She pinned him to his chair with her steady gaze. “MM&M is not only willing, but eager to help you realize your full potential. After your first few years with us, once you’re comfortable with the company’s workflow and familiar with all our standard client procedures, we will be sending you to college. Full ride, no strings attached. Our hope, obviously, is that you’ll return to us after you graduate, but you’ll be under no obligation to do so. We won’t bind you into a contract to come back, or prevent you from spreading your wings and finding your own career path. Not that we won’t beg and plead for you to come back, of course.” She grinned. “But the decision will be yours.”
Allen shook his head, completely overwhelmed. “Why would you even consider such a thing? I don’t understand.”
Sidri quirked her lips. “You truly don’t understand just how rare your natural talent is, do you? Completely untrained, self-taught brilliance. You are a photographer savant, Allen. And if you’re this talented without formal training, just imagine how spectacular you’ll be when you do have it. In the long run, nurturing your God-given gift is far more important than our need to capitalize on that talent for the company’s benefit.
“We don’t want to clip your wings or cage you into working with us. We want to help you soar.”
Overcome, Allen quickly turned away, furiously blinking back the burn of tears. All of this was too good to be true. Sidri obviously knew nothing about him, about his past, about his horrible transgressions. She wouldn’t be so generous, so quick to believe in him if she knew half the atrocities he’d committed. Instead of filling him with the glow of pride, her heartfelt speech drowned him in abject misery, because her perception of him, of his potential, was based on a lie.
He wasn’t special. Wasn’t a savant. He was, and always had been, a monster.
Allen turned back to her, only to be struck momentarily dumb as her beauty hit him right in the solar plexus. Jesus Christ, when would he ever be able to have a normal conversation with her? When would he be able to ignore this totally inappropriate lust for his new boss? He needed to stop seeing her as a smart, powerful, ridiculously sexy woman and start accepting she wasn’t just out of his league—she was outside his whole damn stratosphere. The sooner he choked off this debilitating desire for her, the better off he’d be working for her.
That is, if he could bring himself to work with her at all.
Heart heavy, he opened his mouth to tell her everything. He could not, would not start his new job on the basis of a pack of outright lies. Live or die, accepted or not, he would not deceive her or the company into thinking he was some kind of saint.
He’d damned his own soul a long, long time ago, and there was no way he could ever redeem himself.
But Sidri surprised him one last time. Before Allen could speak, she held up a hand and silenced him instantly.
“Whatever you’re about to say, Allen, don’t. We know about your past. How you ran away. How you never went to high school or college. That information is only known to myself, Tatum, and Beatrice. As far as I’m concerned, we are the only three who ever need to know. Believe me when I tell you this, Allen. The past is the past, and it has nothing to do with your talent, your future potential, or your worthiness to become a part of this company. Do I make myself clear?”
He bit his lip, still trying to swallow past the knot of pain in his throat. They didn’t know the half of it. If they did…
Sidri stared him down and gave him a command he felt all the way down to his misbehaving balls. “This is the first, last, and only time this subject will be brought up. Understand? The fact that you have the integrity to want to tell me the truth speaks volumes, Allen. Most people would have tried to lie or gloss over their past problems. That you are not only willing, but eager to tell me the truth tells me you are exactly the kind of man I expected you to be. Shall we leave it at that?”
Allen closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. She was right. If he truly wanted to make a fresh start with his life, he needed to leave all his baggage behind. For good. Though she was obviously basing her assumptions on less-than-accurate information, she’d already made it clear she didn’t care one way or another. If she—if the company—was willing to give him this chance, despite knowing what little they did know, he needed to man up and not cower behind his past failures, making excuses. He’d been hiding in the dark for so long, the very thought of stepping into the light scared the living shit out of him. But he could do it. Would do it.
Because Sidri said she believed in him.
