After returning to the building, Brandon and I spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through the book of models in my office and calling their agents to see if any would be available for the shoot. We ended up booking four models shortly before six o'clock.

Brandon stood from the chair he had placed beside my desk and stretched his arms over his head.

"You know, we could save some money if you model some of the clothes," I said as I looked at his long, lean body.

He chuckled. "Not that shit again, Kinney."

"I'm serious," I said.

He looked down at me. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? You're hot enough to model, too."

"I have modeled, actually," I said.

"Really?"

"Not professionally, but to make money when I was at Penn State, I modeled clothes for the school's fashion program along with doing some posing for their drawing and sculpting classes."

He looked at me curiously. "Did that include... nude modeling?"

I stood so we were eye-to-eye. I caught a whiff of his cologne, which smelled like Acqua Di Gio by Armani, which I also owned. "Yeah... several times."

He licked his lips. "Would you ever... get hard when you did this nude modeling?"

I snorted. "Nothing kills an erection faster than standing around naked in a cold classroom in front of a bunch of drooling college girls."

He cupped his hand over my dick, which had started to come to life as soon as he had said the word hard. "What a shame," he said.

Brandon then started to come in for a kiss, but I turned my head. "I don't kiss," I said into his ear.

He squinted at me as he started rubbing me through my slacks. "Why not?"

"Because people kiss when they make love," I said. "I don't make love- I fuck."

He considered that for a moment and nodded. "Good point."

I reached up and loosened his tie. "I'm a very smart man."

"I'm beginning to realize that," Brandon said as he began working on my belt buckle.

After I closed the blinds and locked the door, we ended up on the floor in front of my desk, both of us naked. His body was beautifully toned, much like my own. He started licking his way down my chest, continuing down toward my cock. Without any hesitation, he took it into his mouth and swallowed around my nine inches.

"Gah!" I yelled out. He continued to suck my dick for several minutes as if he were going for the gold at the Fellatio Olympics until I started to shake from my building orgasm.

Moments before I was about to shoot, he pulled his mouth away and dipped his head down to start rimming me. I pulled my knees up higher to allow him better access, and he began to jerk me off as his tongue went to town on my ass.

Now I know what exactly Justin meant when he said that Brandon's hands and mouth were everywhere...

I was lying there with my eyes closed, thoroughly enjoying the moment, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a condom packet tearing. I looked up to see Brandon place the tip of the condom over the head of his dick, which was every bit the eight inches Justin had estimated.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked him.

He smirked. "You're a smart man, why don't you take a guess?"

I grabbed onto his wrist. "You're not fucking me, I can tell you that much."

"You're sure as shit not fucking me," Brandon said.

I sat up, and we stared at each other for several breaths. "Well then... we're at a crossroads," I said.

He sighed. "I guess so." He stood up a moment later and went for his clothes after throwing the condom and wrapper in my trash can.

"Uh... you're going to leave me like this?" I asked him, motioning toward my red, leaking cock.

In lieu of uttering an answer, he started getting dressed, the bitch.

I also got up and put my clothes back on, although my dick was screaming for release. I had just knotted my tie after putting on my shirt and pants before someone knocked on my door.

Without checking to see if Brandon was fully clothed, I walked over and pulled the door open. Justin was standing outside, wearing his coat and carrying a black leather messenger bag.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving for the day," Justin said before looking past me at Brandon, who was sitting on my couch and tying his shoes.

Justin raised his eyebrows at me.

"Thank you, Mr. Taylor," I said. "Let's meet in the conference room at ten tomorrow, and we'll show you the pictures of the models we booked for the shoot. I'm sure you'll approve."

Justin looked down at my bare feet before nodding and turning around to leave. I closed the door again.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything," Brandon said as he put his jacket back on.

I highly doubted that, since Justin admitted his own tryst with Brandon to me during lunch with very little prodding, along with the tale of how he got his meeting with Leo Brown. "He didn't see anything, so there's nothing to tell," I said.

