The Kaiser Account

1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of
either the author or the publisher.

The Kaiser Account
Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2012 by Louise Blaydon
Cover illustration by Alessia Brio
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-331-3

www.torquerepress.com

All rights reserved, which includes the right to
reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright
Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO
Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

First Torquere Press Printing: June 2012

Printed in the USA

The Kaiser Account

2

For Nancy and Amy, with love.

The Kaiser Account

3

The Kaiser Account

W

hen Evan Jones graduated high school, his father

gave him a green silk tie. There was nothing particularly
remarkable about it, beyond the fact that it was genuine
silk and pulled nicely smooth when Evan wrapped it
around his fist, but Evan liked that, its conservatism a
sure shield for many sins. He liked the gesture, too: it
meant something. A silk tie said, You're growing up,
son. You're going to make it. These were things Evan
had needed to hear when he was eighteen and uncertain,
heading off into the great wide world of the University
of Texas system. Whenever he was in doubt, the tie was
there to remind him that he owed someone something,
that he could manage it. The tie said, Yes you can.

Over the years, the unremarkable tie acquired its own

special significance. Evan wore it when he needed to
feel that reassurance tight under his collar, whenever he
was gunning for something important. For midterms, he
wore it; for the finals he aced; for the interview that won
him his entry-level position at JD Hardy Advertising,
and by that time, its place in Evan's professional arsenal
was assured. When the tie came out, it seemed, Evan
won his bids, convinced bigger and better clients with
his sales pitches and, consequently, was set in pursuit of
increasingly blue-chip accounts. Evan's tie meant
business, and Evan always made sure to wear it
whenever he did.

The tie came out today without question. Hardy had

been tilting at the windmill of Kaiser Motors for months,
and now that they'd finally agreed to send a
representative over, no power on earth could have made
Evan relent before the account was in the bag. Over the
past year or two he'd always been the one detailed with
the task of wining and dining major clients into

The Kaiser Account

4

capitulation, the tie his faithful companion throughout.
Today, he'd be presenting to, and then entertaining,
Mark "Strippers" O'Brien, and the tie would come along
for the ride -- not that Evan expected it to be a terribly
bumpy one. This was one hell of an important account,
but Evan was good, and O'Brien's reputation preceded
him. A couple of girly bars, Evan thought, and they'd be
set. O'Brien would never have to know that Evan was
more interested in the brawny guys standing guard at the
door than in all those breasts spilling out of their cups.
Hell, nobody ever had to know that. Evan had done a
pretty good job of keeping it under wraps so far, and he
didn't foresee any sudden precipices opening up in his
smooth road to the top and, probably, a good marriage to
Hardy's daughter.

When Evan reached the conference room, Danielle

was already waiting outside it, hand on her hip and a
smile on her face. They'd been dancing around each
other, at a respectable distance, for months now, but the
great thing about not-dating the boss's daughter was that
nobody actually expected Evan to touch her. Evan had
no doubt, in fact, that so much as a hand on her waist
would send Hardy running for his gun, and Danielle
seemed happy to abide by this. She liked him, Evan
knew, and he liked her. She was funny, and sweet, and
God knew any ordinary red-blooded man would be
twitching in his pants just seeing her smile. Evan was
eighty percent sure even he would be able to
get something up for her when the time came, and Evan
had never been normal in that regard. Danielle was a
beauty, and she deserved better than him, but if she
didn't want better -- and she didn't seem to -- Evan
figured he could live with that. After all, it wasn't as if
he had many other options. It was 1965 and free love
was ostensibly on the rise -- but free didn't quite mean

The Kaiser Account

5

what it purported to, even to the hippies. And Evan was
definitely not a hippie.

Danielle's

hand found his wrist when he neared her,

her habitual gesture of welcome, and she smiled at him,
encouraging and sure. "You ready?"

Evan was. He'd tackled bigger fish than Mark

O'Brien, and he couldn't imagine that anyone close to
his own age could defeat him where older and more
influential men had failed. He smiled back at Danielle
and squeezed her hand. "I'm ready. He in there?"

She

bit her lip on her smile and nodded. "Good luck,

Evan," she said, fingers clenching on his. "I know this is
a big deal for you."

"Big deal for everybody," Evan shot back,

disentangling himself. Around his neck, the green silk
tie sat pretty, the luck of the Joneses. "I'll be fine,
Danny."

"I'm sure you will," Danielle said as she let him go.

"Go get 'em."

Ordinarily, Evan could spot the big cheese of any

corporation at fifty paces. It wasn't that they looked the
same in any substantial way, discounting the general air
of smarmy affluence that seemed to be ubiquitous, but
there was just something about them. The sharp-suited,
good-looking thirty-somethings bore no resemblance,
that the layman could detect, to the fat, portentous
patriarchs with their graying hair greased flat, but the
similarity was there, all the same; the indefinable
something that marked them out from Stunt Executives
A and B beside them on the bench. These were men who
worked hard, played hard and showed both in their
faces, and Mark O'Brien, from what Evan had heard,
was no exception. Evan had never seen his photograph,
but he expected, nevertheless, to recognize him right off
the bat.

The Kaiser Account

6

There were three unfamiliar faces on the far side of

the conference table when Evan walked in: so far, so
perfectly ordinary. The fact of it was, though, that none
of them quite had the look Evan was accustomed to. Not
that they didn't look like corporate reps -- they fit the bill
from starched collars to spit-shined shoes -- but there
was no blinding flash of the whatever-it-was that
marked out the few, the smarmy, the rich and potentially
diseased from the masses. Evan was still glancing
between them, debating, when Hardy looked up and
smiled.

"Jones! Pull up a pew." He indicated a chair with one

square, broad hand, and Evan obediently sat. Hardy
smiled at him briefly before addressing the strangers.
"Gentlemen, this is Evan Jones, one of our best and
brightest. Evan, this is Mark O'Brien, here on behalf of
Kaiser Motors. I know I can trust you to take good care
of him."

Evan wasn't sure how exactly he'd pictured O'Brien,

but it certainly wasn't like this. The man who stood to
shake Evan's hand was only a little older than he was --
maybe thirty-five -- and compactly built, his expensive
suit molded nicely to the long, clean lines of him. He
was handsome, too, and it wasn't that Evan was unused
to entertaining handsome men, but they were normally
more the whisky-and-soda type, lantern jaws and
sideburns and fat cigars. O'Brien had an appeal all his
own, shrewd blue eyes and an unfairly sensitive mouth
adding dashes of effeteness to his firm-jawed, straight-
nosed face. The smile he gave Evan wasn't quite a
businessman's smile, and Evan felt his certainty hiccup a
little in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm sure," O'Brien said, his grip warm and strong on

Evan's hand, "we'll get along famously." He had an
upper-class Boston accent, slightly transatlantic, and

The Kaiser Account

7

Evan swallowed as it shot straight to his spine. God, this
was going to be more difficult than usual. He might
have to break out the big guns. Still, Evan was a
professional. He could control himself.

