Escaping life on a farm, sexy Wyatt Taylor runs to the nearest city after college where he finds and loses both love and employment. Down but not out, the handsome young man rebounds by landing the coveted position as assistant to powerful Portland, Oregon, business tycoon, William Bowen. Cold and precise, the mogul has a rarified life of privilege that leaves no room for error.
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Thrust into a world of jet set travel and caviar, Wyatt is given little direction about his new career and is fitted with a designer wardrobe. Clothes may not make the man, but Wyatt loves the beautifully tailored suits, wearing them like modern armor without realizing a connection between the way he looks in his new work “uniform” and Bowen’s clients.
Aside from being handsome, William Bowen has everything: an estate, private plane, and clients worldwide. Only his taste in men is questionable. His astoundingly poor judgment in that area of his life confuses everyone around him, including his flippant, funny, and in-charge property manager who befriends Wyatt but has his own reason for not telling all of the secrets of Bowen Industries.
A sudden change in Wyatt’s personal life while on a business trip is followed by a bonding night for Wyatt and William Bowen, the long simmering feelings Wyatt has held toward the boss since the day of his interview nearing a boiling point. Wyatt is still blissfully unaware of his true role in the operation of Bowen Industries, however.
My office in Bowen tower was as good as a Mercedes when it came to pick ups. With the private bath, view of the city at night, intercom, and flat screen mounted on the wall, I was all but assured a romp on the (leather!) sofa with no one the wiser that I had been in after hours.
I had also come to really love those suits hanging like armor in a neat row in the closet. The tailor had fitted them to my body so that every crease fell perfectly and my crotch had, frankly, never been better showcased.
Life was good for a change. I had a nice umbrella of cash put aside, a secure if vague job at times with a hot if distant employer, a sex life that might not be the envy of anyone else, but it was certainly constant and keeping ME happy. But the umbrella I had carefully put together was not going to withstand the monsoon that swept in about then.
“Show us what you are made of, baby!” James encouraged. In his defense, he had put away a gallon or so of something distilled, so was not in the total control he usually was.
“Yeah, dance man, dance!” my ex shouted from the sofa where he was tangled with the former bestie.
So I danced. Meaning, I gyrated, rotated and started peeling off clothes. They were enjoying my show so noisily that none of them heard the front door open and close for someone just now joining our new early morning soirée.
Down to my underwear, a particularly tight and low cut pair of briefs, one arm lifted high above my head with the other shoved deep into my crotch, eyes closed and head thrown back, I was hot and I knew it.
Opening my eyes, focus being a challenge at that point, I found myself face to face with William Bowen.