Date: Mon, 2 Feb 2009 23:04:41 -0500 From: mark corlis Subject: Taking Stock Taking Stock Copyright 2009 by Mark Corlis All Rights Reserved This is a copyrighted work. No reproductions of any kind (except by Nifty to their site) may be made without the author's express written consent. If you are under 18, live where works like these are illegal, or you are a stupified homophobe, leave now! Author's notes: Hi everyone. Welcome to my second attempt at writing a good gay love story. This one plays much closer to my heart, and I've found joy in writing again. For those die hard Brandon and Brian fans, my first story will return! I wouldn't do that to my loyal readers. All I ask of you as readers is feedback, both positive and constructive criticism. It's the only reward author's on this site get. Let me know what ya think at mcnc1966@gmail.com. The number of comments will determine this story's length. A big thanks to Jeremiah for his grammar prowess and his continued support! A most special thanks to Chris for his undying encouragement. You may not realize it but your words have kept me writing and trying to improve. Don't forget to check out Chris' now completed story "Granny's Pride and Joy" in the adult/youth section. I wanna put another quick plug in for PeeJay's "Winging It" in beginnings. People, these two are awesome examples of polished writers that write stories that will keep you engaged. Another story I've been following is Cameron Maxx's "Growing Up Josh" in the college section. Check it out! Read these fellow authors and please don't forget to send us comments. We truly do live for them. Mark Chapter 1: Taylor Christian Bryant had it all! At age 30, he was the youngest partner in the history of Stephenson Deveraux and Company, which was an exclusive money manager in the southeast. His unequaled charm, and knowledge of the stock market, led to a doubling of the firm's assets under management. This also translated into a significant increase in his own compensation, projected to break 1.5 million dollars this year. He had a luxurious home on the beach, complete with a full time gardener, maid, butler and cook. The house boasted 6 bedrooms, 4.5 baths,and a private beachfront. It had the requisite wine room, a full home theater, and a gym worthy of the finest health clubs. Panoramic views of the ocean could be found from almost any window in the house. The house also had an illustrious history, once belonging to a famous silent film star. It had been renovated and expanded many times since the early century, including a major upgrade performed by Taylor just over a year ago. His personal investments had done better than his income from work. Taking major risks he would never advise his clients to take, personal returns were approaching 80% per year! Cash balances in his trading accounts had grown to over twenty million dollars. A good portion of the gain was invested in high yield bonds, throwing off payments of approximately seven million dollars per year. The money was used to fund not only life's necessities, but his play life as well. A 60 foot yacht sat moored at the nearby marina. A membership at the finest golf club in the area gave him a place to wine and dine clients, as well as show off his considerable athletic skill. His enrollment in NetJets allowed him to fly in a private jet anywhere in the world with just one phone call. All the owners of the best restaurants in town knew him by name. He was an important, well liked member of his community. Yes, Taylor Bryant had it all. Then why did he feel so empty inside? He was pondering that question while looking out his living room window, the ever present Grey Goose and tonic in hand. Work had been his refuge from life, and he'd thrown himself into it with vigor. Even though he came in contact with the country's movers and shakers on a daily basis, he'd never felt more alone in his life. Life had passed him by while he worked 90 hour weeks making obscene money. He'd assumed that his life would be grand once the money was in hand, but he'd been totally wrong. Only one thing would make his life complete, and that was something money truly couldn't buy. Taylor craved love. Not just love, but the experience of being in true love. Working with the stuffed shirt crowd was gonna make that difficult, however. Since age 13, Taylor had known he was gay. His sexuality was something that would never be accepted among the old money Wall Street types he was surrounded by. He was so tired of being alone that he had contemplated leaving the firm to pursue happiness, but, in the end, he decided that making more cash would keep him happy. His wealth exceeded his wildest dreams, but his desire to leave the firm and find true happiness never went away. The day that made things crystal clear for him was the monthly partners luncheon several months ago. The main topic of conversation was the outing of a homosexual analyst's assistant and the subsequent horrible treatment the partners had administered to get the associate to resign. Ed Rollins, the man in charge of the firm's government bond desk, was the most vocal. "The little faggot didn't even put up a fight," he bragged. The poor