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EXCERPT:

"Mr. Sandburg, I can't do it." Max Eisner stepped into his boss' office, closing the door behind him.

"It's Miah, Max. And I'm sorry, this is a mandatory team - building exercise." Jeremiah Sandburg, one half of the partnership at Sandburg Software, leant back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Max couldn't help but notice the concern written on his supervisor's handsome face. "You need to be here."

Max tucked his hands into his pockets to keep Miah from seeing the trembling. He bit into his lip, tasting the bitterness as he drew blood. Max shook his head. "Please understand. I can't stay. There's..." He trailed off. I'm not humiliating myself.

Miah's eyes narrowed and honed in on Max's mouth. Max winced, knowing Miah wouldn't have missed the blood. Miah continued to watch Max for what felt like an eternity before his jaw clenched and he shook his head. He turned back to his computer. "Join everyone else in the conference room. We're due to start in ten minutes."

Max's stomach dropped to the floor. He backed away from Miah, determined to just walk right out of the front door. To leave his job, his new friends, and his attractive boss right here where he'd found them.

But as he put his hand on the knob of Miah's office door, his boss rose from his chair. "I think I'll walk with you."

Max tried counting to ten but the closer Miah got, the harder it was to remember what came after six. The straight - cut Armani suit was tailor - made - Max would stake his next pay cheque on that. And whoever had the pleasure of measuring those inseams on Miah's solid frame most definitely would have had put his hands in places Max only dreamt about. It should be illegal for a man to look that good in a suit. Max sucked in a deep breath as his boss passed by him.

Miah turned around just before Max could leave the office. He jammed both hands into his pockets. "Are you okay, Max? Is there something I should know about?"

Max's body began to shake and his formerly floor - bound stomach chose that moment to take off like the flight of a hundred butterflies. Max felt the blood drain from his face and cold sweat popped out on his forehead. The trembling worsened. Max's stomach rolled again and he shoved past Miah, bolting for the bathroom down the hall.

"Max!"

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Joel Raner pushed through the front door of his family's accounting firm, glancing at his watch. Four forty - five. I'm late. Tossing his briefcase onto the passenger seat of his rust - and - red Explorer, Joel fired up the old beast.

A belch of black smoke erupted from the tailpipe and Joel squeezed his eyes shut, praying the thing kept running. After what seemed like an eternity, the shuddering vehicle quieted and the motor settled into an uneasy rumble. He looked around at his brothers climbing into their own cars, wondered what his family thought of the piece of shit he drove.

Tom and Dave both drove Mercedes SUVs, and Janet - Tom's wife and their secretary - drove a 2010 Town and Country minivan. Most days they ignored him, treating him like the geek in math class everyone avoided on principle. But today, he'd drawn attention because he'd sprinted from the office when Janet finished her fifteenth lecture of the day on how to properly check email.

It wasn't his fault technology hated him.

Shaking off the gloom of working nine to five, Joel shifted both his truck and his mind into gear and headed for Chocolate Dreams, the little bakery at the end of his street.

He checked the clock on his dash. Four - fifty. A tiny grin tugged at his lips.

Bet I can make it before five.

Yeah. If he missed the traffic, hit every green light, and the slow drivers stayed the fuck out from between him and his truffles.

Joel snorted as he weaved through traffic. Sure, it was the truffles, all right. And it had nothing to do with the handsome chef who hand - delivered them to his table every day.

Without any effort at all, Aaron Giadano's face formed in Joel's mind.

Dark brown hair, cut short but still long enough for little wispy curls to tease at Joel's fantasies. Curls that made Joel want to tuck them out of the way - right after he twisted his fingers in them, getting a good grip while Aaron sucked his cock.

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"Benjamin." Joan's urgent whisper scarcely made it out of the little black box on his desk.

He closed his eyes, wishing for the thousandth time that working for a high profile architecture firm in New Hampshire meant he could escape the big city drama. Setting his pencil down on his drafting table, he slid off his stool and pressed the two - way. "Yes?"

"Christian's here." A loud crash from somewhere down the hall punctuated her statement. Ben's eyes narrowed as he stared at his closed door. "That's not possible. He's still in treatment."

"He's in treatment, all right, but it isn't the one where you get any kind of help."

He blinked at the intercom, mute.

"Ben?" She was louder this time, more worried.

"What are you talking about?"

"For God's sake. He's drunk." A second bang came from just outside his door at Joan's desk. The line went dead.

Then, he didn't need the open line to hear what his assistant was saying to his ex - lover. "You nutcase! Look what you just did to my desk."

"Where's Ben?" Christian's drunken slur carried through the closed door.

"He's not here. Take your fool self home before I call the police." She was like a mother hen, all gossip and ruffled feathers. But don't be the idiot who crossed her. She'd peck your eyes out.

"His car's in the lot. I know he's around."

He didn't want Joan caught in the middle of this. One thing had been consistent in his relationship with Christian - his ex was violent when he drank. Things usually ended in a nasty brawl because Ben wasn't the pushover his ex liked to think he was. He had known after only two months of dating he wanted out.

It had taken another four to get it done.

When Christian had agreed to in - clinic therapy after yet another vicious argument, Ben had used the opportunity to make a clean break. That had been three months ago. He'd finally started to relax. Six months was a short - term relationship, after all, and Christian hadn't so much as called.

Until now.

Ben was gripping the doorknob before he realised he'd even moved. He took one more deep breath before opening the door to take in the scene.

Joan's back was to Ben and Christian wobbled on weak legs in front of her, poking her in the shoulder. He leant in, momentarily losing his balance before catching himself on her arm. "Where's he at?"

"Right here." Ben leant against the door jam, crossed one foot over the other. He cocked his head to the side. "What do you want, Christian?""Benjamin." Joan's urgent whisper scarcely made it out of the little black box on his desk.

He closed his eyes, wishing for the thousandth time that working for a high profile architecture firm in New Hampshire meant he could escape the big city drama. Setting his pencil down on his drafting table, he slid off his stool and pressed the two - way. "Yes?"

"Christian's here."

A loud crash from somewhere down the hall punctuated her statement. Ben's eyes narrowed as he stared at his closed door. "That's not possible. He's still in treatment."

"He's in treatment, all right, but it isn't the one where you get any kind of help."

He blinked at the intercom, mute.

"Ben?" She was louder this time, more worried.

"What are you talking about?"

"For God's sake. He's drunk." A second bang came from just outside his door at Joan's desk. The line went dead.

Then, he didn't need the open line to hear what his assistant was saying to his ex - lover. "You nutcase! Look what you just did to my desk."

"Where's Ben?" Christian's drunken slur carried through the closed door.

"He's not here. Take your fool self home before I call the police." She was like a mother hen, all gossip and ruffled feathers. But don't be the idiot who crossed her. She'd peck your eyes out.

"His car's in the lot. I know he's around."