"Specifically, he won't say anything to Vance," Brandon clarified. "We have a no-fraternizing policy in place, and he would never fuck me over like that."

I chuckled. "Well, it's good to know that you always follow the rules."

"Fuck you," Brandon said. "And you'd better not say anything about this, either."

I shrugged. "What would I even say? I didn't cum, so nothing happened, and I'm not going to stand here and pretend like I've never fucked anyone below me before."

"Ah yes, the Kip Thomas Incident," Brandon said.

"Where did you hear about that?" I asked. "That matter was dropped, because there was no evidence that supported his claims. It was only his word against mine."

He gave me a wolfish grin. "I have my sources."

I stared into his piercing eyes for a few moments before I opened the door. "I'll see you tomorrow... Boss."

He gave me a single head nod before walking out, and I slammed the door behind him.

Asshole.

I met my friends later that evening at our favorite gay watering hole on Liberty Avenue, Woody's. My best friend Mikey was making goo-goo eyes at his new boyfriend Zen Ben, and our friend Ted was knocking back celebratory shots of Jack Daniels.

I helped get Ted a job in the financial department at Ryder a few months back, and Vance decided to keep him on today after two of his accountants decided to stay in Chicago.

"Oh, I can't believe it," Ted repeated for about the tenth time that evening. "It's such a fucking relief."

"Uh-huh," I said as I stared at a sexy brunette across the room.

"I was the last one Vance called to speak with him, and the whole day I had to watch as everyone packed up their desks. It was brutal."

"Why did he decide to keep you out of all the other accountants?" I asked him.

Ted grimaced after taking another shot. He was a cheap drunk who normally stuck to beer, and it was only a matter of time before Mikey and Ben had to carry his ass out of there. "I don't know. Why did he keep you out of the other account execs? I heard he let everyone go but you, which surprised me since I know for a fact that you were the highest-paid employee Ryder had."

"Because I'm brilliant, of course, and worth every penny," I answered, keeping mum about Emmett Honeycutt's involvement. "Maybe Vance kept you because you were the newest one in the department. Loyalty seems to be an important quality to him in his employees."

"Whatever the reason, I'm just glad he did," Ted said, starting to slur. "It's such a fucking relief."

Soon after that, I took the sexy brunette to the bathroom to get a little relief of my own, which was much needed after the tease that Brandon had given me earlier. The trick was nice and tight, so I quite enjoyed myself.

I looked back at the table we had occupied after coming back out and saw that the guys were gone. Mikey was no doubt driving Ted home with Ben following behind them.

I was thinking about calling it a night until I saw Brandon of all people strut his fine ass through the door. He was wearing a black leather bomber jacket (Dolce and Gabbana if I had to guess) and tight blue jeans, much like my own current ensemble except that my jacket was Hugo Boss.

He walked over to the bar to order a drink and I walked up behind him. Without saying a word, I reached out and used my index finger to trace over the seam on the crack of his jeans, applying a bit of pressure to draw his attention.

He abruptly turned around and locked eyes with me. "Oh, it's you."

I flashed him a smile. "Are you stalking me now?"

He scoffed. "I don't go to any new city without knowing where the gay bars are."

"Well, that's just good sense," I said, nodding.

The bartender walked over and I said to him, "Hey Tim, this is Brandon. Get our new friend here a shot of Patrón and put it on my tab, will you?"

Brandon smirked at me. "More like a Bud Light, and I'll pay for it myself."

I clicked my tongue. "Well, in that case, get me a shot of Patrón," I said to Tim.

"I guess you're looking forward to Mexico, aren't you?" Brandon asked.

"Hell, yeah," I said. "Have you ever been?"

"I went to Tijuana a few times during my crazy college years at UCLA," he said.

"I went to Cancun during spring break my senior year at Penn State," I said. I then pulled back the sleeve of my jacket to show him the cowry shell bracelet I always wore on my right wrist. "That's where I got this."