associate didn't stand a chance. He was transferred to Rollins' department a few days after the outing, and his trading records were altered to show mistakes made to a customer's orders. These inaccuracies were used to demote the employee, resulting in a drastic pay cut and a blight on his Series 7 license. His career ruined, he quickly left the firm to make an attempt at starting over. "Faggots have no place in this firm," Rollins announced in all seriousness. The other partners raised their glasses in agreement, toasting their "fag" free institution. The sheer ignorance and pomposity made Taylor's blood boil. His ever present desire to leave the firm became mandatory. He was never so glad that he'd refused to sign a non-compete agreement when he was hired 3 years ago. His massive financial contribution to the firm had made the partners forget this very vital fact. Knowing what he had to do, he stepped to the front of the room. "Gentleman," he summoned. "May I have your attention, please. I ask you to raise your glasses to Stephenson, Deveraux and Company, a faggot free firm, or at least to be one again shortly. I would gladly join the toast, if it were a true statement. Unfortunately for you, it's a complete lie. I, your number 1 producer, am a fag, and my clients and I will be exiting this smug, bigoted, and most ignorant company as of right now. I wish you luck in your future predjudicial endeavors." With that said, Taylor rose and left the room, all the partners staring silently open mouthed at the rapidly closing door. He boxed all of his personal effects, and said goodbye to his tearful secretary. The employees were stunned as he exited the trading floor, all watching him leave much as the partners had. It would not be the last they'd hear of Taylor Bryant. That was 10 months ago. Bryant Financial Advisors had begun several days after his departure, with his own personal trading accounts and all of his clients assets. Not one of his advisory customers had elected to remain with Stephenson, resulting in a nearly billion dollar hickey to their assets under management. Returns had been dazzling. Without the beaurocracy to battle, Taylor was able to adapt asset management strategies to the individual client's needs. By the end of the first 6 months, the average holder's return was slightly over 50 percent. Everyone was happy, including Taylor, whose income had remained much the same as it had at the larger firm. Until now, he'd been content to use various agency people as needed to handle the voluminous paperwork generated by his activities. He'd converted one of the downstairs rooms into his office, complete with a live stock quote ticker and 4 different flat screen televisions tuned to different news and financial channels. Two computers on his desk displayed Bloomberg and Reuters up to the minute United States and world market data. He spoke often with prominent economists, using the knowledge gleaned from them to further refine his trading approaches. It was all too much for one man, though. A quality assistant was needed, and he had just such a person in mind. Jordan Maxwell was everything Taylor Bryant was not. While he'd retained as much of his youthful appearance as Taylor had, he was much more plain looking. He wore glasses, and his hair often went in different directions. They both came from fairly poor single parent families, but no academic scholarships helped Jordan through school. He worked three jobs, and helped care for his younger brother, all while attending school full time. His grade point average suffered from these necessities, but he was thankful he was able to graduate at all. He chose the world of high finance to, hopefully, one day give him a comfortable life. He'd aced his interview with Stephenson Deveraux and was hired as an analyst's assistant. His job was mostly gritty numbers crunching. If a senior analyst was going to issue a projection on a particular stock, then Jordan would generate the raw information for him to use. The information would include past earnings, price charts for the last 2 years, projected earnings for each of the company's divisions, and duplicate reports on each of the subject's main competitors. The work required very long hours, with Jordan often remaining in the office until the wee hours of the morning and coming in on weekends. While hot shot partners like Taylor strolled out at 5 p.m. to work from home, associates like Jordan were expected to remain in the trenches. The only positive for Jordan was becoming incredibly adept at his duties and being promoted to assist the firm's most respected analyst. His work continued to exceed expectations and reviews of his performance were glowing. Keeping the schedule he did left little time for socializing. On nights when he didn't work, though, most of his time was spent at a local gay bar in his more plebian neighborhood. No one from the firm dared to venture this way for fear of being socially ostracized, so he felt plenty safe . He did meet one man from the business there, though. Matt Nelson was a trading assistant the same age as Jordan from a competing firm. They'd remembered each other from classes they were required to