Chapter Text
Steve should have said no.
He knows this now, sitting in his apartment Sunday morning with a headache and the taste of Saturday night still on his tongue, but he knew it then too. When Nancy had showed up at his door Friday evening with that determined look on her face, Jonathan and Robin flanking her like backup. He knows he should have held firm.
“Come on, Steve,” Nancy had said, pushing past him into his apartment. “One night out before you become a corporate drone.”
“I’m already a corporate drone, I’m just starting a serious career.” He’d tried for dignity, but Robin was already raiding his closet.
“Same thing,” she’d called out. “Oh my god, do you own anything that isn’t made for an office?”
“Some of us don’t work in record stores where vintage is a lifestyle choice.”
Dustin had been the one to seal his fate, looking up from Steve’s couch with those wide eyes that still worked even though the kid was twenty-three now. “Steve. Dude. You’re starting at a huge company Monday morning. When’s the next time you’re gonna get to just… let loose? You’re gonna be in meetings about synergy and paradigm shifts.”
“I don’t think my job actually involves those words.”
“You don’t know that,” Jonathan had pointed out, unhelpfully reasonable as always. “Better to get it out of your system now.”
So here Steve is, Saturday night, standing outside Berlin with music pounding through the walls and a queue of people that stretches down the block. The club is in a converted warehouse in a part of Chicago that his mother would clutch her pearls about; all industrial chic and deliberately edgy.
“I have to be functional on Monday,” Steve tries one last time.
Nancy links her arm through his. “It’s Saturday. You have all day tomorrow to recover and be boring.”
Berlin is exactly the kind of place Steve usually avoids. Too loud, too crowded, too aggressively cool. The interior is all exposed brick and metal beams, lights that strobe in colors that probably aren’t found in nature. The dance floor is packed with bodies moving in ways that seem anatomically improbable.
Robin appears at his elbow with a drink. “Vodka soda. I know you’re being responsible tomorrow so I got you the boring choice.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Now stop lurking by the entrance like someone’s dad.” She physically turns him toward the bar. “Go sit. Maybe even talk to a human who isn’t us.”
“I talk to humans.”
“Customers at your old job don’t count!” Dustin says, already moving toward the dance floor where Nancy and Jonathan are waiting. “We’ll be over there. Try to have fun, it won’t kill you!”
Steve watches them disappear into the crowd, then makes his way to the bar. It’s less packed here, though still busy enough that he has to squeeze between people to find a spot. He settles onto a stool at the end, content to nurse his drink and observe.
The club is wild in that very intentional way that expensive places are. The crowd is attractive and dressed in clothes that are only acceptable because of their designer logo. There’s an energy here, reckless and free, the kind of place where people come to forget about their lives for a few hours.
Steve gets it. He’s been working in underpaid positions and internships since college and finally landed this marketing position after months of interviews and applications for various different companies. It’s a good paying job, a real career-starter at a major company. He should be home, well-rested, preparing.
But Nancy was right. Monday is the start of the real hustle-life. Tonight can be the end of everything else.
He’s on his second drink, watching a group of people take shots with entirely too much enthusiasm, when someone slides into the space next to him at the bar.
“Vodka rocks,” a voice says, low and confident. “And whatever he’s having.”
Steve turns and...oh.
The man next to him is unfairly attractive. Blond and sharp-jawed, wearing a red shirt that catches the light in a way that suggests silk. His blue eyes are already on Steve when Steve turns and they don’t move away. There’s a watch on his wrist that probably costs more than Steve’s car.
“I didn’t order anything.” Steve says, finding his voice.
“You were nursing that drink like it owed you money.” The man’s smile is sharp, amused. “Figured you could use another.”
The bartender sets down two glasses. The stranger slides one toward Steve, then raises his own. “To Saturday night.”
Steve should probably be more cautious. Should ask who this guy is, why he’s buying him drinks. Instead he finds himself lifting his glass. “To Saturday night.”
