Jimmy cursed, positive CJ Abrams was going to turn him down now. Right now he was supposed to be showing the all-important Abrams his proposal for subcontracting on the man's newest high-rise. Instead, he was caught in traffic, getting a fucking busy signal every time he called.
He'd stayed up late to finish the proposal. If there was one thing Abrams hated, it was people who couldn't deliver. He also hated people who were late, which didn't help Jimmy's case much. He might as well just turn back around, but this job with Abrams was a guaranteed six months of work, and damn if they didn't need that.
Pulling into the parking lot, Jimmy turned into the first spot he could find, quickly walking to the front entrance of Abrams Construction. The door chimed when he let himself in and the receptionist smiled warmly at him.
"James Montrose, here to see CJ Abrams."
Her smile wobbled minutely. "He's waiting for you Mr. Montrose. Please wait here."
Jimmy fidgeted, smoothing his tie. He hoped the damn thing was straight. Wait, was that a coffee stain on his shirt? He check it surreptitiously. Shit! It was a stain. He was never going to get the job.
"Mr. Montrose, this way please."
Jimmy turned at the sound of the voice. Another woman greeted him. If the two lookers he'd met so far were any indication, Abrams definitely liked to pretty up the place. Not that it made any difference to Jimmy. He preferred his bed partners with a little more hair and a few extra parts down below.
The woman stopped outside a door at the end of the hallway. He'd been too distracted to notice before, but now he got a glimpse of his surroundings. The walls were a pale, butter-cream yellow, soft and soothing. Large paintings decorated the walls, showcasing oil derricks and old fading grain elevators.
She opened the door, ushering him in. "Mr. Montrose from J. M. Services Inc. to see you, Sir."
Jimmy turned his attention to the man behind the massive desk, almost missing the soft snick of the door as it closed behind him. Abrams had his head down, writing something in his day timer. The shirtsleeves of his gray striped shirt were rolled up his forearms, a gold watch gleamed on his right wrist, and he wasn't wearing a tie.
The sun from the floor to ceiling window behind him glinted off his blond locks.
Glancing up with a frown, Abrams stared at Jimmy. "Holy crap! Cole?"
A single raised eyebrow was his only response. Cole leaned back in the chair, tapping his pen on his day-timer. He looked exactly as he had the last time Jimmy had seen him, although a little older. His face was more matured, more striking. "You're late."
Jimmy stared, galvanized. The man in front of him was gorgeous, lean and elegant. But then, he always had been. Cole Abrams was a few years older than he was, and back in school he'd hung around with Jimmy's brother. The two had pretty much ignored him, but Jimmy had always fantasized about Cole. He'd first found out he was gay as a result of popping wood every time he got close enough to smell the woodsy aftershave Cole preferred.
"Uh, yeah. I'm sorry, traffic was a bit of a mess this morning." He didn't know what to say. Did Cole remember him? Geez, he should, he was still friends with his brother, Mark.
