On Shaky Ground

by Andrew Grey

  BROCK’S MOUTH tasted like something had died in it. He blinked and pulled the covers over his head. At least, he tried, but something stopped them. His clouded mind cleared, and he pulled again. Rolling over, he felt around for the source of the annoying covers shortage and bumped into a warm, hard body. “What the…?” He groaned as vague memories of last night returned to him. He blinked and sat up, his head pounding.

  Holy God, he’d slept with Martin.

  Martin was still asleep, mostly on top of the covers, giving him an incredible view… of his boss… the guy he’d slept with. Brock held his head in his hands, wondering what in the hell he’d just done. Sure, he’d been attracted to him, but Martin was his boss and…. Brock shivered in the air-conditioned room. What if Martin thought Brock was simply trying to sleep his way into a better position or something? The thought made him even colder.

  Brock checked the clock by the bed, grateful it was only five thirty in the morning. Chester wasn’t expecting them until nine, so there was plenty of time. All Brock had to do was figure out how he was going to get out of this bed and over to the other bedroom without Martin realizing. Hopefully Martin wouldn’t remember anything….

  Brock shook his head. He was going to sneak out of the room like he was a thief? Yeah, that painted a really wonderful picture, like he was ashamed of last night… and he wasn’t. What he could remember of it had been mind-blowingly amazing, and if he was honest, he wanted to do it again and again, and maybe even get a chance to make Martin scream the way his own voice seemed to echo through his head right now.

  He took a deep breath and lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. Okay, calm down. He’d see how Martin reacted before doing anything rash or stupid. After all, it took two to tango, and he hadn’t been doing the dance with no pants alone. He’d most definitely had company—hot, gorgeous, sexy company. So what the hell?

  Brock rolled over and closed his eyes, letting his arm drape over Martin. Okay, so he was copping a little bit of a feel, and one hell of one at that.

  Chapter 5

  MARTIN WOKE to a splitting headache and groaned. He’d thought he’d been smart by pouring some of his drinks in a potted plant and playing up how much he’d drunk in order to try to put Chester at ease and feel him out. Instead, he’d ended up drinking too much anyway, and now his head ached something fierce and….

  Martin didn’t move as he listened. There was someone else in the room.

  “Oh God,” he whispered.

  “Those were my exact feelings,” Brock said, sitting next to him on the bed.

  “What did we do?” Martin tried to sound amused to cover some of his embarrassment.

  “If I remember correctly, we got the hots for each other in the car, though that part is a little hazy. I do remember you kissing me in the elevator. The rest is a little foggy, except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Martin pulled the sheet up to cover himself.

  “You, Martin Graham, are a stud. No doubt about it.” Brock held his head and didn’t seem in much better shape than Martin was… well, other than the fact that he seemed at least partially dressed and was carrying coffee. Brock handed him a mug. “I figured you’d need some—I sure did.” They both sipped from their mugs.

  “What do we do?” Martin asked as his memories of last night became slightly clearer and excitement passed through him. Brock had felt amazing under him, and what he’d gotten to sample of him had been as sweet and rich as the best ambrosia. No—addicting. That was the word. One taste and Martin wanted more… and more.

  “Well, you have meetings today, and I’m your assistant, so I’m taking notes and will be there in case you need me. I do need to prepare your email and check on your calendar. I suspect Chester is going to want to get down to the details of negotiations… and….”

  “Brock, you know what I mean.”

  “You and I are going to be professional and get through the business of the day and then dinner tonight. After that, you and I can sit down—minus the influence of alcohol—and figure things out. It’s nearly eight, and the car is going to be here in half an hour. I brought in the bags and put them on the stand near the bathroom door.”

  Brock sounded so with it, like nothing had happened. Maybe that was the best way to handle this—go on as before.

  “Okay. I guess moving forward is the best thing,” Martin said quietly, still holding the sheet in front of him. He couldn’t see Brock’s facial expression and wondered how he felt. Martin heard him come closer, and then Brock kissed him. It was gentle, sweet, and almost teasing in its briefness.

  “We’ve talked about that nonverbal communication. Does that answer your question, at least for now?”

  “It answers part of it.” And it brought up so many more. Questions Martin didn’t have time to ask. Right now he had to find his way to the bathroom and get cleaned up.

  Brock left the room, and Martin felt his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He needed to get ready for what could be the biggest day of his professional career.

  Thankfully he was able to see well enough to shave and shower. When he returned to the bedroom, he found the bed made and felt his clothes lying on top of it. Brock thought of nearly everything. Martin sat on the edge of the bed, dressing slowly and wondering how easily he could get used to this. Brock seemed to understand what he needed.

  He finished putting on his clothes and stepped out of the room, where Brock waited for him. “I have some more coffee, and your computer is at the table.” Brock guided Martin over, and Martin sat down to check his messages, running through anything that was important. Then he packed it away. Brock handed him his case and guided him to the door and then the elevator.

  “Strange places are always hard for me, especially ones like this. Everything runs together.”