They drink. The man doesn’t look away and Steve feels pinned by that gaze in a way that’s not entirely uncomfortable.
“I’m Billy,” the man says, setting his glass down.
“Steve.”
“So Steve.” Billy shifts slightly, angling his body toward him. The movement is casual but deliberate, closing the space between them. “You come here often, or is that too cliché a question?”
“First time, actually. Friends dragged me out.”
“And where are these friends now?”
Steve gestures vaguely toward the dance floor. “Out there somewhere. I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Shame.” Billy’s eyes track over him, assessing in a way that makes Steve very aware of his body. “You look like you’d be good at it.”
It’s a line. Steve knows it’s a line. But something about the way Billy says it, confident without being sleazy, makes it work.
“What about you?” Steve asks. “You a regular?”
“Not really.” Billy takes a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Steve’s face. “I don’t get to go out to places like this as much as I’d like. Work keeps me busy.”
“What do you do?”
Billy’s smile is sharp. “Nothing interesting enough to talk about on a Saturday night.” He leans in closer and Steve can smell his cologne, something expensive for sure. “I’d rather talk about you. Or better yet, stop talking entirely.”
It’s brazenly forward and Steve should probably be put off by it. Instead he feels heat curl low in his stomach.
“Subtle.”
“I don’t do subtle.” Billy’s hand lands on Steve’s knee, warm and possessive. “Life’s too short. I see something I want, I go for it.”
“And what do you want?
“I think you know exactly what I want, Steve.”
The way he says Steve’s name, low and deliberate, makes Steve’s breath catch. Billy’s thumb strokes against his knee, a touch that’s casual but loaded with intent.
“Pretty confident,” Steve manages.
“Yeah, I am.” Billy’s grin is wicked. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Steve can’t. He’s attracted to this guy in a way that’s almost alarming, all raw want and zero sense. Billy is gorgeous and knows it, cocky in a way that should be obnoxious but instead just makes Steve want to see if he can ruffle that confidence.
“What if I said you were wrong?”
“Then I’d buy you another drink and try harder.” Billy leans in, his mouth close to Steve’s ear. “But you’re not going to say that, are you?”
His breath is warm against Steve’s skin and Steve has to fight not to shiver. “You think you have me all figured out?”
“I think you came out tonight to let loose.” Billy pulls back enough to meet his eyes. “I think you’re tired of being responsible and reasonable. And I think you want someone to make you forget about all of it for a few hours.”
He’s not wrong. Steve feels seen in a way that’s slightly unnerving.
“And you’re volunteering for that job?”
Billy’s smile is pure sin. “Absolutely.”
They keep talking, but the conversation has shifted. Everything Billy says now has an edge to it, a suggestion. When Steve mentions something innocent, Billy finds the innuendo. When their knees brush, Billy doesn’t move away, instead presses closer.
“You’re trouble,” Steve says at one point and Billy laughs.
“You have no idea.” His hand is back on Steve’s thigh, higher now, thumb tracing patterns that make it hard for Steve to focus. “But you like it.”
“Confident.”
“Observant.” Billy’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth. “You keep looking at me like you want to do something about it.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Nothing to figure out.” Billy finishes his drink, sets it down with a decisive click. “I’m a guy who saw someone attractive and decided tonight was the night to take what I want.” His hand squeezes Steve’s thigh. “Question is whether you’re gonna stop overthinking and come with me?”
It’s not really a question. It’s a challenge.
Steve glances toward the dance floor one more time. His friends are fine. They won’t miss him. And Billy is looking at him like he’s the only person in this entire club, like he’s already decided how this night is going to end.
“Where?” Steve asks, his voice rougher than he intends.
Billy’s grin is victorious. He stands, hand extended. “Does it matter?”
It doesn’t. Steve takes his hand, lets Billy pull him up and through the crowd. He catches a glimpse of expensive fabric, that watch catching the light and distantly thinks this guy probably doesn’t belong in a place like Berlin any more than Steve does.
But then Billy’s grip tightens and he’s leading Steve toward the back of the club, and Steve stops thinking.
