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“No.” The word was a bark—loud and hollow in the cavernous garage. He didn’t even want to hear the words. His fists curled.
Ren was silent for a long moment. “And my offer still stands. I wasn’t so wasted that I don’t remember what I said.”
Hayes’s teeth clamped together. He didn’t need to be reminded of that either. He thought about it every goddamned time he looked at Ren lately. A few months ago, on one particularly rough night after getting out, he and Ren had gotten shit-faced drunk. And Ren had put it out there. If you can’t trust anyone in your bed, fuck me. Close your eyes and pretend I’m a submissive. Hold me down, hurt me, whatever you need to do. You know I can handle it. I’ve handled worse than you.
The offer had knocked Hayes right onto his ass. They’d never gone there despite Ren being openly bi and Hayes having experimented a time or two with guys when he was in college. He and Ren had shared submissives. Dominated them as a team. But he and Ren had always kept a clear line between them. When they’d met, Ren had been seventeen and so fucked up by the guy he’d been with that he’d expected everyone to use him, to treat his body like a commodity. Ren had made offers, but Hayes had sworn then that he’d never touch him, never take advantage, and he’d kept that promise.
He’d done it to protect Ren. But now he was keeping that line there to protect himself.
This friendship was his anchor right now. Unlike most of the other people who had called themselves friends, Ren had stood by him when he’d gone to prison, not just believing him unequivocally but fighting to get him out. He couldn’t screw that up and break that long-standing promise for the simple relief of slaking his lust and curiosity. Plus, he knew Ren was only offering because he was worried about Hayes. After what he’d been through as a teen, Ren exclusively topped and had never given up control to anyone again. He wouldn’t willingly offer himself to Hayes for any other reason than pity.
And Hayes would become a monk before he’d become a pity fuck for anyone.
“I’m fine.”
Ren didn’t respond immediately but Hayes could sense when he moved toward the door. “I’m leaving in an hour. You can follow me there.”
The music dialed up again, the thrashing cymbals matching the noise in Hayes’s head.
He didn’t look back. He dropped back to the ground, switched arms.
One. Two. Three.
—
Ren stood in the doorway that led from the garage to the kitchen for way too long, watching Hayes do those punishing pushups. The guy looked like a beast—strong, angry, dangerous. The music clung to him like a demon, pushing his movements in time to the relentless beat. Muscles flexed. Sweat rolled over his skin. Ren couldn’t look away.
From this angle, it was like watching a stranger. A beautiful, possessed stranger. Ren had, of course, noticed that Hayes was getting ripped in prison. Every time he visited, the guy seemed to have gotten harder both physically and emotionally. It’d been survival. Hayes was smart, and when facing down a twenty-year sentence, he’d done everything he could to ensure he was that scary motherfucker who other inmates would steer clear of. But Ren hated that Hayes still had to endure these torture sessions just to get through a day.
His body looked sick, sure. Ren would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the view. Hayes thought that the offer Ren had made was some sacrificial bullshit, but really, it was selfish. Ren had accepted long ago that despite them both being dominants and Hayes being predominantly straight, his friend would always hit his sexual radar. It’d been there from the start, and it was an imprint he couldn’t erase.
And really, Ren hadn’t expected Hayes to take him up on his offer. Hayes had made a promise to him when they’d first met all those years ago, and he didn’t break promises. Part of that comforted Ren. But the other part frustrated the hell out of him. He saw how Hayes looked at him when he didn’t think Ren was watching. The way his gaze slid over his body. Hayes wasn’t indifferent to him. But he couldn’t see Ren without seeing the past. And that’s what pissed Ren off.
He wasn’t some fragile, messed-up kid anymore. And yeah, he hadn’t been willing to let anyone have the control since that horrible year. The thought of putting himself in that position made him go cold inside. But with Hayes . . . with Hayes those thoughts had a different temperature, especially as he stood here and watched his friend shirtless and dripping with sweat. In his gut, he knew he could go there with him.
But none of that mattered. It was a no go. Hayes was committed to this new life of deprivation and isolation.
