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Billionaire with Benefits (Romancelandia, #2)
By Anne Tenino, Carole-anne Galloway Riptide Publishing
Copyright © 2014 Anne Tenino
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62649-197-7
CHAPTER 1
Present Day
Sunday was a day to play a game commonly called "rugby" but which Tierney thought of as "bloodletting and beer with a ball." Sometimes he remembered the ball. Tierney'd always looked forward to Sundays, but when Ian had moved to the city and started playing on Tierney's team, Sunday became the best day of Tierney's week.
For a couple of months. Until Tierney figured out that, while he'd always thought of Ian as his closest friend and backup plan, Ian pretty much saw Tierney as not much more than an old college buddy.
Then, last week, when Tierney'd gone to pick him up for their scrimmage, Ian had been freshly showered and seemed too fucking loose. Relaxed.
Sated. As if he'd been banging some chick all night long.
A chick he had, like, feelings for.
Knocking on Ian's door this particular Sunday afternoon, Tierney couldn't shake his foul mood. So foul he was ready to quit playing rugby if his friend was going to be a dick. Last week, Ian had taken forever to answer. If that douche took too long to answer this week, Tierney'd—
Ian opened the door. "Hey man."
Tierney's anger switched gears. "Nice of you to show right away this time." Stepping forward into the entry, he started forming his plan of verbal attack. "You ready or—"
A nearly naked guy stood in Ian's bedroom doorway, blinking like he'd just woken up.
Christ. Tierney's mouth was an uncharacteristic beat or two behind. "Dude?"
"Just a sec," Ian said from the end of an echoey tunnel. "Almost ready."
Sam. That was his name, the guy in Ian's place. That skinny, flaming waiter Ian had met a few weeks ago. Tierney couldn't breathe, blackness creeping into his vision from the sides, narrowing his focus down to a pinprick. Until all he could see was his closest friend in the world, the guy whose image he'd jacked off to a million times and who he'd fucking been holding out for, walking up to that emaciated pale twink on the other side of his living room and—
Jesus fucking Christ. Tierney's palm hit the wall, holding him steady.
—Ian kissed Sam.
* * *
Halfway to their rugby game, during the tense, silent ride, a thought surfaced out of the white noise in Tierney's head: that kiss was for show—Ian's way of coming out to him. He'd figured out a while ago that Ian was, at least sometimes, into guys, and since he'd figured that out about Ian, the guy must know about him, right? And if Ian did know about Tierney, but hadn't ever done anything about it ... Motherfucker.
Fourteen years.
For fourteen years Tierney'd waited for a sign from Ian that the dude was interested in him, and it never came. Never an indication that he was ready for them to be together. Nothing. And now Sam happened along and stole Ian away before Tierney even knew he was a threat. Couldn't the dude see that Sam was too femme and too gushy and too dorky and just not right for him? It was pretty fucking obvious to Tierney.
Except Ian had chosen Sam. Because he doesn't want me.
When they neared the field, Tierney jumped out of Ian's truck as soon as the dude had slowed enough to make it safe. Ish.
He'd make a much more appropriate partner for Ian. Couldn't the dude fucking see that? "Obviously not," Tierney muttered to himself just as he reached the group of players. One of his teammates gave him some side eye, but Tierney bared his teeth, and the guy averted his attention. Or at least his eyes. But the dude had to be perking his ears up, because Tierney was making a spectacle of himself, pacing and gesticulating.
Fourteen years.
This morning, Ian had killed the future Tierney'd waited for all this time. Hadn't even thought about how it would affect him, had he?
"Goddamned coward." He jerked around to find the pansy himself heading toward him. Tierney glared, trying to wither his friend where he stood, but Ian kept coming, until he stood almost toe to toe with Tierney. Close enough for spittle to fly in his face as Tierney let loose. "You motherfucking traitor!"
The gasp clued him in that the other rugby players were slowly circling them, rubbernecking.
Ian had the balls to fucking laugh. "Traitor to what ?"
"To men." Tierney's fingers bit into his palms as he tried to hang on to his temper. "Straight men." Guys who didn't admit their secret longings.
Ian's face went expressionless in that way he had. Cutting him out. "Why's that, Tierney?" he asked. "'Cause I never told you? Maybe I thought you'd act just like this."
"So it's true? You're fucking that fairy?" he half yelled, but he didn't need an answer. "Just tell me one thing." He could hear that little note of achiness in his voice. Hope that this could somehow be salvaged. "Why him?"
"Why not? Me being with him should mean fuck-all to you."