He smiled back at O'Brien, focusing on the grip of

the tie around his throat, the safe, familiar pressure on
his Adam's apple when he spoke. "I hope so," he said,
squeezing O'Brien's hand briefly before retracting his
own and sitting down again. "I've been very excited
about this bid, Mr. O'Brien. I hope you'll like some of
the ideas we've put together."

O'Brien laughed and clasped his hands on the table in

front of him. They were artist's hands, with long, tapered
fingers, and Evan could all too easily imagine them
wrapped around the neck of a bottle like sin; around the
barrel of a gun. He swallowed, looked away.

"I'm sure you have some excellent ideas, Mr. Jones,"

O'Brien said, the corners of his mouth edging upward
around the words. His tone was casual, professionally
good-natured, and the skin at Evan's nape had no
business prickling at it, attuning to its timbre. Evan drew
his eyebrows together a little and cleared his throat
firmly.

"Well," Hardy broke in, apparently oblivious to

Evan's discomfort, "we like to think so. We drew up the
designs a few different ways, but my favorite - if you'd
hold up the board, Mr. Tigerman?”

The copy, as always, was in the hands of Hardy and

Tigerman and their team of artists and designers, and
although Evan had seen these pieces before, there was
still a certain pleasure in watching them work, Hardy
selling the merits of each piece with the glib flair born of
long practice. Hardy was a massively charismatic man,
which gave him a great advantage to begin with. This,
combined with his capacity to tailor his pitches

The Kaiser Account

8

attentively to the relevant individuals, meant that Evan
always had a firm platform to leap from when it was his
turn to step in.

“I'm a great fan of Kaiser Motors myself, Mr.

O'Brien,” Hardy was saying, “and when I think
of my car," Hardy in fact drove a Chevy, but of course,
O'Brien didn't have to know that, "I see it like this.
Hmm?"

"Very elegant," O'Brien conceded, leaning back in

his chair. His eyes skimmed to and fro over the board,
assessing.

Evan thrust aside a sudden vibrant image of those

eyes passing like that over his own body, in its suit, out
of it. He cleared his throat.

"They're elegant cars," Evan put in. "Not hip, maybe,

but who wants that? 'Hip' comes and goes. Youngsters
are hip to trends, and Kaiser doesn't do trends. These
cars are timeless."

O'Brien smiled, tilting his head to one side, palm

coming up to cradle his jaw. "Sure. Go on."

His tone was warm, and that was always half the

battle. The look in his eyes was already rapt, and
nothing stoked Evan up to a good pitch like the
knowledge that the man he was selling himself to
already wanted to buy him. He felt the flicker of
professional enthusiasm in his chest pick up a little,
swelling, and pulled himself up straighter, let himself
fall into it.

"Well," he went on, "the way I see it, that's the image

you want to project. That's the way you want to get
everyone thinking; we want everyone else to be just as
proud of their classic elegance as we are. So..."

As pitches went, it wasn't one of Evan's most

meticulously rehearsed, but that had been a conscious
decision on his part, and as he got into it, he became

The Kaiser Account

9

increasingly convinced that Danielle had had the right
idea. Evan was always convincing, but never more so
than when his argument was allowed to become
impassioned without the constraints of a script. As he
neared the zenith of his oratory, the look on O'Brien's
face seemed to confirm this. He was smiling, no longer
the intrigued little upward curl of before, but something
more fully a smile, lips slightly parted, teeth gleaming
white behind, and Evan threw all his skill at that smile,
at working it wider, coaxing it out.

By the time he was done, he was breathless, heart

thumping in his throat, and O'Brien was grinning up at
him from his chair. Evan felt suddenly wild with
adrenaline, the sense of having just achieved something
monumental -- although he knew that nothing was in the
bag just yet; nothing was sold until the contracts were
signed. Still, the look on O'Brien's face was promising,
and Evan was too experienced to be falsely modest
about it. When he sat down, he smiled right back across
the table, and Hardy, beside him, smiled too, fumbling a
cigarette out of his case and proffering it between two
fingers.

"Well," O'Brien said, when something of the

electricity in the air had begun to fade, "I'm impressed.
Obviously I'll have to think it over, sleep on it, but -- I'm
impressed."

"Evan makes things work for people," Hardy said,

spreading his palms. "I do hope you'll think hard about
this one, Mr. O'Brien. We'd love to have you with us."

"I will," O'Brien said smoothly, eyes flickering over

to Evan. The directness of his stare made Evan suddenly
conscious of the cigarette between his fingers, the
weight of his lighter in his hand as he set it down on the
table.

The Kaiser Account

10

He colored slightly, glancing at Hardy, and withdrew

the cigarette, blowing out his plume of smoke rather
more quickly than he'd intended. "I'm sorry, I'm being
terribly rude. Do you smoke?"

Beside him, Hardy paused in the act of extracting his

own cigarette, and held out the case across the table, but
O'Brien only laughed a little and held up his hands.

"I don't, actually," he said. "Not any more. My little

niece doesn't like the way it smells -- I smoke, I don't get
cuddles." He was speaking to Hardy, but his eyes had
returned to Evan, their intensity mildly unsettling.

Evan put his own cigarette back in his mouth and

shrugged. "That seems fair."

"It doesn't," O'Brien said, laughing, "but never mind.

I can enjoy myself without smoking."

It was a line calculated for Hardy to leap on, Evan

knew, and leap Hardy did, pushing back his chair and
getting to his feet. "Well, Mr. O'Brien, I certainly hope
so. I took the liberty of making some reservations for
you, to show you our New York hospitality, you know.
Evan'll take good care of you."

"I have no doubt," O'Brien shot back glibly. He

glanced up at Evan. "My colleagues and I will need to
look this over, and I know you're a busy man, Mr. Jones,
but what do you say we meet back here when you get
off?"

He bit off his words like cinder toffee, brittle and

smoky and faintly English, and God, Evan hoped to hell
he wasn't a grabby drunk. Or at least, if he was, that he
could manage to unload him on some unsuspecting
female before O'Brien recognized the effect his own
proximity was having on Evan. The last thing he needed
was a punch in the face – or, maybe worse still, an offer
he wouldn't be able to refuse. His career depended on a
lifetime of refusing.

