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Nominated for a 2007 Gaylactic Spectrum Award! Hugh Klein lived in a huge house on the highest hilltop in the small town neighboring the nearest university, where Chris Hanna was a senior. Chris gazed at the outside with wide-eyed awe as he stepped out of the passenger side of the BMW Emory had driven to convey him to the meeting with Mr. Klein. “Dude, this place is awesome.” Emory nodded, looking distractedly at the brick and wood façade. “Inside’s even better.” He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “Hurry up, man. Mr. Klein’s expecting us in two minutes, and he isn’t someone you keep waiting.” Chris nodded, falling into step with his frat brother and close friend. Emory was off to a coveted position on Wall Street in a few days, and if Mr. Klein approved of him, Chris would be taking over the assistant job his friend was leaving behind. He was nervous, but hopeful that he could meet all of Mr. Klein’s expectations. It would solve all of his problems -- an income for his final year of college, along with a place to live. The position even came with a car for his personal use. He cast a glance back at the BMW, imagining how the car might turn the head of Vanessa Shaye. Maybe she would finally notice he was a man and stop treating him with brotherly affection when all he wanted from her was passionate devotion. Thinking of Ness made him sad. No doubt, she was on a date this Saturday night, while he interviewed for a job. The slightly spoiled daughter of a wealthy man, Ness had never worked, and probably never would. Her pursuit of a degree was merely something to fill her time. She had admitted that herself many times, accompanied by that tinkling laugh that made his insides ache whenever he heard it. “Chris, c’mon.” Emory elbowed him in the ribs to get him moving. Chris shook off his melancholy thoughts and proceeded through the entryway. His eyes took in the priceless objet d’art surrounding him as they walked through the house, but he didn’t allow his feet to stop. If things went as planned, he would have ample time to study the pictures, sculptures, and collectibles between assisting Mr. Klein and his college courses. With a frown, he once again tried to imagine what being the other man’s assistant entailed. Emory had been vague, saying simply that he did, “Whatever Mr. Klein asks.” Chris imagined it would be a job filled with errand running, phone answering, and the requisite bowing and scraping a man like Mr. Klein would expect. He wasn’t looking forward to the duties, but the perks should make up for the sheer boredom he would no doubt endure. An unexpected rumble of nerves quaked in his stomach as he followed Emory into a somber study. The room smelled of leather and learning, with bookshelves to the ceiling, stacked neatly full of leather-bound volumes. The patina on the teak desk indicated it was an antique, and the surface was free of clutter. Only a blotter, laptop, and trays for paperwork occupied the area. He turned his attention to his prospective employer when the man’s leather chair squeaked as he leaned forward. Austere was the word that came to mind. Hugh Klein was blond, with fair coloring, and strange gray eyes that seemed to penetrate to Chris’s core, reading the most intimate details about him. Imposing in a black turtleneck, the other man seemed to swallow up all the space behind the desk, though in reality he had an average build, with compact musculature. The light from the presidential-style lamp on the wall behind him illuminated his hair, picking out silvery highlights. His gaze scrutinized Chris from head to toe, making him shiver. To his shock and embarrassment, Chris’s cock swelled with arousal when Mr. Klein met his eyes. In an attempt to cover his reaction, he practically leapt into one of the chairs facing the desk, sliding low and pressing his thighs together. Somehow, he managed to sound normal when he accepted the hand Mr. Klein extended and said, “Pleased to meet you, sir.” Emory took the other seat, and Chris was conscious of his friend fidgeting as Mr. Klein asked him some general questions. He answered as thoroughly as possible, and then settled back into the seat when the other man fell quiet. An air of expectancy hung in the room, and he waited with bated breath, sensing something else was going to happen, but not sure what. The preternatural sense of impending epiphany faded when Mr. Klein turned to Emory. “You trust Mr. Hanna implicitly, Emory?” Emory nodded his dark head. “Yes, Hugh. I’ve known him since he was in seventh grade, and I was in eighth. We met when he defended me from the class bully, though he was barely bigger than I was at the time. Chris is a good man, and he’ll guard your secrets.”
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