He body-slammed Ian and knocked him on his ass, and something broke inside him. An internal organ he hadn't even known he had, full of pus and bile he'd been storing up for the last twenty years. It hazed his vision with sickly green and plugged his ears so all he could hear were the things he was screaming to his best fucking friend, as Ian lay on the ground, gasping for breath. "Get up you fucking faggot! Bet you can't fight a real man since that little nellie boy got you up his ass, can you? How is he, huh, Ian? Does he squeal like a pig when you—"
Ian hooked Tierney's legs at the knee, taking him down and shutting Tierney up with his fist. Then it was all about fighting dirty. "Fourteen years.Fourteen years." He couldn't stop saying it, in between getting whaled on by Ian and doing his share of damage in return. He got in one good punch to Ian's eye and was rewarded with a fierce surge of joy, burning away some of the sickness filling him. He redoubled his efforts, took his fourteen years of pain and fed it to Ian via bodily harm, cleaning himself out a little more every time his fist connected with flesh.
He'd never felt rage like this, or wanted to hurt another person so much.
Then he was being pulled away, up to standing, fighting the arms pinning his behind his back, unable to focus on anything but Ian's face and his own desire to cave it in. Make Ian fully pay for those lost years.
Make him pay for caring about someone else enough to come out.
By the time the guys had let go of him—after Ian'd left—Tierney had gone numb, except for the parts of him that hurt from Ian's fists. But that was physical pain, which was fine. He could deal. The emotional pain would kill him once he started feeling it again.
He had to get home before that happened. To the oblivion bourbon offered. One of the guys on the team gave him a ride back to his car, right in front of Ian's place.
Whatever.
Before taking off, he had to rest his head on the steering wheel for a minute, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting off the first wave of his returning emotions. The little creatures he'd learned to keep trapped inside. The inmates he kept under lock and key so he could fulfill the role he'd been assigned. The role he'd thought he'd escape only if the stars aligned and Ian gave him the out.
Fourteen years of sacrifice and avoidance in his past and never letting himself look for another man because he had his fallback. Fourteen years of glory holes and women he didn't really give a fuck about. Fourteen years of hiding, and being a lying, homophobic dick.
Fourteen fucking years.
Yeah, he was done with rugby.
* * *
It was a little over an hour until Dalton would meet the guy his boss, Ian (and Ian's boyfriend Sam) had set him up with. He'd been unable to think of anything else since lunch, and now that it was the end of the day, he'd finally given himself busywork and let his mind dwell on his first real date in five years. While working his way through college, he'd only had time for casual encounters of the sexual kind and the occasional friend with benefits, so he was a little out of practice in the dating department. Thank God Ian and Sam were going to the Exposed Innerds concert too, so it wouldn't just be him and the unknown guy named Miller.
Except, judging by the phone call he'd overheard earlier—Ian really didn't understand the concept of a "private voice"—Sam and Ian might not be going. Not unless Ian apologized for whatever he'd done.
What had he done?
"I need to see Ian Cully. Now."
At the sound of the voice behind him, Dalton dropped the forms he'd been tallying. Oh no. He was the face of the office, the first thing people saw when they walked in, and it was important to give the proper impression. Sucking in a quick, calming breath, he spun his chair around, fixing his most professional smile on his face.
"May I help you?" Even as he said it, the guy's body language was answering, telling him he couldn't help. This man considered himself a Very Important Person, and Dalton a Lowly Receptionist (somewhat like Lowly Worm, but gainfully employed). Forget that he wasn't one—his official title was Office Specialist Two—he looked like a receptionist. Visitors like this saw Dalton sitting behind a faux-wood-decaled desk in the entryway of an institutional suite in a state government building and made the assumption. The man's dismissive gaze flickered over Dalton, then focused on Ian's door.
Ian's not-quite-closed door.
Dalton immediately shifted gears, knowing from previous experience as an actual receptionist what was about to go down. Just as the visitor stepped forward, he stood, moving to block the man's path.
Which allowed Dalton to really see him for the first time.
Troglodyte chic.
It just figured he'd find this guy attractive, didn't it? Designer suit, artfully disarranged hair, muddy green eyes, and beard scruff. Not to mention beautiful bone structure, albeit under a slightly puffy face.
Ignore.
"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Cully is on a very important call at the moment, and can't be disturbed. As a matter of fact, he's booked for the rest of the day. May I schedule an appointment for you next week?"
The visitor stopped and narrowed his eyes, then took a step forward, invading Dalton's personal space.
Oh, please. He'd become immune to that intimidation tactic long ago. He smiled pleasantly and held his ground.
So did his opponent, for another half minute. Long enough for Dalton to get a whiff of stale sweat and alcohol. Then the man stood down, losing his suspicious squint and revealing how bloodshot his eyes were. He backed off and ran a hand through his hair, turning his head to reveal a mashed, sticking-up section.
Ah. Not artfully disarranged. Dalton's inattention cost him.
"How come none of the phone lines are lit up?" the visitor asked.
"I'm sure he just ended the call. Why don't you sit down and I can buzz him and see if he might have time for you, Mr....?"
"Tierney." The man tried to sidestep Dalton. "I don't think he's busy; it's four thirty on a Friday, and his door isn't shut." He maneuvered the other way, forcing Dalton a little closer to Ian's office.
