On Shaky Ground Page 4

  “Don’t worry. I have the bags, and we are two gates away. We board in half an hour, and once you’re in your seat, the flight attendants will pamper you until we get there. I’ll meet you as soon as I get off, and then I’ll get you wherever we need to go.”

  Martin snorted. “You didn’t look at your boarding pass. I had you upgraded. You’re in the seat right next to me.”

  Brock had booked himself an economy-class ticket because that was company policy. “I didn’t want to presume, and….” He swallowed. “Thank you.” He showed Martin to a chair. “I can get you something to drink or a snack. We have a few minutes.”

  “Coffee, please.” Martin looked almost like an addict jittery for a fix.

  “Be right back.” For some reason he patted Martin on the shoulder and set the bags on the chair next to him. Then he hurried away to the Starbucks and got in a stupidly long line. Finally he reached the front, placed and received his order, and returned to the gate. Martin’s leg shook as he waited. “I’m here.”

  Instantly Martin relaxed, and Brock handed him his cup. “Oh God, that’s good. How did you know what I liked?”

  “I asked at the office yesterday.” Martin drank a lot of coffee, and he obviously loved good stuff, judging by what was served in the office.

  Their flight was called, and they boarded early. Brock put the bags in the overhead and settled into the first-row aisle seat next to Martin.

  “I hate flying,” Martin admitted. “I didn’t used to mind it, but as my sight has diminished, my anxiety has increased because I can’t see anything. Have you noticed that everything is visual? When they make the safety announcements, the flight attendants wave their arms and demonstrate. I can’t see any of it.”

  “Carol and Edna attempted to explain to me what you could see. They were trying to be helpful, but I wasn’t sure if they truly understood, and I didn’t want to ask. It seemed rude.” But since Martin had brought it up, it seemed okay to ask about it now. “I’m not asking to pry, but I can’t assist you if I don’t know.” So far, Brock had been assuming complete blindness to be safe and had taken cues from Martin where possible.

  “In bright spaces I see more. That’s why the office is white with dark furniture. The contrast helps me. During the day I can see somewhat, but it’s shadowy. At night I can’t see a thing. My night vision is completely gone. What I have is degenerative, and over time it will get worse.” Martin took off his heavy glasses and set them on the console between their seats, rubbing his nose and face. “Without those, I see very little. Even with them I can barely see the E at the top of the eye chart.”

  The idea blew Brock’s mind. “How do you do what you do? So much communication isn’t verbal.”

  “I’ve learned to compensate, and the people who work for me understand. As you’ve heard in meetings, I ask a lot of questions, and I’m not afraid to press when I think there is something going on that I’m missing. But outside the company, I tend to do things through email and conference calls. It makes things a lot easier.”

  The flight attendant came through and asked about drinks. Brock requested a mimosa, and Martin got one as well.

  Brock gaped slightly. “But you started the company and….”

  Martin turned toward him. “When I started just out of college, I could see a lot more than I can now. So I know what colors are and how things should look. If someone said that the seats are blue, I know what that means. If I’d been born blind, I wouldn’t.”

  Wow. Brock swallowed. It was hard for him to think about not being able to see. Martin had lost much of his sight and hadn’t let it stop him. Brock wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that.

  The flight attendant set their glasses on the armrest, and Brock handed Martin his.

  “As for the company, I found ways to compensate. But you notice I don’t usually carry a cane or have a dog. I’m a very private person, and I don’t feel like I need to advertise….” Martin groaned. “That isn’t right. I don’t want people to meet me and have the first thing they realize be that I’m blind. Instead, I’d rather they meet me and form an opinion based upon who I am and my expertise.”

  Brock could understand that. But from what he’d seen, there weren’t a lot of people who met Martin. He communicated through other means, and unless he already knew them, he rarely encountered new people. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid it. Brock had seen the continual consternation over making this trip. But that was none of Brock’s business, not really. Martin was fully capable of making his own decisions about how he wanted to lead his life, and Brock respected his decisions.