They push through the bathroom door and then Billy is on him.
Steve barely has time to register the grimy tiles, the flickering fluorescent light, before Billy crowds him back against the wall. His mouth finds Steve’s, hot and demanding, and Steve kisses back just as hard.
It’s not gentle. Billy kisses like he does everything else, confident and taking, his hand fisting in Steve’s hair to angle his head exactly where he wants it. Steve should probably object to being manhandled, but his body has other ideas, arching into Billy’s touch.
Billy’s other hand slides under Steve’s shirt, palm flat against his stomach, and Steve gasps against his mouth. Billy uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against Steve’s in a way that makes heat pool low in Steve’s gut.
“Fuck,” Steve breathes when Billy pulls back and Billy’s grin is sharp with satisfaction.
“That’s the idea.”
His mouth moves to Steve’s neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin and Steve’s hands finally remember how to function. He grabs Billy’s shirt, that expensive silk warm under his fingers, and pulls him closer.
“Bossy,” Billy murmurs against his throat, sounding pleased.
“You’re one to talk.” Steve gets his hands under Billy’s shirt, feels the muscle underneath, the heat of his skin. “You’ve been ordering me around since the bar.”
“And you’ve been loving it.”
Steve wants to argue, but Billy bites down on the junction of his neck and shoulder and starts sucking and the words dissolve into a groan. Billy’s hands are everywhere now, sliding up Steve’s sides, thumbs brushing against his ribs in a way that makes Steve shiver.
“We should…” Steve tries for rational thought. “Someone could come in.”
“Door has a lock.” Billy’s hand moves to Steve’s belt. “And you don’t really want to stop, do you?”
He doesn’t. Steve knows he should, knows this is insane and reckless and completely unlike him. But Billy’s mouth is back on his, swallowing whatever protest he might have made and Steve is tired of being sensible.
He kisses Billy back harder, aggressive in a way he usually isn’t, and feels Billy’s surprised laugh against his lips. “There you are,” Billy says, sounding delighted. “Thought you might have a spine under all that nice-guy routine.”
“Fuck you,” Steve shoots back, but there’s no heat in it.
“Wrong order of operations.” Billy’s hands move to Steve’s hips, grinding against him in a way that makes Steve’s vision blur. “But I like the enthusiasm.”
Steve grabs Billy’s hair, tugs hard enough to make him hiss. “You talk a lot.”
“You complaining?”
“Yeah, actually.” Steve pulls him into another kiss, this one messy and desperate. He can feel how much Billy wants this, can feel his own body responding in kind. They’re in a club bathroom and this is the worst idea he’s ever had and he really doesn’t care.
Billy breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide and there’s something almost feral in his expression. “Stall. Now.”
He doesn’t wait for Steve’s agreement, just pulls him toward the end stall. It’s barely cleaner than the rest of the bathroom, but neither of them seems to care. Billy pushes Steve inside, kicks the door shut behind them, and the lock clicks with a finality that makes Steve’s heart race.
“You sure about this?” Billy asks, and despite the cockiness, there’s a genuine question in his eyes.
Steve could stop this. Could say no, walk away, be the responsible person who makes good choices. Instead he reaches for Billy’s belt. “Stop talking.”
Billy’s grin is brilliant. “Yes, sir.”
Steve is pressing back, matching Billy’s intensity, and Billy looks thrilled about it. They’re fighting for control, hands grabbing, mouths clashing, neither willing to fully surrender. Steve gets Billy’s shirt untucked, slides his hands up his back, and Billy makes a sound that’s pure want.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Billy says, and there’s something raw in his voice now, the cocky facade cracking. His hands frame Steve’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, and the tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the hardness of his body pressed against Steve’s.
Steve kisses him again, softer this time, and feels Billy respond in kind. It’s still desperate, still urgent, but there’s something else underneath it now. Something that feels dangerously like a connection.
Billy’s mouth moves to his ear. “Tell me what you want.”
