“Congrats,” Desmond said as they climbed into the backseat. “Always knew you’d end up in that CEO seat eventually. Always thought it’d be after Mikey died. But nope, he's leaving. What’s that about?”
“You read the papers. He decided to step down.”
Desmond clicked his tongue. “Sure. Mikey always did seem the type to give up all his power with no incentive.”
Noah tried not to smirk. He had forgotten how fun it could be to verbally spar with this guy.
“You haven’t seen him in a long time,” he reminded Desmond as the golf cart careened toward the bar. “Maybe he changed.”
“Who, Mikey?” Desmond smiled, his white teeth flashing in the heat. “No one changesthatmuch.”
Benji was chewing on a pineapple rind when they found him, crouched in a hot, dark booth at the back of the bar. His hair was damp with sweat, and he was rolling an ice cube between his fingers.
Noah watched a drop slide down Benji’s thumb hungrily. They’d had sex this morning, but Benji was all sweaty and rumpled, and it was doing something to him.
“You must be the man of the hour,” Desmond said as he slipped into the booth seat opposite him.
“You must be the guy who’s going to sue the shit out of my dad,” Benji replied.
Noah snorted in amusement as he sat down next to him. Benji looked over at him, annoyed. It was fake, Noah could tell. Benji got squirrely around rich people, and Desmond was no exception.
“I’m the guy who’s going to fix your public image,” Desmond corrected. “Get these vultures off your back.”
“My image,” Benji repeated. He rolled the ice cube down his palm, and Noah had to stop himself from grabbing his hand and sucking the icy drops off.
“Of course. Woo the public, and everyone else will follow.” Desmond leaned back, fixing his collar uncomfortably. The AC was on, but it was blowing in a different direction, and the windows had been flung open, letting in waves of heat.
“They can’t do anything about the sex work rumors,” Desmond continued. He paused, looking over at Noah. “Which is all complete slander, of course.”
“Of course,” Noah said evenly.
Benji kicked him under the table. Noah kicked back, letting his shoe linger on Benji’s lithe calf, gratified when Benji’s breath hitched. If Benji wanted to tease him with that ice cube, he would tease him right back.
Actually…
Noah pointed at his finished drink. “Pass me that, babe?”
Benji pushed it over. It was full of ice cubes, condensation beading on the glass.
“Thanks.” Noah took a handful of ice cubes. Most of them went into his mouth, cool and icy as they crunched between his teeth. But he kept one, dragging it absentmindedly over his lower lip.
“You were saying?” he asked Desmond.
Desmond hesitated. Only for a split second, but long enough to let Noah know that he’d picked up on whatever was happening on the other side of this table, and he wasn’t going to ask about it.
“We need to shut this guy down, obviously,” Desmond said. “But the best way to do that is undermine him completely. Turn the tables, show them Benji’s a little saint and daddy dearest is a?—”
“Fuckhead,” Benji said, tearing his gaze away from Noah’s gleaming mouth.
“I like your energy. But this is what I’m talking about when I say public perception,” Desmond explained. “You can come across as a bit… prickly. Which is great! But it makes it harder for people to get on board. People like… meek. Personable.”
“The typical sugar baby,” Benji muttered.
“I didn’t hear that,” Desmond said.
Benji was still frowning. Noah slid his shoe higher up Benji’s shin, then he placed the ice cube between his teeth and sucked.
“I don’t—” Benji paused, obviously struggling not to look at Noah. His pupils were bigger, a line of sweat beading on his hairline. His own ice cube was gone, melting down his wrist.