Ren had thought that when they’d finally gotten his conviction overturned that Hayes would be able to walk out of that prison and get his life back. The business that they’d built together would get out of the slump it’d gone into after the story broke about Hayes. Things would return to some kind of normal. But the man who’d gone in was not the man who had come out.
That conviction had taken a successful, proud guy who’d been able to command a room with just a look and turned him into this—a guy who didn’t sleep, who worked out to the point of obsession, and who closed himself off to the world. To Ren.
And he had no idea how to help.
But at least today, he’d gotten a yes from him. Hayes would keep his word and come into the office. Ren had stooped low and used guilt to get him there, but it’d worked. Now he just needed to figure out how to keep him there.
Ren gave Hayes one last lingering look. The man was a sight. Up. Down. Up. Down. Grunting like he was fucking. One hand behind his back. A man on an endless mission.
Ren’s cock began to take notice. He shook his head, adjusting the front of his jeans, and turned to go back into the house. He didn’t need to travel down that mental road again. It was one filled with roadblocks and dead ends. Instead, he needed to stay focused on getting Hayes back to work. The key today would be to ease him in. Not too much thrown at him on day one.
But when they arrived at the office later that morning, that plan got shot straight to hell with a booster rocket.
FIVE (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)
Ren knew something was wrong when he and Hayes stepped through the frosted-glass doors of FoxRen Media and Malik, one of the app designers, was behind the main desk in the lobby instead of Anita, their receptionist. Malik’s dark hair was sticking up on one side like he’d grabbed it and yanked, the phones were ringing, and no one else was in sight.
He glanced up when Ren and Hayes walked in, looking like some possessed cartoon version of himself. “Oh, thank God.”
“What’s going on?” Ren asked, frowning.
Malik’s gaze darted to Hayes then back to Ren. “Anita called in sick and Collin is still out for vacation. The phones have been ringing nonstop because a server went down, which Chelsea is working on, but I should be helping her with that. And then some woman came in first thing this morning demanding to talk to you and refusing to discuss whatever she’s here for with anyone else.” Malik gave him a pleading look. “Can I just send everyone to voice mail?”
Ren groaned. “Send them there for now and then look in the directory. We’ve worked with a temp service before. Call them and see if they can get us a receptionist for the day. After that, go help with the server. That’s priority number one.”
Malik nodded. “Right. Got it.”
“And what happened to the woman who wanted to talk to me?” Ren hiked his messenger bag higher on his shoulder.
Malik jabbed his thumb toward the door that led to the executive offices. “I didn’t know what to do with her and she was . . . persistent, so I just told her to sit outside your office and wait.”
Ren rubbed his forehead. “Of course.”
Because letting a stranger without an appointment into the office was an excellent idea. But Ren kept the comment to himself. The fact that the kid had attempted to handle front office operations when that was clearly out of his comfort zone deserved some credit.
Malik punched a few buttons on the phone. “How do I get this to roll over to voice mail? Goddamn, does it ever stop ringing?”
“Just leave it. I’ve got it.” Ren leaned over the desk and hit the button that would put it in overnight mode. “By the way, Malik, this is our CFO and co-owner, Hayes Fox. Say hi and then get to the server.”
Hayes, who’d been silently watching the meltdown, lifted a hand in a stoic greeting.
Malik paused at that, his eyes going owlish. If Ren were drawing him, he’d have put a little thought box with expletive symbols above Malik’s head. “Oh, um, hi, Mr. Fox. Nice to meet you.”
“Hayes is fine,” he said, voice gruff.
Malik nodded but didn’t look like he’d be calling Hayes by his first name anytime soon. He made some vague motion with his hand. “Uh, I’m going to go and help Chelsea.”
“Yes. Do that.” Ren watched the guy hurry back through the door and then turned to Hayes with a smirk. “So, welcome back.”
Hayes lifted his brows and crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the white Henley tighter across his shoulders. “Is it always on fire like this?”
Ren shrugged. “Nah, only about fifty percent of the time. I had to cut the staff down in the last year to try to save some money. It works for the most part but gets insane when anyone’s out.”
Hayes frowned.
