Chapter Three

Rick spent Sunday chain-drinking coffee to dull the edges of his hangover and getting ahead on background research on Egerton, Baines & Russell and, more specifically, Harry Gerrard-Hanson’s connection to it. It was a tangled web for sure, him being first cousin to Mrs Baines and the nephew of a now-deceased S&G senior partner. He also held positions, mostly honorary, on the boards and shareholder panels of several of both the firms’ subsidiary companies, including some of the long-redundant ones that Rick had found accounts for in those dusty archive files. The more he read, the more he found himself shaking his head.

“What is it?” Ella asked, probably taking in his expression as she shut the front door behind her.

“Just marvelling at how much money someone can make for so little actual work.”

“I think I enjoy knowing I’ve earned my money,” Ella said, hanging her coat then grabbing the last two cans of Stella from the fridge. “Makes the beer taste better anyway.”

When, half a can later, she asked him what he was grinning about, he realised he’d been staring into space, his mind very much not on work.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Bullshit. You’re thinking about the fitty from last night.”

“Jesus, El.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?”

“Don’t mind me. Just give me a few weeks’ notice for the wedding cake, all right?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Excuse me,” she replied hotly, “when was the last time you looked like that over someone you’ve only met once?”

“Don’t get carried away. We don’t even have anything in common.”

“How’d you know?”

“He’s good looking, charming and loaded.”

“You are two of those things already. And it won’t be long before you’re the third.”

“Still. He’s from that world. Not ours.”

Ella smiled again but then her expression faded and she gazed thoughtfully into her can. “I’m glad you’re being careful. I just wish you didn’t have to be.”

“Me too.”

 

* * * *

 

For the first time in weeks, Rick was woken by his alarm the following morning. He hurried to get his shower in order to get out of the door on time. When he arrived at Harbour Tower, he made straight for his office, fired up his computer and began going through the weekend’s research. Most of it, anyway. He decided some of it might be best left off the company network.

He was proud when he only caught himself thinking about the storeroom at The Savoy once that morning. He shook himself before his mental images could start their work on his body and ordered a strong coffee.

His control took a hammering when his personal phone buzzed with a message from Kim Bailey just after the runner had placed his Starbuck’s latte on his desk.

 

Hey there. How’s your Monday?

 

Rick swallowed and waited until the runner had shut his office door before picking up the phone. His thumb hovered over the answer button but then he put the phone screen-down on the desk, seized by the teenage desire not to reply too quickly and appear too eager. Besides, there were still twenty emails in his inbox to deal with and his desk phone was ringing. Melanie Fossbrooke’s extension appeared on the screen. He answered it, told her his progress report would be ready after lunch and replaced the receiver. Three more emails had dropped into his inbox, but he couldn’t make his hand reach for the mouse.

He stared at his mobile then shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. No time for texting. Flirting. Certainly no time to have his mind anywhere else apart from on the task in hand.

But then he was assailed by the memory of Kim’s hands on him and had to close his eyes a moment to regain his control. His desk phone rang again, this time one of the other junior analysts, but he didn’t trust his voice. He let it go to voicemail.

He picked up his mobile again and opened the text message. He started typing a reply saying that the sender had the wrong number then deleted it, swallowing shame. He started composing another message saying he was sorry but he didn’t have time to focus on anything but work at the moment.

Then he deleted that message too.

 

Pretty good. You?

 

Rick stared at the message for a long time, not entirely able to recollect typing it, let alone pressing ‘Send’. He stared at the screen, ignoring his ringing desk phone yet again. After a moment, dots indicating Kim was typing a reply appeared, making something prickle up his spine.

 

Can’t concentrate, tbh. Can’t stop thinking about Saturday. Can we meet?

 

Rick swallowed, blood rushing up and down his body.

“Hey. Bennett.”

Rick started and shoved his mobile into his pocket. Michaels, the JA from next door, all red hair and redder face, stood in his doorway with a frown.

“You wanna answer your phone once in a while?”

“Sorry,” Rick said, standing. “What do you need?”

Michaels needed to talk, at length, about something deeply uninteresting and not relevant to Rick’s workload. Rick let him talk, nodding along and making encouraging noises, even as his mind composed and re-composed a hundred different replies to Kim.

