Limited Liability
By
Tricia Owens
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Tricia Owens
Read other titles by Tricia Owens at
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/TriciaOwens
CHAPTER ONE
When Maxmillian woke, he was not alone.
The last time he had shared a bed with someone that someone had been Jonathan. Brief panic bolted through him, quickly suppressed. He would not have given in to a moment's lust and bad judgment and bedded Jonathan again. It was inconceivable. He chastised himself for believing it of himself even for a moment. He turned his head on the pillow and contemplated with satisfaction the head full of wavy golden blond hair lying beside him.
Ethan. Much better.
A sweet cocktail of desire and longing filtered through Max's body as he gazed at the man in his bed. The bed sheet had pooled at the small of Ethan's back, allowing Max to look his fill of the other man's strong shoulders and sleek back. The view was simply gorgeous.
He rose up onto an elbow and lightly combed his fingers through the too-long golden hair of his new lover. Ethan was less than a handful of years younger than he but experience made the gulf seem wider. The blond exuded a youthfulness that appealed strongly to Max. After years of working in a world dominated by older professional men, Ethan's presence reminded Max of being in University -- the excitement of the future, the sensual awareness of his classmates, and the energy of possibility. Max had learned maturity quickly, even as a child. Ethan clearly had not, and while Max had already glimpsed instances when such behavior would be a detriment, he admitted to himself he rather enjoyed the other man's joie de vivre.
And he had chosen well for other reasons, Max reminded himself as he let his gaze pan over the rest of his companion. He could just make out the rise of Ethan's firm buttocks. Max's morning erection suddenly found a reason for being. He wanted to be buried deep inside this man. He wanted to possess him physically and mentally, forcing reactions from him that no other man could. His infatuation for Ethan's body was strong, but not nearly as strong as his desire for Ethan's responses.
Max found it curious that his need was crystal clear now but at one time had been clear as mud. Jonathan had been the lover Max should never have had. They'd butted heads constantly, in bed and out. Max had at first mistaken that conflict for sexual tension and he'd been stirred by the challenge of trying to force Jonathan into the man's rightful place. But looking back on it now he could see that he'd never beaten Jonathan or derived the pleasure he should have from their encounters. Max desired submission, and Jonathan had never given it to him even on the nights when he'd relented to bottoming.
But with Ethan the situation was much different. Max recognized the yin to his yang. The more he allowed his naturally dominant nature to surface, the more Ethan responded exactly the way Max wished him to. Testing the power he had over the other man was something that filled Max's entire being with anticipation. He wished for what he rarely did -- to take a leave of absence from work so that he could explore the pleasure not of money but of flesh.
His fingers ached to touch Ethan yet Max didn't move, preferring to sort through the thoughts and emotions that arose over finding himself with a lover after years of celibacy. He'd lied to Ethan when he'd claimed to have planned all of this. Bringing the other man to Las Vegas and putting him up in the condo had been an impulsive decision, perhaps one of the first of Max's life. He wasn't a gambling man -- to be one and live in Vegas was courting eventual and complete financial disaster. But when he'd learned of Jonathan's deception and the ruination of Ethan's dream Max had sensed that something important had just been presented to him, but something which would not wait idly by. In his gut he'd known that if he didn't fetch Ethan now, life would be considerably duller and dissatisfying. In fact, he might forever be alone.
So he'd rolled the dice, though he winced at the clichéd phrase. Trite or not, he had taken a risk by inserting this man into his life, this stranger. Max hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake. Peeling back the sheets from both their bodies, he reminded himself that even if he had, at least the mistake would be limited to his sex life. Max was very, very good at compartmentalizing. Ethan could not harm what he would not have access to. Max would play it safe and provide Ethan with enough of a life in Vegas to placate him, but not enough to make him potentially dangerous.
He tossed the sheet to the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming covetously over the smooth, round globes of Ethan's ass. The blond's legs were slightly parted, the right leg drawn up to afford Max a glimpse of the other man's lightly furred scrotum. Max's mouth began to salivate as he reached out and lightly dragged a finger up between his new lover's legs, sinking into the warm crease of his buttocks.
The skin was smooth and still sticky from the last time Max had taken him just after two in the morning. Max's eyes glittered at the memory of fucking Ethan on the floor of the living room, his hand buried in golden hair, Ethan on all fours, moaning and whimpering shamelessly as Max thrust into him. In the present again, he ghosted his palm along Ethan's spine, feeling the ridge of bone skim beneath his fingers. His hand came to rest on one muscled cheek. He gently massaged the smooth flesh and smiled as Ethan released a faint sigh of pleasure.
Max had no experience being the submissive partner. Surrender was anathema to him. It came naturally to him to take control, to guide his partner -- whether younger or older -- to a mutually pleasing orgasm. He'd discovered that while many men enjoyed submitting their bodies to him few were willing to grant him more than that. A true power exchange was a delicate situation he had not been able to find. As he continued to fondle Ethan, he wondered if his luck had changed.
