Geekspeak: Growl

Definition: A pop-up notification informing the user of a pertinent event, such as the result of an action or the progress of a task.

Alex headed to work early the next day so he could stop at Downstairs Downtown before his shift. This time, he walked in the front door rather than the back. Landon was manning the host’s station, a miniskirted minion at his back, and the entryway already busy with people arriving for happy hour.

“Well, well, well.” Landon handed menus to a server and sent him off with a couple of patrons. He signaled to his minion to take over for him before he sauntered over and slapped Alex on the shoulder. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Nobody likes a smart-ass, Landon.”

“You must, unless the last twenty years of friendship have been your way of letting me down easy.”

Landon had a point. Alex was obviously a sucker for snark, because there was no smarter ass on the planet than Gideon—whose attitude after his accidental striptease last night had almost been hotter than the sight of his skin.

Almost.

Alex pulled a key from the pocket of his shirt. “Here you go.”

“What’s this?”

“What do you think it is? I walked through the apartment last night with Lin, and it’s not too bad. The kitchenette sucks, but after I finish the third-floor unit, we can talk about renovations.”

Landon grinned and snatched the key. “Awesome. So you gonna help me move in? I mean, that’s one of your full-service landlord duties, right?”

“Not last I checked.”

“Ah, come on. Where else can I find a sidecar your size who’ll work for beer and ceviche?”

“Good point. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got a lot of heavy shit.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? I may have purchased a piano. And a safe.”

Alex snorted. “Right. The piano I could buy, but what have you got to put in a safe?”

“Hey! My knives are worth more than your car.”

“Don’t dis my car. It—” Alex stared past Landon’s shoulder at the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

Gideon.

He had on a suit, one of those modern jobs with a fitted jacket that looked too small and tight, but on Gideon, too tight was perfect.

“Dude.” Landon’s voice was laced with amusement. “You might want to close your mouth. The drool is splattering all over my nice, clean floor.”

Alex snapped his mouth shut. “Gotta go.”

“Hold on.” Landon tracked Gideon as he entered the Haynes building lobby. “That’s your guy, isn’t it?”

“How could you know that?”

“Are you kidding? Other than the tongue hanging halfway out of your mouth, he’s exactly your type.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly his.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? Go forth and seize the twink, dude.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“Never say never. It’ll come back to bite you on the ass.” Landon held up the key, kissed it, and pocketed it. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for my personal pack mule. Now get out of here. I’ve got a happy hour to manage.”

“Yeah, better stop slacking before the boss finds out. I hear he’s a real asshole.” He held up his fist for Landon to bump. “Later, man.”

The restaurant had two front doors—one opening onto the street and the other to the Haynes lobby. Alex hesitated for a moment, then took the lobby door. He checked out the escalator, but Gideon was gone.

What was Gideon doing here so early and in a suit instead of his work clothes? Construction isn’t his usual gig, moron. Those are his regular work clothes. Was he here to see Haynes? The idea sent a spike of anger zinging through Alex’s chest. Damn it, he could never compete with that asshole. Why bother trying?

He had an hour to kill until his shift. Too bad he had a strict no-alcohol-before-work rule, because he could sure have used a good stiff drink.

Gideon paused outside the frosted glass doors of Haynes Industries’ main reception area and adjusted his blazer. When Jared’s assistant had contacted him this morning, asking him to stop by the executive office before his shift, he’d been surprised, to say the least.

It was too early for a progress report on the hardware installation—for one thing, the right freaking hardware hadn’t been delivered yet—and a persistent tickle of excitement had been skating across his skin ever since. Had Jared noticed him at Hana K’s before he’d made a soggy spectacle of himself with his unsuccessful martini juggling?

But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have made the call himself? Maybe arranged a meet-up somewhere other than his offices?

Whatever. If Gideon intended to correct the two less-than-optimal impressions he’d already made, he needed to step up his game, and this was a prime opportunity. Grabbing the door handles, he took a deep breath. He’d never gone the drag route, but damn it, when necessary he could make an entrance with the panache of RuPaul at the Palace.

And now? Definitely showtime. He pushed open the doors and walked in, head high.

Unlike the Luddite, who lorded over his cubicle drones from his glass-fronted throne room, to ensure they shuffled their reams of paper in accordance with his micromanagement mandates, Jared obviously preferred privacy. His office lay somewhere behind an enormous floor-to-ceiling oak door guarded by a monster reception desk. If the receptionist wasn’t a monster, she definitely had a superpower—the ability to flash-freeze unsuspecting supplicants with one glance, like a corporate Medusa.

But given the possibility of connecting with Jared—purely professionally until the contract was over, of course—Medusa’s chilly glare bounced right off Gideon’s shiny outer shell.

“Gideon Wallace. Jared asked me to stop by.”

“Mr. Haynes will see you now. Please clip on this security badge.”

The badge read Visitor in inch-high orange letters. “Do I need an armband too?”

She stared at him, blank and uninterested. “The badge is sufficient. Through that door please.”

“Thanks.” Jeez, some people had no sense of irony.