When Michaels paused for breath, Rick politely put to him that he absolutely agreed and if Michaels put his suggestions in an email, he would get right on it. Michaels, mollified, returned to his own office, and Rick sat and pulled out his mobile.

 

I’d like that. When?

 

The dots again, straight away this time.

 

Tonight?

 

Rick blinked. He glanced at his cluttered inbox and the papers drifted across his desk.

 

Can’t tonight. This weekend?

 

That works. Where?

 

Rick sent the name and address of a cafe he’d been meaning to check out for a while.

 

Camden, huh? Nice. See you then.

 

Rick took a deep breath and another swallow of his cooling latte and made himself turn his attention to his computer.

The week passed both far too quickly and not nearly quick enough. The concerns that had been gnawing at him since his encounter with Harry Gerrard-Hanson on New Year’s Eve began to loosen their hold as more of his colleagues seemed to start taking him more seriously, even if there was still a certain distance in their manner. The thing that made him sit tall in his seat, however, was the fact that the work he was pulling together outweighed the significance of everyone else’s put together and was therefore earning personal replies of approval from Lloyd Swanson in the email chain.

If it weren’t for some fairly unusual brick walls he was still finding in the older records, he’d say it was coming together almost too easily. He fished out the envelope of old summary papers from the back of his drawer and spent another afternoon going through them, if only to reassure himself that the tickle at his instincts was just in his imagination. But, if anything, the gaps in the old accounts seemed more obvious than ever.

He returned them to the envelope and hid them again in his drawer, shut and locked it.

On Friday morning, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer, he gathered his resolve and called through to Cecily Swanson’s office to ask her PA to set up a progress meeting. To his surprise and not-inconsiderable embarrassment, Bryce put him straight through.

“Rick,” Cecily’s sunny voice rang in his ear. “I’m sorry I’ve not been down. Hope you’re having a good week?”

“Great, thanks. I was just going to set up a progress meeting.”

“You free now?”

Rick blinked. “Sure.”

“Great. Come straight up.”

Rick stared at the receiver for a long moment then hung up, gathered his papers and iPad and headed for the lifts.

Cecily’s office was three times the size of his, with a deep, spotless cream carpet dominated by a glass-topped desk on which sat an iMac, Macbook Pro, Windows laptop and several tablets and smartphones. There were no bookshelves, only several monochrome photographs of Tuscan landscapes and four matching pedestals on which sat four identical floral displays, heavy with peace lilies, white orchids and baby’s breath. The fragrance was at once heavy and light, fresh and heady. The half-dozen scarlet roses fed into each arrangement were like drops of blood on white sheets and weighted the overall scent to just the wrong side of sickly.

Cecily stood from behind her desk, her black-and-white houndstooth suit, vermillion lipstick and auburn hair a perfect complement to the colours of the room.

“Rick, so nice to see you. Please…” She gestured to one of the two ice-white lounging chairs in front of her desk.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting in one and making an effort to recline with ease. “I emailed some draft clauses and I have some projections here.”

He handed over the papers and iPad, which she skimmed, her eyes suddenly serious. Her computer and phones beeped and buzzed with notifications, but her attention remained focused on his reports. He stopped himself from fidgeting with an effort.

“Looking good,” she eventually said, her face oddly still. “Very good, in fact.”

Rick tried and failed to read her expression. “You sound surprised.”

“No, not at all. I…” She laughed softly, raising her eyebrows. “I knew you knew your stuff, Rick. But I do have to confess I was expecting to have to do some heavy re-writes, at least of the primary terms. But it looks like you’ve got it all well in hand.” She gave him another bright smile, and he wondered if she was looking at him differently than normal, but then her focus returned to the report. “I see you’ve decided to lead with the consolidation proposals and revenue alignment?”

“I think it offers the most obvious short- and long-term benefits for both parties,” he said, “especially considering the rise in value of the property portfolios.”

She nodded, turning to the last page of the report. “Are the subsidiaries going to be a problem?”

He froze. She raised her eyes to meet his.