But Ren didn’t want to get into how the business had declined after Hayes had gone to prison or how Ren had spent a big chunk of their profits on the lawyers and investigators who’d gotten Hayes’s conviction overturned. They had both seen the numbers. If Ren hadn’t renamed the company and introduced Hayven to the market two years ago, the company would’ve gone under.
It’d been the right move even though he’d had to go behind Hayes’s back to do it. When Ren had told Hayes about his idea for the game, Hayes had told Ren to scrub it. Think how it will look, he’d said. But Ren had gone against his wishes, named the game after Hayes, and had set up a separate company front that tied the game only to Ren to make it harder for the media to make the connection. Then he’d brought it to market like a big, blazing fuck you to all those people who thought Hayes was guilty.
It had saved the company from closing up shop, but they still had a ways to go to get robust again. He needed to get Hayes involved in the daily operation so that Ren could spend more time on game enhancements and developments instead of being the firefighter all the time.
“Come on.” Ren opened the door and they headed to the left, where the executive offices were located. He didn’t want to go through the trouble of introducing Hayes to everyone yet. The place was in crisis mode, and Hayes wouldn’t be ready for that song and dance anyway. He put a hand on Hayes’s shoulder when they got to his old office. “Why don’t you get settled in, get things back how you want them, and I’ll go see what random-persistent-woman-off-the-street wants?”
Hayes eyeballed his closed office door like it was going to explode and then looked back to Ren. “Tell that kid not to send strangers back here anymore. What if it’s some ex of yours or something? She could be burning your office down in revenge as we speak.”
Ren laughed. “She could just add it to the rest of the fires. But yeah, I’ll let him know.”
Hayes blew out a breath and grabbed the door handle. “How bad is it going to be in here?”
“Do the words ‘additional storage area’ mean anything to you?”
“Fuck.”
Ren glanced down the hallway. “I’ll stop by in a while and help you haul some of that shit out of there.”
Hayes shook his head and went into the room. Despite the curse that followed once Hayes saw the state of his office, something buoyed in Ren’s chest. Hayes was back.
Well, physically at least.
Ren left him to it and headed around the corner to his own office. Sitting in the chair outside his door was a woman who had her head down as she typed furiously on her phone and bounced her jean-clad knee. Not an ex. He didn’t really have those anyway. He never stuck with anyone long enough to get to the labels portion of coupledom. But something about her seemed familiar.
He set his bag down on his assistant Collin’s desk, strode over, patience low, and looked down. “Can I help you?”
The woman startled, so involved in whatever she’d been doing that she hadn’t noticed him approach. But when she lifted her head, the sight jolted his system like an electric shock, and the night before came crashing back.
No fucking way.
Hallway girl? She was wearing glasses today and less makeup, but there was no doubt it was her. Dark wavy hair that looked like she’d taken a dip in the ocean and let it dry in the breeze, the ghost of childhood freckles across her nose, and big hazel eyes he’d never forget.
His mind couldn’t process the two things, the spheres colliding. The woman from the party at his job. She’d sought him out? He hadn’t even told her his name. And last night she hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough.
But the way she was staring at him told a different story. Her eyes had gone wide and her bottom lip hung open like it’d forgotten how to close. She hadn’t been looking for him. She was as surprised as he was. “Uh . . . I was waiting for Mr. Muroya.”
Her knuckles went white around her phone and she tipped forward in the seat like she wanted to run, the heels of her Chuck Taylors lifting off the ground. She’d already figured out that he was the guy she’d come to see, and she wanted to bail.
Too bad he was standing in her way.
He smiled, slow and pleased. “Is that right?”
Last night, he’d been more than a little intrigued by the woman who had so boldly watched him with Naomi. He’d been doing a friend a favor, playing a part in a scene, which should’ve been fun, especially when they were doing it at a professional party instead of at The Ranch. But beyond the obvious pleasure of a blow job, he hadn’t been able to get into the right headspace for the scene. A problem he’d been having way too often lately.
