Forbidden Desire

Chapter 5

Oliver

Dinner with management happened much like all the corporate wine-and-dines Oliver had attended since he’d started working for Sam: a fancy restaurant, too much alcohol consumed by the clients, and far too many people trying to impress them. When Sam was at one of these things, he was always graceful and poised in a way that neither Oliver nor Eli could manage.

The suit was getting to Oliver. He never understood how Sam and Eli managed to wear them day in and out. He had dressed this way every day before, but that job—working for a corporate bank—had been sheer hell, from the quips about his ethnicity to his off-the-rack clothes.

Eli wore a suit like he’d been born in it, but was out of his element when faced with small talk and pleasantries. Not that he wasn’t the consummate professional, he just never relaxed on these trips, and this one seemed to be eating away at him. His smile was too sharp, as if it wanted to turn into a snarl or worse—a frown—and he couldn’t stop fiddling with his watchband.

Eli met Oliver’s gaze. He was stuck in a conversation with Ryan Kendall, Singularity’s mouthy CFO, who was bragging about how much money he’d saved the company. There was a hint of desperation in Eli’s lifting of an eyebrow. Please help me out here, he seemed to say.

Oliver cleared his throat. “So, the Seahawks have become quite the team.” It was as if the whole table sighed in relief, and boy, did everyone have an opinion.

“You a Steelers fan?” That from Stephen.

Oliver shook his head. “Eagles. Born and raised near Philly. Can’t quite escape my youth.”

Someone laughed and Stephen grinned. “We have a girl like that. Isabella.”

A cool numbness followed by heat trickled up into Oliver’s skull. How many times had watching the game in Isabella’s basement turned into making out on the couch until they both couldn’t breathe?

Before he could say anything, Sandra cut in. “Oliver knows Isabella, don’t you?”

He caught the edge of Eli’s look. Curiosity.

That was on the faces of everyone else, too. He tried to shrug and hoped to hell it didn’t look like the wince it felt like. “We went to the same high school. She was a pretty serious fan back then.” But not so much that she hadn’t sucked Oliver off a few times while the sports announcers droned on in the background.

Those memories superimposed with the stunning woman Isabella had become didn’t do anything to keep his d**k down. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind replaying those old times.

Oliver shifted in his seat and reached for his water. “I have to admit, I’m pretty surprised I don’t get flack when I wear my jersey in Pittsburgh.”

“Really?” Stephen said. “I thought people there were rabid about their team?”

“Oh we are.” Eli toyed with his glass. “But it’s not like he’s a Ravens fan.”

The conversation devolved into stats, predictions, and how the refs had screwed both teams over.

Oliver leaned back and sipped his water. Deed done, though he hadn’t expected Eli to be into football. Or hockey, for that matter, when talk slid into that for a moment.

For the rest of dinner, the conversation remained light and thankfully devoid of Isabella’s name. Still, he couldn’t keep the more adult version of Isabella’s smile from slipping into his brain. She’d fill out and gain such lovely curve and stopped Oliver’s heart.

So very unfair. If they hadn’t known each other, if Isabella hadn’t broken her heart repeatedly, he’d have been tempted to flirt hard with the woman.

That was one of the better ways to get over a breakup—a nice, hot one-night stand. Would certainly put Kris from his mind.

But Isabella was a breakup. Many, many, many breakups. And there weren’t enough women in the world to get Isabella out of Oliver’s head.

His swirling thoughts of Isabella weren’t helped by a silent and twitchy Eli during the ride back to the hotel. Eli fiddled with his watch again.

Okay, something really was bothering him.

Sure enough, those proud shoulders dropped the moment they stepped into the hotel. Eli gestured at the bar. “Care for a few? On me?”

After sitting next to Isabella all afternoon and nothing but water for dinner? He f*****g needed a beer. “Don’t you mean on Sam?” He followed Eli into the hotel bar.

“No, this is on my dime. I’m not charging Sam for my sins.”

“Your sins?”

Eli signaled the server and took a seat at one of the booths. With his leg, bar stools were probably not the most comfortable. “I’ve been expressly forbidden from beating the finance department into submission. Doesn’t keep me from wanting to, especially given the state of their records. The fools are just asking for an audit.” He flicked open the bar menu. “And after that stint of bragging by their CFO? I’m going to get a bit drunk.”

Eli the control freak, tipsy? This ought to be interesting. “Engineering isn’t bad. Lots of stuff not written down, but the procedures are coming along.”

Thanks to Isabella. Who knew someone so lackadaisical could also be so organized? Then again, thinking back, his room had always been neat. “There’s some undocumented open source code I noticed, so speaking of audits, I’ll need to do one.”

Eli twisted his lips into a bitter expression. “Let Sam know.”

Oliver nodded. The server finally appeared and took their drink orders. A large gin martini for Eli and a Pike Stout for him.

Eli leaned back. “The people in finance aren’t bad. Most of them are doing what they’ve been told. Ryan needs to be canned, with prejudice.” Eli worked his jaw and shook his head. “How that man got into that position— f*****g i***t’s schemes are barely legal. If that.”

Oliver winced in sympathy. No wonder Eli wanted a drink. He might not understand the financial end of things, but he trusted Eli’s knowledge. He was tough, could be an ass sometimes, but the man was fair to a fault.