Opening his eyes, he met her knowing green gaze head on. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
She grinned, rising to her feet and extending her hand. “Say you accept, that you’ll work your ass off to live up to the standards we’re expecting from you, and that you’ll rise to the occasion and believe in yourself as much as we believe in you. So? Will you accept?”
He stood, vaguely amazed his numb knees could hold his weight, and shook her hand. He was already beginning to relish that little zing of pleasure that shot up his spine every time she touched him, even as he also started dreading it. Christ, he needed to get laid and fast. He needed his libido under control in no uncertain terms, and he needed it done yesterday.
If only it were that easy.
Allen smiled into Sidri’s glowing green eyes and said simply, “I accept. I won’t let you down.”
And with a firm shake of her hand, the course of the rest of his life changed forever. At least, so he hoped.
* * * *
Two whirlwind years later, and he knew he’d made the right decision. Not that it had been easy—this was the hardest job he’d ever tackled in his life, and that was saying something from a guy who’d had to rivet steel I-beams into concrete posts while hanging suspended from a crane almost two-hundred feet in the air. But he never regretted it, and soon all the impossibly long hours, the intense study sessions learning to use Photoshop, Lightroom, and a host of other computer programs he knew nothing about, and sitting through numerous long-winded lectures from his chosen mentor, Keelan Anders, were all worth it in the end.
Because he’d succeeded, far above and beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Including his own.
Of course, there was still that one tiny, nagging problem, his ever-growing desire for Sidri. He had hoped—in vain, it seemed—that time and familiarity would dull the edge off his instant attraction. Instead, it only intensified the more he got to know her. Her vast wealth of knowledge about her chosen profession was absolutely staggering—she could answer any question he dreamed up, quickly and concisely, without making him feel stupid for asking in the first place. Her ability to read people, their body language, was so accurate it bordered on telepathy. She could always tell when a client was being wishy-washy to avoid committing to a set schedule, or if they were truly unhappy with the work they were given. And she could read Allen as if his emotions were stamped in giant block letters across his forehead. She always knew when he was struggling with something, always knew when to give him a nudge in the right direction and when to let him puzzle things out on his own. She never hovered, never micro-managed, and always let him know in no uncertain terms how delighted she was with his progress.
It was a heady experience, earning her praise. He could bask in the glow of a single compliment from her lips for weeks on end. But he never let himself lose sight of his ultimate goal, never let himself slack off just because she told him he was already doing a good job. She’d given him her trust from that very first day, and he was whole-heartedly committed to living up to her expectations.
And today, finally, it all paid off.
Now if he could just get his wayward cock to behave around Sidri, he’d be right up there in heaven.
Just then, his former boss and mentor, Keelan, rapped his knuckles on the doorframe and sauntered into the room without being invited.
“Looking good there, Tonto,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his fai
ling brown eyes. “That there fancy chair looks damn good with you in it. Promise me you won’t name the damn thing Silver.”
Allen barked out a laugh. It was an old joke between them, stemming from their first awkward meeting.
After filling out a mountain of paperwork in the HR department, Allen had been led by a still-blushing Tandy to a small office near the back. The poor girl had tried—and failed miserably—to get the attention of the seventy-something gentleman who sat with his back to the door, all his focus on the computer monitors in front of him. When her third squeak failed to rouse the old guy, she’d given Allen a helpless look. Giving her a wink, hoping to put her a little more at ease, he put his finger and thumb to his lips and blew out an eardrum-cracking whistle.
Tandy jumped. The old man didn’t budge an inch. But he did, finally, acknowledge them.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Tonto,” he sneered over his shoulder, not bothering to look at them. “I have to finish this and you can damn well wait while I do it. Damn smurfs, coming in here to steal my job out from under me…” And he trailed off into a muttering tirade that Allen fortunately couldn’t decipher. Allen winced, giving poor Tandy an apologetic smile as he gently shooed her out the door. Once she was gone, he closed the door and stood with his back to it, watching the mean old codger like a hawk.