take every year to keep their licenses valid. The two men hit it off that first night, becoming regular companions from that day forward. Matt was apparently able to be totally out at his firm, and was completely unaware of the hostile environment Jordan faced each day. He openly bragged to his coworkers about the "amazing hottie" he was dating, leaving no detail out. The word inevitably spread to Stephenson's upper levels, unbeknownst to Jordan. His career was thrown a curve when he was transferred to Ed Rollins' area and made a trading assistant. The work was very different than what he was used to, but he worked diligently to pick it up. Slowly but surely, he began to get comfortable with all the intricacies of the firm's trading systems. A few months into the assignment, he was called into Rollins' office. Mistakes had been found in customers' trading requests, mistakes he had executed. The moves had cost the clients several hundred thousand dollars, which the firm was now responsible for. Jordan knew in his heart that he hadn't done those incorrect trades, but computer records before him showed otherwise. Rollins demoted him to a clerical employee and reported the violation to the SEC, resulting in a bad mark on his securities credentials. The new position paid over 50 percent less than his current one, and left him on the same level with the firm's secretaries. Days were filled with fetching coffee and generally being bitched at by every employee in the department. Nights were filled with sleeplessness and tears. Finally, all his resolve gone, Jordan gave the firm what they wanted and resigned his position. Taylor activated his speaker phone and hit a button that dialed the office of a valued colleague. "Judy Frank's office," the cheerful voice answered. "Hello Dee, Taylor Bryant here. How are ya?" he bantered. "Any better and I'd be guilty," she replied playfully. "Are you ready to leave there and be my bride yet, beautiful lady?" "If you can get my husband to agree, you got a deal!" she shot back. "Since we both know that's impossible, I'll have to settle for admiring you from afar I suppose," he replied wistfully. "Uh huh," she added, enjoying the bullshit he threw at her each time he called. "Now that that's outa the way, any chance I can have a word with that slave driver you work for or is she supposedly busy again?" "Hang on, I'll put you through," she offered, smiling like a child. Mere moments later, another voice echoed from the phone. "Judy Frank," it said. "Miss Judy," Taylor uttered. "How's my favorite but not nearly as good as I am colleague today?" "Flattery like that will get you everywhere, Bryant," she replied quickly. Irrelevant small talk ensued between the two friends. Taylor had the greatest respect for Judy. She was one of the few women he knew that had shattered the glass ceiling so prevalent in the financial industry. She had become a managing director at her firm in a few short years, using her determination to bypass men with degrees from the country's most prestigious universities. He regarded her as one of the most brilliant minds he knew, and her opinion was one of the few he took at face value. The two trusted each other implicitly, a rarity when millions of dollars were often at stake. "I need a big favor, sweetie," he began. "Lemme hear it first and then I'll decide if I feel like helping you," she cajoled. "You've got an employee named Jordan Maxwell working at your firm. Tell me what you think of him." "Hmmmm, not sure what you're up to here, but I think he's one of the best we've got. He's currently trying to work his way out of the clerical areas. It was all the poor kid could get with that little tick on his record. I find him to be diligent, efficient, and intelligent. I also see a lost look in his eyes that tells me there's more to him than meets the eye. Now tell me why you want to know." "No reason," he evaded. "Any chance you can come up with a copy of private detective's reports we know all firms do, but publicly deny that they do?" "You know we don't do that here," she stated emphatically."But if we did, it might take me a few hours to locate it. Any chance you're gonna level with me on why you need it?" "None," he replied curtly. "Didn't think so. Watch your fax and know that you owe me big time, tiger." "As usual," he answered. "You're aces like always, Judy. Let's do lunch soon." "On you, absolutely," she said. "Get some work done for once and keep that fax line open." The phone line went dead. Taylor wished he could confide to Judy why this man was of such interest to him. Even though he had declared his sexuality that day to the partners, not one of them took it out of that dining room. It was decided that the world would think that Taylor Bryant left merely to pursue other opportunities. "Elitists to the end," Taylor thought to himself when he read the public announcement. Jordan was his chance to give a fellow gay man a break, but, more importantly, show the world that a man's sexuality would not impede his ability to do great things. He wanted the two of them to produce results that would show the partners the gravity of their lapses in judgment. No thoughts of personal