Billy took a step back to stand in front of him, a predator smile exuding a calm, calculated dominance. His blue eyes were sharp and piercing and in that moment, Steve felt something shift within him. He realized with a jolt, that he wanted this. He wanted Billy to make the decisions, to take control. Steve, who has spent years being responsible and planning for his future, lets go.
“Everything,” he says. “I want everything.”
Billy’s answering groan is gratifying. He kisses Steve again, deeper this time, possessive and claiming. His hands slide down Steve’s sides, to his hips, gripping hard enough to bruise.
Then he’s spinning Steve around.
Steve’s hands fly out, catching himself against the stall wall. The metal is cool under his palms, a sharp contrast to the heat of Billy’s body pressing against his back. Billy’s hand is still in his hair, holding him in place, not painful but firm, controlling.
“This okay?” Billy’s voice is rough, mouth against Steve’s ear.
Steve’s brain has short-circuited. He can feel Billy against him, hard and wanting, can feel his own body responding with an urgency that should probably embarrass him. But all he can manage is a breathless, “Yes.”
Billy’s free hand slides around to Steve’s belt, working it open with practiced efficiency. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you at that bar.”
His teeth graze Steve’s neck, the same spot he marked earlier and Steve’s knees nearly buckle. Billy’s body is solid behind him, pinning him to the wall, and the loss of control is intoxicating.
“Been thinking about how you’d look like this,” Billy continues, his voice a dark promise. “How you’d sound.”
Steve tries to form words, to say something clever or challenging, but Billy’s hands are pushing his pants and underwear down in one go, before reaching up again and wrapping around his dick, so all that comes out of Steve is a desperate sound that makes Billy chuckle.
“That’s what I hoped for.”
With practiced ease he retrieves a lube packet from his jeans, the crinkling of plastic echoing in the confined space. His gaze never leaving Steve, possessive and intense.
“Relax,” Billy growls, his deep voice sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. He slicks his fingers with lube, the cool gel contrasting with the heat of his touch. Steve’s breath hitches as Billy’s fingers press against his hole, teasing it open.
It was always a vulnerable moment, but Steve found himself spreading his legs wider, surrendering fully to Billy’s touch. The sensation is electric, a mix of pleasure and anticipation that coiled tightly in his gut.
Billy’s throbbing cock twitched visibly, straining against the confines of his jeans. He was also eager and hungry, and the sight of that sent a surge of desire through Steve.
Without retrieving his right hand fingers from within Steve, he reaches for his jeans button and fly, undoing them and tugging down his own jeans with hurried movements.
Once his jeans and boxers are down mid thigh, he tears open a condom packet and rolls it on with confident motions, his eyes darkening with want.
“You’re mine tonight,” he whispers, his breath hot against Steve’s ear. The words are a promise, a declaration, and Steve feels a thrill of excitement mixed with a strange sense of peace.
With a deliberate motion, Billy lines up his dick with Steve’s entrance. In a single motion, he thrusts in deep, filling Steve completely. The sensation is an overwhelming stretch and burn, and then a flood of pleasure that makes Steve moan loudly.
Steve’s cheek presses further into the cool tile wall, his body adjusting to the intrusion, his hole gripping Billy’s cock like a vice.
Billy then begins to move, his pushes steady and relentless. His hands grip Steve’s hips, holding him firmly in place as he fucks him with a primal rhythm.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small space, a wet, obscene noise that only heightens the intensity of the moment. Billy’s breath is hot against Steve’s ear, his grunts of exertion mixing with words of encouragement.
“You take me so perfectly, fuck,” Billy growls, his voice rough with need. He pounds into Steve’s ass, each thrust driving deeper, claiming him more fully.
Steve’s cock, hard and leaking, bounces against the wall with each movement, his balls tightening as he teeters on the edge of orgasm. The sensation is building, a pressure that coils tighter and tighter, threatening to explode at any moment.