He ran a finger over one of the shells. "They look like little vulvas... with teeth."

I chuckled. "The cowry shell is a symbol of power and wealth," I informed him. "They were used as currency in Africa and China for centuries."

"Do you always say that when someone accuses you of wearing lady parts on your wrist?" he asked me.

I tossed back my shot of tequila. "Yes."

He laughed as he took his wallet out of his back pocket to pay for his drink. "Very snappy."

A pool table opened up a few moments later. "Do you play?" I asked him as I pointed to the table.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I played in a few tournaments in LA and Chicago."

"Were you in any clubs?" I asked as I took off my jacket.

"No, I would play in local matches."

We walked over to the table and I started racking up the balls. "Winner gets to top on any night he so chooses?" I asked him.

He smiled in amusement as he shed his jacket. "You're that good, huh?"

"You better believe it," I said. "I'm also a pretty decent pool player."

"Ha ha... Eight-ball?" he asked, referring to the popular game.

I nodded and handed him a cue.

Just to be nice, I let him break and he pocketed a stripe. He pocketed another stripe before missing a shot.

I methodically started making my way around the table, pocketing a solid ball with each shot. I glanced at him after every successful shot, and he didn't start to look concerned until I had only one solid ball and the eight ball left.

"Doing alright there, buddy?" I asked him.

He nodded before draining the rest of his beer bottle.

"How about we make this a little more interesting?" I asked.

"What, the winner gets to tie up the loser, too?"

I chuckled. "No... if I win, you don't go to Mexico for the photo shoot."

The last thing I wanted was his mightier-than-thou attitude ruining my trip. There would only be enough room in Puerto Vallarta for one of us.

He looked at the table intently. "That's a pretty tough shot you have there," he said, referring to the positions of the cue ball and my solid ball.

"It certainly is," I agreed. I stuck out my right hand to seal the deal, and he shook it a few moments later.

I walked around the table to get into a better position, called the pocket, and sank the solid ball.

"Nice," Brandon said appreciatively.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," I said. "I was a member of the Penn State Billiards Club, and I was president from my senior year until graduating from business school."

He chuckled ironically. "Of course you were."

"But don't worry, the next time you give me an opening, I'll be sure to take it."

He rolled his eyes.

We both looked at the table and saw that my last shot, pocketing the eight ball, was going to be even tougher than my previous shot.

"How about we sweeten the pot a little bit more?" I asked him.

He looked at me and waited.

"If I make this shot, you go to Vance tomorrow morning and tell him you want off the Honeycutt account. I was the one who signed it, anyway."

He looked at me like I was an idiot. "No."

"Oh, come on," I said, badgering him. "I'm sure you have other accounts to worry about."

He shook his head. "None that will look as good on my resume as this one will."

I walked closer to him and looked straight into his eyes. "Fine. How about if you can sink the eight ball right now, you win the original prize of getting to top me. Unfortunately, I have to stay on the account or else precious little Emmy Honeycutt will throw a shit fit."

He looked at the table again and smiled nervously. "And if I miss?"

"I'll take the next shot, and if I miss, you win. But, of course if I don't miss..."

He looked at me for a few more moments. "Excuse me," he said, indicating for me to give him room to take the shot.

I stepped away and stared at his tight ass as he bent over the table, licking my lips. He called the pocket, struck the cue ball, and narrowly missed the shot.

"Shit," he hissed.

"Oh!" I said dramatically. "Ain't that a bitch?"

He sighed as he stepped back. "Your turn."

This time the shot was much easier, and I pocketed the eight ball effortlessly.

I walked over to him and put my arm around his shoulders. "So...?"

"I'll tell Vance tomorrow that I'm too busy with my other accounts to focus on the Honeycutt campaign. Like you said, it was your account, anyway."

"Good boy... and?"

He glanced over at me. "And because I will no longer be on the account, I won't go to Mexico for the shoot."

I smiled. "And...?"

He pulled my arm off and took a step back. "And my ass is yours... for one night only."

