And the Survey Says

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

By the time I got back to my office, my temper had not dissipated one iota. My cursing, on the other hand, had lessened to only a mumble. Still, my voice’s decreased volume did not keep the snide remarks from reaching the ears of my trusted gatekeeper, Mallory Peel, administrative assistant extraordinaire.

“Good Lord, what in the dickens are you babbling on about now?” she asked, looking up from behind the computer at her workstation and giving me one of her sunniest smiles.

“Nothing, nothing,” I muttered, storming past her and into my office. “Do me a favor, will you, Mal?”

“What’s that?” she asked, already standing in my office doorway with a pen and notepad in hand.

“Check my calendar for this afternoon and see if I have any time to meet with the magnificent Ford Trionni.”

She hurriedly closed the door, secluding us from the rest of the department. Her ruby red lips curled upward in a lecherous smile, and her bright blue eyes rounded with interest. “Oh, the ‘Italian Stallion’? Tell me everything.”

“The ‘Italian…’? Oh, yeah. Or, as he will certainly be better known in due time, that ‘Sanctimonious, Condescending, Son Of A Bitch.’”

She flung strands of sleek blonde hair over one shoulder, while her thin eyebrows inched up her pretty face. “Things went that well in the meeting, did they?”

I shrugged off my suit jacket and haphazardly tossed it on a nearby credenza. “That well…not!”

“What happened?”

“Guess who got himself assigned to help the new kid settle in on Brighton Breeze?” I plopped down in my desk chair and slipped off my loafers. “And what’s so damned amusing?”

“That means the two best-looking guys in the office will be working together. What fun. Ah, the fantasies I could conjure up…”

“Spare me. And despite the compliment regarding my looks, I’ll thank you to never group me into the same category as ‘Wonder Boy,’ okay?”

She settled her pen and notepad on the edge of my desk, then took my suit coat and hung it on the peg behind the door. “You really should learn to take better care of your clothes, Zane. Armani doesn’t come cheap, you know. Of course, I’ve been telling you that for years now and you haven’t changed your habits, so I don’t know why I waste my breath.”

“What? Oh. Thanks for doing that.” I whacked the desktop with my fist, wondering how long it would take before steam shot out of my ears and nostrils.

She glanced at me for a long moment, then laughed. “You really have it bad, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you just ask him out already?”

“Who?”

“The guy who has you frothing at the mouth and so completely befuddled and distracted.”

“You mean Ford Trionni? Are you out of your ever-loving mind? You think I should ask out that sanctimonious, condescending—”

“Son of a b***h,” she finished for me. “Yes, yes, that’s what I think. And do you know what else I think?”

“No, but please enlighten me.”

“I think you like him. That you really, really like him. A lot.”

“Do you? What makes you say something so…so…utterly batty and revolting?”

“I can’t remember the last time some guy—especially one as hot as that—had your blood boiling like it is right now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in such a tizzy over a man. Not even with Gary in accounting before things went awry, of course.”

“At least Gary was cute,” I mumbled.

I momentarily recalled the lovemaking that occurred during a torrid, three-month affair that ended as suddenly as it began when Gary moved to Texas for a promising career opportunity. Although he’d asked if I’d consider moving with him, I just wasn’t in love with the man, and my own career at WFI took precedence, so we’d broken up. That was more than a year ago, and despite my lack of a steady boyfriend since then, I’d not regretted my decision.

“Sure Gary was cute,” said Mallory. “Cute and hunky. But I saw no tizzy on your part, like I do now.”

“I’m not in a tizzy, and I’m not attracted to the ‘Chi-Town Italian Stallion.’”

“Then you’re also going blind.”

“I’m not talking about his looks. Oh, sure, he’s handsome. I’ll give him that much…grudgingly.”

“How generous of you.”

“But I’m not attracted to his attitude. That shallow and pretentious, bloated and egomaniacal—”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got it bad.”

“I do not.”

“Do so.”

“Do not.”

“Do so.”

“Do not! And before you contradict me again, let’s remember that we’re both adults, shall we? And that I’m your boss.”

She smirked. “What’s that old saying? Something about ‘thou doth protest too much’? Face it, Zane, you’re simply dying to ask him out.”

“Interesting choice of words. That might be an appointment with murder. His!”

“Or one sultry and sizzling night to remember. Ask him out.”

“You read way too many gay romance novels on your k****e, you know?”

“Whatever. Ask him out.”

“Why should I?”

“Because he’s hot and you need a boyfriend. Ask him out.”

“If I would even consider such a ludicrous idea, he might not be gay.”

“Oh, he’s gay all right. Ask him out.”

“Quit saying that. And how do you know his orientation?”

“Because if he weren’t gay, he would have certainly hit on me already.”

“Hmm…” Mallory had made a valid point, and it shut me up long enough to contemplate her claim.

Since the day I’d hired her nearly five years earlier, just about every male employee at Widdley Finch had not only drooled over her, but had begged her for a date on at least one occasion. And sometimes, their marital status didn’t even matter. Were my assistant a gold-digging harlot and not a woman madly in love with her husband, she might have already made a sizeable fortune on the men in the company’s Client Service division alone.

I raked a hand over my neatly trimmed beard and mustache, then over my scalp, probably making my hair stick up at odd angles more than usual. For the second time that morning, I seriously wondered—could Mr. Tummy Troubles be gay after all?

Memories of the earlier “bagel war” flashed through my mind. How Ford had held my hand for far longer than necessary. How his lips had come so close, I thought he might kiss me. How he’d given me the impression that he also had fantasies about comparing d**k sizes with me.

