Wor and Play

Disclaimer: this chapter includes a character making unwanted sexual advances (not rape!) toward another character, and if that makes you uncomfortable, please skip over that part in the story or do not read at all. Also, it is highly recommended that you read the previous chapters in this series as to understand this story. Thank you!

*****

Maybe I'm a shitty person for looking Grayson right in the eye as he complains about how maintenance left his desk a complete mess last night cleaning up. Knowing full well I let Gabriel fuck me bareback ON Grayson's desk makes it so much worse.

I'm tempted to smile or burst out in laughter.

"This isn't the first time, either. I'm going to find out who cleans my office—"

"Grayson, it's not a big deal," I chuckle.

"If it happened to you, you would freak out," he says. I give him a knowing look, and he tones it down. "Fine. If it happens again, I'm complaining. It needs to be the weekend already, damn. I'm going golfing tomorrow with—"

Grayson's words are mumbles to me. I spent last night contemplating what to do about having Gabriel's number. This obviously means he wants more from me. I don't mind that at all. But I don't want my screwing him to influence any part of the decision-making for CEO. Not to mention I don't know a damn thing about him besides "he has an enormous cock" and "he's allergic to caffeine". God, do I even want to know more about him? He's kind of an asshole, and I don't want to get sucked into something stupid with no way out. Then again, the sex so far is mind-blowing. Now I'm tossing up between good dick and my freaking job. Yeah right.

I'm going to stop things where they stand. Gabriel seems like the type of guy to dismiss any kind of conflict and move on quickly. I'm quite the opposite. Not a good match.

"Zeke? Are you even listening to me?" Grayson asks, waving his hand in my face.

"Not really. Lot on my mind. Hey, I'm gonna officially get started on that negotiation with the branch in California," I explain. Grayson says a quick goodbye. As soon as he leaves, my office phone rings. I hate the sound of it. "Hello, Zeke Hartigan of OrtegaTech Colo—"

"Hello, Ezekiel."

"...Hello. May I help you with—"

"This is Jiao. Gabriel's secretary. If you have a minute, Gabriel would like to visit with you in his office."

Before I get the chance to respond, Jiao hangs up. In the past two weeks, my life has been grabbed by the shoulders and shaken until it's dizzy and stumbling. Every fiber of my body tells me to go upstairs, but my brain jumps around a million possible scenarios.

I decide not to rehearse anything to say in fear of sounding dishonest. I think by now, Gabriel can see through it. It's not that I don't want anything to do with him; I just need focus. Big time.

Caught up in my own thoughts, I forget to even knock on the door. Gabriel is caught by surprise, teacup in hand. "Hello."

"Hey. Hello," I say, looking down at my shoes. "I don't really know what to say." I adjust my glasses and straighten my tie. No vest today.

Gabriel stares me down as I toss around a few excuses in my head. I feel like if I say 'I want to focus on work', he's going to laugh at me. Part of me wants to tell him to kindly fuck off, the other part wants to impress him. For what? To me, he's not the head of OTech, he's just another man. An intimidating man, yes, but another man nonetheless.

"I'm not going to call you," I finally announce. "I'm not going to screw my way to CEO."

"This in no way influences—"

"Let me finish," I interrupt. "You're not the nicest person I've come across, Gabriel, and I have a lot to focus on without having to worry about if you approve of me or not. I'm just not going to deal with it. I'm sure you don't mind anyway but I just thought I'd tell you that."

Gabriel stares at me—I'm beginning to think he just never learned NOT to stare at people—and I sigh in annoyance. "Now, you wanted me up here for... whatever reason..."

"Oh..." Gabriel's cheeks flush red and he glances at a brown paper bag on his desk. "I, um, brought you something. You seem like the type of guy who doesn't eat breakfast in the morning. I thought I might... do something about that... I brought you a burrito and some orange juice," he says, mouth twisted. His stance isn't so imposing now. I think I hurt his feelings. He stares at his hands instead of at me.

"No, thank you," I say. I'm on my way out the door when my stomach growls. It's so loud, I wonder if Gabriel heard it. I spin on my heel. "What kind of burrito, exactly?"

------

So, I partially lied to Grayson. The text I sent him said I was in a semi-important conversation with Gabriel upstairs, and to keep an eye on the phone in my office.

As I sit here, taking a big bite of ham, cheese, potatoes and eggs, we are indeed in a conversation. Sort of.

"They put jalapeños in mine," Gabriel complains.