  “Probably because the walls and floors are the same creamy beige,” Brock explained. “The elevator is just ahead. I’m going to call for it.” He stepped away and returned. “Okay. It’s going to be a minute.”

  Martin nodded and held his case tightly. “Brock, I’m terrible at relationships,” he said, because he needed to be honest. If Brock was hoping that last night was going to lead somewhere, he deserved to know the truth. “I wear people out, and….” He paused as the elevator dinged. This was difficult to say, but it needed to be said. They stepped inside, and Martin was grateful they were alone. “I can’t tell you all about it now, but you need to believe me. I’m not very good at that sort of thing.” He swallowed and held on as the elevator slid downward.

  “So, it isn’t me?” Brock asked.

  Martin humphed. “No, it’s me.” He had to chuckle. “Yeah, that sounded as dumb to my ears as it had to have to yours. I never thought I’d ever use the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line of bullshit on anyone.”

  The elevator doors slid open. “Okay. How about we talk about this when I’m not on the clock and you don’t have your head full of details about your business deal?” Brock offered, and Martin was quick to agree. He had to have his mind in this game, fully engaged, if he was going to be able to close the deal and bring this puppy home.

  The limousine was waiting, and Brock guided him to the door. Once inside, Martin closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying not to concentrate on the motion of the car. He was driven places all the time, but lately his stomach had decided that it didn’t like the disconnect between the motion of the vehicles he rode in and the fact that he couldn’t see what was happening. His doctors had told him that hopefully, with time, it would subside. Just another side effect of losing his sight—like that wasn’t enough already.

  Thankfully the ride smoothed out.

  “Do you want to work while we ride? I can get your laptop for you.”

  When Martin nodded, Brock placed it in his lap, and Martin let his mind sink into the deal and what he needed to do, rather than his memories, somewhat foggy as they were, of how he had felt and the way he’d sounded—needy and head
y at the same time. At least the computer would cover the bulge in his pants.

  He used his noise-canceling headphones to listen to his mail and review the documents he needed to prepare for this final push for an agreement. By the time they’d pulled to a final stop, he was ready. Brock put away the computer for him, and then they got out of the limousine and retraced the steps they’d taken the day before.

  “Martin,” Chester greeted him in the echoing lobby. “I have a conference room set up where the two of us can talk.”

  Martin knew this tactic and had been prepared. He wound his arm around Brock’s, using him as a bit of a crutch. Having been here before, Martin was perfectly capable of being guided by Chester, but he wanted Brock with him to act as his eyes. “Lead on,” Martin told Brock softly, and Brock smartly kept quiet.

  It took a few minutes to navigate through to the well-appointed conference room, stocked with coffee, juice, rolls, donuts, and more, all plated on the table. He could smell them rather than see the detail, and that was almost enough to turn his stomach.

  “Take a seat, Brock, and please take notes for me. This is a confidential meeting, and nothing that is said here, by either of us, is to be repeated to anyone under any circumstances.” Martin pulled out a chair and sat down, then folded his hands on the table as he waited for Chester to make his move.

  A chair slid away and Chester settled right across from him, the movement registering for him. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit and were able to get a good feel for our skills,” Chester said, and Martin nodded. So this was how Chester was going to handle things. The soft approach was good, but that wasn’t Martin’s style.

  “Why don’t we get down to brass tacks and nail down this deal? We both agree that it’s in the best interest for both of us, so why not get to it?”

  “I agree,” Chester said.

  Martin took a deep breath. What he’d wanted for years was within his grasp—now he just needed to get it done.

  “YOU WERE incredible,” Brock said as soon as they were in the car. “Chester didn’t know what hit him. He must have thought, after yesterday, that he was in the driver’s seat.” Brock vibrated beside him. “I’ll admit that I was worried.”

  Martin shrugged. “Always keep your powder dry and don’t give anything away until you have to. Chester was feeling me out yesterday, and I let him think he knew more than he did.” Martin sighed. “See, he was right. His revenue is higher than mine, and on paper his firm is larger, but his overhead is more than mine, no matter what he thinks. And I have a reserve of cash. That gives me a huge amount of leverage.”

  Brock nodded. “But you were great. You didn’t lord it over him, and you made him a part of the business, even agreeing to change the name.” He bumped Martin’s shoulder. “I like Graham Cartwright—it’s a good name.”

  “And it lets our customers, all of them, know that we’re working together.” Martin was going to be chairman and CEO of the organization because he’d still have a controlling interest, but Chester would have a seat on the board and be head of the international division as well, at least for the first five years. Martin continued, “While Chester was jockeying for position, and to get the best price, the truth was that he didn’t want to end up running everything. He was really looking for a way out. He wants to retire in five years, and this gives him the chance to do that and come out a winner.” Martin was more than pleased and relieved. What he’d always wanted was so close. “The best deals are the ones where everyone gets what they want.”

  Brock shifted on the leather seat. “What I don’t understand is how you knew all this.”

