by Kai Butler
Zev shook his head, unsure what to make of Tiral’s references. He ignored the significant look Tiral was giving him and merely said, “I had my secretary contact yours, and do you know that yours doesn’t know the first thing about being a social secretary?”
Sighing, Tiral sipped his tea. “I know. She’s a graduate student in aeromech engineering. Probably the smartest in her class, but all she’s done since we came here is complain.”
“I can recommend a good replacement,” Zev offered. He finished his own tea and set it aside. He could see a hint of Tiral’s chest from the deep V formed by the plush robe. It was enough to remind him of the swaths of smooth skin he’d just seen and he almost didn’t hear what Tiral said next.
“Honestly, I can’t afford to hire someone. Right now, I’m paying Rexe by editing her dissertation and helping her plan for her defense. She’s bright, I figured she’d pick it up herself quickly enough. She’s built an entire AI just to test some of her ideas about aeromech. And I can’t send her back now, not after all the help she has given me. It’d seem ungrateful.” Tiral stared down at his tea and Zev held in a sigh.
When Tiral had stuck by his sister earlier, Zev had actually been irritated. Incompetence was the worst sin at the Laft Group, and he’d fired more than enough employees to show that he was serious about his standards. Perfection wasn’t necessary and failures were expected and treated as learning opportunities, but incompetence led to wasted resources and lost time, both of which were irrecoverable. Now, Tiral was sticking by a second incompetent employee, and Zev had to remind himself that neither Tiral’s household nor his estate was a part of the Laft Group and so he couldn’t fire either of them.
He discreetly messaged Ovi to look into the sister, and see if maybe they should send a real manager in to work at the Gret estate. He could probably hire someone who would be happy to pretend that Tiral had hired him and just hadn’t mentioned it to his sister. He also grudgingly messaged her to see if she could make any time to tutor Tiral’s secretary on how to choose more appropriate parties.
“As you wish,” Zev said. “Although you’ll have more chance of success if you have someone choosing the right parties to go to.”
Nodding, Tiral accepted the criticism and merely said, “I’ll talk to her.”
The curtains flew open, and Ciro stepped out, his face a delighted grin. Behind him, his assistant held up a new outfit on a hanger.
Its color was a green deeper than emerald, and Zev immediately knew it would bring out the warm honey undertones in Tiral’s eyes. As the assistants helped Tiral into his new outfit, Ciro listed the aspects of the new pants, from the cut to how stain-proof the fabric was. When Tiral was dressed, Ciro stepped back to let him admire himself in the mirror, his eyes moving to where Zev found himself staring. At Ciro’s curious glance, he tried to turn his gaze more critical.
The style was modern, and the cut of the trousers was so close that it left little to the imagination. The high necked white shirt allowed an elegant golden cravat to be tied around his neck. His fitted waistcoat showed an elegant blue beneath the green tailcoat.
“He’ll make quite an impression,” Ciro said quietly as the assistants worked on the cravat.
“I’m sure he will,” Zev murmured.
“If he’d be so kind as to mention our store,” Ciro said.
“I’m sure he will,” Zev said. “As long as my involvement can stay out of any of your own retellings.”
“This is a discreet service,” Ciro said, raising an eyebrow. “There will be no retellings.”
Raising his own eyebrows, Zev nodded his chin once in agreement. Stepping down off the pedestal,Tiral said, “Well, I’m not sure, what do you think, Zev?”
“I think that with this sort of outfit, you’ll have no problem attracting attention,” Zev said mildly.
“Yes, but the right sort of attention?” Tiral tugged at the sleeves, and Zev stood, covering those nervous fingers with his own.
“Yes, the right sort of attention. With this, no one will be able to keep their eyes off you,” Zev said. “And your exclusive attentions would make even the most jaded heir take notice.”
It was meant to be flattery but had turned somehow into the truth, even when the heir in question was the CEO of the Laft Group.