“You’ve not mentioned them—or not in detail. But I know you ordered the archive files when you first arrived.”

Rick searched her eyes for a long moment, wondering what, if anything he was reading there. His instincts buzzed again and, after a brief internal debate, he smiled and said. “No problems that I can see at this time.”

Her smile told him he’d given the right answer and relief cooled the nervous burning under his skin.

“Excellent,” she said, tapping the papers back into order and coming round the desk to hand them back. He stood and took them, but when he moved to leave, she stepped into his path.

“I had a good time on Saturday.”

“So did I,” he said, truthfully enough.

She appeared pleased. “I know I’m your boss, Rick, but I want to think we can be friends, too.”

“I’m flattered,” he said with his best smile. “Though…Cecily, your fiancé seems to think—”

She sighed. “Rick. Harry and I—”

“It’s none of my business.”

She pressed her lips together and her eyes hardened. “Harry will become my husband on Valentine’s Day,” she said, flatly. “It will be a profitable partnership. But it’s not a friendship.” Her eyes flicked out to where her PA was sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen so fixedly that it was obvious he was listening to every word. Cecily shut the door and leant on it. “It’s hard to have friends in this business. I know that better than most. But sometimes you need them.” For a moment, her eyes held a hint of sadness. “You’re different from the rest of them, Rick. That’s why I like you.”

For the first time, Rick found himself unsure of how to play the situation. “I’m not interested in being the same. Just better.”

She smiled, warmer this time, and moved closer. “You’re already better.” She leaned in. Her warm, mint-scented breath brushed over his jaw. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow. Her face, too close to his, flattened.

“Cecily,” he said softly, hoping he was displaying just the right mix of temptation and fear on his face, “this is too risky. I’m too new, the deal too vulnerable…”

“That’s not—”

“Real friends are in it for the long haul. Right?”

She blinked. Her face was still. Panic began to swell in his belly, but she smiled. “Maybe you’re right. Business before pleasure. And, besides, waiting could be…fun.”

He managed to make his smile just this side of suggestive. “I think it’ll be worth it.”

“The long haul it is,” she said. “But not too long, okay? Have a good weekend, Rick.”

 

* * * *

 

He woke far too early on Saturday morning, his brain still buzzing from Cecily’s words. Even the welcome tingle of anticipation at seeing Kim later that day wasn’t enough to distract him from trying to decide how long he could play this game—and what would happen when the game ended.

After trying and failing to get back to sleep, he got up, dressed in his tracks and went for a run. As his heart pounded and the freezing air cooled the sweat on his feverish skin, the stranglehold on his mind began to loosen. He was starting to feel like himself again when he spotted the attractive jogger from the week before approaching from the other direction. He smiled but then slowed, stopped and stared.

“Kim?”

“Rick,” Kim said, coming to a halt, his face flushed, his long hair sweat-dampened and tight hoody sticking to the toned lines of his chest and belly in a very distracting way. “Hey there. Couldn’t wait, huh?”

“I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?” Rick said carefully. “Last week?”

Kim frowned slightly, staring round the shadowed park. “Could have. I’m here most mornings.”

“You live in Morden?” Rick asked, not quite able to keep his disbelief out of the question.

“I drive down from Islington.”

Rick blinked. “You drive an hour for a morning run?”

Kim shrugged. “The parks near me are always crammed, day and night. And the scenery’s not nearly so appealing.” His smile was teasing, but Rick couldn’t shake the unpleasant tickling at the edges of his mind.

“Why didn’t you say?” he asked carefully. “At the bar? Why didn’t you say we’ve met before?”

Kim frowned slightly. “You didn’t say anything either.”

“I couldn’t think where I knew you from.”

“Well, maybe I couldn’t either. I can’t claim to be at my most alert at this time of the day. Have I done something wrong?”

Rick examined his face but couldn’t read anything more than bewilderment in the bright, ice-blue eyes. “No. Sorry.”

Kim’s smile warmed again. “You’re well worth getting up at four-thirty for, believe me. But, sorry to disappoint you. It wasn’t intentional.”

Rick smiled. “Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah?”

Rick nodded, taking a swig from his water bottle. “Yeah.”