The Kaiser Account

11

Not that there was going to be an issue there, after

everything he'd heard about O'Brien. Evan pulled
himself firmly away from his ridiculous train of thought.

"That sounds fine," he said, gathering up his papers from
the table. "How about I pick you up in the lobby when I
finish -- say, six?"

"I'll be looking forward to it," O'Brien tossed back,

eyes soft and steady, smile still hovering. Evan nodded
tightly and glanced at his watch: eleven-thirty.

"Well, until then," he said, turning toward the door.
Six and a half hours to get himself under control, and

Evan was still thrumming a little from O'Brien's all-
pervasive suavity, that strange sort of flirtation that was
never quite turned off. But they were both professionals,
and Evan knew well enough that "flirting" with other
businessmen was a perfectly acceptable technique, a
natural means of winning someone's favor and keeping
it. He'd been on the receiving end of it before, and if the
other men had always been older, fatter, less adept at the
art than O'Brien, well, that didn't alter a thing. Evan
knew this; he had six and a half hours to make sure his
dick was aware of it, too.

No problem. Evan adjusted his tie absent-mindedly,

fingers reflexively smoothing the edges of the knot, and
walked out.

***

Six was a little early to start looking for dinner in

New York City, but Evan was a dab-hand at this by
now, and he knew more than one way to skirt the issue.
O'Brien was standing by the revolving doors when Evan
reached the lobby, which was something of a surprise in
itself -- Evan had, for some reason, judged him to be the
type of man liable to keep a fellow waiting. So, there

The Kaiser Account

12

would be no time killed in chasing the client around the
building, but still, it was at least a half hour's cab ride, in
the rush hour, to the bar where Evan intended to start the
evening's festivities, and there was nothing wrong with a
whisky and soda at six-thirty.

"Six on the nose, I see," Evan couldn't resist

observing as he neared the doors.

O'Brien laughed. He was still wearing the same suit

and tie as earlier, but his hair looked as if it had been
freshened up a little and he smelled different, Evan
thought, some woodsy undertone of cologne rising up to
meet him. "Never late to a party," O'Brien said brightly.
"Oh -- and call me Mark, would you? Mr. O'Brien is my
father, and he has no idea how to have fun. Do you mind
if I call you Evan?"

"Uh," Evan said. O'Brien -- Mark -- had something of

the air of a contained hurricane, and it was a little hard
to keep up. This was potentially a bad sign.

"Excellent," Mark cut in, before Evan had actually

succeeded in finding proper words with which to
respond. "I'm ravenous, so I hope you know a good
place to eat."

Evan weakly surrendered the idle hopes he'd

entertained of maintaining control of this evening, and
concentrated on keeping his answering smile as smooth
as possible. Mark's quick fire speech and the way his
smile flashed in and out were both disconcertingly
attractive traits, but Evan managed to keep his response
impressively smooth nevertheless.

"I know all the places," he said, setting a hand against

the glass of the door. "Shall we go?"

Mark followed him out and into a cab without

another word, but his smirk burned down Evan's spine
all the way across town.

The Kaiser Account

13

***

Sardi's on 44th was Evan's secret weapon for

important clients, and had been Hardy's for years before
Evan took over primary schmoozing duties for the firm.
Mark, as it transpired, had been to New York on a
number of previous occasions, but had never been to
Sardi's, and Evan felt a frisson of pride skip through him
as he watched Mark's eyes wander approvingly over the
quirky lamps and caricature-studded walls. Hopefully
he'd enjoy the food as much as he apparently liked the
decor, and then Evan's job would be half in the bag.

They started things off with what Evan liked to think

of as the Businessman's Special: a glass each of scotch,
Mark's neat, Evan's on the rocks. Evan was excellent at
his job, as any member of the firm would attest to, but
he tended to look upon the pitches and the professional
appeals as theatrics. This was all well and good, but like
any act, it could get tiring after a while. Whisky had the
pleasant effect of dispensing with some of Evan's natural
reserve without any effort on his part, oiling the machine
nicely. It was always easier, in Evan's experience, to
hang out casually with a stranger when slightly buzzed
than when sober.

The thing about Mark was that, once the conversation

started to flow, Evan was no longer sure the scotch was
even a necessary lubricant. Mark was -- well, he was
something, all right. Evan had been told as much --
Mark's fondness for dining, drinking and scandalously
overt sex was a well-worn rumor in the marketing
industry. All the same, while Evan had been counting on
Mark's social appetite as likely to facilitate matters
where this account was concerned, what he hadn't
expected was for Mark to be quite so charismatic with it.

The Kaiser Account

14

What Evan had expected, if he was honest, was a
paunchy, middle-aged man whose social habits made
him an arduous companion but an easy sell, a man
whose conversation ran all too often to loose women
and drink.

What he had in front of him was a mildly eccentric

but disturbingly compelling man in his mid-thirties,
whose turns of phrase coaxed unexpected laughter out of
Evan and whose blue eyes never left his face. It warmed
Evan all over, feeling that attention fixed so adamantly
on him, even as his stomach rolled uneasily at all the
ways his body wanted to react to it. It wasn't what Evan
had expected, wasn't the sort of conversation he was
used to having when attempting to sell an account, but
Mark seemed to be enjoying himself, and there was no
reason, Evan told himself, why he shouldn't indulge
himself a little, too. Mark would never realize quite in
how many ways Evan was enjoying their time together,
after all, and he did need to sell this account. There was
no harm in it.

By the time their food arrived, they were both three

scotches down, and Evan was beginning to doubt his
own judgment. He wasn't a big drinker, having
somehow mastered the art of appearing to match his
clients shot for shot while, in fact, making a single glass
of wine last all evening. But Mark was hard to say no to.
Twice, he called over the waitress and repeated their
order and twice, Evan made no protest, although Mark
left him plenty of time to do so. Evan half-suspected,
from the smile playing about the corners of Mark's
mouth, that no objection was expected, and while this
suspicion made his skin prickle in mild discomfort, it
was overridden by the look of rapt attention Mark wore
when Evan was talking.

The Kaiser Account

15

So, three whiskies loosened Evan up a little, let him

tap his foot idly against the table-leg and lean toward
Mark when he spoke. So what? The thick pulse of blood
beneath his skin felt giddily good, and Mark, opposite,
was looser too, his smiles all smirks now and his limbs
shifting carelessly. It was all right. A Mark too drunk to
keep his volume in check when he talked was also Mark
too drunk to notice Evan staring a little too long at his
mouth, or breathing a little shortly. Evan found that the
evening was actually proving more of a pleasure than a
chore, which was rather odd because Evan didn't tend to
like anybody easily, being kind of a cynical asshole at
heart; and Mark, Evan was pretty sure, was having an
equally pleasant time with Evan. And that, that right
there, was what successful business transactions were
made of.

