure is all mine.” He kissed the back of her hand, then sat down beside her. “How many drinks behind am I?” he asked, looking around the table.
André snorted. “At Stan’s? Only one.”
Harold laughed and a waiter showed up to take our orders. We made idle chitchat until they arrived, then I took a sip of my Jack and Coke. “This don’t look like it has much Coke in it,” I said, taking a tentative sip. “Holy fuck, that’s straight whiskey.” The rest of the table broke up laughing. “I see y’all find this amusing.”
“Beauty of Stan’s. That,” Harold said, pointing to my glass, “is your whiskey. That,” he pointed to the personal-size decanter I hadn’t even noticed the waiter set down, “is your chaser. That’s why one drink will get you right and you can go home.”
I looked at the drink, the decanter, then André. “Are we eating? Because I need something on my stomach for all this alcohol.”
“Wings,” André and Fiona said immediately.
“Best in the city,” Fiona followed up.
The waiter came over and took that order, along with Harold’s order of shrimp scampi, which Fiona called bougie as hell, and left us to it.
“You didn’t tell me about Phil,” André said to Harold.
The older man shook his head. “Couldn’t. I wanted to, but it would mess with your concentration. I couldn’t risk you throwing in the towel.”
André chewed and nodded. “Seeing him again was...weird. I was more angry than shocked.”
Harold sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I figured as much from your reaction, but you pulled through it.”
I raised my hand like a schoolchild. “We’re talking about Supe? What’s the deal with him?”
Harold bit into his wing and promptly choked. Fiona slurped hard on her water, and I watched André. He looked like he’d just eaten something sour and was ready to hurl. “You remember the ex I told you about?”
“Yeah...” He didn’t respond, and it took a few seconds before I figured it out. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” I said, trying to get my head on straight. “You mean to tell me that Supe—that wanna-be-down white guy—is your ex? That triflin’-ass motherfucker that forced you out because he didn’t get his way?”
“Damn, Marcus, tell us how you really feel” came from Fiona, while Harold said, “Watch your language,” at the same time.
I turned to Harold, ready to lay into him for not giving André a heads-up, but a hand on my knee stopped me. André winked, clearly unperturbed by them watching us, and I relaxed. This need to protect him, even though he didn’t need it? Had me close to outing our relationship and yelling at my mentor. I needed to get a grip, especially since an offer wasn’t guaranteed.
André grinned and spoke to Harold. “I understand why you did it, but I hope I don’t have to deal with him from here on. Thankfully, I had Marcus here to keep me grounded today,” he said, nudging me.
“It was nothing,” I muttered, unused to the focus being on me even if that was what I claimed to want. “I’m just good at following directions.” That didn’t make any sense, but whatever.
Fiona snorted and took a sip of her drink. André went silent next to me, and she looked up, wincing. Damn, whatever she was sipping on must be strong as hell.
Harold inclined his head toward her, then looked at us. The server arrived before he could say anything, and set the orders down. It was foolish to think he’d let it go, especially once he saw me and André sharing a plate. “So, is there something that I need to know about you two?”
André cleared his throat. Then again, like he was at a loss for words. So I jumped in.
“We’d actually met before the internship, and were surprised to find each other again. But those feelings are still there. Put things on hold until after the presentation and decided we want to see where this maybe goes?” I ended on an inflection that sounded like I wasn’t sure, and I hated that, especially given this weekend. Hell, this morning.
But André nodded. “Right. I almost called and asked if he could be switched with a different intern, but—”
“But I didn’t want you or Phil to think I was trying to get out of the assignment or anything,” I finished.
Harold chuckled at that. “And that’s exactly what he would have thought. You haven’t been the easiest intern we’ve had to work with, you know that.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know. I don’t mean to be difficult.”
“You’re not difficult. You just know what you want, and that sometimes makes people uncomfortable,” André said, a fierceness in his voice I kind of loved.
Harold looked at me thoughtfully. A little too thoughtfully. “So what’s the verdict? You think this assignment was a good one, notwithstanding the outcome?”
Harold had questioned me pretty rigorously during my interview about my interests, and I’m sure he’d been responsible for forcing smaller clients on me. Now that I thought about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d pushed for me to work with André.
Still, I nodded. “It’s been an amazing experience. That doesn’t mean I changed my mind, though.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t trying to change your mind. What you
need to do is be open about your options, and you’ve done that. That’s all we can ask.”
The conversation went off in other directions, and by the end of the night, I had the slightest buzz, was full off some stupidly large chicken wings, and was hornier than I could remember at any time since I’d first had sex.
“André, we’ll start setting up meetings and a game plan tomorrow, okay?” Harold stood and fastened his suit jacket. “I’ve got to get home to my wife, but I told her where I was going and she sends you her best and congratulations.”
André rose and gave him a hug. “Give her my thanks, and I look forward to seeing her again.”
“Allegedly we got a fortieth anniversary coming up soon. She wants me to go all out for that or something. I expect you both there.” His attempt at sounding annoyed failed. Miserably.
Harold took off with another wave, and Fiona was right behind him. “If you’re not in the office when I get there tomorrow, good.” She peered over André and looked at me. “Wear his ass out. I’ll see y’all!”
She was gone before either of us could respond, and I turned to André. “So, you ready to go? I’ve got my marching orders.”
André laughed, the sound a little higher than normal, like he wasn’t entirely sure. When he stood and followed me out the door and up the stairs, I leaned in close and spoke low in his ear. “I’m going to wear your ass out by making sure you wear mine out. Let’s go.”
Chapter Nineteen
André
The first time I’d had Marcus in my apartment, my nerves had been for a totally different reason. I was finally going to indulge in something I’d wanted for years and had never done. Regardless of how the last two weeks had turned out, I still berated myself that I hadn’t taken my own advice and gotten Marcus hard for round two—me on the receiving end—but I must’ve done something right, because Marcus was here now. And he wanted me to fuck him.