Bobby Byrd - Lone Star Noir

Jared stood to pull some keys from his pocket. He threw them across the desk at Peter, who caught them deftly. “Sometime this morning I need you to pick up my dry cleaning. You can drop it off at my place on the way back.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and Jared ignored him. Jingling the keys for a moment, Peter sat there. Abruptly, he stood. “I wouldn’t get too complacent if I were you, Mr. Lakewood, sir . After all, your numbers have been down for two quarters now.”

With that he flounced out of Jared’s office.

“Bitch.” Jared flung the word after his assistant, but Peter didn’t respond. The door shut firmly behind him.

Jared turned back to his computer. He tried to shrug off Peter’s barb, but it had found its target. His numbers had been down, despite his best efforts, and for a moment he felt uneasy. But then his usual confidence reasserted itself, and he dismissed the thought. Peter was needling him because Jared was making him pick up his clothes.

Jared focused on his work. He had a meeting at ten he needed to be ready for. That was far more important than his prissy queen of an assistant.

Peter lingered over lunch at his favorite restaurant a few blocks from work. If the arrogant prick sent him on personal errands, then he shouldn’t complain if his assistant spent over an hour to eat his midday meal. Besides, Peter enjoyed the growing anticipation. He grinned as he walked to his car. Now he couldn’t wait to get to Jared’s apartment.

Picking up the dry cleaning didn’t take long. Peter parked on the street in front of Jared’s building and lugged the clothes to the elevator. He should handle them more carefully-he was probably toting about fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of suits. How on earth did the jerk afford them? Peter knew his boss’s salary, and he was pretty sure Jared spent every dime he made, and more.

Inside the apartment Peter stowed his burden carefully in the master bedroom closet. Then he took a stroll around, ending up in the bedroom that Jared had turned into a sexual playground. He examined the new humidor in the closet, trying to add up the cost. He was tempted to help himself to a couple of the cigars, but Jared probably counted them every day and would figure out who swiped them.

He slowly closed the door to the humidor behind him and leaned against it. Jared had that look about him this morning when he walked into the office-the look that told Peter he had scored in a big way over the weekend. Peter couldn’t wait to see the video.

Two weeks ago, with Jared safely in the Big Easy, Peter installed a video camera in the playroom. He congratulated himself on his clever work in placing it so that Jared would have a hard time ever spotting it. He mounted it under one of the shelves of sex toys, figuring that in the dim lighting of the playroom Jared would easily overlook it. He had reset it Thursday morning when he had to retrieve some papers Jared left at home that morning.

He detached the camera, an expensive device that fit in the palm of his hand. He figured the investment was worth it though. He’d soon give the asshole a taste of his own medicine and get a better job out of it at the same time.

Back in his car again, he turned on the camera to watch some of the video. There were some scenes of Jared going into the humidor for cigars. Peter fast-forwarded to get to the good stuff.

A few minutes later, Peter knew he had hit the jackpot big time. Jared had royally fucked himself with his choice of sex partner. When Jared found out about the tape, Peter would enjoy every second of it.

Jared frowned at the clock. It was nearly a quarter past two. Where the hell was Peter? He should have been back by now. He buzzed again.

“You rang, boss?” Peter stuck his head in.

“Where the fuck have you been all this time?” Jared stood. “I expected you back by one-thirty at the latest. I need you to finish putting together that report for the three o’clock meeting.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Had to wait in line at the cleaners. Relax. The report’s almost done. It won’t take me ten minutes to finish it.” He stepped back and shut the door.

If Peter wasn’t so good at his job, Jared reflected, he’d have already fired his tight little ass. He was a pushy bottom, no doubt about that. Jared grinned, thinking of the couple of times he had Peter in his playroom- before he hired him as his assistant, of course. It didn’t pay to fuck around with coworkers.

Ten minutes later Jared walked out of his office to Peter’s desk. Peter looked up with an I-told-you-so grin.

“All done. Just sent the job to the big printer, and it’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’ll go.” Jared headed down the hall to the printer and copy room. He needed to stretch his legs anyway, work off a little tension before the meeting.

As he neared the printer room, he glimpsed a tall blond man entering an office at the end of the corridor. Jared paused, frowning. There was something familiar about that head and back.

He was waiting for the collated and stapled copies of the report to spit out when it hit him. That back and head belonged to Martin, the guy he had tricked with on Friday.

Fuck it, this was getting nuts. Was he on some kind of weird trip? Was he really seeing this guy?

First at his high-rise, now at work.

What the hell was he doing here ?

The report forgotten for the moment, Jared walked back to his office. Peter was on the phone, big surprise. He hung up as Jared approached.

“Not finished yet,” Jared said, stopping by Peter’s desk and looking down at his assistant.

Peter shrugged. “Shouldn’t take that long, unless someone else is running a big job.”

“Go check on it for me.” Jared turned away to step into his office, but turned back as if an afterthought had struck him. “By the way, I spotted a really tall blond guy going into Treadwell’s office. Somebody I haven’t seen around before. You have any idea who he is?”

Peter coughed suddenly and put his hand over his mouth. It took him a moment to speak. “Oh, it’s probably the hatchet man from London. You know-the one I told you about this morning.”

Jared frowned, his unease growing. “What’s his name?”

“He’s German. Name is Martin Leitner.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Supposed to be hard as nails, especially when it comes to firing people. Or so Amy says.” He stood. “Well, I’d better go check that report, boss. Back in a few.” He scurried down the hall, coughing again.

Jared barely heard him as he went into his office and shut the door.

Shit , shit , shit . For a moment, that was the only word he could form in his mind. Shit , shit , shit .

He had really screwed himself this time. The man he tricked with Friday night-the man whose back and ass he had practically beaten until they were bloody-had it in his power to fire him.

He began to sweat.

Jared spent the week terrified. He had yet to encounter Martin Leitner face-to-face in the office. What the hell should he do when he finally met the man? Pretend the weekend never happened? Or give him a knowing glance and be cool about their shared sexual tastes?

If Leitner tried to fire him, Jared could threaten him with the details of their time together.

Then he realized the stupidity of that. Exposing Leitner would screw his chances even further. He would definitely get fired then.

The axe fell on Friday morning. Around noon, a security guard showed up with a pink slip. He gave Jared an hour to box up any personal stuff and then escorted him out of the building. Peter had disappeared, and other coworkers looked away as Jared walked past their desks on the way to the elevator.