Screwing the System (2 page)

“No. You don’t understand. Bloody hell, I’ve really bollocksed this up.” Cosmo took a deep breath. Who’d have thought he’d end up pulling this stunt on someone who actually knew what he was on about better than he did? “I did this. Me. On my own. Nothing kinky about it, I just find it scares off potential employers when I roll my sleeves up.”

“You were trying to throw the interview?” Alasdair’s expression turned thunderous, and his hands closed like manacles around Cosmo’s tender wrists.

“Yeah, well…”

“You were wasting my valuable time, coming here when you didn’t even want the job? Do you know how many hard-working people are desperate for employment right now? I’ve a good mind to report you to the Jobcentre.”

Shitshitshit.
“I need my benefits.”

“Why the hell should I let you scrounge off the system? I don’t pay my taxes so you can sit at home on that cute little arse, doing sweet FA.”

“I don’t do
fuck all
. I told you, I’m a musician. I’m working every day. Writing songs, rehearsing. I work really hard.” Cosmo could hear the whine creeping into his voice, but he was powerless to stop it. “When I make it big, I’ll pay it all back, I promise. I won’t go and move to a tax haven or anything like that.”

Alasdair just glared at him. Was Cosmo sick that he found that hot? Couldn’t deny it, though. His dick chubbed up as he watched Alasdair’s nostrils flare and his jaw tighten. Cosmo shifted in an attempt to adjust his trousers without the use of his hands. Alasdair’s gaze drifted down to his crotch and back up again. This time his pupils were huge, the grey almost swallowed up by the black.

“I want an apology, right now,” he growled, all gruff and sexy as hell. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I, uh… I’m sor—”

“Say it like you mean it.” Alasdair dropped his wrists.

Cosmo blinked up at him, and then it struck him. Boss-man found it a turn-on, dominating him like this. Despite all Cosmo’s talk about “extracurricular activities”, he’d never actually done anything like this before, but he’d seen some kinky porn, so he had an idea of what Alasdair might enjoy. Cosmo stood, then dropped to his knees in front of him, bowing his head.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Grant.”

Alasdair drew in a sharp breath and froze. When he spoke again, he sounded all weird, like he’d been screaming all night and nearly lost his voice. “What have you been?”

“Irresponsible?” Cosmo didn’t know what the right answer was, and it felt odd, kneeling there. Wouldn’t be so bad if he were giving a blowjob, but he had no idea if that was on the cards now, or even later. He glanced at Alasdair’s crotch, and his mouth began to water. Fucking hell, the man was packing.

“You’ve behaved badly. You’re a very naughty boy.”

Arousal strummed Cosmo’s nerves, resounding through him with the echoes of those words.
Oh.
He hadn’t known he’d like being called that. His mind was still rebelling, saying he was an adult now, thank you very much, but his dick went BOING! when Alasdair called him
boy
in that stern tone.

“What have you been?” Alasdair demanded, getting to his feet.

Cosmo stared up at the wall of man muscle towering above him all pissed-off looking. Fuck, that was sexy.

“Well?”

Cosmo cleared his throat. “I’ve been a very naughty boy.” It came out in a rushed whisper, the words falling headlong over one another, but he figured Alasdair was satisfied by the smile that twitched at his lips. Cosmo panned his gaze down, along the strip of silk tie, down to the bulge in those fancy trousers. He licked his lips.

Alasdair’s hand lifted his chin. “No chance. You’d have to earn the right to that. Tell me, do you have a Daddy?”

“He didn’t stick around once I was born. Only met him a couple of times.” A couple of times too many, though.

“Not that kind of daddy. Someone to look out for you. Stop you behaving like a spoilt child. Punish you when you need it and reward you when you’ve been good.”

Cosmo shook his head. His mind told him he didn’t need punishing by anyone, thank you very much, but his body thrilled to Alasdair’s words. “Reward?” he asked. “We’re not talking about sweeties, are we, coz I’ve grown out of those.”