When, halfway through dessert -- which Evan didn't

typically stay for, but Mark's story about living with
kangaroos was too entertaining to interrupt -- Mark's
foot nudged up against his under the table, Evan thought
it was an accident at first. After all, Mark's hands were
flying animatedly every which way as he talked; it
seemed no stretch to imagine that perhaps his feet were
simply performing accompanying acrobatics of their
own under the table. So, Evan moved his foot politely
away, told his pulse to return to its regular business, and
went on with his pie. The second touch, though, gave
him more pause.

It still wasn't obvious -- Mark was far too shrewd a

man to be obvious about things like this. If Evan were to
move his foot away a second time, Mark could merely
apologize for the brief contact of shoe and ankle, and
move on smoothly with their evening without a second
thought. But if a man should happen to be, like Evan,
rather more attuned to the touches of other men than the

The Kaiser Account

16

ordinary fellow on the street, then such a touch could
speak volumes.

A drink ago, Evan would have shifted his foot again

immediately, without question. It was possible that he
was wrong in his assessment of the situation, but even if
he wasn't, there was no way that anything could be
allowed to happen with this man. It would be indiscreet,
untoward, and extremely ill-advised, and besides, Evan
had sworn off illegal encounters, and had mostly
managed to maintain his self-imposed celibacy for the
past three or four years. Even now, mildly drunk on
whisky and drunker on Mark's weird and wonderful
conversation, Evan knew that nothing could happen, but
the scotch entertained his curiosity where sobriety would
have stamped it out. He left his foot where it was, and
waited.

It was fully a minute before Mark moved again. A

minute, in real time, feels a hell of a lot longer than it
ought to, and Evan had already reached the point of
wondering whether perhaps Mark had a wooden leg, or
something, and had no idea he was touching Evan at all
before he felt Mark's foot move again. It was slight --
just a brief press of the smooth toe of his shoe to the
instep of Evan's -- but the upward drag of it slipped the
leather up far enough to touch Evan's leg above his shoe,
the inner bone of his ankle through sock and trouser-leg,
and that was unmistakable. Evan had been a concealed
pervert long enough to know the tells of others, and this
was most definitely one of them. He blinked as the ridge
of Mark's shoe scraped over the knob of bone; jerked his
foot away instinctively as the resultant heat flared
briefly in his groin, but it was too late. He had lingered
too long. Mark had to know.

Not that anything showed in Mark's behavior above

the level of the tabletop. Not by the slightest flicker did

The Kaiser Account

17

he betray himself, voice rolling on smooth and even -- "I
mean, hell, I don't know; are you a fan of animals,
Evan?" But oh God, oh God, suddenly Evan's head was
stuffing itself up, quite against his will, with the thought
that maybe this meant Mark wanted him, Mark with his
long, tapering fingers and his sex-soft mouth.

As thoughts went, it was rather unsettling, not least

because, if Evan knew anything about people at all,
Mark was fairly likely to make a second sally now that
Evan had given himself away. And -- this was the worst
part -- Evan knew full well that resisting might be very
difficult after another drink or two; and also that he was
almost certainly powerless to resist any attempt on
Mark's part to pour more whisky into him. If Mark was
allowed to make another move, Evan would give in to
him, and shit, it would ruin everything. All his careful
months of restraint, his slow climb toward normality,
swept away under the force of a single indiscretion. The
fact that Evan wanted to give in was beside the point; or
possibly it was the point.

With this sick sense of conviction burning in the back

of his throat, Evan knew what he had to do. He waved
down a waiter, called for the check, and Mark didn't
protest or question, only smirked at him. It struck Evan,
with sudden, horrifying clarity as they stood, that
possibly Mark thought -- possibly --

"Time to move on, I think," Evan told him, clumsy

clarification. "The night's still young; what do you say I
take you someplace a little more entertaining?"

The smirk on Mark's face made Evan realize belatedly
how suggestive this offer sounded, and he colored as he
corrected himself, "I, uh -- I know a club?"

"Sure," Mark said gamely. He wasn't unsteady on his

feet, wasn't ungainly or awkward, but there was more

The Kaiser Account

18

color in his face, too, than there had been before, and his
eyes seemed kind of bright. "Sounds good to me."

"Great," Evan tossed over his shoulder as he turned

and made for the door. "I think it'll be right up your
alley."

Evan didn't often resort to Hardy's Desperation Plan,

not if he could possibly help it. He found it, for obvious
reasons, extremely uncomfortable, and ordinarily it
wasn't necessary anyway. Tonight, though,
unfortunately, it seemed the only logical next step to
whisk Mark away from the main strip, away from
restaurants in which Evan's was the prettiest face, and
into the Green Parrot Parlor.

Mark might be unduly interested in Evan, but Evan

also had it on multiple good authorities that his taste for
the ladies was rapacious -- that, even if he did happen to
harbor some unorthodox preferences, he was also
capable of enjoying a beautiful woman in all the ways
Evan wasn't. Thus, to Evan, several things were clear
even through his haze of whisky, and those things were:
one, that Mark needed to enjoy himself this evening in
order for the account to be secured; two, that this would
apparently require allowing him to get some tail; and
three, that this tail absolutely could not be Evan's,
however interested certain parts of Evan’s anatomy
might be in the prospect. Ergo, the Green Parrot Parlor,
where there would be an abundance of ladies of low
morals, some of whom would surely be to Mark's liking.
Technically, the joint was a to-the-panties strip club, but
in actuality it also functioned as a brothel, and it was
Evan's best plan of action right now, however personally
unappealing he found the idea. These were, after all,
desperate times.

The look on Mark's face when they walked into the

smoky back room was harder to read than Evan would

The Kaiser Account

19

have liked. He looked pleased, certainly, but there was
something dark in it, some kind of private amusement
that Evan didn't care to analyze. Better to pour a cocktail
or two down his throat, or a tray of oddly colored shots,
and stop that mind whirring once and for all. He tossed
Mark his most casual of grins and leaned an elbow on
the bar.

A girl in an impossibly tiny bikini returned the grin

from across the room and Evan glanced away hurriedly,
ignoring Mark's soft huff of laughter in favor of flagging
down the barman. "Stick of shots," he ordered, flatly.