"Let's make it the Monday after I get back from the photo shoot, eight o'clock. I'll tie you up if you want me to."

He rolled in his lips and shook his head.

I walked into the conference room the next morning and informed the team that Mr. Greene would no longer be joining us. Carrie, Melissa, and Jerry all looked relieved. I'm sure they won't look like that after they realize what an asshole I am...

Justin, on the other hand, didn't react at all. In fact, he didn't look me in the eye the entire day, even after we decided to order in some Chinese for lunch so we could continue working.

Justin announced that he was going downstairs for a smoke after he finished eating and I joined him in the smoking lounge on the fifteenth floor, which was the lowest floor the firm occupied, a minute later. He was sitting alone on the brown leather couch, which was scarred from years of people dropping lit cigarettes on it.

"We better enjoy this room while we can, because Vance is threatening to remove it," he said without looking at me.

I chuckled while lighting my cigarette, remaining standing. "If he thinks I'm smoking outside when it's below freezing in the winter or hotter than hell in the summer, he can kiss my ass."

"He let us smoke in an area of the parking garage at the Chicago office, and he installed a heat lamp overhead so we wouldn't freeze our asses off," Justin informed me. "There were a couple of picnic tables that we could sit and eat lunch at."

"How sweet of him," I said. "So, you want to tell me what's gotten your panties in a twist?"

He finally met my eyes. "Huh?"

I leaned up against the wall and struck a James Dean pose. "Huh?" I mocked. "You've been acting like a little bitch all day."

Justin scoffed. "Well, pardon me, but all I've been doing today is working."

"Right," I said as I flicked my ashes on the carpet. Fuck you, Vance. "And your sparkling mood has nothing to do with what you saw in my office last night?"

He gave me a blank stare. "What you do with Brandon behind closed doors is none of my business."

I walked over and sat on the couch right next to him, our thighs touching. "Cut the crap, Taylor. If you're jealous-"

"I am not jealous," he claimed as he scooted closer to the arm rest to get away from me. "I've had him, so why would I be jealous?"

"You haven't had me," I said.

He smirked. "And what makes you think I even want you?"

I took a puff of my cigarette and blew it in his face. "You're adorable, you know that?"

He crushed his cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table in front of us and stood. "How did you get Brandon to leave the Honeycutt account? He was tickled pink that Vance put him on it, but then he hands it back over to you after you two... did whatever the fuck you did in your office last night."

I smiled. "You think I fucked him so he would give the account over to me?"

He walked around to the other side of the table. "No, I think you let him fuck you."

I barked out a laugh. "Trust me Sunshine, I don't bottom for anyone, ever."

"Then you at least sucked his dick," Justin said, his hands on his hips.

I got rid of my cigarette and got up to walk over to him. "I don't do that, either. I gethead, I don't give it. How I got him to leave the account is my business, not yours."

"You bribed him somehow, then," he offered.

I sighed and took a good look at him. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look when you're pissed?"

Justin took a breath to speak, but I cut him off by grabbing a hold of his Dennis the Menace tie, which he was wearing that day with a navy blue shirt and gray slacks, and smashing my lips against his. I felt his tongue push its way into my mouth before I even realized what I was doing.

I wasn't lying to Brandon when I told him that I don't kiss. Not since my first and only boyfriend cheated on me when I was sixteen had I kissed another man, besides Mikey. But I don't even kiss Mikey the way I was kissing Justin.

I pulled away several seconds later and let go of Justin's tie when I heard voices out in the hallway, just in time before Carrie and Melissa walked into the room.

Justin smoothed his tie and said to the girls, "Be sure you're back down in ten minutes, so we get started again."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Melissa said as Justin darted out of the room. Although Melissa's appearance was dark, I had discovered while working with her over the past couple of days that she had a great sense of humor and was really nice.

The girls went to smoke on the couch, and I walked out and saw Justin step into the elevator at the end of the hallway.