“No, not sweeties.” Alasdair seemed to like his backchat, if his raised eyebrow was anything to go by. It certainly hadn’t affected the size of his hard-on any. Bloody hell, that thing was a monster. “I’m sure we could think of other ways to keep your mouth occupied, though.”

Cosmo was in serious danger of drooling all down his interview suit. He leant forward a little, just enough to graze his cheek over the bulge of Alasdair’s rock-hard dick, before the man pulled away, a hand on Cosmo’s head to keep him from following.

“No chance. I told you, you’ll have to earn your rewards.”

“How would I go about that? Hypothetically speaking,” Cosmo’s brain insisted on him adding. “I’m not going to have to take the job, am I?” He wasn’t sure a mouthful of boss-man’s spunk would be worth slaving away as a bin-man for, no matter how phenomenally hot he was. He wanted more than that in return. He wanted a proper arse-pounding, at least.

“Do you honestly think I’d employ you after what you just told me? I haven’t built this company up to where it is now by taking on lazy, insolent brats. No, you’ll have to prove yourself some other way.”

Cosmo bristled at being called a brat, even as his balls tingled. “Would you show me how this kinky stuff really works, then? Coz, being honest, I’m well interested, but I haven’t actually done any of it for real.”

“You want to play?”

Play. It sounded so innocent, but the gleam in Alasdair’s eyes was anything but. “Yeah. I wanna play.”

“You can meet me tomorrow night at the White Horse. Half past eight. Make sure you wash thoroughly. Wear something slutty. No underpants. And make sure you’re standing at the bar, alone, when I arrive.”

What the fuck? “Do I get to make any demands of my own?”

Alasdair smiled, genuinely amused, if the crinkles by his eyes were to be trusted. “What would you demand, Cosmo?”

He thought about it for a minute. He’d asked more out of rebellion than anything else, because deep down he already knew he was going to do exactly what Alasdair asked of him. “Have you got any leather gear?” he asked, eventually. “You know, a biker jacket or anything? Coz you’re gonna look like a right tit if you turn up down the Horse in a suit. No offence.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find something appropriate in the back of my wardrobe,” Alasdair replied with a sardonic tone.

Cosmo felt like he was missing out on some kind of joke, but as Alasdair’s eyes crinkled up some more, he decided he wouldn’t push to find out right now. He could hang on a bit longer. Just thirty hours or so. How hard a wait could that be?

Chapter Two

Alasdair took a couple of minutes to calm himself before heading out the door. Cosmo Rawlins had been his last interview of the day, thank God, so at least he could take a short break to get his head back in order.

Bloody hell, but that lad had been something else. Cocky, for sure, but Alasdair enjoyed a brat with a bit of spirit. No, that hadn’t been what started his heart hammering away inside him like he was about to have a bloody coronary.

It was those brown eyes, he decided. All big and soulful, with the thickest lashes he’d seen since…yeah, since Jon.

But he wasn’t about to start moping over Jon again. The man was gone, beautiful eyes and all. That body that had driven him wild, smashed to a pulp. That sharp mind and quick wit, obliterated by one stupid, reckless mistake.

Alasdair realised he was pacing, and forced himself to stop. To take slow breaths. Hold and release. Hold and release.

Right. Time to get back to work. He’d deal with Cosmo’s eyes tomorrow. Find something different about him to concentrate on. That tempting little arse, for instance, or that smart mouth. Maybe the defiant chin with its hint of scruffy beard. God, the boy looked like trouble. Why the hell that got his motor running, he couldn’t figure out.

Alasdair picked up his pad of scrawled notes on his way through to Mavis’s office. His assistant manager was in the middle of a call, her stockinged feet up on her desk as she twirled a henna-red ringlet between her fingers.

“Ooh, yes, you’re right, you know,” Mavis said into the wireless headset she always used, and winked at Alasdair, mouthing the name of the printing company they’d been working for for years. “Don’t you worry, Sheila. I’ll make sure Keith knows not to use the main entrance next time… Yeah, that’s fine. I totally understand it’s nothing personal. You’re aiming to make the best impression, aren’t you? Can’t do that with Keith lugging all those bins through the foyer, can you?”

