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Four of a Kind
When Blake starts to look at his best friend, Leah, in a different light, he takes a chance risking lifelong friendship for something more. Preston meets Blake, a man that makes him feel alive, but he can't figure out why his new lover won't stay the night. |
Excerpt
I hated him. From the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes I hated Conrad Spencer. What kind of name was Conrad anyway? It sounded like the name of a pornstar. I had worked incredibly hard for my place in the firm, from just another trader to the most successful broker in the office. And I had to beg, steal, cheat and claw for every itch of it. People thought I was a soulless bitch every time I took one of their clients. They didn’t blame themselves for not working as hard as I do, for not making investments as smart as the ones I made. No, it was my fault, because I was evil.
Then Conrad waltzed in here with his good ole boy attitude, and his country drawl, and I lost clients because he “happened to run into them”, took them out for a night filled with hookers and strippers, then my bosses would get a call asking for him handle their account from now on. What a crock! Had I known the cost I would have paid for the damn hookers and strippers. This man has single handedly set the women’s movement back twenty years. And if he called me babe, sweetheart, or honey one more time I’d jump across my desk and stab him with a letter opener. No, it was not cute just because he did it with a southern accent!
One day I’m in my office trying to finish my quarterlies when McBastard knocked on my door. He slithered into my office, and perched himself on my desk.
“May I help you?”
“Yeah Peaches, I was wondering what your plans for lunch are?”
Peaches? Peaches!? My hand balled up into a tight fist. I took a deep breath before answering. “I am not sweet. I am not a food product. I am not a baby. I am your coworker, your peer, so I would appreciate it if you addressed me by name and not like I’m your seven year old daughter.”
He raised his hands in surrender, getting off my desk. “Sorry, I’m new in town and don’t know anyone. From the meetings you seemed like the smartest person in the office, and I thought we could be friends. I didn’t mean to offend you. Really, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
As he left my office I did feel a twinge of guilt. The next day I was informed that I’d lost yet another client to him. At that point I deeply and sincerely wished I had gone for the letter opener.
He was slick as gravy the way he had all the women in the office falling all over him. Those expensive suits, the charm, that accent, I could see the appeal but I wasn’t falling for it. Who cared if his cologne costs as much as one of my car payments?
For six months he stopped by my office every day and asked me to lunch. By this point I had stolen back all my clients through emotional manipulation, blackmail, and better strippers. I had even taken a few of his clients, but no matter how badly I had screwed him over, come lunch time, he’d be knocking at my door. I figured it was some sort of mind game, so each time I just said, “No thank you.” I later overheard a couple secretaries talking about how sad it was that Conrad always ate alone in his office. I had to admit, that made me smile.
One day, after screwing Conrad out of a very impressive account, I ran out of post-its. I headed to the supply closet to get some more. I opened the door only to find Conrad there, in the lotus position. He was mediating in the supply closet! What a freak! I mumbled something about needing post-its and pulled the door closed behind me figuring he didn’t want everyone to know he meditated in the office supply closet.
Of course the post-its had to be on the highest shelf, because the universe hated me. I could have asked Conrad for help, to grab them for me but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I climbed up on the step-ladder and even then I had to stand on the tips of my toes to reach it. My heel slipped and I came tumbling down. Conrad caught me. He had risen to his feet while I was on the ladder and now he held me in his arms like he was about to carry me over the threshold. My arms had wrapped around his neck for balance.
The next logical step was for me to order him to put me down. But I didn’t. I can’t explain what was going through my head. I blame it on some animalistic need, hormones, pheromones. There was some outside force acting on me, making me stupid because instead of asking him to put me down, I kissed him. Forcefully.
I hated him. From the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes I hated Conrad Spencer. What kind of name was Conrad anyway? It sounded like the name of a pornstar. I had worked incredibly hard for my place in the firm, from just another trader to the most successful broker in the office. And I had to beg, steal, cheat and claw for every itch of it. People thought I was a soulless bitch every time I took one of their clients. They didn’t blame themselves for not working as hard as I do, for not making investments as smart as the ones I made. No, it was my fault, because I was evil.
Then Conrad waltzed in here with his good ole boy attitude, and his country drawl, and I lost clients because he “happened to run into them”, took them out for a night filled with hookers and strippers, then my bosses would get a call asking for him handle their account from now on. What a crock! Had I known the cost I would have paid for the damn hookers and strippers. This man has single handedly set the women’s movement back twenty years. And if he called me babe, sweetheart, or honey one more time I’d jump across my desk and stab him with a letter opener. No, it was not cute just because he did it with a southern accent!
One day I’m in my office trying to finish my quarterlies when McBastard knocked on my door. He slithered into my office, and perched himself on my desk.
“May I help you?”
“Yeah Peaches, I was wondering what your plans for lunch are?”
Peaches? Peaches!? My hand balled up into a tight fist. I took a deep breath before answering. “I am not sweet. I am not a food product. I am not a baby. I am your coworker, your peer, so I would appreciate it if you addressed me by name and not like I’m your seven year old daughter.”
He raised his hands in surrender, getting off my desk. “Sorry, I’m new in town and don’t know anyone. From the meetings you seemed like the smartest person in the office, and I thought we could be friends. I didn’t mean to offend you. Really, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
As he left my office I did feel a twinge of guilt. The next day I was informed that I’d lost yet another client to him. At that point I deeply and sincerely wished I had gone for the letter opener.
He was slick as gravy the way he had all the women in the office falling all over him. Those expensive suits, the charm, that accent, I could see the appeal but I wasn’t falling for it. Who cared if his cologne costs as much as one of my car payments?
For six months he stopped by my office every day and asked me to lunch. By this point I had stolen back all my clients through emotional manipulation, blackmail, and better strippers. I had even taken a few of his clients, but no matter how badly I had screwed him over, come lunch time, he’d be knocking at my door. I figured it was some sort of mind game, so each time I just said, “No thank you.” I later overheard a couple secretaries talking about how sad it was that Conrad always ate alone in his office. I had to admit, that made me smile.
One day, after screwing Conrad out of a very impressive account, I ran out of post-its. I headed to the supply closet to get some more. I opened the door only to find Conrad there, in the lotus position. He was mediating in the supply closet! What a freak! I mumbled something about needing post-its and pulled the door closed behind me figuring he didn’t want everyone to know he meditated in the office supply closet.
Of course the post-its had to be on the highest shelf, because the universe hated me. I could have asked Conrad for help, to grab them for me but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I climbed up on the step-ladder and even then I had to stand on the tips of my toes to reach it. My heel slipped and I came tumbling down. Conrad caught me. He had risen to his feet while I was on the ladder and now he held me in his arms like he was about to carry me over the threshold. My arms had wrapped around his neck for balance.
The next logical step was for me to order him to put me down. But I didn’t. I can’t explain what was going through my head. I blame it on some animalistic need, hormones, pheromones. There was some outside force acting on me, making me stupid because instead of asking him to put me down, I kissed him. Forcefully.