“Well, maybe I can turn it around, if you’re still up for meeting later? Three o’clock?” The hopefulness in his voice sent a shiver of anticipation down Rick’s spine.

“Sounds good.”

Kim glanced around then stepped closer. Rick’s senses filled with the smell of his citrusy skin and clean sweat. “I told you I can do discreet,” he said, the look in his eyes making Rick’s cock twitch, “so I’ll restrain myself from groping you in a public park. But I’d like to think you’ll wonder about what that might have been like in between now and this afternoon.”

“You would, huh?”

“I would,” he replied, leaning just a little closer so his mouth was centimetres from Rick’s. “You never know… If you think about it enough, you might agree to it next time.”

He stepped back, and the heat that had been building in Rick’s skin cooled in the frigid air.

“Later, yeah?”

“Later,” Rick agreed, keeping his smile cool and easy. Kim jogged on. Rick watched until his lithe form was out of sight then turned to continue his own run, his spirits considerably lifted.

Thankfully, by the time he was back at the flat, Ella had left for work, so he didn’t have to explain his too-good mood. He spent the rest of the morning searching through his clothes, trying to find something that wasn’t faded or ripped. He passed over his new shirt, thinking it would look like he was trying too hard and, besides, Kim might recognise it from the weekend before. He cursed under his breath. That bonus couldn’t come soon enough. He settled for a clean polo shirt—the fake Ben Sherman logo not too obvious—and his best jeans. His trainers were old and battered and his jacket had a thin patch worn into both elbows, but he would just make sure he took the coat off before Kim saw it and hoped he would have better things to do than check out Rick’s footwear.

Rick then double-checked the address of the cafe on his phone and winced when he caught sight of the price list.

With a pang he opened the battered tobacco tin on the mantelpiece and fished out two twenty-pound notes and the scattering of coins, telling himself that after he got his bonus, they would no longer need an emergency fund.

He stepped out of Camden Underground station with the intention of heading straight to the Sokoto Kitchen but found himself standing on the pavement and staring round at the familiar jumble of mismatched buildings, painted storefronts, the surging, multicolour-headed crowd and breathing the mixed smells of a hundred street-food vendors. Memories smote him but he shook himself and moved into the crush of people, heading for the canal.

He found the cafe and was able to snag a table by the window, ordered a coffee and waited. He drank the rich, hot espresso, appreciating the deep mix of flavours but was unable to stop checking his phone for messages. Three p.m. came and went. When Kim still didn’t appear, the disappointment was so heavy that Rick wasn’t sure what to think. But then the door jingled, and he met an ice-blue gaze across the busy room and his chest clenched.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kim said, smiling broadly and shedding a smart overcoat to reveal an understated but figure-hugging jersey and jeans. “Traffic was mental.”

“No worries. I hope you like coffee.”

“Live off it, more like,” he said, sliding into his chair and signalling for the waitress. She came over, took their order and vanished again. “So, this place is nice.”

“I’ve been meaning to come here for a while. The owner’s Nigerian and has his own coffee plantation out there. It’s in the top-ten rated places in London.”

“And does it live up to the hype?” Kim asked, indicating Rick’s empty cup.

“See for yourself,” Rick said as the waitress returned with their drinks.

Kim raised his, sniffed then drank. Surprise followed by pleasure warmed his face. “Wow.”

“Ain’t it?”

“Okay, yeah, that’s pretty bloody good. Long way to come, though, surely? Even for one of the top ten cups of coffee in London?”

Rick shrugged and dropped his gaze to his mug. “Sometimes you have to go the extra mile for the best experiences.”

Kim didn’t answer right away, and when Rick raised his eyes, the younger man was watching him in a way that made his toes tingle.

“You know what? I believe you’re right,” he said softly but then leaned in and added in an even lower voice, “with the added bonus that there’s basically no chance of anyone from S&G seeing us here, right?”

Rick clenched his jaw. A number of replies rose in mind but not one of them was willing to come out his mouth. He was relieved to read understanding in Kim’s eyes.

He put his hand on Rick’s. “Honestly, it’s fine. I get it. Besides, who doesn’t like Camden?”