Max didn't bother denying himself any longer. He smoothly and silently crawled over Ethan, placed his legs between the blond's and lowered his hips until his cock nestled between Ethan's legs. The other man's buttocks were soft and warm, perfectly cradling Max's cock. He reached down and hooked a hand beneath Ethan's bent right leg and lifted it a little higher on the bed to open him up further. A little maneuvering was all that was required before the head of his cock slipped up between the other man's ass cheeks and pressed against the loosened hole.
Lust simmered beneath Max's skin. He stared down at Ethan's profile as he lowered himself, covering Ethan's back with his chest. He watched for the green eyes to open and when they did, blinking in disorientation, Max pushed inside him.
"Ohhh -- g-god..." Ethan gasped, startled. His hands clutched the pillow beneath his head and his back arched under Max's stomach. "What -- Max--"
"Shh," Max soothed as he worked his hips slowly to push himself in and out of Ethan. "Just relax. Consider this a delightful dream you've woken to."
"Not a dream," Ethan moaned, tilting his round bottom up to better fit into Max's groin. "B-better. Much better."
Max smiled at the comment and shifted until he completely smothered Ethan beneath him. His lips played against Ethan's nape, tasting the dried sweat raised from their previous activities. "I might wake you this way every morning from now on," he warned in a low murmur.
"Best alarm clock, ever," Ethan claimed before burying his face in his pillow and muffling a deep groan.
Max watched him, cataloging the way Ethan's legs widened for him and his hips flexed upwards helpfully. He lowered more of his weight onto Ethan and noted how the blond's moans changed timber, growing breathier, needier. Max moved his hands through the sheets until he could grasp Ethan's wrists. As he squeezed the tendon and muscle there, Ethan squeezed the muscles gripping Max's cock as if returning the favor.
"I could do anything to you. Couldn't I?" Max whispered, enflamed by Ethan's submissive reactions. "Anything I wanted -- anything to provide myself with pleasure -- you wouldn't stop me."
"Anything," Ethan agreed weakly. The tremor in his voice was nearly more than Max could bear.
As Max spread his legs and dug his toes into the bed, he could see the days unrolling before him, days of losing himself in Ethan's body, of dominating him and molding him -- customizing him for Max's needs. It made him groan and surge forward, forcing a cry of surprise and lust from the man beneath him.
He lowered his head and breathed harshly against Ethan's ear, letting the younger man hear his growing excitement. Ethan responded perfectly: clenching his eyes shut and shuddering, his inner muscles, surely sore after being used three times in twenty-four hours, spasming helplessly around Max's cock.
"You'll do anything to please me," Max echoed. "Tell me again."
Ethan pushed his face into the pillow again. "God -- anything. Anything."
Satisfied, Max rocked into him, using his weight to hold the other man down while his hips smacked against the firm ass. The friction and pleasure finally reached a crescendo, pulling a muffled groan from between Max's lips. He continued to hump Ethan through the full-body shivers, filling the other man with his semen until it overflowed around the place where they were joined.
Panting, Max rose up onto extended arms and looked down at Ethan. The blond writhed beneath him, obviously still hard and seeking relief against the mattress.
Max said clearly, "Stop."
Ethan's movements paused for a split second before resuming. "I can't. I'm nearly there," he panted.
Max withdrew his softening cock and climbed off of Ethan. "You can and you will." When Ethan continued to thrust against the bed, Max reached down and fisted his hand in the golden hair, yanking Ethan's head up until their eyes could meet. "I told you to stop," he ordered in a low voice.
"But--"
"Do as I say or you will regret it."
He watched the struggle in Ethan's clear green eyes, secretly relishing the effort it took for Ethan to finally gulp and nod. While Max expected obedience, he couldn't deny that it aroused him to watch Ethan suffer a little bit to give it to him.
He released Ethan's hair and stepped back from the bed. "Roll onto your back."
Moving as if pained, Ethan did so. Max could sympathize with the angry, red erection that strained against the other man's stomach. That didn't stop him from reaching down and pinching a hard nipple though.
"No," Ethan moaned, twisting away, "don't make it worse. Please."
Max smirked as fluid leaked from the tip of Ethan's cock. "You're very close."
Ethan's laugh was ragged. His cheeks were bright with color, his eyes slightly glazed. "You could say that again."
"Keep yourself this way," Max instructed before he strode to the en-suite bathroom. "If I find that you've softened by the time I finish my shower, I assure you, Ethan, you will regret it." He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure his point had been made and was pleased by the look of agony on the other man's face as he nodded acceptance.
Deeply pleased, Max entered the bathroom and started the shower. He moved leisurely, taking his time to thoroughly wash himself as he mentally measured the time. When he felt the torture had gone on long enough, he exited the shower and toweled himself off as he re-entered the bedroom.
Ethan lay where Max had left him but time had taken its toll on the blond. His hair was dark with sweat and painted across his forehead and clinging to his cheeks. The skin from his face to his chest was flushed with color, his nipples standing out like tiny knobs. Max's gaze was torn between wanting to linger on the sight of Ethan's painful-looking erection and searching the expression in his eyes which was so desperate, so pleading, that Max nearly tossed his towel aside and rejoined him on the bed for another fuck.