relations entered his mind. This was merely putting a smart, capable associate in an environment where he could thrive. His train of thought was interrupted by the fax machine's annoying ringer. Five minutes later, the detective's reports from both the current firm AND Stephenson lay before him. Taylor suspected that Rollins was attempting to derail Jordan's fresh start by releasing this report to a competitor. "Thank goodness they saw through this crap," Taylor thought. The report shed some new light on what Taylor already knew. Jordan was definitely gay, frequenting a local gay bar near where he lived. He'd had some kind of relationship with a competing firm's junior associate, and that was what brought him down. All signs pointed to that tryst being over. Taylor noted his college grades were average, but was impressed with the grades attained working like he did. Nothing in these reports changed his mind about bringing Jordan to work for him. "No time like the present," he muttered aloud. Dialing the switchboard of Judy's firm, he asked to be connected to Jordan Maxwell. "This is Jordan," a professional voice answered. "Hi Jordan. Taylor Bryant calling. I assume you know who I am." "Uh, yes sir," he replied tentatively. "Great! Well I'm gonna come right to the point. I would like you to join me at my home tonight for dinner and discuss a business proposition I've come up with." The line was silent for several seconds. "You wanna discuss business with me?" Jordan asked, not believing what he was hearing. "Yes, you, Jordan Maxwell," Taylor replied. "All I ask for is the opportunity to talk to you, and listening to alternatives never hurt anyone. What'd ya say I have my driver pick you up from the office at 6 p.m.?" Jordan was still skeptical. "What the hell....sure...I'll listen," he decided. He didn't have much to lose, after all. "Great," Taylor exclaimed. "See you tonight then and have a great day!" Jordan hung the phone up, not sure whether to be happy or scared outa his mind! Taylor spent the rest of the day preparing a proposal for Jordan. He was using the same logic he would when putting together a presentation for a client. Deciding on a salary figure was a bit tough, but he knew that being cheap here could blow the whole deal. With his low overhead and generous management fees, he could afford to pay more than most, and decided to do just that. He met with the cook, settling on an appetizer of fruit and cheese, Caesar salads to follow, filet mignon with bernaise, baked potatoes, and asparagus as the main course, then cheesecake with fresh strawberries for dessert. He selected a bottle of 10 year old red wine from his wine room, opening it to allow the liquid to breathe. Once everything was well underway, he headed upstairs to shower and change. Jordan closed up his desk around 5:30 and moved to the bathroom. He straightened his tie, rearranged his hair as best he could, and ate a few breath mints. Still not sure if he was doing the right thing, he took one last look and headed downstairs for what would be an appointment with destiny. "Good evening,sir," a stately man dressed in a black suit and hat said. "I'm Carl, sir, Mr. Bryant's driver. It would be my pleasure to escort you to the car for your trip to the Bryant Estate." Jordan cracked a slight smile at Carl's formality. "Sure," he replied. "Lead the way." He followed Carl through the building's revolving door, finding a jet black Mercedes limousine awaiting them. Carl stepped toward it, then opened the rear door for Jordan to enter. Taking one last deep breath, he walked forward and entered the vehicle. Mere seconds after he'd sat down, Carl started the car and whisked them away. The limousine's interior was tastefully appointed, from the plush leather seats to the adjacent full wet bar. Jordan decided to fix himself a Jack and coke, hoping the liquor would relax him a bit before their arrival. He noticed a television screen that displayed financial data from all the world's markets. A Blaupunkt stereo with a zillion buttons softly played classical music. Jordan wondered what a car like this had set Taylor back. Before any relevant guesses came, though, Carl slowed the vehicle and turned through two ornate wrought iron gates. The first thing Jordan noticed was how lush the landscaping was. Colorful tropical flowers were planted in excess along either side of the drive. It eventually came out in front of the house, the path going under a large portico, and then circling back to the main drive. The house was imposing, to say the least. It was easily the largest residential structure Jordan had ever laid eyes on. Large Corinthian columns framed the entry way, which was lit by an ornate chandelier. The ceiling contained various designs that were carved into it, representing some ancient, historic event. Black slate tiles adorned the stairway up to the large front door. A nervous sweat began to break out across his body. "Any pointers?" he asked Carl. "Be yourself. Taylor may be rich, but he knows he's just a man. Try and be anything else, and he'll bounce your ass back onto the street," Carl said. Jordan shook his head, and looked back at the ominous front door. Seeing