Rick smiled out of the window. “I spent a lot of time here as a kid.”

“Is that right?” Kim smiled at Rick’s guarded look. “You don’t have to pretend around me, remember? Tell me more.”

“I came for the gigs,” he replied, tracing a finger around the rim of the cup, smiling at the memories. “Every Saturday night. Saved all my money for tickets and Tube fare.”

“Sounds like a sensible investment. What sort of music?”

“Oh, anything,” he said. “Blues, soul, jazz. Rock. Cover bands. Literally whatever was going.”

“Rick!”

Rick started. A middle-aged woman, all dangling earrings, swaying beads and long, raven-black hair tied up in a bright headscarf, was weaving her way through the tables towards him. Her arms were outstretched, her smile wide. A slightly harried-looking man stared after her while attempting to juggle an armful of shopping and a toddler to an empty table. “Ricky Bennett, Lord above. That is you, right?”

Rick stood to meet her rib-crushing hug. “Liyana. How long’s it been?”

“Too long,” she said, stepping back and grinning. “I’ve managed a divorce, another marriage and a whole human being since we last met.”

“I see that,” Rick said, smiling over at her husband, who was trying to wrestle the child into a highchair. “Congratulations.”

“Real life comes knocking for us all eventually,” she said, waving over to her family before looking him up and down. “So…you aged well, huh?”

“As have you.”

“Still full of shit too, I see,” she laughed then her eyes landed on Kim and widened. “Oh. Am I interrupting?”

“This is Kim,” Rick put in, and Kim rose and offered his hand.

“Lovely to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Liyana said, drinking him in. “Hope you’re treating our Rick well? He only deserves the best, you know.”

“Li—”

“I haven’t had much of a chance yet,” Kim said with a disarming smile. “But I fully intend to treat him any way he wants.”

Something rushed in Rick’s belly, but luckily Liyana was talking again and he didn’t have to try to think of how to respond.

“You know, it’s mad, running into you like this. Just the other day I was thinking of you. You know Marcus is getting The Crazies back together?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Kid you not. He’s planning a comeback show next weekend. Bet he’d kill to have you on guitar.”

Rick glanced at Kim, who was sat, arms crossed and listening with a grin. “Thanks all the same. I don’t play anymore.”

“Ah, it’s like riding a bike—”

“Sorry, Li,” he insisted. “I don’t have time.”

“Pity,” she said. “Like their Facebook page and sign up to the newsletter then. Maybe you can make it out to a gig sometime?”

“Maybe,” Rick smiled.

She hugged him again, winked at Kim then returned to her family.

“You weren’t just watching the bands then?”

Rick seated himself and sipped at his cooling coffee. “It was a long time ago.”

“You didn’t want to stick with music?”

“Oh I did,” Rick said, keeping the pain out of his voice with an effort. “Very much.”

“But?”

Rick hesitated then met Kim’s eyes, bright and curious and heard himself saying, “I tried to make it as a session musician after uni. It didn’t work out.”

“Shame. Although, if it had, I guess we would never have met. So that’s a tick in the plus column.”

Rick managed a smile. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You know a lot about me. Turnabouts is fair play.”

“Fair play is so dreadfully boring though, don’t you think? And not something rampant in the finance sector as a rule.”

“True,” Rick acknowledged and raised his hand to order more coffee.

“Finance is a fair leap from rock’n’roll,” Kim said, still watching him a little too closely. “How did it happen?”

“Not such a leap. My dad was a stockbroker. I did business studies at LSE. I always knew I was headed…somewhere. Somewhere music couldn’t take me.”

“LSE, huh? Tough uni, that.”

Rick concentrated on his coffee. The heavy flavours flooded his senses and it added to the caffeine already buzzing along his veins, but neither helped him come up with a reply.

“What is it?” Kim asked when the silence stretched on.

“Nothing,” Rick said, shaking his head. He met Kim’s gaze and looked out of the window, momentarily unnerved by how easily he seemed to be able to get him discuss things he never normally allowed himself to think about.

“I’ve already said you don’t have to play a part around me, Rick,” Kim said, as if guessing his thoughts. “What happened at uni?”