Time for a pity gambit. "Mr. Tierney, I'm new and it would make me look incompetent if I let you just barge in on him when—"
"Tierney's my first name, and I know you're new. You weren't here two weeks ago when I came in." He stopped trying to make Dalton give more ground and checked him out instead. A furtive, quick up and down Dalton knew very, very well.
"Mr. Tierney—"
"Terrebonne."
Dalton unleashed his shyest smile, cocking his hip just slightly and biting his lip in fake—yet suggestive—insecurity. "Mr. Terrebonne, I'd be grateful if you'd just let me buzz you in first."
Tierney Terrebonne stopped for a couple of seconds, blinking, focused on Dalton's mouth.
Gotcha. His deduction about their visitor's orientation was correct.
But Mr. Terrebonne shook off the effects of Dalton's display within a second. "Why don't you just tell him I'm here? You're practically in his doorway."
Dammit.
He gave in. "Please, just wait right here and let me at least announce you." He placed his palm on the man's shoulder.
Mr. Terrebonne froze at his touch. Dalton took advantage, whirling around and taking the last step to Ian's doorway just as his boss's voice floated out. "Hey, Dalton, you're fine driving yourself, right? I need to pick up Sam for dinner and—"
"Ian? There's someone here to see you." He couldn't stop himself from shifting his weight. "He seems anxious."
His boss stared at him a second. "I can't see anyone now. Tell him he has to make an appointment."
Dalton lowered his voice. He could hear Ian's visitor pacing behind him—a couple quick steps to either side. Any second and he'd shove past. "I said that, but he keeps insisting."
Mr. Terrebonne was now peering over Dalton's shoulder. "Dude, I really need to talk to you. I'm, um, I'm sorry. For last weekend."
Dalton stayed put, providing his boss with the small amount of shield he still could, but his ears perked up in spite of himself. Ian had come in with a black eye on Monday. Judging by his boss's expression right now, Mr. Terrebonne had something to do with that. Ian glanced at his watch, all his jaw muscles flexing. "You have a half hour, dude. That's it."
A half hour? That would be cutting it really close for dinner with his boyfriend. Especially to meet with some guy who'd punched him. Had Ian given Tierney any injuries? Dalton had to steel himself against the urge to turn and search the man's face for fading bruises. Hopefully not on that perfectly angled jaw.
Oh shut up.
While he'd been lost in his imagination, Mr. Terrebonne had made some kind of reply. Ian shook his head, obviously to himself. "Gimme a minute." He glanced back up, and whatever he saw made his face go hard. "Just go sit out there and wait for me," he barked.
After a second, Dalton felt their visitor move off, and Ian lost his tense, jaw-ticking expression.
"Can you go a little early and wait for them? Then if I'm a couple minutes late ... Please?"
Dalton tried to stay out of his employer's personal business. Really, he did. But that look and request confirmed the suspicion he'd developed today: Ian and Sam were having some kind of problem or fight, and Ian desperately wanted to make up.
Dalton smiled, hoping to reassure. "Of course. I'll leave in five minutes." He could wrap things up enough for the weekend in that amount of time. "Don't worry," he added when Ian's face didn't relax.
Finally, Ian's shoulders eased down below his ears, so Dalton turned to go.
* * *
For midautumn, the weather was unexpectedly clear, with streaks of pink across in the sky as the sun set when Dalton arrived at the Monte Carlo club. A streetlight began to eke out a glow across the road from him, near the mouth of an alley. At the other end, he could see Simpson Avenue and the drugstore where he'd once bought condoms in an emergency.
Okay, twice. Or more. They had an impressive selection.
Being here, surrounded by all things LGBT, was comforting. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the essence of the neighborhood, then took a second to glance around, wondering if he could afford an apartment here, now that he had a job but no tuition anymore. Probably not, since having a roommate wasn't an option, at least not if he could help it. He was currently still living with four guys who he'd been in college with, and he was sick of it. He'd never really lived alone, not when he was paying his own way. At twenty-seven, it was time for him to take full responsibility for himself. If that priced him out of this neighborhood, he was okay with that.
The streetlight had finally gotten strong enough to illuminate this end of the passage, and two guys walking toward him down the alley caught his eye. He didn't know what either of the guys he waited for looked like, but he had a feeling he'd recognize Sam from his sister's description. According to her, Sam didn't measure up to Ian physically. Andrea had called him a "flaming geek" and then went on and on about how cute he and Ian were together.
One of the guys was very tall and thin, with light hair. The other was more of a traditional bear shape—barrel-chested and stocky. They could be the guys he was here to meet ... or maybe they were on a date? As they got closer to the well-lit part of the alley, he caught himself holding his breath, waiting to see their faces. Just a couple more feet.
The stocky guy said something that made the tall one laugh so hard he had to lean against the brick wall for support. It was cute, but Dalton needed them to get it over with and keep moving toward him. He leaned a couple of inches closer, onto the balls of his feet, as if that would help.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Billionaire with Benefits (Romancelandia, #2) by Anne Tenino, Carole-anne Galloway. Copyright © 2014 Anne Tenino. Excerpted by permission of Riptide Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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