That night, Zev found himself distracted enough that Ovi sent him to dinner with half of the corporate reports still unread. After the meal, he found himself reluctant to attend the card party that he’d intended to join. Instead, cradling a glass of sherry, he retired to his room.
Staring into the fire, he found his thoughts returning to Tiral. More specifically, he found himself remembering the blush that had crept on his cheeks when he’d been stripped down for Ciro and his employees. The way he’d glanced at Zev, as though seeking reassurance.
Zev imagined standing and walking towards Tiral where he stood on display, imagined putting a hand on the back of Tiral’s neck. Would the earl shiver? Would he arch into the touch?
It would be just the two of them, no Ciro, no gaggle of seamstresses. He would be able to trace a finger down the long line of Tiral’s back and stop just at the waistband of his shorts. A line of goosebumps would follow his finger, he imagined, and Tiral’s breath would hitch. It would be a small gasp, as though he felt the same electric current running between them.
Then Zev would tell him how beautiful he was. “You are stunning. You make me wild.”
No, Tiral might laugh at that and assume him funning. “Where have you been hiding such beauty?”
Yes, Zev decided, that would be enough of a tease that Tiral might reveal how far his blush could spread. Would he turn and capture Zev’s mouth? Or stay still and wait for Zev’s next move?
The latter, Zev decided, imagining the shiver when Zev came close, his clothing pressing against Tiral’s bare back. Zev would be able to look at Tiral in the mirror over his shoulder. He could run a hand down his chest and through the short curls that were revealed above his shorts.
Zev might kiss Tiral’s throat, listening to the small breathy moans the other man made as Zev worked his way up to an earlobe, biting gently before releasing.
“Is this a new lesson?” Tiral would ask.
“Why, would you like to take notes?” Zev would murmur.
“Bullet points, at least,” Tiral would say, the words ending on a moan. “A summary of events.”
Tiral’s eyes would be closed, and Zev would finally be able to rub a hand over his cock, straining against the white of his shorts. It would be too tempting not to reach in, wrap his hand around the warm flesh. Tiral’s moan would make his own cock that much harder.
Tiral would turn, his bitten lips seeking Zev’s mouth. Zev panted at the thought, sherry tipping over, in his haste to place it on the table next to his chair. He unbuttoned his breeches, shoving them and his own shorts down, grabbing his cock in his hand.
In his mind, Tiral was down on his knees, his mouth wrapped around Zev’s cock, gazing up at him through dark lashes. His mouth would work, and Zev gripped tight the arm of his chair, imagining his fingers in Tiral’s hair.
With a gasp, he came in his hand, shuddering through the orgasm. Eyes closed, he shook his head, sighing.
It seemed that he was more attracted to his pupil than he’d realized. That would make things difficult, but not impossible. Luckily, he assured himself, it was only a physical attraction. Yes, merely a result of his lack of liaisons this season.
Cleaning up, he went to bed, reassuring himself that he didn’t have to read anything else into the evening. Merely a buildup of pressure, relieved by fantasy.
9
When he’d gotten the bill from Ciro, several days after their visit, Zev had accepted it from Ovi without comment. She had waited until he’d read through the whole thing before holding up her stylus and tablet, a silent request for instructions.
“Pay it from the Yuls account,” he said, dismissing the bill with a gesture of his hands
. He turned back to the reports from the shipping lanes.
“The whole of it,” Ovi said flatly, but her arched eyebrow turned it into a question.
It was an extravagant bill, but Zev didn’t begrudge Ciro a penny of it. The man had worked a miracle on the green ensemble. If the rest of the suits were of the same quality, Tiral might be married by the end of the week. In any case, as Zev Yuls, whose conquests were rich and discreet, he rarely spent much of his own money. The account always had more than enough left over at the end of the season.
Ovi was writing on her tablet and looked up when he asked, “Did the chef prepare everything?”
“As requested, sir,” she said.
