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WHAT HE WANTS

Kate Aaron

ARe Edition

ARe Edition, Licence Notes

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CHAPTER ONE

Christo sat up in his seat and leant forward, resting his elbows on the massive expanse of the

boardroom table, stifling a yawn behind his clasped fingers. He hated these quarterly meetings, they were the

dullest thing ever. Everyone in the room knew everything that was being discussed anyway, why the hell did

they need to get together and rehash it all? There was a recession, business was down, they were being

threatened with redundancies. Again. Dull, dull, dull .

He rolled his eyes as Damien stood up and took the floor, his attention wandering as the other man’s

picture-perfect powerpoint was projected onto the screen at the head of the table. His figures were low –

everyone’s were – but Damien’s theory had always been to blind the directors with charts and graphs. Didn’t

anyone else see through it? Sales were sales – or not, in this case – no matter what colour they were shaded

on a screen. His eyes strayed from the presentation and fixed on Damien’s ass. God, that man had a tight ass.

A nerve twitched in Christo’s neck as he gritted his teeth and tore his eyes away. Anyone could look

like they had a nice ass if they spent a month’s salary on a single suit. Damien was no different from him, he

was the area manager for the neighbouring sector to Christo’s and they’d been in competition with each other

since day one. Where did Damien get off, who was he trying to impress with his tailored suits and silk shirts

and hand-stitched shoes? Everyone in the room knew exactly how much he was paid, so what was he trying to

prove? They were beautiful shoes, though.

Christo looked down at his own off-the-peg ensemble and sighed. Normally he thought he looked

good: suits suited him, and this one wasn’t cheap either. The problem was that Damien’s suit wasn’t just a suit,

it was a work of art. Bastard.

“Christo?”

“Mmh?”

“Your presentation?”

“Of course,” Christo stammered, getting to his feet. He felt like snarling as Damien slid elegantly back

into his chair and reclined, a smug expression on his face. Double bastard.

Christo ran through the numbers quickly. They were low, but no lower than Damien’s. He’d be damned

if that smarmy git outperformed him. It didn’t matter how sharp he dressed, Christo knew Damien wasn’t a

better manager than he was. Christo prided himself on running a tight ship: his team respected him and

worked well for him. He knew all of them by name. He was damn good at his job, and he worked long, hard

hours to get the best results he could.

He outlined some new strategies he’d implemented, comparing the figures with those from last

quarter to demonstrate their effectiveness. White heads nodded absently around the table. Christo felt like

screaming as he looked about the room. What did these men care about how hard he worked, the hours his

team put in, the constant uphill struggle against consumer apathy and tightening purse strings? These men all

pulled in six-figure salaries: their only concern was ensuring their jobs were safe. He finished his presentation

and threw himself back into his chair, his face thunderous.

The meeting broke for lunch and Christo launched himself out the room. Ignoring the platters of

sandwiches and finger-foods that the caterers put on he hurried down the stairs and out the door. He turned

the corner and stopped, leaning against the wall, breathing hard. These meetings made him so angry,

sometimes. He knew exactly what was coming next, the endless rounds of recrimination, watery eyes looking

at him and telling him that they were so, so disappointed; that they were left with no choice; that they had to

do something. The only question was how many of his staff he’d have to let go, and where from. He knew

exactly what he wanted to say to that – how many front-line staff could he get for the salary of one director

alone?

“Hey, where are you rushing off to?” Damien rounded the corner.

“I just needed a break.” Christo shrugged dismissively and turned to move away, hoping he hadn’t

snagged his jacket on the rough bricks. That would be just his luck.

“I know what you mean.” Damien grinned. “It was getting a bit stuffy in there, wasn’t it?”

“What do you want, Damien?” Christo felt a pang of guilt as a flash of something – what was it? –

crossed the other man’s face, but dammit, they weren’t friends. They’d never been friends.

Damien’s smile faltered. “I thought we could get some lunch?”

“There’s lunch laid on inside.”

“Yeah, with them . I thought maybe we could talk. In private?”

Christo was intrigued, despite himself. What on Earth could Damien want to talk to him about? What

was with all the cloak and dagger? His feet followed automatically as the other man moved off, leading the

way, his long legs striding out. Christo refused to hurry to keep up with him. Yeah, it looked a little bit like he

was trailing after him, but at least this way he got to admire Damien’s ass some more. It really was a great ass.

Damien glanced behind him and smirked. Christo quickly straightened his head, which wasn’t cocked to

the side – it wasn’t – and sped up to catch him, eyeing the small smile playing on Damien’s lips with suspicion.

God, the man was infuriating. Christo might not be able to help the way his body reacted to him, but his head

was still in charge, dammit. So what if Damien had the body of a Greek god, he also had the personality of a

cockroach. Every pore of his skin oozed sex, but Christo wasn’t interested. Honest, he wasn’t. He didn’t do

casual sex, and certainly not with men like Damien Maddox. Just the thought of it sent a shiver – shudder,

definitely a shudder – up his spine.

Christo couldn’t stop his eyebrow from rising as the other man led them into a small greasy spoon and

drew a battered plastic chair up to a Formica-topped table.

“What?” Damien looked up at him before grabbing a napkin and wiping the old grease and teacup

rings off the chipped surface.

“I didn’t think this was your scene.”

“I didn’t figure you for a snob.”

“I’m not!” Christo eyed Damien’s beautiful suit in a meaningful manner. “What about your outfit?”

Damien shrugged. “They’re only clothes.”

Christo snorted but sat, shaking his head.

“The important thing is that no-one’s going to find us here. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone

before we go back into the dragon’s den.”

“Why?” Christo couldn’t hide the fact that his curiosity was piqued. He threw their waitress an evil look

when she interrupted Damien to take their order.

“Don’t play dumb, Christo, you know what’s coming as well as I do.”

“So what’s there to talk about?”

“We’re in the same boat, here. I thought we could help each other out.”

“How?”

“We both know that people have got to go. I bet you don’t want to lose any more of your team than

you have to, the same as me. I thought maybe we could put on a united front, stick up for each other. Neither

of our figures were great, but at least they’re in the same ballpark. Let’s agree to split the losses, shall we?”

Christo eyed him with suspicion. “How do I know you’ll stick to that?”

Damien winced. “I know you’ve no reason to trust me–”

“Damn right.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” Damien snapped. “I did what I had to, same as you

would have. Believe it or not, I didn’t enjoy doing it.”

They both fell silent and glared at each other as the waitress returned with two insipid cups of coffee.

Christo took an experimental sip of the greyish liquid and grimaced.

“Look, the way I see it you’ve not got much of a choice. Either you trust me or we fight it out between

us when we go back in there.”

Kate Aaron - What He Wants.pdf

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