And the Survey Says

Chapter 1 The large hand closed over mine and momentarily startled me. “Hold on, there, Grabby McGrabber,” said a gruff, possessive voice. Just inches from my fingertips, the whole-wheat bagel rested on a nearly empty platter atop the conference room sideboard, blissfully ignorant regarding the sudden contention between two human beings to claim it. I looked up and into the dark, twinkling eyes of my unexpected opponent. Shivers chased along my spine. Not tingles of fear, mind you. Indeed, quite the opposite. A chill of s****l longing raced through my body and settled in my groin, where it exploded in a wave of sudden heat. “The name’s Zane Caldwell,” I corrected. “And?” “And nothing.” “No apology?” “For what?” “Didn’t you hear me call dibs on that bagel a second ago?” “I just came in,” I justified truthfully. I did my best to hold eye contact instead of allowing my gaze to tumble down to the man’s moist lips. Oh God, those lips. I had fantasized about them for the past few days, ever since this new project director had entered the office building for the first time. Only this morning before work, I had jacked off in the shower, imagining those luscious lips encircling my throbbing, spurting erection and dripping with my seed. “And you think that’s an excuse that will hold up in any court of law?” I chuckled. “So this has the magnitude of a legal matter?” “Theft is theft.” Using my free hand, I pointed to the prized bagel, all too aware that my other hand still found itself imprisoned in his warm grip. With an alluring presence so profound, he seemed to loom over me, although he clearly matched my six-foot-two stature. “I don’t see a name on it, do you?” “But I said, I called dibs.” “And I said, I didn’t hear that. I repeat, I just walked in for the Friday morning meeting, poured some coffee, and spotted the bagel. So unless there’s a tag dangling from it, the bagel is clear pickings. Why don’t you just take that other one instead?” “Cinnamon and raisin.” He winced. “Doesn’t agree with me.” “Gives you tummy troubles, huh? Poor guy.” “My digestion is none of your concern.” “It is my concern when that last whole-wheat bagel is in question.” I finally, although reluctantly, tugged my hand from his grasp, from the physical contact that had my c**k hardening with the speed of a puma. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been the last one if you had gotten here sooner. You know what they say about the early bird.” “What? That it catches the bagel? Next you’ll be saying ‘all is fair in bagels and war.’” “The bagel part is true.” He leaned forward, bringing his mouth closer to mine, so close that my nostrils rejoiced in the spicy scent of his Brut cologne. With no small amount of shock, I actually wondered if this hunk of a man—straight as an arrow, or so I’d assumed until now—might kiss me. “So,” he whispered, “is this war?” “You tell me.” My gaze locked on his lips…so moist…so tempting…so close…and inching closer still… Before they curled up in an overbearing grin. “But I called dibs.” I shook my head in exasperation. “Man, you sound like a broken record. Fine, fine, have it your way,” I relented. I desperately needed to put some distance between us before I did something totally inappropriate, or my growing erection ripped through my dress slacks, whichever came first. “You’re the newbie here, so I’ll let you have it. This time.” “Gee, thanks so much.” “No problem. I’ll just be the bigger man.” “The bigger man? Is that so?” The lips that had played a starring role in my recent s****l fantasies now twisted into a smirk, one brimming with challenge. And something else that made me suddenly wonder—had we been alone in the room, would he have dared me to pull out my c**k and compare size with his? I wish! No, this guy wasn’t gay. My gaydar would certainly have picked up on any signs before today, right? Actually, up until a few seconds ago, I didn’t think he had an interest in anyone other than himself. Unwittingly, my gaze wandered downward, over the resolute jaw with its slight cleft, the corded throat with its jumping Adam’s apple, and the wide shoulders, finally taking in the way his blue dress shirt hugged his muscular arms and lean, sculpted torso. Gay or not, screw it. Or rather, screw him, literally, at least in my carnal reveries. I pictured myself slamming him against the sideboard, clamping my mouth to his, while brushing aside his tie of gray and white polka dots in order to gain access to the buttons of his shirt. I imagined those buttons ricocheting off the walls and ceiling as I tore open that shirt before running my trembling hands and drooling tongue over his chest and— “Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” said Walter Shanks, the vice president in charge of my department, “let’s get started, shall we?” For an instant, I stared back into the newbie’s sparkling eyes, then I took a paper plate in hand and claimed possession of the raisin and cinnamon bagel. “Happy now?