no reason to back down now, he opened the car door and exited the vehicle. As soon as his body was out of harm's way, Carl quickly pulled off, leaving him no choice but to move forward. Straightening his coat one more time, he approached the door and rang the bell. The chime reminded him of something you would hear at an old cathedral. Very soon after, the door opened, revealing an older man clad in proper butler's suit. "Ah, Mr. Maxwell, we've been expecting you," the man began."Please come in." Jordan stepped through the door, which was promptly closed behind him. "My name is Leonard. I'm Taylor's in home assistant. If I can get you anything while you're here, please don't hesitate to ask. It would be my pleasure to serve you." Jordan was, again, amused with the formality. "Thank you, Leonard. I will," he said. "If you'll follow me to the veranda, Taylor will be joining you shortly," Leonard informed. With that, they turned and made their way through several large, tastefully decorated rooms. Coming to a wall covered almost entirely in windows, Leonard opened two French doors and brought Jordan onto a veranda that stretched the entire length of the house. A table with fresh flowers and two chairs stood in the middle of it. Salt air wafted lazily around them. "May I bring you a drink?" Leonard inquired. "Jack and coke, please," Jordan replied hastily. His nervousness had increased dramatically and needed to be tamed immediately. "Very good, sir," Leonard said. He cracked a small smile as he turned to get the requested beverage. Jordan examined his surroundings. The veranda spread across the length of the second floor. A breathtaking view of the private beach and the ocean beyond spread out before him. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore calmed him a bit. To his right lay a large pool done in royal blue tiles. A majestic waterfall cascaded down into it. What appeared to be a hot tub bubbled away behind the flowing water. Various chairs were strategically placed to allow maximum exposure to the sun. The back yard itself was meticulously landscaped, with everything centering on a large, mature Sea Grape tree. Small trails of soft grass, worthy of any championship golf course, were cut into the abundant foliage. A structure that looked similar to the main home, but not nearly as large, stood at the left end of the area. Jordan surmised that the home's employees must live there. Leonard soon returned with Jordan's drink. Once it was safe in hand, he turned again, leaving the young man staring peacefully at the incoming tide. "Enjoying my favorite view," a voice behind him said. Jordan turned around with a start. What Taylor saw took his breath away. Standing before him was a man that stood 6 feet tall. His body was lean, but not bulging with muscle. Blonde wavy hair hung down over his forehead, several locks touching his rimless glasses. Behind them lay the warmest brown eyes he'd ever seen. Soft features framed his face, giving him an almost child like quality. It all came together to give the young man a friendly aura. Snapping out of his momentary trance, he said, "Taylor Bryant," extending his hand. A firm handshake was returned. "Jordan Maxwell," the young adonis replied. "Pleased to meet you. Thank you for joining me on such short notice," Taylor said. "My pleasure, sir. I'm a great admirer of your financial management techniques." Jordan was silenced by a quick rise of Taylor's hand. "No business talk right now. We've got plenty of time for that. Let's just relax and chat," Taylor suggested. "Yes sir," Jordan agreed. "And I'm not a sir, Jordan. We're only 5 years apart, so consider me your contemporary and call me Taylor. We don't stand on formalities around here." Jordan had taken note of how Carl and Leonard had referred to their boss by his first name. He liked the sound of things already. "Sure, sir...I mean Taylor," he replied clumsily. "Sorry, that'll take some getting used to." "No apologies necessary. Despite what you may think, we are more alike than you may think," Taylor comforted. "Why don't we sit down, have a couple cocktails, and just talk." He pulled out a chair, motioning for Jordan to sit, which he quickly did. Once they were seated, Leonard mysteriously appeared with fresh drinks for both of them. Jordan marveled at his timing, as he cleared the empty glass away. Taylor snickered at his amazement. "You'll get used to him. Leonard's got a sixth sense about things. Without him, I wouldn't make it some days. He keeps me organized and moving. I lean on him for a great many things," Taylor explained. Jordan listened carefully, finding it hard to believe that the great Taylor Bryant needed anyone to help him with anything. Over the next hour, the two men chatted about their family history. Jordan learned that Taylor and he had grown up in single parent homes. Taylor's mother had died of cancer when he was a toddler, so he was raised by his father. While he didn't go into great detail, Jordan could sense that their relationship wasn't ultra close. He saw Taylor's eyes light up when he spoke of his grandparents, speaking fondly of summers spent with them. He related his bland high school