  He finished his drink, and the flight attendant came through once again. She took the glasses as the doors were closed for takeoff and the announcements began. Once they were in the air, the attendants brought through snacks and more drinks. Martin gripped the arms of his seat for most of the flight and only released them when they finally landed.

  Brock pulled out his phone and sent a message to the car service that they had landed and what airline they were on. He also verified with the Pfister Hotel that their rooms were going to be ready when they arrived. By the time they exited the plane, he had everything set.

  They walked down the concourse, with Martin holding his arm. Brock tried not to concentrate on that touch. It was a necessity for Martin and nothing more. It didn’t mean anything.

  He got Martin seated and collected their bags, then messaged the car a final time, and when they reached the curb, it was waiting. Martin got in, and Brock hurried around to the other side of the limousine to climb in, before it glided away from the terminal and out toward the freeway.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” Martin said as he relaxed in the seat, pulling off his glasses and putting his head back. “I’m tired, and I know Cartwright has an itinerary that’s going to keep me going well into the night. He wants to impress me with his operation.”

  “Why?” Brock asked. “You’re already interested.”

  “Because he wants to try to get more for it. And he wants to size me up, see if I’m a man of my word.” Martin didn’t move. “Look, you are going to hear things over the next two days. What I need you to do is file them away and say nothing. This is full-on contact, take-no-prisoners business. Cartwright is going to try to play me, and I know the game and how to get done what I need to.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep my ears open and my mouth closed.”

  “Good, and take notes—lots of notes. Keep that computer of yours handy.” Martin continued to relax even as he gave instructions. “And listen to everyone. Cartwright might say one thing, but other people might be more candid with you, especially if I’m not around.” Martin smiled. “You don’t need to spy, but keep your ears and eyes open. I’m going to be relying on you.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Brock peered out of the window as the downtown area came into view. He hadn’t been expecting as many high-rises or such smooth traffic.

  They reached the hotel and pulled to a stop at the impressive portico. Brock got out, thanked the driver, and explained that he would message when they needed him again. He was at their service for the next two days and said he’d be ready.

  “May I help you with those?” a bellman asked as the driver set the bags at the curb.

  Brock nodded, then let Martin take his arm and guided him inside as the bellman followed with the bags.

  The lobby of the historic hotel was impressive, but Brock didn’t have a chance to really take it in as he helped Martin to the front desk to go through the check-in process.

  “Martin Graham,” a voice boomed through the lobby. They paused as a man, standing about six feet four and with an impressive head of gray hair, strode through the throng of people, who parted for him like the Red Sea. “Chester Cartwright.”

  Martin turned slowly. “It’s good to meet you.” He put out his hand, and Chester seemed stopped in his tracks. Clearly Chester hadn’t known about Martin’s sight. Chester shook the offered
hand, but his gregariousness had most definitely taken a hit.

  “Did you have a smooth flight?” Chester asked, as though he were trying to figure out something to say.

  “Yes, it was, thank you,” Martin answered. “This is my assistant, Brock Littleton.” Martin went back to the desk to complete the check-in process.

  Brock shook hands with Mr. Cartwright, but there was clearly no interest in him. Chester’s attention was focused on Martin, and it was almost comical watching him put his composure back together. Brock shifted his gaze slightly to Martin, who acted as though nothing had happened.

  “I thought that maybe we could have lunch, and then I can start the tour.” The man was pushy, that was for certain, but then again, Brock figured people didn’t get to be where Chester Cartwright was by sitting on their hands and waiting for things to happen. Chester was a man who made things happen.

  “That would be wonderful. We have a lunch reservation here in the hotel. I’m sure they can accommodate all of us.” Martin turned to the bellman. “Can you take the luggage up to the suite for us?”

  Martin took Brock’s arm, and Brock followed the directions through to the Mason Street Grill, where he’d made the reservations, and the three of them were seated. Per Martin’s instructions, Brock had already provided him with menus ahead of time. It was interesting watching Martin put on a show of glancing at the menu, knowing he’d already decided in advance what he wanted. Brock figured this was Martin’s way of remaining in control and appearing strong.