"I'm not switching you," I laugh. "Wait, no. I like jalapeños. Switch me."

"You took a bite out of yours," he protests.

"What are we, in second grade?" I reach over and snatch his burrito from him and give him mine. He quickly gets over it. "This doesn't change anything."

Gabriel mocks me, "Nothing changes anything."

I smirk, taking even a bigger bite from the burrito in my hand. Dear god, was he right. I eat an actual breakfast probably once a week. Twice if I'm lucky. It's not that I'm really rushing in the morning; I just don't feel as if breakfast should be at the top of my priority list.

I eat faster than I intend to; Gabriel hasn't even hit the halfway mark with his meal. "So are you a breakfast person, Gabe?" I ask. Gabriel nods, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I'm a food person. I like eating.

"Makes sense. How tall are you? My guess is 6'4" or 5", but I can't be too sure," I chirp away, happily eating my breakfast.

"I'm 6'5"," Gabriel says in monotone.

"I'm not very tall. Is it hard to find clothing?" I question. Gabriel looks completely unamused. "What? You're a big man; I'm curious," I say with a smile.

"Yes, it is difficult to find clothing," he sighs. "Now may I ask you a question?" he leans back in his seat as if he's trying to fill the room. It's working. I give him a nod. "Why are you flirting with me?" Before I get the chance to defend myself, he clicks his tongue. "Look at the way you're seated. You smirk at me, you look me up and down—you just called me 'Gabe'. You know how many people call me that?"

Geezus Christ, let me live. He's attractive; how am I supposed to look at him for anything other than he is? Which IS attractive? He's acting like I said 'Hey, fuck you. Don't talk to me,' but then offered to suck him off on the spot. I'm a human freaking being. "I'm not flirting with you," I protest, shrinking in on myself.

"Nobody. Nobody calls me Gabe, not even you, really. Unless you count the sex as actual conversation."

"How the hell am I supposed to know what everyone else calls you?" I retort.

"If you do not want anything to do with me, that's fine. But if we are going to be proper acquaintances—" here he goes with the 'I'm too formal for you, Zeke' bullshit, "—you cannot burst into my office saying you do not want anything and then flirt with me like this. I don't like being played."

I'm completely speechless. I'm not a flirt. Like I have time for FLIRTING for god's sakes. Playing him? Is he kidding? For a minute, I think he's going to crack up, telling me this is another mind-game, another little taste of his shitty kind of humor, but he stares at me, gray eyes trying to pull a response from me.

"You're so messed up," I chuckle softly, shaking my head and wiping off my mouth with a napkin. "So fucking messed—okay, Gabriel. Thank you for breakfast. It was a very NICE thing of you to do. Thank you." I sip the last of my orange juice and toss the trash in a bin.

-----

This morning wore me out more than anything. I'm getting sick of Gabriel acting as if I'm some sort of inconvenience to him. Right now, it seems like we're caught in some sort of ridiculous time loop. It goes argue, fuck, awkward avoidance... argue, fuck, awkward avoidance. I suppose we're in the awkward avoidance/argue stage. If I keep it up, he could be bending me over his desk within the next two days.

I ponder on this topic for a good ten minutes while I wait for my computer to transfer files. Honestly, I'm not a flirt. Now, I just have to convince myself that I don't give any shits about what Gabriel thinks of me. Three years ago, I would've completely blown him off after any sign of disinterest. Maybe some part of me craves for someone to show a real interest in me.

Shannon pops in, triple-knocking on my door and closing it after her. "You busy?" I shrug. "Hey, I wanted to say sorry for... sort of making you feel as if you were an outsider. Not fair. You're smarter than everyone else on this floor. Before you got here, we couldn't even dream of putting together a commercial. Taking someone seriously shouldn't be something to make fun of... I'm sorry, Sweetheart. You know I have so much respect for you," she explains.

I internally forgave Shannon half a day ago. It's everyone else, who doesn't even make an effort to talk to me, that I get annoyed with. "Man Shanaynay, it sounds like you need a favor," I tease.

"I do, but that's not why I'm here," Shannon chuckles.

"Mhmm. Tell me the bad news," I sigh. Shannon takes a look at my desk, with three Slim Jim wrappers on the side of my keyboard, and gives me a knowing look.

"First, I'll treat you to lunch. Secondly, I am going to meet with a certain guy from New Mexico..."

"The Harold guy?" I smile instantly. Shannon has been trying for months to meet with a guy named Harold something-or-other to see if OTech could set up an outlet next to his store. A combination-complex. Shannon would be our representative. This is huge.