"Ooh," Mark said, his voice dry and dark and

uncomfortably close to Evan's ear. "Is it time for
shots?"

"Reckon so," Evan returned without thinking, and

Mark's smile widened, eyes darkening speculatively.

"I thought I heard an accent in there somewhere.

Caution: Texan when tipsy, huh?" He leaned in a little,
angling one shoulder fully into Evan's personal space,
and his foot shifted slightly, inching forward until it was
between Evan's. "Do you drawl in bed, too, cowboy?"

Evan couldn't remember ever having felt such

gratitude as the wave that crashed over him when the
barman chose that moment to set their tray of shots on
the bar with a curt, "Have at 'em."

He cleared his throat, angling his body half-

consciously away from Mark's, and smiled at the
barman. "Thanks."

The barman inclined his head and moved away again.

A couple of girls were hovering farther down the long
bar, but Evan didn't think he could stand to simply wait
with Mark up close like this, just on the off chance they
might approach. He quirked an eyebrow and carefully
lifted the tray. "Shall we sit?"

The Kaiser Account

20

He didn't wait for Mark's response before hastening

toward the nearest empty table. For one thing, he could
feel, thrumming under the surface of his skin, that Mark
was still smiling his enigmatic little smile, and Evan
couldn't cope with looking at that directly just now.
There was a round table with several low chairs not six
feet away, and Evan made a beeline for it with his tray
of shots, studiously avoiding Mark's eyes. By the time
he felt, rather than saw, Mark drop down in another seat
-- in point of fact, the one closest to Evan, rather than on
the other side of the table, as might have been more
natural - - he had already extracted the first shot from its
holder. Mark laughed, leaning across the table to pick up
his own, and the brush of his fingers against Evan's was
brief but deliberate, a drag of warm skin from nail-bed
to knuckle-joint.

"Together?" he suggested. He was grinning when

Evan glanced up at him, and his whole face glowed with
it in the dim yellow light. Christ, he had an interesting
face, all finesse and shadows.

Evan couldn't help but smile back, raising his own

shot glass. "Sure," he agreed. "Three, two --"

The stuff in the glass was pale green, some gimmick

of the club's, but as far as Evan could tell it was only
tequila; the unnatural hue was probably some kind of
food coloring. It hit the back of Evan's throat like
gunpowder, sparking up behind his eyes, and across the
table Mark was laughing, gasping for breath and pulling
the most alarming faces.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaimed, glaring at the glass in

his hand as if it had personally done him an injury.
"What the hell is this stuff?"

There was something so strangely endearing about

his outrage that Evan had to laugh, his earlier discomfort
buried under the burn of tequila in his throat, the perfect

The Kaiser Account

21

line Mark's jaw presented when he frowned like that.
"It's amazing, is what it is," Evan supplied. "Another?"

They were still sputtering from the second shot when

the girl appeared at Mark's elbow. Somewhere in the
sudden new rush of alcohol, Evan had forgotten his
purpose in bringing Mark all the way out here, but
seeing her there brought it all back to him. Under the
table, Mark's foot leaned idly against his, but Evan
withdrew now, wiping the back of his hand over his
mouth. The girl, in her minuscule green bikini, sidled up
close to Mark's elbow, and Mark looked placidly up the
length of her body, eyes heavy-lidded, his expression
mildly inquisitive.

"Looks like I have company," he observed, voice

slow with alcohol.

The girl smiled, all white teeth and bright lipstick.

"That's why you're here, isn't it, handsome?"

Mark laughed shortly and turned momentarily to

Evan. "Well, sunshine, I have to confess I'm not sure.
Why am I here, Evan?"

The tone of his voice was unashamedly suggestive,

knowing, and Evan couldn't beat back his blush. He
tightened his jaw and shrugged, forcing casualness.
"Promised to show you a good time. You like pretty
girls, don't you?"

The girl's hand came out, as if on cue, to brush over

the sharp line of Mark's cheekbone and Mark laughed
again, leaning into the touch. "Sure," he said, shrugging,
and it was an incomplete statement, Evan knew, but he
could work with it. Five minutes, and this leggy redhead
would be writhing in Mark's lap, and Mark surely
wouldn't be looking at Evan with those eyes then.

"Well, then," he said, spreading his palms and

leaning back in his chair. "New York's the place to be in
business, I can tell you that."

The Kaiser Account

22

Mark was still wearing that look of quiet calculation,

but when the girl moved forward to straddle his lap, he
made no protest, tipping back his head and smiling up at
her with the languid unconcern of a man to whom such
things were far from new. She was pretty, Evan thought,
her body swaying sinuously, gracefully, with the soft
jazz beat emanating from somewhere, and for a long
moment, while Mark's eyes raked over her, Evan
thought that this could work. This would be okay. Mark
would let himself be charmed by this girl, maybe take
her back to his hotel, and in the morning he'd have
nothing but good memories of New York and the firm's
hospitality. The account would be theirs, Hardy would
be delighted, and Evan's crisis of conscience would pass
away as if it had never been. Everything, Evan thought,
would be fine.

And then she started to move in earnest, and he was

no longer so sure.

It wasn't that he was unsettled by all her naked skin,

drawn in by the neat cinch of her waist or the way she
tossed her hair, intrigued by her long thighs spanning
Mark's spread legs. It wasn't that Evan was unsettled
by her at all. It was just that, when Evan had first
conceived this great plan, he had neglected to consider
that all of it would be happening right in front of him,
seduction and charm and Mark swelling against his
seams. It had seemed such an effortless solution that
he'd forgotten all of that. Now, though, listening to
Mark's breath quicken, watching the dip of his throat as
he swallowed, the clench of his hands on the chair, the
way he spread his legs a little farther to accommodate
arousal -- right now, it didn't seem effortless at all.

Christ, Mark was hot like this. It was a dangerous

thought, stupid, but what with the whisky and the
incremental shifts of Mark's hips on the chair, his damp

The Kaiser Account

23

half-open mouth, Evan couldn't stamp it down. Not that
it mattered much now, anyway. Mark hardly seemed
likely to notice, not now that all his attention was
apparently fixated on this girl with her waist and her tits
and her long red hair -- which, Evan reminded himself,
was exactly what he had intended. This right here was
exactly what he'd wanted: Mark distracted from
whatever dumb game he'd been playing, blue eyes
smoldering in someone else's direction, long fingers
curling and uncurling around the edge of his chair as his
cock filled in his pants. This was what Evan had wanted:
Mark like this, flush creeping up out of the starched
collar of his shirt, his head tipped back, lips gleaming
wetly where he'd licked them.

