Concierge Service by P.D. Singer

Author:P.D. Singer [Singer, P.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: MM gay romance
Publisher: Rocky Ridge Books
Published: 2018-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

The blare escalated the throbbing in Craig’s temples. His pulse thudded against the back of his eyes, every heartbeat threating to push them from their sockets to roll across the floor. Why did he have to be here? Nothing he could do now would change the course of money flowing.

They’d planned. They’d worked their asses off. They’d built SecurNow into a powerhouse of cybersecurity, and now the money people were turning all that work into wealth. “SCN” raced after numbers on the big board. The first time—19. The second, 19.5, and after that so many more they blurred in his vision, all 20-somethings.

Another trader shed his jacket, still yelling into his headset. So many bodies pounding with adrenaline generated heat. Sweat beaded against Craig’s hairline. He popped his top shirt button and pulled his tie away from his throat. Even that small movement brought back his private pain. He’d chosen the magenta silk that last graced Joshua’s throat.

Joshua should be standing here with him. Holding his hand. Sharing in the triumph. But he wasn’t. Joshua wasn’t even a voice on the phone.

Instead he had a wandering babble of vice-presidents and project managers barging through the madhouse to shake his hand and yell encouragements at the climbing stock price.

Craig tugged at his collar again—even the state of the art ventilation at this old-money investment bank’s spanking new headquarters wasn’t up to convincing him there was enough oxygen to go around. The drums beat inside his skull. Rubbing his palms against his eyes didn’t help. “I’ll keep track from the conference room.”

His triumph. His big day, a milestone for the company he’d nurtured from a two-desk idea to 600 employees, all newly wealthy. All turned out in this circus of traders—he had enough stories to take back to the men and women doing the work that made the company possible. He didn’t need to be here watching the chaos.

“Here, Craig.” Felicity chased after him, catching up once he’d shut the pandemonium on the other side of the elevator door. Or perhaps she’d been dogging him all the way across the trading floor and he hadn’t been able to hear her. “I have ibuprofen for you.”

He dry-swallowed the bitter tablets she produced from the Tardis that was her handbag. “Thanks. I don’t know how they think in that racket.”

“Perhaps they don’t, and it’s all reflexes and adrenaline.” She followed him into the conference room they’d inhabited all week, empty of people now. The gleaming mahogany table was neatly set with legal pads and pens, downturned water glasses and mints standing witness to the process that would start all over again next week, chewing on someone else’s dream.

That was the cycle, wasn’t it? Someone created, the bank monetized. They’d all get together to eat filet mignon and drink champagne to celebrate, and then the bankers would turn to the next fountain of money.

She flicked on the wide-screen television, which silently spat ticker symbols and prices. SCN appeared, showing big blocks selling for high prices. “Looks like we’re quite the hot ticket.

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