"Yes, him. Turns out he would love to have dinner with me... and his daughter..." Shannon twirls a long lock of dark hair and looks at me expectantly. My expression is blank. I'm not sure what she wants yet. She must sense my apprehension, because she adds, "Marlon Harold's 23 year old, SINGLE daughter—"

"Oh, no."

Shannon starts speaking a million miles a minute. "Zeke, she's an aspiring businesswoman wanting to expand a social website and I said I know a guy who is EXCELLENT at graphic arts and happens to be a directing manager of advertising—"

"Did you say yes for me?" I groan, rubbing at my eyes from under my glasses.

"No, I didn't. But c'mon, Zeke... it can't be that bad. This outlet in Santa Fe could mean so many big things for this company... you had your big thing already with that commercial and— I'm not telling you to take her home. From the sound of it, she seems spoiled and clueless and all you'd have to do is flirt and reference her to one of our other graphic guys. That's all," Shannon explains.

This is the first time Shannon is legitimately trying to set me up on a blind date. "I'm disappointed in you," I say, half-teasingly.

"I'm sure she's at least pretty," Shannon says. "Plus, it's just two hours of mumble jumble and advertising over some sushi and rice. Your kind of thing. You love to talk about work."

After another ten minutes of describing some sort of nonsense, heterosexual hell—and me suggesting she send Grayson instead—I finally agree to go. Sometimes, Shannon can get caught up on her words, and I wouldn't mind really helping to sell our idea to Harold. This could mean quite an increase in Shannon's paycheck, along with a few promotions. She could even become the manager of the store down there. I suppose if my being there and flirting with Harold's daughter secures the deal in stone, I can at least help out.

Besides, I'm good with numbers, and just in case Shannon loses her tongue, I've got her covered.

"You're a lifesaver," Shannon says.

-----

GRAYSON: what time is that meeting tomorrow?

ZEKE: meeting...?

GRAYSON: conference, my bad. ad conference? you're updating on california.

Shit.

ZEKE: right. 4:00 like I said in e-mail.

GRAYSON: thats what I thought.

So I scheduled a small conference for tomorrow but completely forgot about it. It's now 8:00 p.m. and I'm currently eating cereal out of a large coffee mug and trying to get in contact with our head from accounting; I have an entire meeting to plan in one night. Granted, it only has to be 45 minutes, but that doesn't stop me from panicking and rocking back and forth with my head between my knees, sighing out in anguish and cursing myself for a good five minutes. Alright Zeke, put on your brain hat.

------

I had a dream about Gabriel, unsurprisingly. In my three hours of sleep, I dreamt of our time in Grayson's office. Fucking like we'd done it a million times already. Of course, in the dream, the sex was perfect. It was like watching myself in third person. Fucking onto his big cock like it was nothing. We were in perfect harmony; thrust meeting thrust and every time he touched me, I felt him throughout my entire body. It was like my body belonged to him. I don't know if I'm okay with that yet.

As I set up the room for the meeting, I get a chill down my spine thinking of his breath on my neck and his fingers stretching me open.

Focus, Zeke. Focus.

Right at 4:00, they all start pouring in.

Of course, Gabriel, although not called to attend this meeting, sits in the back of the room with a clipboard, legs crossed like he's analyzing me. I have myself convinced that he actually hates me, but I know that's not true. We're simply the definition of complicated.

I just drank three cups of awful black coffee to stay awake. Three hours of sleep is not ideal, but this meeting had to be done. I'll crash later, as I have no real responsibilities for about two days.

"Good afternoon. I'd like to start with—" and the rest is my rehearsed spiel about what most of these people already know. I'm proud of myself; Gabriel doesn't even manage to make me stumble over my words. One of my PowerPoint slides freezes for what seems like a lifetime, but I don't freak out in the slightest. Point for Zeke.

I'm almost done with the entire presentation when Clay Edgar walks in, head high and body craving attention like he thinks he's actually important. I didn't notice he wasn't here. I sigh to myself. I've never met anyone like Clay Edgar. He's an asshole at best, a wannabe tyrant at worst. He's good-looking, but not good-looking enough to be as cocky as he is, and I'm not even sure he shows up to work most of the time. He was the third person to talk to me when I got here, and he told me I looked like jailbait. I thought I was going to have to work under him for my time here—I only did for a week—and that was the only time I thought I wasn't cut out for this job.