He could tell that she was trying to hide some emotion behind pursed lips and a raised brow. Judgment or censure, he wasn’t sure which. Stretching his neck, he realized that he’d need to deal with it sooner rather than later.
“You think I’m being ridiculous,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“Not my place, sir,” she said mildly.
“You think that I’m enamored?” he guessed, watching her face for any twitch that would reveal if he was close to the mark.
Looking at him, she seemed to realize that he planned to keep guessing until he had the whole truth. She looked around, but there was no one nearby and she said quietly, “You’ve never spent any money on your previous entanglements.”
“Because they were all too busy spending money on me,” he observed. He twirled his stylus between his fingers, around and around. She didn’t take the bait; her eyes stayed on his.
“He’s intriguing. I feel sorry for him,” he said finally. “Nothing more than that. I’m not losing my head to a penniless earl.”
“Like I said, not my place,” Ovi observed.
“Not your place to have any opinions at all?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said, giving him the sort of smile that showed she did have a sense of humor.
With a laugh he told her, “You’d have me believe that, too, like you aren’t judging everything I do, including what I wear. You and my brother, both.”
“I wouldn’t put us in the same category,” she said, offended. “Me and Nosre.”
Holding up his hands, he admitted defeat. “You have me there. My brother is on the side of my falling in love and marrying, whereas I think you’d prefer that I didn’t do anything other than eat and work.”
Ovi tilted her head as though considering it and then nodded. “May chance, sir.”
“I’d subsist on nutrient gruel if you had your way,” he muttered.
They went back to work and when lunchtime rolled around, Ovi had to remind him of his appointment, her tone back to its accustomed bland neutrality.
“First you think I should stay and now you’re kicking me out,” Zev observed. “I can’t win with you, Ovi.”
She nodded, but he thought that her prompting was based primarily on how much tardiness irritated her. Many a department head had been forced to reschedule under her disapproving gaze if they showed up late. She took his tablet and stylus as he handed them to her, and raised her eyebrow until a footman ran to fetch the lunch Zev had ordered.
The footman rushed to put it in the car, and Zev reminded Ovi to call him immediately if the situation with the commerce group changed. She nodded and when he was in the car, he felt himself begin to nearly buzz with anticipation. It was a different sort of pressure than he was used to feeling.
In business, he found it best to be cold, presenting everything he saw as fact. Most often, it was fact. In love, he’d preferred to be playful and flirty, but there were never any consequences there. No one was looking for a future with him, and those with such aspirations were quickly disillusioned about his own intransigence regarding marriage.
Tiral was different. Zev couldn’t stop thinking about the ridiculous smile that only seemed to come out when he was teasing Zev. His eyes sparkled when they talked together and Zev would remember how stiff Tiral had seemed at the boat party. It seemed like this version of Tiral was one with an extremely limited audience: him.
Looking out at the passing city, he reminded himself that Tiral’s best self wouldn’t be private as soon as he thought the professor was ready to begin courting others in earnest. Tiral wasn’t looking for someone casual to spend a season with and he couldn’t afford one, either.
He’d had Ovi begin looking into Tiral’s affairs, and what she’d reported had been worse than Zev had believed. The estate had been doing much better under the sister’s guidance, although he couldn’t know if it had actually been profitable. The loans had surprised him, though. Even if the estate had been in good health, he couldn’t imagine any bank giving them that much on credit, much less several banks.
He made a note to look into their own financial arm and make sure that the same casual approach to credit wasn’t taken at his own institution.
Only a few families would be able to dig Gret out of the hole it was in, and even fewer would be willing to do so for merely a title and a modest estate. However, for love or the appearance of it, most would probably be willing to pay dearly. If Tiral wanted out of the situation he was in, he would need to make someone fall in love with him and appropriately mimic being in love himself.
The idea nearly made Zev laugh. Tiral— honest, educated Tiral— would make for a poor actor when it came to love. His best bet would be to find someone he might actually fall for, but that idea made Zev even more unhappy. He came back to himself when the driver got out of the car and opened his door.