“I dropped out.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“I know that. It just doesn’t always…look good. On the CV.”

“I suppose not,” Kim said, swirling his coffee round in his mug. “But some might say there’s more to someone than their CV.”

“Sure, plenty of people say that. They don’t usually mean it.”

“You think?”

“That’s my experience.”

Kim’s gaze went distant for a while. Rick sipped his coffee, very aware of the shift in mood. “Why did it happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you have to drop out?”

“What makes you think I had to?”

“Because your belief in the importance of appearances suggests it would be the last thing you would choose to do.”

Rick chewed on several answers then heard himself saying. “My dad died.”

Kim was quiet a long time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Like I said…a long time ago.”

“There’s usually allowances made for circumstances like that,” Kim ventured. “Did LSE not want to meet you in the middle?”

Rick shook his head. “They wouldn’t…couldn’t,” he amended, a little bitterly. “Dad left us a load of debt. Credit cards, unpaid loans… You name it. He chased debts with other debts rather than let on anything was wrong. By the time he died, there was no way any institution was gonna give me the time of day. And my mum already needed care by that point. Early onset dementia.”

“Christ,” Kim breathed. “Bloody hell, Rick. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Rick said a little forcefully. “It’s just life. It doesn’t always play out the way you planned.”

“True.” Kim gazed out of the window, suddenly wistful. But when he turned back, his expression was sunny again. “Still though, you turned it round. Junior analyst at Swanson and Gerrard. That’s quite a comeback.”

“I was lucky.”

“Rubbish,” Kim chided. “No one lands a place like that by chance.”

Rick face warmed and he told himself it was just the heat of the cafe and the third cup of coffee. He managed a shrug. “I worked hard, sure. Paid my dues slogging away in admin pools and post rooms after uni. But in the end, landing that job… It was dumb luck.”

“Go on then,” Kim said. “Tell me how.”

“Does it matter?”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “Seems to matter to you.”

Rick took a deep breath. “I was leaving the Hamstel Building on King William Street. I’d just flunked an interview. Another interview.” Rick shook his head. “It was absolutely pissing it down with rain. My sister’s cafe is just across the street. I just wanted to get warm and sit somewhere quiet. But I got to the till and didn’t have enough cash for my drink. It was humiliating. But then, well…Cecily Swanson was behind me in the queue. She could see I was upset. She paid for my coffee. We got talking, and I was able to tell her I studied both S&G and EBR at uni.”

Kim stared. “That’s how it happened?”

“Uh-huh. Madness, right?”

Kim moved his teaspoon about in his saucer thoughtfully. “How do you know she wasn’t waiting for you?”

Rick blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Maybe she knew you were interviewing at the Hamstel that day. Maybe she was headhunting.”

Rick laughed, even though Ella’s words echoed in his mind. “No.”

“No?”

“I’m not…well, I—” Rick fumbled on the edge of the truth. “My CV isn’t exactly world-beating. Don’t get me wrong. Now that I’ve finally got a chance, I can show everyone I’ve got what it takes. But nothing on paper would suggest I’d be worth headhunting.”

“You’re sure of that?”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “You seem very interested in how I got my job, especially for someone who claims that CVs don’t matter.”

The corner of Kim’s mouth turned up. “I’m interested in you.”

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the table between them. “Look,” he said, making his voice firm. “I…enjoyed New Year’s. Very much. And I know you said you weren’t fishing—”

“I’m not.”

“I get that there’s speculation about me,” Rick said, pulling out is wallet and not meeting the other’s eye. “But pretending to like me just to find out—” Rick was cut off by Kim reaching across the table, threading his fingers into his hair and bringing his face to his. He kissed him. Rick could smell his skin and hair, fresh and sharp, even in the over-warm cafe.

When he broke away, they were both breathing hard. The noise and clamour of the cafe fell away. All Rick was aware of were Kim’s moist, parted lips and the blue fire in his eyes. “I’m not pretending to like you, Rick.”

“You’re not on social media,” Rick managed, even though his body was fighting his brain and winning, “apart from an old Facebook profile.”