  “Do you really think this deal is the way forward for both of us?” Chester asked, turning his full attention to Martin.

  Brock looked over his menu, because at the moment he felt a little superfluous.

  “I really do, yes.” Martin set his menu aside, placing it out of the way beside his chair, up against the leg. “The combined organization will be more than just the sum of our two parts. We each have some of what the other doesn’t, and our new team will be able to serve markets neither of us is able to right now.” Martin easily sipped from his water glass as soon as it was filled, probably following the sound. “It truly is the best for both of us. I’m convinced of that.” He set down the glass. “You don’t think so?”

  “Oh, I do.” This was like watching a tennis match in a way, the ball volleying back and forth. “I can clearly see the benefits. What I’m trying to envision is who should purchase whom?”

  So that was the game. Cartwright wanted to try to buy Martin out.

  Martin was as calm as Brock had ever seen him. “Yes. I see. Except you don’t have the resources.”

  The server approached and quietly explained the specials. Martin placed his order, and Chester did the same. Brock also got the steak and fries like Martin had, and thanked the server.

  Chester leaned on the table. “Our revenues and client base are larger than yours, and we have lower overhead because of our location. It would make sense for us to combine and for Graham Consolidated to relocate here and became part of the Cartwright family.”

  Chester’s passion for the idea was evident. What impressed Brock was how cool Martin remained. Brock’s insides roiled at the idea, and he could only imagine how Martin would feel about losing control of what he’d built from the ground up. The tension between them grew by the second.

  “Chester. We’re here to have a nice lunch and in part to get to know each other. You and I have plenty of time to sit down and work through the details of what’s going to happen.” Martin sat back as the server brought bread, as well as their drinks. Martin had stuck with water, while Chester was having a martini.

  Brock mimicked Martin and watched the two of them very closely. It was almost like they were doing a dance, one they knew the other knew well, but they were still waiting for a misstep.

  “True,” Chester said with a slight smile. “So, after lunch we can head out to the office. I’d like to give you a tour, show you around our operations, spend some time talking, man-to-man.” Chester looked at Brock and then away again. He clearly didn’t want any extra sets of ears to hear what they were going to be talking about. Not that Brock blamed him.

  Martin nodded. “I understand your youngest is about to graduate from UW–Madison. That was one of the schools I applied to when I was doing my searches. I visited the campus and was very impressed. I even got to go to a game.”

  And just like that, they were off on a different subject.

  AFTER LUNCH, Chester drove them to the Cartwright offices in his black Cadillac. As Brock expected, they were given a tour of the building. It was an office. To his eyes there wasn’t a great deal to see.

  At the twenty-four-hour order desk, there was energy that Brock felt to his bones. He longed to be in there, making deals, getting things to happen. The excitement set Brock’s teeth on edge, and he was almost desperate to be able to wade into that pool.

  Over dinner, the drinks flowed freely—probably too freely, and Martin tossed them back measure for measure with Chester. Hell, Brock was feeling little pain when he messaged their driver and had him pick them up at the bar near Chester’s office.

  “Good night,” Martin slurred before he got in the car, half slumping in the seat.

  Brock told the driver to take them to the hotel and got in next to Martin for the ride back downtown. “How do you think it went today?” he asked.

  “Just as I suspected it would,” Martin answered, his speech much clearer than it had been a few minutes earlier.

  “Martin!” Brock giggled. Okay, so maybe he was the one who had had a little too much to drink. “You put on a good act.”

  “Oh, I drank more than I should have.” Martin hiccupped and put his hand over his mouth. “Wow. I didn’t have as much as Chester thought I did, but holy cow, some of those drinks were strong.” He rolled his eyes and sat back, pulling off his glasses. The car turned a corner, and Martin leaned against him. When it straightened out again, Martin stayed where he was, sighing softly. “This is nice.” He didn’t move for a few seconds, but then pushed himself back upright, patting Brock’s shoulder.

