The receptionist paused in her typing to say, “Good morning, Mr. Ford.”
“Suze,” he said politely, looking up.
His eyes were big, black, and shrewd.
His gaze traveled to Brogan, cool to the point of disdain, and then he walked past him without hesitating.
Brogan fumbled to find his tongue. “Sir, if you could wait a moment.”
“I’m on the list,” Ford said without stopping.
“Yeah,” Brogan said, turning to follow gracelessly. He recognized the name from the conversation with Timmerson, and the fact that the receptionist knew him was verification of his identity, although Brogan still needed to give Mario a heads up. He was just a few seconds behind, though, and those trousers were as perfectly cut in the rear as they were in the front. Frankly, Ford had an ass that made Brogan’s mouth go dry all over again, because fuck—
Ford entered Henniton’s office without knocking.
And Brogan stood there like a stupid bastard and let him.
“Everything clear?” Mario’s voice sounded through his earpiece, the question vague enough, fortunately, that support wouldn’t realize that Brogan fucked up.
“Uh, clear,” he said, activating his mic.
“Copy.”
It took him a good five seconds to recover.
“He is on the list, if that makes you feel better,” the receptionist—Suze, apparently—said, hints of a smile curving her lips. “He’s Mr. Henniton’s executive assistant.”
“Yeah,” Brogan managed. He gave her a flustered shrug. “He’s not gonna try to shoot Henniton, then.”
“Less likely than most,” she replied, the hint of a smile becoming a full grin. “And don’t be too embarrassed. More than a few of the women have had that same reaction.”
“Great,” he said, shaking his head. Now he’d broken protocol and outed himself in the same thirty seconds. An auspicious start to the day.
Brogan sat back down and Suze resumed her typing, the click-click of her fingers on the keyboard disappearing into the background. He studied the hall, determined not to mess up again, angry with himself for mishandling a simple thing. Verifying identity and telling Mario that Ford was here, that was all he’d had to do.
Brogan had never been that guy. He didn’t think with his cock, didn’t let himself get distracted. He wasn’t married to the rules or anything—he could improvise with the best of them, even preferred it at times—but he was a professional, for crying out loud. His brain had never stopped functioning just because something gorgeous walked by, and he’d be damned if he’d let it now.
Another issue was that Brogan wasn’t out at work. His family and a couple friends, Mario included, knew he was gay, and he didn’t live in the closet. He pulled at gay bars when he wanted to and he didn’t do a damn thing to conceal who he was beyond keeping his mouth shut on the topic around his colleagues. It was one of the few things that Brogan actively disliked about his job—a hyper-masculine field like security wasn’t even close to abandoning old-school bigotries about orientation, and while he doubted he’d be in danger if he were outed, he really didn’t want the hassle.
All in all, he wasn’t pleased with himself for how he’d reacted.
He had his game face on by the time lunch rolled around and he got his first look at Joel Henniton in person. The guy was six and a half feet of brawn with shoulders that could put a freight train in its place, and hands like mallets. He made Brogan feel small—something he wasn’t used to—and towered over Ford, who was, unfortunately, every bit as impossibly beautiful as he’d been the first time he walked past.
As Timmerson had predicted, Henniton didn’t deign to notice Brogan.
Brogan held the elevator doors for the others, ensuring that he and Mario stood in front for the ride down, and he ignored the quick once-over of concern that Mario threw his way.
Henniton said, “I don’t like Neeley for this. He’s disloyal. He’ll turn on us as quickly as he’ll turn on them.”
“It’ll be free market information in less than six hours,” Ford replied. “If we don’t go with Neeley, we’ll lose our head start while we search for another source.”
Brogan listened with half an ear. Most of his attention was on his radio, where he’d hear about any trouble that might meet them beyond the elevator doors when they got to the lobby. Henniton considered Ford’s words then said, “Okay. Call him.”
“All right. Now, about facilities management. We need a new director. I’m not working with that idiot anymore.” Ford’s voice was pleasantly deep—not that Brogan cared—but his words were astringent.
“You put up with him for longer than I expected,” Henniton said. Given what he’d heard about Henniton, Brogan half expected fireworks. The tone didn’t seem to offend the man, though. If anything, he sounded amused. “Fire him, then. Although I’d like to point out that I’m supposed to be the cutthroat one, Embry.”
“Thank you,” Ford said.
The elevator stopped on the fourteenth floor, but Mario told the woman waiting there to catch the next one.
When they were on their way again, Ford said, “We should promote Kensing to the position.”
“Which one is he?”
“She is the one who argued for the new plumbing system in buildings ten through sixteen last year.”
“That cost a fortune, didn’t it?” Henniton mused.
“$26,755.” Ford rattled off the figure like recalling numbers from a year ago was nothing.
“Too much,” Henniton said.
“Not compared to the fortune it would have cost us if we hadn’t done it. The great flood of last winter, remember?”
“Oh, that. God, what a nightmare,” Henniton said. He heaved a melodramatic sigh.
“She’s my choice, and she’ll leave if we try an outside hire. Promote her.”
“Fine,” Henniton said.
Ford made a satisfied noise and typed something into his smartphone.
It appeared Joel Henniton allowed his executive assistant—someone who