Billy’s pace quickens and his possessiveness intensifies with every stroke. His dick drives deeper, his movements urgent and desperate. “Come for me, Steve,” he commands, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Let go.”
Steve’s eyes roll back as he obeyed, his body trembling with the force of his release. His dick explodes, ropes of cum splattering against the wall.
The sensation is mind-numbing, a wave of pleasure that leaves him gasping for breath.
Billy’s orgasm follows mere seconds later, growling as he fills the condom, his body shuddering with release.
For a moment, they collapse against each other, breathless and spent. Billy’s weight is solid and reassuring, his arms wrap tightly around Steve as they catch their breath.
They eventually separate, Billy pulls out, disposes of the condom in the toilet with a swift, efficient motion, before pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s sweat-slicked neck.
They clean up in a silence that’s strangely comfortable. Steve’s hands shake slightly as he fixes his clothes. Billy looks rumpled but still put-together, that expensive shirt wrinkled but still catching the light.
Steve catches sight of himself in the mirror. His hair is a disaster, lips swollen, a mark blooming on his neck that he’ll have to figure out how to hide Monday. He looks thoroughly debauched.
“That was…” Steve starts.
“Yeah,” Billy agrees.
They look at each other. There’s something in Billy’s eyes, something that could be the start of a question, but neither of them is ready for that conversation. This was what it was: perfect and temporary.
Billy smirks, back to that cocky demeanor, though there’s something softer underneath it now. “See you around, Steve.”
It sounds like a promise he knows he can’t keep. Steve watches him check his reflection, smooth down his shirt, and then walk out like he owns the world.
Steve stays for another moment, staring at his own reflection. His body still feels electric, alive in a way it hasn’t in months. He thinks: that was exactly what I needed before starting the new job.
Steve eventually makes his way back to the main area of the club. The music hits him like a physical force after the relative quiet of the bathroom, and he has to blink against the strobing lights. His body still feels oversensitive, every nerve ending aware.
He finds his friends on the edge of the dance floor. Robin spots him first, her eyes going comically wide.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?”
“Nothing,” Steve says, too quickly.
Nancy appears at Robin’s shoulder, takes one look at Steve, and her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. “That is definitely not nothing. Steve, your neck is bruised!”
Steve’s hand flies to the mark Billy left. “It’s nothing. I just...”
“Got lucky?” Dustin supplies helpfully, appearing with Jonathan. “Dude, your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a socket.”
“Can we not?” Steve runs his hand through his hair, trying for damage control. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Robin is grinning now, delighted. “Oh my god, you actually took our advice. You let loose! Who was he?”
“Just… someone. It was nothing.”
“Clearly not nothing,” Jonathan points out, but he’s smiling too. “Good for you, man.”
Nancy loops her arm through Steve’s. “Did you at least get his number?”
Steve thinks about Billy’s smirk, the way he’d said ‘see you around’ like he knew they wouldn’t. “No. It was just… a one-time thing.”
“Shame,” Robin says. “He must have been something to get you all…” she gestures vaguely at Steve’s entire dishevelled state.
He was. Billy was confident and knew exactly what he was doing, and Steve is never going to see him again. Which is fine. Perfect, even. Monday he starts his new life, and tonight was just a blip, a perfect anomaly.
They stay for another hour. Steve nurses a water, his body still humming with residual energy. He doesn’t see Billy again and he tells himself he’s not looking.
When they finally spill out onto the street, the night air is cold against Steve’s overheated skin. Robin hugs him, Nancy kisses his cheek, Dustin makes another comment about Steve’s “mystery man” that makes Jonathan laugh.
“Good luck Monday,” Nancy says. “Go be a professional adult.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Steve takes an Uber home, watches the city lights blur past. His apartment is quiet, dark, exactly as he left it. He strips off his clothes, finds bruises forming on his hips in the shape of fingers, and has to sit down on the edge of his bed.
What the hell did he just do?
But when he closes his eyes, all he can see is Billy’s face, that sharp grin, the way his eyes had darkened with want. The way he’d said Steve’s name like a promise.