  Brock turned to Martin, who was looking back at him. Well… okay, Brock wasn’t sure if Martin was turned his way because he wanted to be or if it was coincidence, but he studied his eyes and his plump red lips, which looked like dessert to him. The car jostled over a bump, and Brock wondered if the driver was taking an obstacle course rather than a road.

  Still, Martin leaned closer. “Damn, you smell good,” he whispered. “Like man candy.” He inhaled deeply and smiled. “You always smell so good.” Martin shifted even closer. “And you talk so pretty. Like, your voice is as smooth and warm as that chocolate mousse we had for dessert.” He sighed and scratched his head.

  “Martin….” Brock’s heart beat faster as Martin leaned against him, his solid musculature pressing to Brock, and damned if Martin’s own scent didn’t hit him like a brick wall, cutting through his clouded mind, sending his blood racing at a million miles an hour.

  Martin’s lips parted slightly, and Brock gasped. The man was stunning and pushed all of Brock’s buttons—strong, confident, yet vulnerable in a way that made him perfectly imperfect.

  Brock moved closer, closing his eyes. The road rumbled under the car once again, shaking them both until their lips met. Brock pressed in as Martin’s flavor burst into his mouth. He slipped his hand around the back of Martin’s neck, drawing him close, and damned if Martin didn’t go with it, sliding his hands through Brock’s hair, caressing his scalp as Martin’s tongue pushed for entrance. Brock opened to him, pressing back, pushing Martin against the seat, leaning over him to get as much of the man as he possibly could. Martin held him tightly around the waist, adding intensity to the kiss that clouded Brock’s mind even further. Damn, this was like his fantasies come to life, and it was better than he imagined.

  “Fuck, Brock,” Martin whimpered, sliding his hands down Brock’s back to cup his butt in strong hands that gripped him firmly, the kisses quickly
becoming more urgent, and Brock felt his inhibitions fly out the window.

  The car came to a stop, but he barely noticed. Brock managed to straighten up as the driver opened the door. Martin chuckled as he pulled himself up off the seat and climbed out of the car a little clumsily. Brock got around to him, and Martin took his arm, this time more forcefully and intimately as they entered the historic hotel and went right through to the elevators.

  Thankfully they were alone, because as soon as the doors slid closed, Martin pressed him against the wall, kissing him hard, and it was Brock’s turn to slide his hands down Martin’s back to grip an ass as firm as rocks. Buns of steel had nothing on Martin, and damn it all, Brock wanted to get his hands on the real thing without this damned suit in the fucking way.

  They made it down the hall to their suite, and Brock opened the door. The two of them stumbled into the unfamiliar room. Brock quickly guided Martin around the furniture and pulled open the nearest door. It was a bedroom, and that was what they needed. Brock pressed Martin back on the bed, and as soon as he sat down, the last bit of tension drained out of Martin and he lay back, pulling Brock right along with him.

  “You feel so damned great,” Martin whispered as he yanked Brock’s tie off, then fumbled with his shirt until he’d gotten it open.

  Brock wasn’t going to wait any longer. He tore his shirt off, the clothing dropping to the floor as he divested first himself and then Martin until they were bare-chested, pressing to each other, his hips rocking, need pulsing through him.

  “I can’t get these damn things off,” Martin grumbled, his words slurring very slightly. It wasn’t as though Brock had a great deal of dexterity at the moment, but he got their shoes and then pants off, flinging Martin’s over his shoulder before climbing on top of him on the bed.

  Martin might not have been able to see very well, but the man would have had one hell of a career as an explorer, especially with the way he used his hands, and that tongue of his was magical. Brock quivered as Martin laid him on the mattress, caressing and sucking places he’d never dreamed could bring such thrills, especially one place at the base of his hip that Martin really seemed to like and made Brock nearly lose control. Not that Brock stood a chance against Martin’s erotic onslaught, not for one second.