This -- fuck. Evan couldn't watch this. His pulse beat

heavy and hot between his legs, all his blood heating in
tune with Mark's body, even with that girl right there,
half-naked and Evan was so screwed he couldn't even
spare her a glance. He drew in a breath, trying to think
through all the alcohol. And then Mark turned his head,
held Evan's eyes as he rolled his hips up, languid and
slow. His pupils were blown, bled out so the irises were
only minute rings of blue, and his mouth...

Account or not, Evan had had enough. If Mark

wanted to get his rocks off, fine, but he'd just have to do
it without Evan's company. Looking at the two of them
now, Evan doubted there'd be any issues with this.

He shoved back his chair, the legs scraping along the

floor, and fumbled his cigarettes out of the inside pocket
of his jacket. "Going for a smoke," he said curtly, and
left before Mark could begin to formulate a response.

Smoking was perfectly acceptable behavior in the

club, as the fuggy atmosphere readily attested, but Evan
needed more distance than the six feet between their
table and the bar. When he stumbled out the back door

The Kaiser Account

24

into the alley, the cool air was a shock and a tonic and
he breathed in deep of it, clearing his lungs while he
fumbled with his lighter, preparatory to tarring them up
again.

God, he was fucked up. It wasn't as if he hadn't

known it already -- he was twenty-seven, now, going on
twenty-eight, and it had been fourteen years since he'd
first looked at Jimmy O'Malley in the locker room and
thought, wow. Evan was fully aware of how
irreparably wrong he was. It was just that, for months
now, he'd managed to keep it mostly out of his head.
He'd concentrated instead on sensible things like career
progression and what a wonderful mother Danielle
would make, and how proud Mr. Hardy would be when
he gave her away. And then, out of the blue, there came
Mark, his hands and his smile and everything about him
indiscriminately sexual, and all Evan's serenity was shot
to pieces. His hands shook as the end of the cigarette
took fire, as he brought it to his lips and breathed in
deep.

The smoke rushed into his lungs like elixir, buoying

him up from the inside, and he took a moment to savor
the burn of it there before he let it coil out again,
breaking from his lips in a thin ribbon of blue. This was
better, he thought. This was normality, the tie around his
neck and the sweet smoke on his tongue; this was Evan
Jones, account manager and modern man. He took a
deep breath of the cool air, relishing the way it broke
like a wave against the cliff-face of smoked heat in his
lungs, and closed his eyes.

The cigarette was halfway to his mouth again when

he heard the door open. Not noisily, but the click of it
was distinct and clear in the still night, and he blinked
back to alertness, turning toward the sound. "Hello?"

The Kaiser Account

25

The newcomer said nothing, but his laughter

bloomed through Evan slow and warm, unmistakable.
Evan crossed his legs, backed up so the bricks scraped
his shoulder blades through the wool of his jacket.
"Thought you didn't smoke," he ventured, unable to
keep the petulance entirely out of his voice.

Mark smiled, stepping close enough that Evan could

see his face in the pale, city-lit night. He spread his
arms, half-apologetic, and Evan felt his chest kick
angrily in reaction, because Mark should be apologetic,
God damn it, after all the trouble Evan went through to
hook him up with a nice girl and make his night. What
the hell was Mark doing here after all that, fucking
Evan's head over again just when it was starting to
clear?

"My niece doesn't like it when I smoke," Mark said

mildly. He took another step, and now Evan could smell
him over the smoke, his cologne and his shampoo and
the alcohol on his breath. Warm skin. Evan felt his nape
prickle, goosepimpling.

He looked away. "You said."
His voice was curt -- difficult, now, to be anything

else -- but Mark's was unchanged when he replied, still
mild and smooth. "So, I don't carry cigarettes," he went
on.

Evan blinked at him stupidly for a moment, and then

fumbled for his case. "You want to bum one or
something?"

Mark shook his head, and there was that smile again,

unreadable and quietly disconcerting. "Not a whole one.
I don't smoke any more, honestly. I'll just take what you
don't want, after, if that's all right with you." He
gestured, an offhand, one-armed shrug. "You go
ahead."

The Kaiser Account

26

There was something wrong here, Evan thought. He

could feel it, something unspoken, something curled in
the shadows and poised to spring. But the cigarette was
burning down between his fingers, and God, he wanted
that reassurance, wanted the warm kiss of the smoke in
his lungs, and if Mark wanted him to go ahead, then
damn him, Evan would. The cold air and the smoke had
burned off some of the alcoholic haze between them, but
the unaccustomed defiance remained, and Evan set the
cigarette between his lips, pointedly ignoring the way
Mark's proximity set his skin prickling all down one
side, the way the light shone palely in the hollow of his
throat. He closed his eyes, the familiar slight weight of
the cigarette teasing at his mouth, and sucked.

Mark moved like a cat, like a shadow. One moment,

Evan was bracing himself to exhale, pushing out the
warmth smooth and steady; the next, there was an
answering warmth against his lips, soft and dry and sure.
Evan had been breathing smoke into it for two or three
seconds before he registered that the warmth was Mark's
mouth.

Mark's mouth.
He jerked belatedly at the realization, but Mark was

faster, hands coming up to bracket Evan's face, and
Evan's cock, which had been running at half-throttle all
night, rose to full hardness so fast it left him dizzy. Or
possibly that was only Mark's lips, nudging Evan's
gently open, or Mark's tongue, flickering lightly against
Evan's as the last of the smoke vanished down his throat.
This was Mark's mouth, warm and male and
unbelievably soft on Evan's, and Evan felt years of
careful self-control unraveling in the face of that one
incredible fact. This wasn't a kiss, not yet, but there was
no ambiguity in it, not with Mark's stubbled cheek

The Kaiser Account

27

rasping dry against his, Mark's long-fingered hands
cradling Evan's jaw.

Evan? Was screwed.
Perhaps it was the alcohol that made his mind up for

him, or possibly the sudden crushing sense of his own
futility in fighting his condition; the sense of standing in
the way of a semi-truck and expecting to be able to stop
it. Evan wasn't Superman, and there was only so much
he could be expected to carry. Whatever the reason,
when Mark moved to draw away, Evan's hand came up
instinctively to fist in the lapel of his blazer, anchoring
him firmly in place. "That it?"

Mark's laughter was even hotter breathed against

Evan's lips, rough with smoke. "Only wanted a taste," he
said, and nobody could have missed the challenge in it.
Evan's fist tightened, twisting in the fabric.

"Tough luck," he said, the words pushed out of him

on a harsh breath, and he shoved Mark back hard against
the opposite wall.

