A/N: Sorry about the 14-day hiatus…one of my roommates had been harassing me for a few months, and things got real bad (thought he would hurt me), so I had to move…that took some doing and there was a lot of fallout. I've been too upset to write. I'm behind on finishing my stories…but in the next two weeks I plan to do that (not Taylor…that's going to take longer…more story to tell), but How Sweet It Is, , and Buttercup and Enigma will be ending in the next two-ish weeks…then I'll start finishing three other of my stories (while picking up on Taylor again). I also owe you an epilogue for Pieces II. I'll do that soon.

Brian felt fucking amazing. So fucking amazing that he actually danced his way down two halls on the 53rd floor (on his way to the elevator) and the main hall on his own floor, taking assistant after assistant into his arms, one after another, spinning and dipping them, beginning with Mr. York's and ending with his own.

During the dip, Cynthia smiled her cat smile and purred (despite the blood still rushing to her head and accompanying dizziness), "He offered you the promotion?"

Brian said nothing, but his eyes were twinkling.

Cynthia exclaimed, "YES!" and spiked a pretend football.

Brian didn't bark orders or slam his office door or curse, not even after glimpsing an unexpected guest (Justin) sitting on his couch.

It had taken a week of sleepless, work-filled nights, a disappointed son, a promise of three months as Justin's boyfriend, and, after Flash decided to sign with K&Y and move forward with Brian's campaign, a misdemeanor and a $100,000 fine, but he'd snagged a client no one, NO ONE, at K&Y ever could have and, as a result, brought in millions of potential revenue. In fact, Brian had effected a win of such enormous proportions that it had gone well above the head of GEORGE – VP OF SALES – and all the way up to Mr. York. Not only did Brian NOT get fired … he had gotten the promotion he'd initially been hoping for … and, unfathomably, Mr. York had suggested that a couple more 'gets' like that could lead to being offered a partner position (not a name partner position, but Brian figured that that was just a matter of time). He was on the ascendant. His star was rising and NOTHING could stand in his way. Not anymore.

Brian didn't glare at Justin, not even a pretend glare. In fact, in an almost musical voice, he asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure" (yes, you read right … THE PLEASURE) "of your visit Mr. Taylor?"

Justin's eyes widened, and he was momentarily rendered speechless. When he could speak, his words came out somewhat ineloquently. "Umm … well … I … thought …"

Brian had sat down in his desk chair and folded his hands on top of his desk. Now he was blinking sloooowly and smiling faintly. He cleared his throat. "You thought? Doesn't sound like it."

For that, he got a leather pillow to the head. (Justin had gotten quite adept at throwing them while living with Daphne.)

Brian didn't even flinch. He shook his head slowly and said, his voice all disappointment, "Those whose arguments fail often turn to violence."

Justin sighed. Then smiled one of those laughing smiles that appear only while experiencing the keenest joy. Clearly Brian had gotten the account, which might explain why Brian hadn't already tried to usher him out. It was an internship day, but Justin was early. Very early. Justin repeated, more confidently, "I thought that you might be able to spare me today."

Brian froze. This was new. Justin usually looked forward to their working together, even starting to pout if Brian grew absorbed in his own work and ignored Justin for 'too long.' Brian swallowed hard. But his unease didn't reach his voice. His tone was the normal mixture of amusement and imperiousness. "I might, but why should I?"

Justin licked his lips and looked down. "I have an art project to work on."

Brian half-nodded (lifting his head up, but not down). He didn't quite believe Justin. Something was off in his voice. His body language.

This suspicion only grew when Justin started fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt (purple and brown check—clearly, he'd dressed for work just in case Brian said no). Justin shrugged. "I've been putting in a lot of extra hours with you, and I'm falling behind in class. If I don't get my project done this weekend, I'll get an F."

Brian cleared his throat.

"Well, we can't have that, Mr. Taylor. We here at King and York are the best and the brightest." Brian pushed his chair back and stood.

"While we value dedication …" He walked over to Justin, taking Justin by the hand, pulling him to a standing position, and then spinning him and pushing him up against a nearby wall.

"… all the long nights you've invested …" Brian slid one hand over Justin's ass and the other around Justin's waist and over Justin's dick.

"… all the effort you've made to please those of us at the top …" Brian pressed his groin, and his growing erection, against Justin's ass and started unzipping and unbuttoning Justin's pants.

"… despite valuing all that, what we value most is excellence. Excellence in all that you do." Brian had a firm grip on Justin's now hard dick and started sucking on and biting Justin's neck (at the pulse point). Justin closed his eyes and moaned softly, even pushing back against Brian's groin …

… but … then he pushed Brian's hand away and shimmied out from between Brian and the wall.

Now it was Brian's turn to be rendered speechless. He even gaped for a moment before catching himself.

Justin laughed nervously. "I … I have to go meet my partner for the project. Can we finish this later?"

Brian's incredulity at this point surpassed all bounds. Justin had NEVER turned him down before. In any circumstance (he didn't count Justin's tantrum on the subway platform). It took everything in him to shrug nonchalantly and drawl, "Whatever."

Justin refastened his pants as he stepped closer to Brian. Then he looked up and smiled (an uncertain smile). "I'll call you."

Brian nodded slowly.

Justin kissed him gently on the lips and then dashed out the door.

Brian heard the door shut (loudly – Justin had almost slammed it in his haste to leave). He heard Justin's hurried goodbye to Cynthia. He heard the footfalls, wood on linoleum, as the outer door swung open and then closed. He even heard the hum of the elevator starting to move up (presumably to collect Justin). Brian heard all this, but didn't move. He was thinking.

He was thinking of a certain budding fashion designer who nearly had Justin's dick in his mouth.

Brian sighed and walked back over to his desk, still covered with prints of the digital photographs from the 'metrosexual event.' Now he was thinking about all of the YOUNG, HOT painters and photographers Justin had managed to muster for the party, and with only a day's notice.

Justin had ditched an internship day, refused an office fuck (which Brian had on good authority Justin liked best), given Brian a chaste peck (no tongue) and a lame promise to call, and then RUN out the door to meet with some other artist. And on a FRIDAY.

Brian casually, almost mindlessly, sent the prints, every one, flying across the room.

He hit the intercom button and bellowed (so loudly, Cynthia would have been able to hear him perfectly even without the intercom), "Cynthia, cancel your evening plans. We're working late."

Cynthia asked, her voice drowning in confusion, "But, boss, we just got Flash … don't you want to celebrate?"

Brian scoffed, "You know as well as I do that in New York, one coup doesn't mean shit. It's always 'what's next.' We need to figure out what's next. If I want to make partner … if you want a staff of your own to boss around …"

"You know I do …"

Cynthia assumed Brian had clicked off the intercom, even though she hadn't actually heard him do it (he'd stopped speaking) until he said, softly, an equal mix of vulnerability and anger resident in his voice, "… if Justin calls, tell him I'm in meetings all evening."

Then came the click.

Cynthia sighed. LOUDLY. And muttered, "Of course … it's alwaaayys Justin."