  “Remember, after we were in his office late yesterday, one of the things I asked you when we were on our way to dinner was the kinds of things he had on his desk. You described the pictures of his wife, kids, grandkids, even the one of him on a sailboat and deep-sea fishing. That told me that while he was devoted to his family, he was still active, and I figured if I gave him a chance at the life he really wanted now, he’d jump at it. And he did.”

  Brock cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” Martin said cautiously.

  “What is it you really want? I mean, you had to have a dream as far as the business is concerned. Is that what you really want?” Brock sounded extremely unsure of himself.

  “The business is what I’m good at. The rest of my life, not so much. So if you’re asking if I have personal life goals, then probably not. My love life is… well, last night was the closest I’ve come to any sort of relationship in five years, and that involved alcohol.” Martin sighed and laid his head back. “I’m not very good at that sort of thing.” He often wasn’t comfortable talking about personal stuff, but Brock… well, he was different. At least he seemed that way. “My last boyfriend hated the fact that I worked a lot of hours. At first he used to meet me at the office. More than once we had dinner at my desk. He even brought in candles once. That was when I could still see them. But the firm took more and more of my time, and I tried, but the demands were so great. I know it’s a typical story. I put the business ahead of him, and he found someone else.” He shrugged. Yes, the breakup had been his fault, Martin knew that, but the end result still hurt.

  “Is that the only reason?” Brock asked as they rode back to the hotel. Martin barely felt the road as he concentrated on Brock’s voice and the raggedness that crept in every once in a while.

  “Of course not. I’m a rational person, and I can try to do things differently in the future. Navigating a sighted world, where most things are geared toward people who can see, is a challenge. Granted, I’ve been able to get used to my sight loss gradually, but… it’s still a day-to-day challenge. Let’s say that I did fall for someone….” He swallowed, because even after just two weeks, he could fall for Brock so damned easily. “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone… and I certainly don’t want the people I care for to feel like they have to play nursemaid. You’ve been my assistant less than a month… but you have to have seen it.” Martin knew he wasn’t easy to get along with. His past assistants came to hate him because he had to have things a certain way. He could only imagine what that would do to someone he was spending his life with. It was easier not to endure the heartache and go on with his life as it was.

  Brock was quiet for a long time, the only sound in the car the tires on the road. “Is that what you really think?” he finally snapped. “You’re living proof that people with sight loss, or any other physical challenge, can accomplish anything they set their minds to. Look at what you’ve done! And yet you’re willing to accept that you’ll be alone because of it?”

  Martin gaped at him. Brock probably would have done the same if he’d been in Martin’s shoes.

  The car pulled to a stop, the tires silent, with just the humming of the engine. Brock opened the door, and instantly the sounds of the city intruded. Martin got out, and Brock took his arm to lead him inside, but even though Brock was touching him and standing right next to him, Martin felt like the distance between them had grown and continued to expand by the second. The worst thing was that he wasn’t sure how to fix what he’d done. Dammit, he wanted to, but he didn’t have the words.

  “I’m only being honest,” Martin tried to explain, afraid he was digging a deeper hole. He could navigate the pitfalls of negotiating multimillion-dollar business deals, but he couldn’t explain the worries of his heart clearly and without sounding like an emotionally stunted teenager. “I have shit luck with relationships.” This whole line of conversation made him extremely uncomfortable, and yet it was his own fault for bringing it up.

  “It’s not luck,” Brock said as they stepped into the elevator.

  “And how do you know?”

  “Because I saw it. My mom and dad were married for eighteen years. Dad died when I was fifteen, and Mom raised me alone after that. Things were hard, even when Dad was alive. He had MS and spent the last five years of his life in a wheelchair before he d
ied. Mom took care of him no matter what.” Brock didn’t let go of his arm even as they rode upward. “Mom was dedicated to him, and they both made changes. Mom went to work, and Dad did computer stuff when he could. She put in a lot of hours and yet always made time for him. Never any complaints, and they didn’t fight about stuff. They loved each other and took the ‘for better or worse, in sickness and in health’ part of their marriage vows very seriously.”

  Martin nodded. “So you’re saying I should stop wallowing in my own crapulence and get on with it.”

  “Pretty much,” Brock told him with a touch of amusement. “Someone who can figure out how to make Chester happy in a business deal can certainly figure out how to make himself and someone else happy in a more personal relationship.”

  The elevator doors slid open, and when they stepped out of the elevator, Brock released his arm. Martin knew the way to the room, but he missed the touch.

  Brock had the suite door open by the time he arrived, and Martin went right inside. He stopped in the dark room, and Brock went around switching on lights. The furnishings came into shadow, but it was enough for Martin to keep from tripping over the chairs and tables.

  “Do you want me to have anything sent up? Coffee, a drink, maybe some dessert?”

  Martin thought for a minute. “Yes. Something sweet without gluten and some decaf coffee.” He plopped down on the sofa and pulled off his glasses. Sometimes his nose hurt from the weight of supporting the things. He set them on the table in front of him and massaged the bridge of his nose. “We should talk.”

  “I thought that’s what we were already doing,” Brock said.