Alasdair smiled as he took the chair opposite her. Mavis Church made no attempt to hide her council-estate background, but that didn’t make her any less capable a businesswoman. Clients liked her personal, friendly approach, and Alasdair was happy for her to be the main liaison with them, once he’d acquired the new accounts.

“Problems?” he asked when Mavis finally said her good-byes after asking after all of Sheila’s children by name.

“Nah, nothing serious. Just had to send Keith out to do Coleman-Heath’s this morning and forgot to tell him he needed to use the tradesman’s entrance. If you don’t tell that boy everything, in painstaking detail, he just takes the easiest route.”

Alasdair frowned. “Do you need me to have a word with him?”

“Christ, no. It’s just his way. He’s got a mild case of that Asperger’s, hasn’t he? Can’t help it, and he’s a hard worker, so long as he knows what’s expected of him.”

“Asperger’s? Did we take him on under the Sunshine Scheme?” That had been one of Mavis’s brainwaves, to give something back to society by helping people with learning difficulties find work, and Alasdair had been happy to fund it. A lot of the Sunshine workers were on the cleaning teams rather than the disposables teams, but he was always happy to promote anyone who proved they could handle the extra responsibility. He just had to hope his more particular clients were as pleased as Mavis was with the results. God knew why this Keith had been sent out to Coleman-Heath today. Probably one of his lazier workers taking yet another oh-so-convenient hangover day.

“That’s right, and he’s an absolute trouper. You know who I mean? Tall, skinny guy with red hair and more zits than freckles.”

Alasdair recalled seeing someone of that description smoking out by the main car park the last few weeks, so he nodded. Damn, he really needed to make sure he kept up with who Mavis was taking on. He didn’t want to be one of those remote bosses the staff didn’t feel they could approach. Time was, he used to know every single one of his employees by name, but as the company expanded he was finding it harder and harder to keep up with them all.

That was only going to get worse when his new, deluxe cleaning service launched.

“So, have you got another jolly with Roger planned for tonight?” Mavis wasn’t even trying to keep the acid out of her tone.

Sometimes he thought that woman could read his mind. “I’m meeting him at the golf club.”

“Didn’t know you could play it. Thought you said it was a pointless, bourgeois pastime only enjoyed by those who had more money than sense.”

Alasdair grimaced. Mavis’s memory was uncanny. One of those things that made her such a great manager, even if she was an occasional thorn in his side. No, not a thorn. Sometimes she was the whole bloody rose garden.

“I said that years ago, and I don’t play golf. I just hang out in the bar there. Networking.”

Mavis snorted. “So that’s what you call it these days, is it?”

Alasdair gritted his teeth. Much as he usually listened to Mavis’s suggestions and input on new directions for the business, this was one area in which he refused to budge. If he landed Roger Montague’s account, they’d be able to take on another fifty staff members and train up an elite team to provide cleaning services to Roger’s newly acquired hotel chain. Apparently the existing cleaning staff were inefficient, and Roger had decided the best thing to do was to outsource workers.

Alasdair bit back his usual response to Mavis’s argument and glanced up at the framed snapshot of them mugging for the camera in front of their very first van. Life had been a hell of a lot simpler back then. Why couldn’t he find more loyal workers like her?

“That last bunch of interviewees were hopeless,” Alasdair said, because despite what he’d told Cosmo, the recession didn’t seem to be generating a surplus of people enthusiastic about cleaning jobs. “Seems like the Jobcentre are sending us all their terminally unemployable.”

“Have you got more lined up for tomorrow?”

“Another four in the morning, but we need to fill four places, and I can’t imagine they’ll all be up to scratch somehow.”

“Want me to take them?” Mavis offered. “I can free up my morning, if you like.”

“It’s my job.”

“Only if you don’t delegate it. Come on. What have you got to lose? You trust my judgment, don’t you?”

That cut a little close to the bone, what with the Roger disagreement so fresh in the air, but Alasdair figured this was an opportunity to make amends. Oh, and it would save him some hassle, even if he did like to stay in control of hiring.