They were at Tiral’s house.
Relaxing into a smile, Zev walked briskly up the path. The door opened and he saw the serious man he now knew to be the butler waiting in the foyer.
“Lord Gret will be down shortly,” he intoned, silently offering to take Zev’s hat.
Zev handed it over and let himself be guided into the sitting room, where tea and biscuits were already set out. He was pondering whether he should indulge when the door opened and Tiral rushed in, hastily, his jacket still in his trailing valet’s hands.
The man’s whole face expressed the horror he felt as he tried to get his lord properly attired without appearing to be too forward. Tiral half turned and let the man slip on his coat, waving him off as the valet attempted to settle it.
Zev had been right about the wardrobe. It was worth every penny to see Tiral dressed like this in the height of fashion, his breeches clinging to his calves, jacket accenting his waist. Even the color was perfect, a dove gray that brought out nearly invisible flecks of green in his eyes, making his smooth skin appear golden.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tiral was saying, the jacket still sitting crooked on his shoulders. “Rexe, my secretary, had some really interesting ideas in her newest draft, but I tried to tell her that you can’t simply introduce brave new concepts like that, you need to do your due diligence and do the work—”
He broke off as Zev stood, taking long strides to where he was standing. Reaching out, Zev took hold of the coat, the fabric soft and thick under his fingers. He straightened the shoulders and brushed his hands down it. Under his hands, he felt Tiral’s solid body. He wanted to take off the coat and then the cravat and then unbutton the shirt until he could greedily touch that warm skin underneath.
His eyes caught Tiral’s tongue licking along his lip, and Tiral swallowed.
“While I think it’s charming that you’re so eager to see me,” Zev murmured into the quiet space between them, “you must know that other paramours will want you looking your best and not as though you were coming from someone else’s bed.”
The image caught in his mind: Tiral draped in white sheets, his mouth bruised from kissing. He could so easily see those eyes half-lidded and satisfied. Zev saw himself leaning forward now and kissing Tiral’s tempting mouth in front of the valet and whoever else might walk in. His hands tightened briefly on the jacket and then he let it go, smoothing the fabric with his palms.
“I don’t have time for lovers right now,” Tiral said, his eyes wide. “Not-not real ones. That’s why I have you.”
The words made them both aware of the situation, and Zev released Tiral entirely, stepping back to a more appropriate distance. He nodded and said, “As I said, some might find it charming, but most would want to marry an earl for all the formality that comes with the title.”
“No rushing in if a guest arrives when I’m not ready,” Tiral said, obediently reciting his latest lesson.
“As you say,” Zev agreed. He gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
Tiral followed him, and Zev smiled, pretending that he hadn't almost done something that he would regret. There were too many things wrong with seducing Tiral. The lost time for Tiral, when he’d be wasting his days in Zev’s bed rather than on the hunt for someone more maritally available. The fact that Zev had no interest in marriage and wouldn’t be able to provide Tiral with what he needed. But also, Zev knew, that if he got romantically involved with Tiral, it would have to be more than a fling. Tiral would need his attention, would need his focus. The man deserved it and Zev found himself frustrated that for a moment he thought of giving in.
As they stepped out, Tiral commented on the weather, seemingly unaware of the turn of Zev’s thoughts. At least the comment was a good show that he’d been taking Zev’s lessons to heart. By drawing attention away from whatever was weighing his companion, he was making himself into the balm for whatever turbulence had gripped Zev.
Nodding along, Zev got into the car and even managed a few parries himself.
“Now that’s just ridiculous,” Tiral said. “Even with the climate control, the same temperature year round would affect the natural order of things. Plants, animals and such.”
“They’ve simply imported all the plants and animals from their tropics. Sadly nothing north of ten degrees was saved,” Zev said. He waited to see if Tiral would take the bait and he did, laughing.