The door unlatched when he approached. Huh. Proximity-activated locks. Nice tech. Gideon pushed the door open and entered a long hallway lined on the left with closed doors. The right-hand wall had floor-to-ceiling windows, interspersed with a selection of truly alarming acrylic bas-relief artwork. They reminded Gideon of the unsuccessful experiments in Alien: Resurrection, and they made the back of his neck crawl. He was afraid if he looked over his shoulder, a misshapen head with extendable teeth would be oozing out of them, following his progress down the hall.

The door to the corner office was ajar. Good thing too, because Gideon was pretty sure his Visitor badge of shame wouldn’t have popped that lock for him. He knocked.

“Come.”

Jared’s voice was low and husky, and Gideon had a few very inappropriate thoughts about the command, but the sight of the Luddite rising out of a black wingback chair cut them off tout de suite.

“Come in, Gideon.” Jared sat behind an opaque green glass desk in an unfortunate kidney shape. “Please. Sit down.” He gestured to a chair next to the Luddite. Lovely.

“Mr. Wallace.” The Luddite’s tone was positively sepulchral. “I understand from Mr. Haynes that you violated the client space. You realize this constitutes a contract breach?”

For an instant, Gideon’s steps faltered. Jared leaned back in his Aeron chair with a wry smile and lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug as if to say, Sorry.

All righty, then. Gideon conjured up a straight spine and lifted chin. Years of practice facing down the haters in high school—with less support than even that tiny hint of camaraderie—had been good for something.

It taught him how to bluff.

He sat across from Jared. “No clients were present, however, so no harm was done.”

The Luddite glared at him. “I was also informed that you contacted the hardware vendor. Without authorization.”

Yes, after he’d gotten no response from the Luddite’s office. He’d had to dig through a dozen boxes before he found a packing slip with a contact number that worked. “They delivered the incorrect parts. I only arranged to have them replaced.”

“It’s not your job to question our consultant’s decisions.”

“No. It’s my job to get your network up by Cyber Monday.” Oops. That came out a skosh tarter than he’d intended. The Luddite doubled down on his glare, but Jared only steepled his fingers, tapping them against his twitching lips.

The gesture called attention to his facial hair, and Gideon’s first thought was chin toupee—damn Charlie anyway. He couldn’t help comparing it to Alex’s chin: strong, clean-shaven, square. Completely uncompromising.

Why was he thinking about Alex? Because, Lucy, you’ve got some ’pologizing to do. The thought of facing down Alex and consuming vast quantities of humble pie was almost more frightening than this meeting.

“Gentlemen.” He crossed his legs, channeling Lord Peter Wimsey for all he was worth. “I do apologize for any infraction. Shall we discuss it?”

Presentation, damn it. He could do this.

He’d save his hysterics for later.

For the first half of his shift, Alex avoided Gideon—not hard to do, since whenever they came within three yards of each other, Gideon poinged away like they were opposing magnet poles.

Alex was tempted to lunge at him and shout, Boo! but that would be mean.

By the time his break rolled around, Alex’s mood had gone all the way down the crapper, and he had a killer headache. Maybe a little caffeine will help. He stopped by the break area where the rest of Manny’s crew had gathered, and pumped a cup of coffee out of the thermos.

He didn’t pay any attention to their conversation until Tommy said, “He wore another of those fancy suits again today.”

Only one person would wear a suit to the construction site. Gideon. Alex stirred milk into his coffee and listened more closely.

Cal snickered. “Heard he got called on the carpet.” The guys clinked their mugs together. “Could be the faggot’s days are numbered.”

Alex slammed his mug down next to the thermos, ignoring the coffee that sloshed onto the plywood counter, and turned to face the crew. “Out of line, Cal.”

Cal’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What? Not like we were talking about you.”

“Yeah? Well I’m just as gay. Why do you give him more shit than you give me?”

Bud glanced at him warily. “Are you shitting me? People don’t check you out and think, ‘Damn, that guy’s queer.’ They think, ‘Damn, hope that guy doesn’t beat the crap out of me.’”

“So you only pick on him because he’s weaker? How twisted is that?”

“We pick on him because he’s an asshole,” Cal said. “Besides, you’re one of us. He’s nothing but some fairy consultant.”

“Enough with the fucking F words already. He’s not a consultant. He’s a contractor, same as us. I put up with your shit because if it came down to brass tacks, I could take all of you. Probably at the same time. But he’s on his own. He’s got the same goal we do—to get this project done on time and under budget. If you’re stonewalling him, busting his chops, how’s he gonna get his job done?”

Cal shrugged. “No skin off our dicks.”

“You think? Haynes won’t sign off until the whole build-out is done, and that includes the network.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Show a little respect. If you can’t treat him decent, then stay away. But lay off, all right?”

The guys all stared at their boots, except Dave. “Sure, Alex.”

“Good. Later, guys.” Alex picked up his mug and retreated to his staging area, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Shit, he was a fine one to talk. He knew Gideon was out of his depth and floundering, and what had he done? He’d run away because he’d been hurt that Gideon hadn’t remembered him. Wasn’t his inaction and avoidance another form of aggression?

He downed half his coffee, grimacing at the heat, then set the mug down on his workbench. Time to put your skill set where your mouth is, Henning.

He strode off in search of Gideon.