This was supposed to be his new mentor? This was the man who, according to Sidri, would teach him everything he needed to learn? Perhaps she’d meant to give him to someone else. Forgotten who worked where. It was a huge company, after all. Sidri oversaw over two hundred departments, with about two thousand employees between the lot of them. Maybe she’d gotten the names mixed up?
“I can hear the hamsters running in your brain, boy,” the old man barked. “Damn rodents squeaking in my ears. Yes, I am Keelan Anders, and no, Sidri did not make a mistake. I’m the current Director of Photography, smurf, and don’t you forget it. Just because you’re here to replace me don’t mean I can’t run circles around your so-called camera skills. Get me?”
Allen stumbled back, his shoulder blades hitting the door with a loud thunk. “What?! No, Mr. Anders, sir, I’m not here to…”
“Replace me? Damn straight you are. And about damn time, too.”
Chapter 3
Allen regarded Keelan warily as the crotchety old fart finally swiveled around to face him. His features had a decidedly Arabic cast, though his hair was dark gray with age. Huge bags under his bloodshot eyes proclaimed his exhaustion, as did the slight slump to his otherwise broad shoulders. Standing, he was maybe five foot ten, still taller than Allen’s meager five nine, though no less intimidating for his lack of height. His dark eyes had probably been deep brown, maybe even solid black, in his youth—now Allen could detect the grayish film of cataracts overtaking his pupils. Looking at him, Allen would have expected his voice to be high and frail, not the booming tenor that spouted such foul language. The perfect picture of a mean old man. All he needed was a fedora and a rake, and he could go stand in front of any house in America, scream “Get off my lawn!” and kids for miles around would run away.
Keelan studied him thoughtfully, apparently waiting for an answer to his outrageous statement. When none came, he heaved a tremendous sigh, ran both his arthritis-crabbed hands over his face and through his hair, and met Allen’s bewildered look with a frank, open gaze.
“Look, kid. You may not believe it, but you are here to replace me. I’ve been at this job for thirty-five years, working my way up from Gopher to DoP. This company has taken my blood, sweat, and tears, not to mention my soul, for my entire adult life. And, as much as I love this place, this job, I’m ready to step back. I should be spending my twilight years visiting my grandkids, not stuck here in this crappy room, bent over a computer monitor. I’m tired, kid.”
For a bare moment, Allen pitied the older man. Then the hellfire returned to his cloudy brown eyes, and he pinned Allen to the door with a murderous look. “So you better get your ass in gear and learn your shit. Learn it well, learn it fast, and learn it before I damn well croak right here, because I can’t fucking retire until you’re ready to take my place. Get me, Tonto? Or do I need to speak slower and use smaller words?”
Allen eyed the other man, understanding dawning. Keelan may be ready to retire physically, but mentally he was fighting tooth and nail not to give in to his body’s weakness. He knew it was time to pass the reins, to let a younger generation take the lead and race toward that distant goal line. But that didn’t mean he had to go out gracefully, not when he couldn’t be certain his precious department was being left in capable hands.
Cocking his head to one side, Allen asked curiously, “Why do you keep calling me that?”
Keelan raised a bushy eyebrow. “What? Kid? Boy?”
A head shake. “Tonto.”
Keelan blew a raspberry. “What, you saying I can’t tease you for being Native American? You that sensitive about your prissy heritage? ’Cause if you are, you damn well better grow a thicker skin.”
A laugh burst from Allen’s mouth, and he shot the old man a grin. “I’m not Native American, you mean old coot. I’m fucking Columbian. Go suck on that.”
For a long, tense moment, Keelan stared at him in openmouthed amazement, and Allen had enough time to wonder if he’d misread the situation, if he’d gone too far, too fast. Had he already fucked up his chances in the first official hour of his first official day?
Then Keelan burst into howls of laughter, immediately popping the bubbles of panic rising in Allen’s gut. He breathed a sigh of relief and grinned while the old man whooped, pleased to have given him something to laugh about.