So yeah, maybe he was gay after all, I decided, my gut clenching in momentary excitement.

But then, I reminded myself, what did it matter anyway? The man was insufferable. Yes, utterly and sickeningly insufferable.

“What are you thinking about, Zane?” asked Mallory, slicing through my mental storm like a bolt of lightning and jarring me. “That perhaps I’m right? Or imagining your first date with the man?”

“So he hasn’t asked you out?” I queried, growing more intrigued, despite myself. “Not even a hint?”

“Do you see me floating on cloud nine?” She sat in one of the chairs opposite my desk and used her left thumb to twirl her wedding and engagement rings around her finger. “I may be completely devoted to my sweetheart Billy, but a gal appreciates being noticed by handsome guys other than her hubby from time to time. So, nope, Ford Trionni hasn’t asked me out.”

“But certainly he’s window-shopped or—”

“Not so much as a glance my way. Nope, and since he isn’t married, he’s definitely gay.”

“Maybe he’s in love and committed.”

“Maybe, but if he is, it isn’t with any female. I’ve been wearing my best outfits these past few days—”

“Yes, those tight sweaters are certainly attention-grabbing. Just ask all the men taking unnecessary detours past your workstation throughout the day.”

“—And the man hasn’t even given me so much as a ‘how do you do.’ So quit hunting for excuses and arguing with me, Zane, and ask him out on a date. Let me live vicariously through you. Please. Pretty please?”

“Oh, like I’d give you any of the details of my dates.”

“Why not? You know there’s nothing exciting happening here at WFI. You and Ford could give us the new water-cooler topic we so desperately need to liven things up. And there’s nothing juicier than a sexy power-couple.”

“A power what?”

“A power-couple. Hollywood has tons of them, so it’s about time Connecticut had one of its own. And a gay one at that, which is even more delicious. Tinseltown can keep their boring old ‘Bennifers,’ ‘TomKats,’ and ‘Brangelinas’—we’ll have our ‘Zord’!”

“Okay, lady, it’s official. You’ve gone off the deep end, and somewhere there’s a straightjacket with your name on it just waiting for you.”

“You think?”

“That you’re nuts? Yes. Either that or those fictional gay romances you devour are finally seeping into your brain. Or both.”

“And I’ve never known you to be a chicken-shit.”

“I’m not.”

“So what’s the problem, then? You obviously like him—”

“Loathe, Mallory, loathe him.”

She stopped toying with her rings and gestured with her hand. “You say ‘potato’…I say ‘chicken-shit.’” She grabbed her notepad and pen. “Now, what time should I set up the meeting?”

“Meeting? Huh? Oh, yeah…and stop giggling! I remember the meeting. I’m not…what did you call me earlier?”

“Befuddled and distracted.”

“Well, I’m not those things either. If I’m free at two o’clock, that would be fine.”

“Oh, you’re free.”

“You know my schedule by memory?”

“Who cares what’s already on your schedule? I’ll make time. This meeting is important for your sanity. Are you going to his office?”

“No way in hell. Make him come here, to me!”

“Oh, goody, a game of one-upmanship. Now this could truly become the highlight of working at WFI, watching you two studs spar with each other.”

“We’re not going to spar.”

“Not even a little? Really? Too bad.”

“Why so disappointed?”

“You know how all the straight guys fantasize about us gals naked and mud wrestling, right? Well we gals certainly wouldn’t mind seeing two hunks wrestling around in the buff from time to time either, mud or not.”

“Now you’re getting on my nerves.”

“Regardless, I’ll call his office and see if his assistant Audrey can send him over here at two o’clock. I’ll also see if I can rent a tub of mud for the ‘Zord’ event.”

“Leave my office. Now.”

She smiled and stood. “Your wish is my command.”

After she left and closed the door behind her, I sat in silence and fumed. Ford Trionni. What an absolute jackass. What a patronizing, smarmy, conceited bastard.

And what a f*****g hunk.

Damn it, I kept coming back to that, didn’t I? Oh God, maybe Mallory was right. I truly couldn’t get the man out of my mind. Maybe he had gotten under my skin so easily because of my s****l attraction to him. And now, I couldn’t help but recall Mallory’s words. The notion of being alone with Ford, buck naked, wrestling around in a pool of mud, our slick bodies sliding against each other, our c***s iron-erect and dripping in need, had me sporting another boner in seconds. “Zord” indeed!

I spun my chair toward the wall of windows, gazed out at the sun-swept morning, and groaned. I had half a mind to reach into my pants and relieve myself of the pent-up frustration. It had been weeks since last I’d gotten laid, weeks since I’d sucked a throbbing d**k, and I would definitely relish an evening of s****l gratification with a muscular male for company. Definitely one who looked like Ford. I palmed my groin for a moment, then rejected the notion of taking the play any further. As I had told myself in the meeting only a short time ago, I needed to pull myself together. The last thing I wanted was to fall under the spell of the “wonder kid,” especially one who intended, without a doubt, to leap to the top of the WFI ladder and climb all over me in the process.

Just then, the intercom buzzed. I turned around and picked up the phone. “Yeah, Mal?”

“Two o’clock it is. And he’s coming to you, as requested. Just one question remains.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Do you want that tub of mud I suggested or not?”

“Do you want me to confiscate your k****e? Get back to work please.”

“Sure thing, but after I make the popcorn, all right? This show is going to be the biggest thing at WFI.” After giggling, she hung up.

I glanced down at the painful tent in my lap. Apparently the upcoming meeting with Ford wasn’t the only biggest thing at WFI.