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed the mug of freshly poured coffee and spun around, carrying my breakfast down near my waist to hide any “crotch tenting” that might have resulted from my encounter with the new guy. Thankfully, none of the other project directors seemed to be paying any attention to me as I made my way to the conference table. When I sat down, I noted only one seat remained empty, the one directly to my right. Oh s**t. I couldn’t be that lucky, could I? Sure enough, Mr. Tummy Troubles plopped down a moment later. On the table, he settled a paper plate with the whole-wheat bagel beside a notepad and pen, while his sinfully handsome face shot me a look of victory. Yet somehow, I felt the triumphant one, especially when his left leg brushed against my right one beneath the table as he scooted his chair forward. Great, that’s all I needed, I thought in yearning. More physical contact to enliven my already ripe m**********n fantasies. Walter tapped a pen on the table, drawing everyone’s attention to his burly frame. With his full head of snow-white hair and a mustache and beard equally as stark, the man could have easily subbed for Santa Claus during the holiday season. He certainly had the jolly disposition to match. “Before we begin discussing our accounts today, I wanted to formerly introduce everyone to Ford Trionni, our latest addition to the department.” Mr. Tummy Troubles lifted a hand. “Hello, all.” Words of acknowledgement and welcome poured from the dozen or so people at the table. I said nothing. Walter continued. “Ford will be taking over some of Jackie’s accounts because her maternity leave, as you all know by now, has been extended indefinitely. I can’t say I’m surprised. Triplets are one hell of an addition to a family.” Several men whistled or chuckled. Some of the women physically squirmed as if imagining the true hell Jackie must have gone through during the birthing process, not to mention the dirty diapers, the endless feedings, and the countless sleepless nights she faced in the future. “Anyway,” said Walter, “I brought in Ford partly due to his extensive knowledge of Brighton Breeze Fruit Drinks and their older advertising campaigns. As some of you probably know, he worked at World Market Trends for years, almost exclusively on the Brighton Breeze account—” “Before Jackie snatched them away as a client,” I said. “For us.” Several project directors snickered, while Walter patted his bulging belly and beamed in no small amount of pride. Ford Trionni, to my satisfaction, turned red in the cheeks. He recovered quickly, however, then gestured nonchalantly. “Yeah, yeah, win some, lose some.” He glanced at me, then at the whole-wheat bagel. The smug bastard! “That’s all part of the game in this crazy business, right?” “Right!” Walter continued to beam. “But glad there’s no hard feelings, Ford. And I’m especially glad you decided to join us here at Widdley Finch Incorporated, where your talents will be put to good use, no doubt. Ford has had experience working on many other high-profile accounts that will likely aid us here at WFI in the future, but he can tell you all about his impressive background at another time.” No need, I mused, taking a bite of the savory cinnamon and raisin bagel before drawing a sip of steaming coffee. Ever since the supposedly brilliant Ford Trionni got hired to replace Jackie, the office had been abuzz regarding the man’s career and accomplishments. And that buzzing had gained almost fevered momentum once he stepped through the doors at the beginning of the week and the secretarial pool had gotten a good look at him. Well, who could blame the water-cooler denizens, really, especially with such great fodder to discuss? The six-foot-two package of muscle and sinew looked like an Italian movie star, with his gleaming dark hair and sideburns, black-brown eyes, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow that darkened the olive-toned skin around those lips. Those juicy lips… Regardless, the man was about the sexiest creature I had ever encountered in all of my thirty-two years. Like the secretaries, I also felt my stomach cramping and my knees shaking whenever I caught a glimpse of him, and I had done my damnedest to find out as much as I could about him. Although I hated to admit it, I wasn’t beneath doing a bit of casual eavesdropping whenever I heard his name being mentioned. Ford Trionni’s personal life remained cloaked in mystery, apart from the fact that he had just turned thirty, wasn’t married, and had moved here to Connecticut from Illinois the previous week. At least that was the office gossip that had spread like wildfire, eagerly conveyed to me by my administrative assistant. Details regarding the man’s professional life, however, were easier to unearth. Supposedly, while employed at World Market Trends in Chicago, Ford was considered the “wonder kid,” a true up-and-comer in the marketing research industry. His analytical skills and innovative campaign suggestions for some of America’s top manufacturers had been praised in publications such as Advertising Age and at numerous conventions. And the cocky bastard seemed to wear his accolades like a badge on his lapel. He strutted around the office like a peacock with his head held high and seemed perfectly content basking in his own splendor. Pride I could easily tolerate; arrogance I could not. But the worst part of it was, I hated myself for being so attracted to him. Never before had any guy with his cocky attitude or snobbish bearing drawn or held my attention. So why now? Simply put, I couldn’t ignore the guy’s looks. Damn it to hell, Ford Trionni was just the type of tall, dark, and handsome I had always craved in my bed. And I wanted him in the worst way. Wanted to savor every inch of him. Wanted to slide under the table even now, fish out his d**k, and suck the jizz from his balls. Wanted to bend him over the conference table and ram his shapely ass until I exploded in a surge of pure ecstasy and— “Zane? Are you with us?” asked Walter amidst several giggles. “Yeah, sorry,” I said, crashing back to the present and feeling my own cheeks flare with heat. “Just gathering my thoughts regarding the Country Land Foods account,” I lied. “What was the question?” Walter smiled like a proud father. “I received a call from the folks at The Bridal House. The tracking study we did for their most recent advertising campaign pleased them immensely, so they’ve booked several