-----
Steve sleeps dreamlessly and wakes Sunday with a hickey he has to figure out how to conceal and a body that feels pleasantly used. He spends the day preparing for Monday, ironing his clothes, reviewing the company information packet they’d sent him.
The company is big and successful, with an impressive client list. The CEO is a guy named William Hargrove, young for the position and apparently brilliant.
Steve doesn’t look into it deeper. He’s more concerned with memorizing the marketing department structure, reviewing his role, trying to calm his nerves.
Monday morning still arrives too quickly.
Steve stands in front of his mirror, adjusting his tie for the third time. The hickey is mostly covered with concealer Robin had dropped off Sunday afternoon with a knowing smirk.
His shirt is crisp, his pants perfectly creased. He looks like a professional adult, even if he doesn’t quite feel like one yet.
The office building is downtown, all glass and steel and intimidating architecture. Steve’s stomach does a nervous flip as he walks through the lobby. The elevator is full of people who look like they know exactly what they’re doing and Steve tries to project the same confidence.
The Marketing floor is bright and open-plan, with glass-walled offices along the perimeter. A woman at the reception desk directs him to wait, and within minutes a guy around his age appears, grinning widely.
“Steve Harrington? I’m Argyle, your supervisor. Welcome to the team, man!”
Argyle is not what Steve expected. Long hair, relaxed demeanor, wearing a purple button-down that should not look good on someone in a office, but Argyle manages it. He radiates chill energy that immediately puts Steve at ease.
“Thanks. Good to meet you.”
“Let me show you around, introduce you to the team. Then we’ve got the Monday morning meeting. It’s a thing we do with all the departments. You don’t have to say anything, just listen and get a feel for how things work here.”
They tour the floor. Steve meets his teammates, all friendly and welcoming. The office is nice, modern without being sterile, with a kitchen area that has an actually impressive coffee setup.
“So the meeting’s in like ten minutes,” Argyle says, checking his phone. “Conference room’s on the executive floor. It’s pretty casual, just weekly goals and updates. William—our CEO— likes to keep everyone in the loop.”
Steve nods, following Argyle to the elevator. His nerves have mostly settled. This is fine. Normal first-day stuff.
The executive floor is notably fancier. More wood panelling, thicker carpet, the kind of subtle luxury that screams money. The conference room is massive, with a table that could seat thirty and windows overlooking the city.
People are already filing in, settling into chairs, pulling out laptops and phones. Steve follows Argyle to seats somewhere in the middle, trying not to feel intimidated by the sheer number of important-looking people.
“That’s the CFO,” Argyle says quietly, pointing out various executives. “Head of Operations, VP of Sales… you’ll learn everyone eventually. And William usually comes in right at nine, he’s big on punctuality.”
Steve glances at his phone. 8:59.
The door opens at exactly nine o’clock.
“Good morning, everyone.”
That voice.
Steve’s head snaps up so fast his neck cracks.
No.
No no no no no.
Walking into the conference room, commanding immediate attention, dressed in a suit that looks expensive as fuck, is Billy.
Except everyone is greeting him as William or Mr. Hargrove.
“Morning, William.”
“Good morning, Mr. Hargrove.”
Steve can’t breathe. His entire world has narrowed to the man at the head of the table, the man who had him pressed against a bathroom stall Saturday night, the man who is apparently his CEO.
Billy or William is scanning the room, acknowledging greetings with professional nods. His hair is styled differently, neater, corporate. The expensive shirt makes sense now. The watch makes sense. Everything makes sense, except how Steve could be this catastrophically unlucky.
Then Billy’s eyes land on him.
Steve watches it happen in slow motion. The moment of recognition, the brief flash of surprise, and then that slow, devastating smile spreading across his face.
Billy doesn’t miss a beat. “Let’s get started.” But his eyes stay on Steve for a second longer, and there’s amusement dancing in them, something that says he finds this entire situation hilarious.
Steve wants to die. Actually die. Right here in this conference room.