Then, he’d looked up and found this woman watching, and everything about the scene had flipped. Energy had surged through him, his body had come alive, and his dominant instincts had rushed forward. Being watched was a kink of his, but this had been something altogether different. The way she’d been looking at him . . . There’d been fear there, that knee-jerk reaction to being caught, but there’d been something else, too. Something that had made him want to call her over, to give her the very thing her eyes were asking him for. Then she’d run off. And when he’d approached her in the light of the party, she’d been bordering on hostile. The way she’d acted had made him think he’d read her all wrong. So when the blonde had rushed up to save her, he’d figured hot mystery woman had a girlfriend, that he’d been barking up the wrong tree.
Now she was here. And the color that appeared in her cheeks after her gaze quickly skimmed down his body told him a different story. Right tree.
The morning had just gotten infinitely more interesting. “Guess you’re in luck. I’m Ren Muroya.”
Her eyes closed, her worst fear obviously confirmed. “Of course you are.”
He couldn’t help but grin wider at her fuck-my-life expression. “So, Cora, Lady of the Dark Hallway, what exactly can I help you with?”
—
Fuck. My. Life.
Cora didn’t know what she’d done in a previous existence, but apparently it’d been evil because the universe was screwing with her. She’d spent all morning tracking down the head of Restless Games, first calling a number that never picked up, then going to an address that turned out to be just a mailbox, and finally having to go through more computer detective work than she was in the mood for to find the parent company and where it was located. After that, she’d had to wait an hour in this office. Now, she’d finally found who she was looking for and it was this guy.
Blow-job guy.
Or as the world knew him—Ren Muroya, CEO and co-owner of FoxRen Media and, apparently, Restless Games.
She cleared her throat, trying her damnedest to erase last night from her mind and focus on the business at hand. This was serious. She didn’t have time to care that he looked even better in jeans than he had in his suit, and she wasn’t going to pay attention to that smug, I-have-the-upper-hand way he had about him. She refused to let her introvert gene take over just because he was hot. She channeled professional Cora. The one who used to work in an all-male IT department and knew how to stand her ground. “I’m here because you have a big problem with your game Hayven.”
Muroya’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re here about Hayven?”
Ha. There. She’d finally surprised him instead of the other way around. “Yes. I know you own it.”
He crossed his arms, the amused expression in his eyes dimming. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but—”
She held up her palm and stood. Though really, that didn’t give her much more to work with since he had to be at least six feet tall and easily towered over her. “Let’s not waste time, Mr. Muroya. I could go into how I weeded out that information, but we’d end up at the same conclusion and I’d rather get to the point.”
His jaw was hard now, his dark eyes flinty. “Are you a reporter?”
“What?” She blinked, thrown off by the question and the dose of disgust in his voice. “No. I’m . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence, and he stared at her expectantly.
God. She didn’t want to say it. Not to him. Not to anyone.
“You’re what?” he demanded.
If internal organs could cringe, hers did. “I’m a member.”
The tightness in his jaw went slack at that. “Of Hayven?”
She adjusted her glasses and used that as a reason to look away and toward the hall. She’d never told anyone about the game. No one knew that secret shame, the things she did in that world, the fantasies she played out. How she pretended to be someone else entirely. How she had cyber/phone sex with a stranger. Heat burned up her neck. “Could we do this in your office? I’d rather not discuss everything out here.”
He seemed to snap out of his stupor at that. “Oh. Of course. Right this way.”
He turned and his fingertips landed gently on her upper arm to guide her. The move was polite, not at all aggressive, but he may as well have had electrodes taped to his fingers for the current it sent radiating through her. She had to breathe through the reaction.
Must. Focus.
He led her into a spacious corner office, complete with wraparound windows and what looked to be authentic mid-century-modern furniture. His desk was in the center—simple and clean—with only a laptop. But against the left wall was an impressive workstation with three oversized monitors and a number of gadgets. That area wasn’t so Zen. There were sticky notes everywhere and pads of paper stacked haphazardly. On the wall were pinned sheets of papers—drawings. She wanted to step closer and examine them, but she wasn’t here for a tour.
He ushered her into the chair across from his desk and then took a seat on the other side. His gaze met hers, expression focused but impossible to read. “So, let’s start over. You’re not a reporter.”
“No.”
“You’re a member who has somehow figured out that I’m the one in charge, and you’ve had some problem with the game.”