And that was it, the sound of their remaining

pretensions collapsing. Mark's own hands shifted
immediately, instinctively, from Evan's face to his
shoulders, to his biceps, and then they were kissing,
hard, fierce, teeth-clashing kisses that bruised Evan's
lips and stoked up the heat in him to fever pitch.
Fuck, this was what he loved about men, the low rumble
of the honest-to-God growl in Mark's throat; the wiry,
whipcord strength of him pressing back against Evan
when he shoved a thigh between Mark's and pinned him.
The heat of him there, more than anything, his cock hard
and obvious against Evan's through the fabric of their
pants, and God, when he was doing this, Evan couldn't
remember why anything, any level of prestige or
professional respect, was worth giving it up.

The Kaiser Account

28

Mark was panting when Evan broke away to nip at

his jaw, dropping little bites like stitches in a line from
mouth to ear. The sound of it set Evan's own breath
hitching with want, the tangible urgency feeding his
own like new trees to a forest fire, and he pressed
himself closer, hands pinning Mark to the brick by the
shoulders. He loved this; loved the way Mark could
fight and buck and Evan could thrust back against him
in the knowledge that his protests were encouragements,
so much of the enjoyment all tied up in the tussle for
dominance. Mark was strong, the lithe, tensile power of
him pulsing just under the surface, throbbing against
Evan's thigh, and Evan wanted to drown in it, turned his
face and moaned when Mark found his tie and tugged,
curling the silk around his fist.

"God," Mark rasped out, "Evan," and then there was

wet heat licking down his neck, the sandpaper drag of
stubble chasing it. Evan stumbled, a moment's hesitation
in the wake of the roil of heat skipping down his spine,
and Mark took immediate advantage of the slip to thrust
Evan backward until his shoulder blades met brick.

It was puerile, childish, this tug-of-war tussling

between them and Evan was drunk on it, head tipping
back as his pelvis rolled forward, fingers seeking
purchase at Mark's waist, sliding lower. There were too
many clothes involved in this little scenario, Evan
thought dimly, but alleys behind bars didn't really allow
for nakedness, for all they were perfect for rough and
tumble and the jolting pressure of Mark's cock grinding
against his.

"Fuck," he gritted through his teeth, low and hot, and

Mark laughed breathlessly, tugging the tails of Evan's
shirt out of his pants to get to the skin beneath -- which,
really, was an extremely good idea that would probably
have occurred to Evan earlier, had his brain not been

The Kaiser Account

29

partially melted. He fumbled his own way up under
Mark's blazer, fisted his shirt and shoved it up and out of
the way, and Mark whimpered, a thready skein of sound
in the back of his throat.

"God, yes," he got out, breath gone dark and hot

against Evan's mouth, and his fingers fluttered in their
quest for Evan's zipper, for his hardness beneath. "Do
you have any idea -- Jesus Christ, your face --"

"I don't fucking do this," Evan spat. He hadn't meant

to, but the words rose up out of him anyway, set his
fingers jerking fiercely at the zipper of Mark's pants,
splaying the vee of fabric wide.

Mark's hips hitched forward, shoving the heat of his

cock into Evan's palm, and his breath hitched, too,
emerging in something like a keen. "Nnnngh, fuck.
Maybe you should."

It was on the tip of Evan's tongue to protest, to

fucking say something, but then Mark thrust his hand,
without preamble, into Evan's underwear and curled it
around his cock, and suddenly Evan found himself
without the breath to say anything at all. Mark squeezed,
slow; flicked his thumb over the sensitive head and
jacked him once, and Evan inhaled in a whoosh of
stuttered sound, an inverted cry.

"Oh, Jesus," he managed, far too close to a moan for

his liking, but Mark was good at this, all the blood in
Evan's body pulsing under the touch of his clever hand,
and the next stroke took him past caring. "Oh, Jesus,
shit, Mark --"

Mark's cock twitched, then, in his shorts, the fabric

damp at the head where Mark was leaking pre-come
through it and Evan remembered himself, burrowed
under the waistband and gripped, savoring Mark's
resultant groan.

The Kaiser Account

30

"You like that?" Evan whispered, low and nasty, and

Mark groaned again, which Evan took to be assent.
More to the point, though, Evan liked this; liked the
thick weight of Mark's cock in his hand, liked the sticky
slide of his pre-come under his thumb and the way Mark
shivered and whimpered as Evan fisted him. It was
glorious, it was power, working Mark as Mark worked
him, both pleasures tangling together around the base of
Evan's spine to set him quivering with want.
Jesus Christ.

Mark was loud, spitting obscenities and groaning

under his breath, and Evan knew that if they weren't
here, in a God damn public alley, he would almost
certainly be louder. As it was, he bit off his curses and
buried them in Evan's throat, licked up the space behind
his ear and sank his teeth into the skin, sucking the
blood to the surface there while he muffled his moans in
the kiss. Evan liked loud, which wasn't exactly helpful
when he was trying to be discreet, but perhaps that was
the point of it, the bone-deep thrill of hearing all the
ways he was transgressing while another man gripped
and stroked him, smeared his slickness all over his
shaft. He hated it, in so many ways, being like this, and
yet the desire for it crawled out of him over and over
like a monster out of a pit, bottomless and still unable to
contain it. Sometimes, there was nothing Evan could do
but let the monster feed.

Some men of his sort, Evan knew, wanted only one

thing -- to dominate, or else to submit entirely. But Evan
was greedy; Evan wanted everything, to give pleasure
and take it, to fuck and be fucked. Mark's hand was
maddening on his cock, milking the heat of it out of
him, fingers now open, now closed, now loose, now
tighter, and Evan threw his head back, worked his hips

The Kaiser Account

31

and his hand faster, the dual waves of heat rising up to
buffet him between them like a ragdoll.

"Shit," he whispered, as Mark's fingers moved faster,

as his teeth nipped at the long tendon straining in Evan's
neck. "Mark, shit," and the sounds they made were
obscene, skin on skin slip-sliding through their
slickness, everything all hands and teeth and heat.
"Fuck-- God-- "

Mark came like a punch, one fierce, fast stroke into

Evan's palm and a groan into his neck, and then there
was wet heat jetting over Evan's fingers as he worked
them. The pressure of orgasm had been banking white in
Evan's belly for long moments already, and that broke
the circuit and set Evan spilling into Mark's hand, pelvis
stuttering forward, eyes wide and blind. God, but it was
good, his own hand still slipping on Mark's cock until
Mark stepped away in silent protest, colors still bursting
behind Evan's eyes when Mark leaned in and licked at
his mouth. Evan kissed back instinctively, lips still slack
and numb, one hand stilling Mark's on his dick, and
Mark hummed approval. He nipped at the swell of
Evan's lower lip and then tongued lazily at his soft
palate, licking deep to the back of his mouth. When
Mark broke away, they were both panting, bodies still
tight together, afterglow curling warmly around the base
of Evan's spine. There was a familiar coldness there, too,
lurking underneath it, but Evan could ignore that for
now. Until the tequila wore off.