experience, how it forced him to study hard, and led to his scholarship to Yale. Jordan was most impressed with this accomplishment. For his part, Jordan spoke of life with his mother and brother. His father skipped out on them when he was five, after impregnating a younger woman. He disappeared with her, leaving his young family penniless. His mom hadn't graduated high school, so she worked two full time waitress jobs, leaving Jordan to essentially raise his younger brother. Excessive work, and smoking, took their toll, and by high school, his mother had some significant health issues. They were manageable, but her work schedule had to shrink. Since he was a freshman by then, Jordan acquired 3 part time jobs, enabling him to work 7 days a week for a few hours each day. His employers were well aware of his situation, so they did whatever they could to help. The grocery store sent home damaged can goods. The restaurant bagged up left over food and the convenience store gave milk and other essentials. Jordan worked hard to repay their kindness, but still managed to graduate in the middle of his class. College scholarships weren't an option. His grades were too low, and his need to work precluded any of the necessary extracurricular activities. He entered junior college, working more hours at the 3 jobs he already had. The employers all set aside time to force him to study, supporting his goal of attending a 4 year college. The money he earned and lots of student loans got him through school. When he got the job at Stephenson, his employers held a surprise graduation party, bestowing several thousand dollars on him in appreciation for his years of exceptional effort. Getting the job at Stephenson was a bit of a shock to him. He'd always interviewed extremely well, but never expected to land at a top tier firm. He worked hard and got glowing reviews. "Things just didn't work out. I suppose you know about that, though," Jordan replied sheepishly. Taylor shifted in his seat. The opening he sought had been provided, and he plunged onward. "Jordan," he began carefully, "I know much more than you think. In fact, you're the reason I left Stephenson." Jordan was mightily confused now. "Me? Why would you leave because of me?" he asked. Taylor sat back and took a long sip of his drink. He thought for a moment on the best way to proceed. "This may be a bit hard to hear," he said, "but if we're gonna work together, then you need to know. As you know, all the partners got together for a luncheon once a month. It was supposed to be a time for the different departments to interact and exchange great ideas. It was really more like a time for the partners to pat each other on the back and talk about how great they were." "Ten months ago, one of the partners openly bragged about falsifying the trading records of an employee they'd found to be homosexual." Taylor paused a moment to let that sink in. "He had trading records altered so it appeared that the employee's mistake had caused large losses, which the firm would have to reimburse. He then embarked on a campaign to make the man quit, which he was successful at." Jordan listened intently, his eyes becoming misty. "The bastards toasted their successful attempt to keep Stephenson what they called a "fag free" firm. All the partners joined in the toast. I was sick to my stomach, not believing that these well educated men could be so pompous to do that to you, Jordan." Tears now fell down Jordan's face. "How did they know?" he asked softly. "It seems that Matt Nelson was quite proud of his association with you," he continued. "He told everyone he could about the two of you, eventually telling the wrong person. The information was passed to someone at Stephenson, who promptly told a partner. They then colluded to decide the best way to get rid of you. The rest you're familiar with." A great sadness welled up inside Jordan. "I can't believe that people are still that small minded that they'd ruin someone just for being different. Why didn't anyone ever bring the truth out?" "The computer records were too perfect. Whoever carried that task out knew enough to cover his tracks. No trace of the entry was left behind, therefore leaving no smoking gun. It just looks like you made an error, even though you and I know otherwise," he consoled. Jordan sat silently, pondering the cruelty of his former employers. He'd busted his ass for those ingrates, only to be singled out for being himself. He was still confused about something, though. "I still don't get why what happened caused you to leave. You weren't directly affected by it all. So, why did you leave," he asked with an edge of anger in his voice. "I told you when you came here that we may have more in common than you think." He took a deep breath and went on. "We both grew up in single parent homes, we both love the financial world, and we're both gay." He went silent after that statement, staring into his vodka glass. Jordan was stunned. The whiz kid Taylor Bryant was a fag too? The Wall Street wonder kid was a cock sucker as well? It was almost too much to believe. It may also explain why he was there that night. "I think I understand," Jordan said. "You give me