His disrupting entrance takes a good ten seconds to settle down, and he sits in the back, next to Gabriel, legs spread wide and arms crossed. If I thought Gabriel was judging me before, Clay is making my hands sweat.

"Any questions?" I ask, choosing to look Grayson's way instead of letting both Clay and Gabriel get to me.

"You're gonna have to start over, Harvard."

"I'll provide a print-out at the end," I reply to Clay's rude remark. "Everyone should know that these numbers could change dramatically within the next three months, as our advertisement spans throughout the western states—"

Clay scoffs. "That ad isn't going nowhere. I haven't heard a damn word about it."

"Would you like to finish the rest of the meeting for me? Or would you let me finish explaining our master plan?" I snap. I sound like a substitute teacher, trying to get a student to respect me. I don't hate many people, but Clay Edgar definitely makes me feel a sense of disgust and rage for him and everyone like him.

"Calm down, Harvard. Lighten up," Clay chuckles. After he mumbles something under his breath, a few people in the room chuckle to themselves, including Gabriel. I can't help but wonder if he called me "Nancy". It's all so childish, but it makes me angry nonetheless. What does it take for people to stop looking at me like I'm a child? A fucking receded hairline? Do I have to constantly smell like leather and tobacco and old rubber shoes for fuck's sake?

"Western states?" Gabriel asks out of nowhere, indicating I should continue. Damn it, I wonder how long I've been tapping my foot and picking at my nails. ADHD things.

"Yes. Um, w-we're going to um... be buying slots for our advertisement. I'm working on a—uh—banner. We will need some... I think we're um, going to need some outreach to social media."

The rest of the meeting is undoubtedly a disaster. The only way I retain focus is by constantly rubbing my hands together or adjusting my glasses every thirty seconds, and I'm sure I've said a series of "um" and "uh" over a hundred times.

Thank the heavens I can manage to even close the conference without pissing my pants or having an asthma attack.

Everyone begins to leave, but Gabriel stays, of course, looking concerned yet amused at my failure of a meeting.

"You know, you don't have to prove yourself to anyone," he says while I begin stacking chairs and shutting down electronics. "You did well; don't beat yourself up."

"Thank you, Mother," I respond quietly, pushing a stack of chairs into a corner.

"I'm sorry—"

"'Sorry for yesterday.' Right," I interrupt. "You know, it's not like I'm the worst thing that's happened to this company, yet all I get is everyone's shit. Your shit, Clay's shit, my own shit—I'm really not that bad, I swear. I-I swear—" I rake my hands through my hair and rub at my eyes frustratingly. "I don't know how I feel about anything right now. It doesn't help that I'm not acting like the best candidate for any kind of CEO of anything."

Gabriel looks at me like he feels sorry for me. And god knows I've worked too hard for people to look at me like that. "You can't win, Zeke. That's why you need to stop trying to impress people. You've done everything perfectly so far, not showing any flaws. People hate that. Happens to everyone."

"You're damn right I can't win. People would hate me if I were an idiot who didn't earn this job, but I'm serious and productive and people say I have a stick up my ass. I didn't ask for this, alright? I can't be CEO now because what I've done isn't enough because I haven't been here for three years. So I'm frustrated, okay? I'm allowed to be. Who cares if it happens to everyone? It's happening to me and I'm fucking TRYING here, unlike a lot of other people."

I've gathered my belongings and am almost out the door when Gabriel catches my arm. "For what it's worth... I know what that's like. I see you differently. In a good way. And even with what happened yesterday, I'd still like a call from you."

"Don't hold your breath," I grumble, gently pushing past to leave the room.

-------

For twenty minutes now, Clay Edgar and some idiot have been moving things around in the room next to mine, being loud and crass with their repulsive country accents and remarks. It's almost 5:30. Just an hour until 5:30—

They think nobody can hear them bellow with laughter and complain about the company, and maybe I just have thin walls, but every shift of a chair and every kneeslap is like someone is making me listen to a bad comedy. I don't even know why they're downstairs.

"Had a date with that fat lady from Denver—she was pretty W-I-L-D, if you know what I mean, Jack," Clay says loudly. It sounds like he's in my fucking office, he's so loud.

"The one with the stringbean husband?" I hear his friend remark.

"Yeah, the faggot. Probably asks her to break out the—"

Before Clay can finish his sentence, I knock on the window between my office and the room, getting both of their attention. "Are we bothering you, Harvard?" Clay asks, arms crossed.