Even after our kiss, Justin continued to avoid me as much as he could over the next couple of weeks, and I allowed him to stew over whatever was going on in that blonde head of his. Melissa and Jerry had taken several pictures during their quick trip to Puerto Vallarta, and we spent the last few days before the photo shoot coordinating where we would shoot around the city, which outfits our four models would wear, and how we would match each outfit with the locations.

To save money on parking at the airport, those of us that would be going to Mexico- Justin, Melissa, Carrie, Cynthia, and I- arrived at the office parking garage at six the morning of our flight, which was on a Sunday, and rode in a shuttle to the airport. Jerry, who had a wife and a new baby, decided to stay behind. We would take a puddle jumper to Washington DC before flying down to Puerto Vallarta. It would be six p.m. local time when we arrived. We would fly back home on Saturday.

After getting our tickets and checking our luggage, the five of us walked to our gate. We still had about a half an hour before we could board, so we all took a seat.

Justin was sitting by himself about ten feet away from me. It was the first time I had seen him in casual clothes, which consisted of a black hooded sweatshirt with theWinnie the Pooh characters on it and a pair of distressed jeans. I wondered if the boy ever wore anything that didn't feature a cartoon character, since each one of the ties he wore to work was printed with a Disney, Nickelodeon, Looney Tunes, or some other type of character on it.

Although his current choice of clothes looked fairly cheap, he wore them with a pair of black Doc Martin boots that probably cost him over a hundred bucks. His messenger bag that doubled as his brief case no doubt cost over three hundred. Peeking out of the sleeve of his sweatshirt was a Zenith watch that I had priced online at around $2,500. Another expensive item that clashed with his childish wardrobe was the brand new silver Z3 BMW that he had recently purchased. Out of curiosity, I had Ted look at Justin's personnel file to see where he lived. The "little studio apartment" that he claimed to live in was actually a loft that almost rivaled the size of mine and was located above a drycleaner two blocks over from Liberty Avenue.

I picked up my briefcase and walked over to him. I sat down on the chair to his left and took a peek at the book he was reading.

"Atlas Shrugged," I read out loud. "Awesome book."

"Uh-huh," he said without looking away from his opened page.

"Have you read The Fountainhead?" I asked him, referring to another one of Ayn Rand's books.

"Only like, five times," he said, still focusing on his page. "I've read this one a few times before."

I sighed. "Look, I am really looking forward to this trip. Not just because what this campaign will do for my reputation in the advertising world, but also because I want to get the fuck out of this freezing-ass cold city for a few days, drink some margaritas served by a cabana boy in a thong on the beach, and get pampered at the hotel's spa. You and your bitchy attitude better not ruin it for me."

He closed his book and looked at me. "Excuse me?"

I sighed again. "I won a bet with Brandon. That's how I got him off the account."

"What kind of bet?"

"A game of pool. I won fair and square," I answered, purposefully failing to mention the original stake of the game because it was none of his business.

"Oh," Justin said, looking a bit relieved.

I looked at the blonde for a few more moments. "Do you have feelings for him?"

His mouth dropped open in shock. "No!"

I tilted my head and squinted at him.

He closed his eyes for a second before saying, "Alright... maybe I had a thing for him after the night we spent together, since it was pretty amazing and he's really hot, but I got over it eventually. I still care about him, though, and I enjoy working on campaigns with him. He's very creative and he always complements me on my work. I was looking forward to working on this one with him."

"So you've been pissed at me because I somehow devised a way to get him to give up the account?"

He shrugged.

"I guess that it has completely fucking sucked having to work with me over the past couple of weeks, right?" I asked with loads of derision in my voice.

"No, it's just..." He paused to shake his head.

"Why did you kiss me that day?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise. "I kissed you? No, no, no. You kissed me first, buddy boy."

"You didn't have to kiss me back," I said, not realizing how lame it sounded until after the words left my mouth.

He was about to say something before our flight number was announced over the intercom, letting us know that they were beginning pre-boarding.