Kim’s eyes flickered. “Too much bloody drama on Grindr.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Kim released Rick and leant back in his chair. His expression had cooled. “You’re asking if I’m lying to you for some reason.”

Something dark and hard tumbled round Rick’s chest but he made himself say. “I am.”

“Is it really so hard to believe someone would like you just for you?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Nobody knows anyone when they first meet,” he went on. “But they know when they want to find out more.”

Rick chewed on the inside of his cheek. “So why all the questions about S&G?”

“It’s just small talk. What are you scared of?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Suspicious, then. Why?”

“We’re so different.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“Let’s just say that maybe I am having a hard time believing that someone like you would be interested in someone like me just for me.”

“Someone like me? You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s because you won’t tell me anything about yourself.”

Kim searched his face for a long time then leant in and whispered in his ear, “Let me show you how much I like you. I bet you your advance bonus I can make you believe me.”

Rick shivered as Kim’s warm breath brushed against his ear. The sights, sounds and feel of their hurried fumble at The Savoy thrust themselves to the front of his mind.

“Right now?”

“Very much right now.”

Rick swallowed again. “Where can we go?”

“Your place, my place, I don’t care. My car’s round back.”

Rick fumbled some cash onto the table and followed Kim outside with his pulse pounding in his throat, all other thoughts slewing away like rainwater down a gutter. Kim led him round a corner and along an alley to small, private car park. He made for a sleek, black Audi parked against the far wall. Rick firmly pushed aside wondering how much the car and parking permit probably cost and focused on the lithe form of the younger man as he hurried round to the driver’s door.

He had intended to let Kim drive him somewhere, but as soon as he caught up, he grabbed Kim by the hips and shoved him against the side of the car. Rick pressed against his slight frame, already able to feel the heat of his skin and the hardness of his length through their clothing. He claimed his mouth, drinking in the involuntary noise Kim made in his throat as Rick thrust his tongue into his mouth.

Kim snaked his arms around Rick’s neck, pulling down and arching up to meet him. He didn’t know if it was Kim’s voice, his enchanting face or the intoxicating smell of his skin and hair, but Rick suddenly found he couldn’t think about anything other than how desperate he was to have his hands on this man’s flesh. He slid a hand between them and kneaded at Kim’s cock through the rough fabric of his jeans. Kim gasped, and Rick kissed him deeper.

There was a fumble and a click and Kim managed to get the back door of the car open. He clambered in, pulling Rick with him. Rick climbed on top, reaching awkwardly to shut the door behind them. The kiss continued, hot and building in desperation, their breaths misted in the cold air and steaming up the windows. Kim was roaming his hands inside Rick’s polo shirt, and he fumbled his own inside Kim’s top. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscles firm and toned. He brushed a nipple, making Kim shiver.

“You’re too big,” Kim laughed as they tried to shift and Rick’s leg caught in the footwell.

“Not a complaint I’ve had before,” he replied.

“Oh I’m not complaining,” Kim said, voice tight with arousal. “Just considering logistics.”

“Your dirty talk needs work.”

Kim snorted, mouthing at his neck and pushing at him. Rick allowed himself to be shifted and was soon sat in the middle with Kim straddling his hips. The warm weight and delicious pressure of their erections grinding together made him groan. Kim broke the kiss long enough to shed his coat and pull off his jersey. Rick took the opportunity to rid himself of his jacket, then drank in the sight, smell and feel of Kim’s toned torso with his mouth and hands. Rick noticed with surprise that Kim had a livid scar down his side and a mark, possibly an old cigarette burn, on his shoulder. He leant forward and licked at it greedily.

“Fuck,” Kim swore as Rick fumbled with the fastening of his jeans. Rick worked his hand in and grasped Kim’s hard length, watching his eyes close and chest swell as his breath deepened.

“Rick,” Kim forced out, “tell me what you want.”

“I want to see what you look like when you come,” Rick said, his voice tight, opening his own fly with his free hand and releasing his painfully hard cock. Kim moaned and reached for it, but Rick pushed his hand away. “No,” he said, “just you.”