ad hoc surveys, along with another extensive tracker, beginning immediately. In other words, they’ve just doubled the size of their account, and then some. Great job, Zane. Great job.” “Thank you.” “The problem, however, is that you’re way too immersed in picking up the slack on some of Jackie’s accounts, not to mention keeping up with your own, so I don’t want to overburden you with the increased workload from The Bridal House. Therefore, after much deliberation, I’ve come to a decision. Stella, here, just got herself hitched, endured the whole ‘wedding gown shopping nightmare’ firsthand and lived to tell the tale. Isn’t that right?” Several laughs came from the people in the room, including one from Stella, who also nodded in exaggerated, wide-eyed parody of a horror-stricken newlywed. “You’ve got that right, chief.” “So, I’ve decided to hand over The Bridal House account to her, thereby freeing you up, Zane. How does that sound?” “You’ll receive absolutely no arguments from me,” I said, thoroughly relieved. Ever since The Bridal House had come on board at WFI, I’d always had a difficult time getting enthused whenever their research team talked to me about the company’s latest fashions and ad campaign goals. Despite their positive feedback regarding my efforts on their most recent yearlong study, I truly had little interest in continuing to work with them. I’d made it clear to Walter many months ago, so I was thrilled he’d finally come through with his promise to remove me from the account. I supposed I should be ashamed that I, a proud gay man, knew next to nothing when it came to the world of bridal fashion, or any fashion, for that matter. Then again, I had never fit the stupid gay stereotypes, or possessed the stereotypical gay-man interests. Excluding one, of course, I thought, desperately trying not to glance at the alluring man sitting next to me. “I’m not married, don’t ever plan to be married—” “Or wear a wedding gown you’ve purchased from The Bridal House, right?” interjected Stella, laughing. “Ha! Yeah, right. So I’ll gratefully hand over the account to someone who actually speaks their weird language. If you want to come to my office later today, Stella, I’ll fill you in on where things stand with their last study.” She nodded. “Next week would be better.” “Fine with me.” “Great,” said Walter, “now with that settled, I have some more shuffling of accounts to do.” He pulled a hand-drawn chart from a folder, and for the next fifteen minutes, our VP reassigned the remainder of Jackie’s workload amongst the other project directors. Thankfully, since we’d had many months to prepare for our colleague’s maternity leave, most of us had worked with her, learning the nuances of her current projects, so the shifts in power would have few glitches. With that thought in mind, I finished off my bagel and gulped down the last mouthful of coffee. “Now, that leaves only Jackie’s major account, Brighton Breeze Fruit Drinks.” Walter paused and looked directly at me. “You helped Jackie on their last tracking study, so you’re obviously the most knowledgeable regarding the account. Therefore, with you freed from the demands of The Bridal House, I need you to assist Ford and get him settled in. He may have worked with some of the same folks at Brighton Breeze years ago, but our tracking studies are completely different from anything over at World Market Trends. It may take a bit of effort to bring him up to speed on where things stand and how procedures work around here.” “It won’t take long at all,” said Ford, one side of his mouth turning upward in that arrogant grin I detested. “I’ve always been a quick study. Oh, no pun intended.” Walter and a few of the others, especially the women in the room, laughed at his smarmy charm. I, however, wanted to puke up the bagel. Not only that, but the news made my gut clench in a small amount of dread and a great amount of excitement. s****l excitement. Working so closely with Mr. Tummy Troubles might just give me an ulcer, thanks to his lordly attitude. But then again, it might not. Nevertheless, I knew I’d have to pull myself together and stay focused on work when it came to dealing with him. I glanced at the man now. His eyes silently indicated that he considered me a rival and would take great pleasure in one-upping me whenever he found a chance to impress Walter. Despite all of that, I couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to bury my c**k in his ass. When the meeting finally adjourned, Ford started to leave with the others. Before doing so, however, he paused at the doorway, turned, and gave me a final look. “Hey, Grabby, call my assistant and set up an appointment for later today so we can get started on the Brighton Breeze transfer.” Both the nickname and the accompanying directive rankled. Of all the f*****g nerve. The son of a b***h thought he could throw his weight around? Could dole out commands? Could treat me like a flunky instead of his equal? Oh, how I’d love to force him to his knees, stuff my solid eight inches between those smirking lips, and teach him who had seniority around here. I’ll show you grabby! I gave him a sharp salute and clicked the heels of my loafers together. “Yes, General. Whatever you say, General.” “Oh, sorry,” he said with an aura of false sincerity. “If you have time, that is.” “Yeah, I have time, especially when it comes to our clients.” Without saying another word, the “wonder kid” momentarily glanced at the conference table. His eyes twinkled with insolence, and his grin widened even more before he spun around, sashayed away, and left me to gather my things. Only then did I notice the whole-wheat bagel sitting forlornly on his paper plate, completely untouched and abandoned.