Brian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, pacing in front of his desk. He was trying to remain calm, and had managed to appear so in front of Cynthia and Justin, but Mr. York rarely came downstairs to speak with anyone, and he'd never come downstairs to speak with Brian. Something wasn't right. Brian tried to regret fucking the intern, Justin, in his office all night, after all, it could get them both fired, but he simply didn't. He couldn't. And not just because he refused to do regret. Fortunately, Cynthia saved Brian from exploring this line of thought any further. She buzzed. "Mr. York is here to see you."

Brian sat down, took a deep breath, hit the button, and replied evenly, "Send him in."

When Mr. York entered his office, Brian stood and approached him, offering his hand. "Mr. York. Would you like to sit down…a beverage?"

Mr. York, a short (he was nearly a foot shorter than Brian) bald man with friendly eyes (though they looked stern now) shook his head. "No. I won't stay long. I just need to discuss something with you."

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

He looked up, his face serious, even angry, but when his eyes lighted on Brian, when he really looked at him for the first time, his eyes widened. In a kind voice, he asked, "Have you been sleeping?

Brian stared at the man blankly. "What?"

"You look tired."

Brian swallowed hard. Should he 'confess' to having had a long night? Mr. York had probably done his share of partying as a young man. After all, he was born into money. Fortunately, Mr. York didn't expect an explanation. "I know Brown's had you jumping through hoops, but you really need to take care of yourself."

Brian chuckled, though he couldn't help but be a little resentful. Such things were easy for men like Mr. York to say. He probably slept eight hours a night every night, worrying about little except what new yacht to buy. Nothing in his world depended on the company's success. His daddy had financed it when he was just out of college, and he'd come into his full inheritance a couple years ago. That wasn't even counting his wife's money. From what Brian had heard, she was loaded. "I'm fine. A little lost sleep won't kill me."

Then Mr. York was serious again. He asked plainly, "What's going on with the new intern?"

"What?" Brian's entire body tensed up, though he tried to appear relaxed. Justin had been straining to hear their conversation, but the two men were talking so low that he hadn't heard a word, not until Mr. York had asked about him. Justin didn't need to see the expression on the man's face to know that he was pissed. Justin closed his eyes, praying that no one had seen or heard them last night.

"Ryan's been pitching a fit. He claims that you have the new intern working directly for you."

Brian laughed (and Justin relaxed a little, mostly because Brian had laughed. If Brian wasn't worried, there was probably nothing to worry about). Then Brian responded, a hint of disgust in his voice, "Ryan had him getting coffee. I didn't poach him from Johnson at ST&D to be a gopher. He's an amazing artist. He attends the Art Institute and was offered a show his first year."

"He's that good, huh?"

Justin flushed with pleasure and smiled at the compliment (Brian wasn't exactly free with those). But he smiled even more brightly when Brian replied, "Yes. He's our chance to gain a competitive advantage. He can make our ads edgier…more in line with the current aesthetic. I've seen that firsthand. He pitched in on the new boards for Brown Athletics. Without his help, we might have lost the account. But, of course, he won't do us any good if he's rotting down in the Art Department fetching and carrying." Justin felt like giggling or doing a happy dance. He wisely refrained from both.

Mr. York shook his head. "Brian, you make a good point, but Ryan's threatening to walk. He says he can't run the Art Department efficiently if the executives interfere. On this scale anyway."

"Good riddance. He should put a higher premium on ability than on age or experience."

Mr. York sighed and threw up his hands, looking seriously distressed. "Look, Ryan is my wife's cousin. I have to eat Thanksgiving dinner with him every year!"

Mr. York didn't elaborate, not right away. The bearskin rug had caught his eye. He observed coolly, "This is new."

Brian clenched his jaw. Fuck. He'd forgotten to hide that damning piece of evidence. Brian explained, as evenly as he could manage, "The Texas beef guy who's considering using us for his new ad campaign is coming into New York today. I thought the rug might make him more comfortable."

Justin paled, his eyes wide, his mouth open slightly. Mr. York nodded absently and bent down. "It's nice. Maybe I should get one for my office."

Then to Brian's horror, he ran his hand over it. He muttered, "Soft." At this point, Justin had his ear up to the door, so he heard Mr. York's observation. He buried his face in his hands. They were done.

Brian just watched, aghast, like he was witnessing a train wreck. One he was powerless to stop.

After a few seconds, Mr. York wrinkled his nose. "It's wet." Justin's heart had stopped beating, and he blushed a deep crimson. Mr. York had just shoved his hand in Justin's cum. He must have. Justin hid in the closet (he fully expected Mr. York to come storming in and pull him out by the ear).

Then to Brian's increasing horror, Mr. York patted the rug all over, getting Justin's cum all over his hand. He stood and rubbed a couple fingers together, examining them and looking thoughtful.

Brian just stared at him wide eyed. That was it. They were done. They'd both be fired. Justin would have to find another way to pay for school, and Brian would have zero chance of getting another job. No matter how Brian excelled at advertising, no one would touch him with a ten-foot pole if they learned that he was not only gay but also someone who fucked underlings, and in the office. Brian was already planning his next move (starting his own advertising company), mentally running through the list of their clients, trying to figure out who he'd have a chance at poaching, when Mr. York muttered, "The maintenance guy used too much soap when he cleaned this. You should give him a call. Leaving pools of soap on the rug could ruin it."

Brian actually gaped for a moment. And even more when Mr. York smelled his fingers.

"Well…at least the soap seems mild. No scent. Maybe it will be okay."

After a long pause, he wiped "the soap" onto his pants and added sternly, well as sternly as Mr. York got, "Make it right with Ryan or send the intern back to the Art Department."

He turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, he turned back and said, "Oh…and don't forget to call maintenance." Then he departed.

Brian stood there, in the middle of his office, for a couple of minutes, in a stunned silence. Then he burst out laughing.

Brian walked into the bathroom just as Justin was exiting the closet. Brian giggled. "What the fuck were you doing in the closet?"

Justin blushed in embarrassment. Then in a tiny voice, he admitted, "Hiding."

Brian pulled Justin into his arms and kissed his lips gently. Then he barked, "Now get the fuck out."

Justin froze, his eyes wide. Suddenly, his chest felt so hollow. Was Brian breaking up with him?

"I think we've pushed our luck as far as it will go."

Justin stepped out of Brian's arms and, in a daze, walked into his office proper. His throat was so dry. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. He tried to tell himself that if Brian wanted to end their…whatever it was, it was his loss. But he felt so desolate. Over and over, he told himself he wouldn't cry. Not until he was far, far away from here anyway.

Brian followed Justin out of the bathroom and watched him go. Just as Justin's hand touched the doorknob, Brian said, his voice suddenly, soft, so soft, "Call me later."

Justin's heart leapt, and his face broke out into a bright smile. He turned to look at Brian. He seemed…Justin couldn't even describe it, but he knew then that Brian had no intention of breaking up with him. Justin replied a little shyly, "Okay. Later."

In almost a whisper, Brian replied, "Later."

Justin walked to the elevator in a daze, not even seeing Cynthia, who was smiling at him. Once the elevator doors closed, Justin did a little happy dance. But he stopped abruptly when he heard the ding indicating that the elevator was stopping to pick someone up. He tried to look normal, but he couldn't wipe the silly grin off of his face. Not even when he noticed the raised eyebrows of the elevator's other occupants. He'd never been happier in his entire life.

Brian was standing at the window, looking over at the other buildings and then down at the street. He refused to acknowledge that he was watching for Justin, but when he caught sight of the boy, smiling brightly and skipping down the street toward the subway entrance, he smiled a little.