a job, and then conquer my ass like you've conquered everything else. I do your busy work while you have a place to bury your cock and earn another trophy for your wall of fame." Taylor shook his head defiantly. This night wasn't going as he'd planned, and he was desperate to get it back on track. "Absolutely not, Jordan. I know it may seem that way, but I assure you you're dead wrong. What I do see is two people who are alike sexually and who are viewed as second class citizens. I want us to use our collective smarts to blow those assholes at Stephenson away. I want to see two violently smart gay men make them regret the day they ever screwed with you." He pulled an envelope from his jacket, sliding it across the table to Jordan. "Read my offer, and you then decide if I'm sincere. If you decide I'm not, then I'll have Carl take you home. Read." Jordan opened the envelope, unfolding the paper it contained within. He began to read its contents with great interest. It was an offer of employment that contained the following: $125,000 annual salary, 10% of net profit bonus, full family benefits, and a generous vacation policy. It was an amazing offer. It also detailed job responsibilities, which basically entailed most trading and research. He would also be intimately involved in client presentations and account advising. This was everything he'd ever wanted to do and more. "I don't know what to say," he said, still unsure if he trusted Taylor's sincerity. "Say nothing right now. I've retained the services of an attorney I've never used to advise you on this offer. He knows to give you his unbiased counsel. You have a meeting with him Sunday evening at the country club to go over his recommendations. Anything that comes of that meeting will be given serious consideration. You and I will figure out all the particulars then." Jordan was flabbergasted! He saw nothing wrong with the offer, and wanted to accept it on the spot. He decided to play it cool, though, and take the meeting with the lawyer. "Well then," he said, "we'll just see what he has to say." Jordan cracked a slight smile at the insanity of it all. Just a few hours ago, he was struggling to get things going upward again. Now he was about to sit at the top of the mountain. "Life is strange," he thought to himself. "Excellent," Taylor bellowed. "Let's eat now. I'm starved!" As if on cue, Leonard wheeled a cart beside them on the veranda. Various cuts of fresh fruit and wedges of aged cheese were spread about its surface. A bottle of wine and two elegant glasses sat at the center of it all. He selected a variety of everything, placing two full plates before the men. Pouring two glasses of wine, he gave one to each of them, then cleared the empty cocktail glasses. Once again, he disappeared into the bowels of the house, leaving the bottle between them. They resumed their previous banter, Taylor enthusiastically relaying his plans for the two of them. He got an edge in his voice when he bragged that they would bring Stephenson to its knees. Jordan found it sexy when Taylor got so authoritative. In fact, he had to admit, he found everything sexy about the man in front of him. From his 6 foot 3 height to his broad, masculine shoulders, nothing was hard on the eyes. The more Taylor rambled, the cuter he got. He was like a child in a toy store, wantonly expressing his desires without a care in the world. Jordan wanted to attack him right there, demand that he ravage him, but remembered that this was a business dinner after all. Work was first and foremost on the importance scale. The dinner moved from course to course, each more perfect than the one before. Jordan decided it would be easy to get used to food like this. Leonard appeared throughout the meal, clearing plates and refilling glasses. His timing remained impeccable throughout the evening. By the time dessert with Kona coffees were finished, it was after midnight. Taylor had become so easy to talk with that Jordan regretted that the night had to finish. The time wasn't a factor, being the start of their weekend. All good things must eventually end, though. Taylor walked Jordan to the front portico, where Carl stood waiting with the rear door of limo open. Stopping him from moving forward, Taylor placed a hand on Jordan's shoulder and turned so they were eye to eye. "I hope I've proven my sincerity tonight. I truly believe we can accomplish great things if we combine our best efforts. I hope you'll consider it seriously." Jordan blushed slightly. "Of course I will, Taylor. Thank you for a wonderful evening. Please give Leonard and the staff my sincere compliments." "I certainly will," he replied. He extended his hand, getting another firm handshake from Jordan. The hand to hand contact lasted longer than normal, both men enjoying the electricity passing between them. Jordan broke the grip and moved to enter the vehicle. "Taylor," he said before getting in," you've made a believer of me tonight." He gave him a quick wink, and got in the car. Carl closed the door and gave Taylor a nod of approval. Taylor smiled widely and watched the limousine disappear up the drive. "Maybe.....just maybe," he said aloud. TO BE CONTINUED....