Kim’s hot blue eyes met his for a long moment then he kissed Rick deeply. Rick worked the rigid cock, making him moan. When he broke the kiss to press his forehead against Rick’s and swear, Rick knew Kim was close and he reached for himself. He pumped them both in time, seeing, listening and smelling Kim’s mounting orgasm as his own began to sparkle and flame in the pit of his belly.

“Rick,” he gasped out, “I’m… Christ!”

Kim flung his head back, his hand tightening on Rick’s shoulder, his mouth opening. He let out a high, wordless noise and hot fluid spilled over Rick’s hand. His face transformed, unguarded and open in climax, making him more beautiful than ever. The sight was all it took to make Rick come hard with a deep, involuntary exclamation that may or may not have been Kim’s name.

They sat, panting in the heavy silence. The cold air began to tingle at Rick’s exposed skin. The windows of the car were misted with steam. Kim opened his eyes, heavy with sated desire and leant forward to kiss him again, gently, searchingly, almost like he was trying to tell him something. Rick was just starting to become unnerved but then Kim was clambering off him and reaching for the glove compartment. He retrieved a box of tissues and handed a few to Rick.

“Always believe in being prepared,” he said with a smile while cleaning himself. Rick smiled, wiped and tucked his softening cock back into his trousers. He leant his head against the headrest and closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the empty silence that had momentarily supplanted the ever-present noise in his brain.

“Did I win the bet?”

Rick opened his eyes. Kim was sat with his head propped on his hand, smiling at him. His hair hung in his eyes. The flush of orgasm was just starting to fade from his cheeks. His eyes shone like sea ice. Rick kissed him for an answer, deciding not to ask how Kim had even known he was getting an advance bonus.

“You wanna head somewhere?” Kim asked quietly, fingers tracing the lines of Rick’s muscles through his shirt.

Rick glanced at the time on his phone and winced. “I can’t. I have some stuff I need to do before Monday.”

“Working on the weekend already?” Kim said with a half-smile as he pulled his jersey back on. “Someone’s getting ‘employee of the month’.”

They grabbed their coats and climbed out into the freezing winter air. “Want a lift home?” Kim asked, retrieving his keys from the tarmac.

Rick hesitated then stuck his hands in his pockets rather than reach for Kim’s hands, an urge so sudden and strong that it had to be dangerous. “I’m good.”

Kim’s expression became guarded. “Okay…”

“I wouldn’t make anyone drive all that way through Saturday traffic,” he said, hoping his tone was conciliatory, trying to ignore the worry drifting around in his mind. Sex with Kim was the only thing in a long time that had allowed him to focus on something that wasn’t work, the future or money—things that had been so important to him for so long that they were as much a part of him as his blood and bones. He was already needing that escape—needing Kim, too much—and it unsettled him.

“I’m getting the impression there’s some mixed feelings here,” Kim said carefully, and Rick had to look away to hide anything showing on his face, unnerved by how easily Kim seemed to be able to read him, “but are they mixed enough to allow me to see you again?”

The smell of Kim’s skin was still in his nose and he could still taste him on his tongue. The strength of his reactions was as undeniable as his need to experience them again, despite his concerns. He could no more say no to that than a starving man could turn down a five-course banquet. “I would like that.”

Kim smiled, face warm again. “So would I.”

“Besides,” Rick went on. “You now know a lot about me. I feel like you owe me.”

“I agree I owe you a bed next time,” Kim said, stepping a little closer and running his hands down Rick’s arms. “At the very least.”

Rick stomach clenched and he couldn’t have kept the smile off his face if he’d tried. “I’d say that’s a mutually beneficial proposal, yes.”

“Money men really do know the best dirty talk,” Kim breathed against his lips and drew his head down for another kiss. Rick indulged in it for a long moment—the taste, the feel and the freedom of being somewhere where it didn’t matter if they were seen—then Kim broke away.

“Sure you don’t want a lift?”

“I’m sure. I’ll message you.”

“See that you do.” He smiled, got in the car, started the engine and drove off.

Rick drifted back out onto the busy high street and watched the sleek car disappear into the slow crawl of traffic before he turned back towards the Tube station, a warm glow in his chest that even the constant splinter of uncertainty at the back of his consciousness couldn’t puncture.