It was always awkward, afterwards, but alcohol made

it less so, and Evan was grateful for the way Mark
grinned at him sidelong while they wiped their hands on
the brickwork and zipped themselves back into their
clothes.

"You do get Texan in bed," Mark told him, "for your

information."

The Kaiser Account

32

Evan snorted, startled into a laugh. "We weren't

exactly in bed," he pointed out. Evan had never done
this in bed. This was something he did in back alleys
and public toilets, very occasionally and because he had
to. It wasn't anything you could do in bed, like it
was normal.

Mark laughed back, shrugged his shoulders and

shifted into Evan's space to nudge him affably. "We
could be," he said, lightly, as if that were actually an
option. As if it had never occurred to Mark that it
might not be. As if -- and this was the strangest part --
he felt the way Evan had always felt about it, like it was
some intrinsic and indelible part of him, the
unnaturalness natural to him as breathing. That anyone
might feel that way and actually allow themselves to act
accordingly, when the rest of society so vehemently
disagreed, was boggling. Evan swallowed, feeling
something settle, undefinable, low in his stomach.
"What?"

Mark spread his hands, and there it was again, the

unbelievable casualness, unselfconsciously cavalier.
"I'm just saying -- I have a hotel room. You could come
back to it. I want to, you want to. You can try and tell
me you don't, but after that little performance, I'm not
going to be believe you." He broke off and laughed.
"And in case you're wondering, I think I can confirm the
account's a sure thing, so you're not gonna lose out with
Hardy if it so happens you fuck like a girl."

"I do not --" Evan paused, took a deep breath, and

tried again, this time without the shrill break in his
voice. "I do not fuck like a girl."

"Oh, really?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "Why don't

you come over and prove it to me, then? I know you
think you're gonna grow up and marry the boss's
daughter and have 2.5 children and a dog, and you're

The Kaiser Account

33

trying to get in training or something, but, hell, it's only
one night." He smiled, slow. "You're not married yet."

Shit, Evan wanted to. He wanted to so badly he could

taste it, metallic under his tongue. He wanted it so much
that his throat felt dry and close, but it felt like a step
backward, doing this. Another step into the pit, spurred
on by whisky and tequila and his dick. "And you're-- I
mean, you're not..."

Mark snorted and laughed. He slipped his arm

through Evan's and squeezed, like any drunken
businessman might grab onto a buddy, except normally
the buddy wouldn't yearn to press against him the way
Evan was currently doing, his blood starting to race
again. "Hell, no, I'm not married. I'm not the marrying
kind, Evan, case you hadn't noticed. Not everybody has
to be."

Evan opened his mouth and then closed it again. He

felt oddly as if the back of his skull had gone numb. It
was all right for Mark. Mark was so-- so content, so
brash and self-assured; didn't need the security of a
pretty girl and a swift, tame progression up the career
ladder. And yet. His mind threatened to rush off without
him, and Evan wasn't sure he could let it.

Mark, studying him sidelong in the half-light, seemed

to notice his hesitation, squeezing his arm again as if to
recapture his attention. "Look, hey."

Evan looked. Mark's mouth was parted, softly

gleaming with dampness. Evan wanted to teethe along
the swell of it. He wanted to suck it into his mouth and
bite.

"Don't think about that now," Mark said, and the tone

of his voice was soothing, like warm water Evan could
just sink on into. "I don't want you to think about that;
I'm not asking you to reconsider your whole life, okay?
This doesn't have to be about that." He squeezed again,

The Kaiser Account

34

leaned a little closer so his mouth was by Evan's ear.
"All I want you to do is to come back to my room with
me." His thumb found Evan's nipple through his shirt;
pressed there so a spark darted hot through Evan's spine.
"Want you to fuck me." A soft laugh. "Think you can do
that?" A tug at Evan's neck, then, as Mark's hand fisted
again in his tie, close enough that Evan could smell his
own familiar scent on it.

Jesus Christ, Evan thought dimly, Mark was good.

No wonder he was so God damn notorious in the world
of advertising. "Um," he said, breathlessly. "Yeah, I-- I
think I can do that."

"Excellent," Mark said brightly, leaning away. Evan's

skin ached at the loss. "You really are a wonderful host,
Evan. Hardy's absolutely right to be proud of his boy."

He turned, then, and set a path back toward the door

they'd come out of before Evan's world had swung
sideways, strung out on Mark's defiance and surety and
soft, spit-slick mouth. Evan hadn't a hope in hell of
resisting. He couldn't help but follow. Just for tonight.
There could be no harm in that. After all, the account
had been secured, and that was what they were all here
for. The account.

Mark's hips swung slightly as he walked, smooth and

self-assured. Evan bit his lip on the surge of heat
pooling in the pit of his stomach at the sight. The green
tie that had served him so well was askew now, from
Mark’s hands, Mark’s attentions; it looked a mess. Evan
felt vaguely as if he should straighten it, make himself
presentable again, but Mark was walking away, and
following him suddenly seemed of paramount
importance.

Evan let his fingers drop from his throat and followed

Mark.

The Kaiser Account

35

Author Bio

An avid reader of everything from New Scientist to

the back of the cereal box, Louise Blaydon has been
writing, encouraged by her father, ever since she could
hold a pen. Her writing, like her reading, has wandered
erratically from genre to genre, but has settled firmly on
gay romance, to the mild bemusement of Dad. Louise
also writes sporadically for various journalistic
publications and has been known to print the occasional
poem.

She owes much of her inspiration and support to an

amazing network of friends, whose willingness to listen
to her rail against life, the universe, and everything she
could not live without. Louise's pursuits beyond writing
are worryingly few, chief among them being Worrying
About Not Having Pursuits Beyond Writing. However,
this has long been the case, and after many abortive
attempts to pad her leisure-time resume with everything
from hiking to yoga, she has pretty much given up. She
does enjoy singing, country walking, making deep-
voiced sardonic remarks, and tasting the rain, but has a
horror of organized activities.

Louise has altogether too many academic qualifications
and can only dream that her list of published works will
one day be equally long.

The Kaiser Account

36