Argyle leans over. “You okay, man? You look pale.”
“Fine,” Steve manages. “Just… nervous. First day.”
“Don’t stress. William’s cool, he makes these meetings pretty painless.”
Cool. Right. William is cool. William who is Billy, who had his fingers in Steve’s ass about thirty hours ago.
Steve is so fucked. Metaphorical.
William Hargrove starts the meeting and Steve has to admit, that he’s good at this. Articulate, clearly knowledgeable, asking pointed questions and making decisions with confidence. He addresses different department heads, discusses quarterly projections, outlines goals for the week.
He’s every inch the prodigy CEO Steve read about, professional and in control.
Except every so often, his eyes drift to Steve and there’s that hint of amusement, like he’s enjoying a private joke.
Steve tries to focus on what’s being said. Something about market expansion, new client acquisitions, Q4 targets, but all he can process is the growing horror of his situation. He had sex with his boss. With his CEO. He called him Billy and pulled his hair and—
“Marketing, I expect strong performance on the Thompson account this week.” Billy is looking at their section now and Steve’s heart stops. “Argyle, I know you and your team have been developing new campaign angles.”
“Yeah, we’re solid,” Argyle says easily. “Got Steve here starting today too, so we’re at full capacity.”
Billy’s eyes lock on Steve. “Excellent. I’m sure Steve will be a valuable addition to the team.”
The way he says Steve’s name, like he’s tasting it, remembering. Steve fights not to react, keeping his expression neutral even though internally he’s screaming.
“Looking forward to it, sir,” Steve manages, and immediately regrets the ‘sir.’
Because something flickers in Billy’s eyes, something heated and knowing, there and gone so fast Steve almost thinks he imagined it.
The meeting continues. Steve sits frozen, hyperaware of every time Billy speaks, every time those blue eyes sweep across the room. He’s playing it completely professional, but Steve can see the edges of Billy underneath. See that barely restrained wildness in the confidence.
Finally, after what feels like seventeen years but is probably only thirty minutes, he wraps up. “That’s all for today. Have a productive week, everyone.”
People start gathering their things, conversations breaking out. Steve practically jumps up, ready to escape back to his desk and process what the hell just happened.
“Argyle!”
Billy’s voice. Steve freezes.
Billy is walking over and Steve wants to sink through the floor. Argyle turns, friendly and professional. “Yeah boss?”
Billy gestures toward Steve, and his smile is perfectly appropriate for the setting while also being absolutely devastating to Steve’s composure. “So I guess this is Steve? I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced.”
The audacity. Steve stares at him and there’s laughter in his eyes, barely contained.
“Oh!” Argyle grins. “This is Steve Harrington, just started today in Marketing. Steve, this is our CEO, William Hargrove.”
Steve forces himself to extend his hand. Billy takes it, his grip firm and way too familiar. His thumb brushes once across Steve’s knuckles, a touch that could be accidental but definitely isn’t.
“Welcome to the team, Steve.” His voice is perfectly professional, but his eyes are dancing. “I like to personally welcome all new hires. Why don’t you stop by my office later today? Say, around four?”
It’s phrased as a suggestion but it’s clearly not optional.
Steve’s mouth is dry. “Yes, sir.”
There it is again, that flash in his eyes. His smile widens almost imperceptibly. “Excellent. I look forward to working with you.”
He releases Steve’s hand, takes a step back, nods to Argyle. “Keep up the good work with your team.”
Then he’s walking away, commanding and confident, leaving Steve standing there having a minor internal crisis.
Argyle claps him on the shoulder. “Dude! That’s awesome. Despite of what he just said, he doesn’t usually do the personal welcome thing with new people. You must have made a hell of a first impression.”
Steve makes a sound that might be agreement. His hand is still tingling where Billy touched it.
“Come on, let me show you your desk and get you set up with your login credentials…”
Steve follows Argyle out of the conference room in a daze. Four o’clock. Billy’s office.
He’s so completely, utterly, catastrophically fucked.