Eventually, Keelan wound down, still with the occasional giggle escaping his lips. He wiped damp eyes, ratcheted his old bones up out of his chair, and clapped Allen on the shoulder so hard he staggered.
“You’ll do, Tonto,” Keelan said with an evil grin. “Tatum was right. You do have steel to back up those big brass balls of yours. Come on. Let’s go introduce you to the rest of the department. Mean old coot? I ought to box your ears for that, smurf. God damned snot-nosed…”
He kept up a running gripe all the way through his introductions to the rest of the team, which meant Allen had a huge grin on his face the whole time. He still remembered seeing the surprised pleasure on his new coworkers’ faces, all of them obviously relieved to see their soon-to-be-ex boss seem so pleased with their soon-to-be-new boss.
Well, almost all of them. The last to be introduced was a forty-something walking mountain of a man named Brock Ashburn. He was a good seven feet tall, with about three hundred forty pounds of what had probably once been solid muscle, but was now just slabs of fat layered over memories of what it was like to be in shape. His Charlie Brown head was shaved completely bald in an obvious attempt to hide male pattern baldness, just as his scraggly goatee was an obvious attempt to hide a weak chin. His eyebrows were the hairiest things on his head, marching like to great big bushy caterpillars across his forehead. It almost looked as if his hair had been frightened off the top of his head and ended up hiding on his chin, only to be scared again and end up crowding together in his eyebrows. If Mr. Clean and the Pillsbury Dough Boy had had an unholy lovechild, and that lovechild somehow had a baby with the actor who played the dad on that TV show Roseanne, it might come close to the monstrosity that was Brock Ashburn.
Allen, of course, kept his revulsion to himself as he reached out to shake one of Brock’s huge, pudgy paws. He tried to smile and seem as friendly and confident as possible while Keelan introduced him, but his charade faltered when he looked into those beady rat eyes and saw pure hatred staring back at him.
He would never forget that look, or the cold, sinking dread that settled in his gut when he realized what it meant. Brock had probably assumed he would take over for Keelan when the old man left. Yet here he was, being passed over for some jumped-up twenty-five-year-old kid who had no business even breathing the same airspace, much l
ess being in the same building. And all that hurt over being passed over for a promotion, all that pain of rejection, had been focused into a laser beam of hatred aimed straight for Allen’s heart.
Great. Two hours into his first day, and he’d just made his very first enemy simply by existing.
Brock’s hatred never wavered. He made Allen’s life a nightmare while he was still considered a department Gopher—the one sent on errands, to “go for” coffee or “go for” the boss’s dry-cleaning—assigning him tedious, pointless tasks that took him away from what he was supposed to be learning. Allen had suffered it in silence for a long time, unwilling to complain and be labeled as unable to defend himself, but it finally came to a head at the end of his Gopher period. Sidri had pulled him aside one morning, demanding to know if the rumors about Brock were true. Allen tiredly informed her they were, but that he was okay—he could handle the big, bad bully all by himself, thank you. But Sidri’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, and she’d marched out of her office and straight to HR.
Less than ten minutes later, Brock Ashburn was being escorted out of the building by two enormous security guards, the contents of his desk resting in a small box held in front of his chest. When Brock caught sight of Allen’s wide-eyed shock, he’d scowled dangerously and mouthed, “I know it was you. You’ll pay for getting me fired.”
Allen hadn’t slept well for weeks afterward. Eventually he managed to corner Sidri and demand to know why she’d fired Brock on his account.
“I was handling it, Sid!” he said, hissing through clenched teeth, dangerously close to insubordination. “Why did you have to go and fire him? Now everyone thinks I asked you to save my chicken-shit ass from a great big teddy bear who wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
Sidri just looked at him. “Allen, no one thinks you asked me to save you. Brock was fired that day because I received no less than one-hundred-and-fifty complaints about him that very morning.”
Demons Within [For Love of Authority] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Page 3