Not twenty minutes later, Tyler, still damp from the shower and ignoring the water dripping from his hair down his back, stood outside Marcus’s office. He hesitated only a moment before knocking.
“Yeah.”
He opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Uh, hey, I’m here.” His voice caught, and he hated how unsure and scared he sounded.
“Come in and sit down.” Marcus waved to him and pointed to the sofa. “Can I get you a drink?” The deep, assessing look Marcus gave him swept through his bones, rendering him almost sick with anticipation. Tyler doubted he could hold a glass with how his hands trembled.
“No, I’m okay.” Cursing his shaky legs, Tyler perched on the edge of the sofa. The uncertainty floating around in his mind made his stomach cramp.
“Really?” Marcus joined him, holding two glasses of amber liquid Tyler assumed was scotch. “’Cause you look like shit.”
“Are you going to fire me?” Tyler blurted out, unable to hold back any longer.
“Take this,” said Marcus, holding out one glass.
“I don’t—”
“Take the glass, Tyler.”
The sharp edge of Marcus’s voice shocked Tyler into compliance, and he took the drink, the warmth lingering on the glass from Marcus’s hand penetrating his own.
“Now drink.”
Tyler’s gaze clashed with Marcus’s, and his lips tightened. “I said I didn’t want a drink.”
Marcus leaned back. “And I don’t like to drink alone.” His voice turned wheedling. “Come on, Ty, just a little sip. Don’t make me drink alone and feel all pathetic.”
Pathetic was the last adjective Tyler would use to describe Marcus. Annoying, frustrating, and sinful—all sprang to mind when he thought about his boss.
Marcus’s foot nudged his. “You’ve had a rough few days and should unwind a little.”
More to shut Marcus up than anything else, Tyler raised his glass and took a deep swallow. Unused to hard liquor, it burned, firing a scorching trail down his throat. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he wheezed, gasping for air.
Marcus took his glass and set them both down on the desk then held him close, patting his back.
“Th-that shit’s horrible.” His words came out throaty, like an aging cabaret singer who smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much gin.
Marcus, who still held him, vibrated with silent laughter. “You get used to it.”
“Ugh. Give me a beer anytime.” Tyler sat up, but Marcus kept his arms around him. “Uh, you can let go of me. I’m not choking anymore.”
No surprise, Marcus paid his protest little attention. Tyler stiffened when Marcus ran his hands down the length of his back, kneading the muscles. Shit, that felt amazing, but getting laid wasn’t going to pay his bills. Annoyed at himself for falling for what was obviously a practiced seduction technique, Tyler pushed away from Marcus.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Tyler wet his lips, and Marcus’s gaze dipped to his mouth. Tyler’s cock ached, but he ignored it. “Am I in trouble?”
A gleam entered Marcus’s eyes. “That depends.”
“On what?”
Strong fingers returned to caress his neck, and despite his brain screaming at him to get as far away from Marcus as possible, Tyler’s heartbeat accelerated, and the rhythm of his breathing amplified.
This cannot be happening.
Tyler refused to fall prey to Marcus and end up as an easy fuck on the office sofa. He knew too many guys who worked their way up the ladder that way in the performance field, and he vowed never to use his body to get a part or a job. It had been one of the reasons he never landed a job on stage. He wrenched away from Marcus’s grip.
“About last night? Isn’t that why you wanted to talk to me?”
Before Tyler could react, Marcus kissed his cheek, and with a dark look of regret he stood and walked to his desk. “Yes, before you distracted me.”