He stepped up to the bed and ran his fingers up the inside of a golden hair-covered calf. The leg jerked before moving wide, offering what lay between.
"What do you want?" Max whispered, his voice thickening with lust.
"You know," Ethan gasped, his eyes bright like the purest emeralds. "Please. Max... It hurts."
Lashes lowered, Max ran his finger up the swollen length of Ethan's cock, testing its rigidity. Ethan's deep groan made Max shiver but he didn't move his hand away. Instead, he raised his eyes to Ethan's again and dropped his hand between the blond's legs to cup his tight, furred balls.
"You've pleased me," he whispered, dragging out the tension and Ethan's suffering. "Now you may come for me." He dropped Ethan's balls and pushed two fingers up inside him where he pressed mercilessly on the spongy nub within.
Ethan's eyes widened, his gaze blind. He let out a yell and convulsed on the bed as if his body conducted a current of electricity. His cock spurted violently, spattering his belly and chest in clear liquid which quickly cooled to white. He moaned softly as his body slowly relaxed and sank into the featherbed. Max's eyes lingered appreciatively over Ethan's heaving, sweating chest and the profile of his face, which held a faint smile.
"That was intense," Ethan breathed after a long moment. He cracked open his eyes and grinned up at Max. "I think I'm ready for a nap now."
"And soon you'll be too obese and lazy to be of any use to me and will be shipped back to Indiana," Max replied dryly. "I suggest you don't spend your time in this bed while I'm not here to join you."
Ethan's fingers absently played through the puddle on his stomach as he studied Max curiously. "You're going to work today, aren't you? I'd hoped you'd take a day or two off and show me around town and things."
"I'll have Dominic return here after dropping me off at the office. He'll be able to give you a tour of the city and the immediate neighborhood."
"You're leaving me to your driver?" Ethan made a face and sat up. "And what happens after he's shown me around? What am I supposed to do until you come back? I thought I was going to be working with you."
Turning from the bed and approaching his closet, Max said, "You will, once I have decided in which fashion to employ you."
"Which fashion? But--"
"I will provide you with the job I believe you will excel at," Max cut him off, entering the large walk-in and perusing the suits hanging within. "I won't risk productivity at the Elite Poole by placing you in the wrong position for your skill set. Be patient, Ethan."
When a response wasn't forthcoming, he stepped back out of the closet. Ethan was picking at the sheets moodily. He couldn't quite hide his distrust as he raised his eyes to Max. "I thought I was going to be an agent."
"Patience," Max repeated calmly though he felt the first prickle of guilt at the back of his mind. "You've been here less than a day, Ethan. Please give me time to arrange things."
Ethan sighed but his troubled expression slowly cleared and he nodded. "I guess you're right. I did just get here, didn't I?" He laughed and Max marveled at how carefree the man could become. "Alright. I'll ask Dominic to show me around. Maybe I'll squeeze some inside information out of him too," Ethan added with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Max's lips curled, his tension easing. "Dominic signed a nondisclosure agreement before beginning employment for me. He won't be telling you anything."
"A man who can keep a secret? That means he knows everything." Ethan raised both brows. "You realize you just gave me double the incentive to pick his mind, don't you?"
Max's smirk fully materialized. "As they say at the tables, Ethan: good luck."
~~~~~
Max entered the front door of the Elite Poole and was pleasantly assaulted by the cool breeze created by the air conditioner already running at eight o'clock in the morning.
"Good morning, Maxmillian," greeted Kimberlyn at the reception desk. "How was your trip to Indiana? See any cows? Or is that cornfields?"
Max unfolded the copy of the Review-Journal that Kimberlyn handed him along with his mail and scanned the headlines without comment. When he felt that she had squirmed long enough -- she had been responsible for hiring the temp who had given the security camera data to Jonathan, after all -- Max raised his head and acknowledged, "It was rewarding."
Kimberlyn smiled uncertainly and a touch of remorse softened the line of Max's shoulders. Kimberlyn had made a mistake but it was one of very few she’d committed since he'd hired her to take over the position of executive secretary. She was loyal, competent and hard-working -- everything he demanded of those he employed. She understood the severity of her error and its consequences, he decided. It was time to move on.
"What is my schedule like?" he asked, inclining his head at her. "And no, I was fortunate enough to avoid any sightings of cows."
She laughed lightly, the sound full of relief, and checked her computer monitor. "Mayor Goodman's office will be calling at nine-fifteen to discuss the Andre Agassi Foundation fundraiser. You have an early meeting with Mr. Peter Monaghan at nine-thirty. A rep from Centennial High School will be here at ten about that Career Week program I told you about. At ten-thirty you--"
Max looked up from the article he was perusing, suddenly cold. "Peter Monaghan, did you say?"
Kimberlyn nodded, looking sheepish. "His office made the appointment this morning. I couldn't warn you."
Max stared at her. "I possess a cell phone and a pager."
She flushed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure if I should bother you. I know you had a late flight."
Max's fingers flexed against the paper but other than that he kept his outward appearance stony. "Did Mr. Monaghan explain the reason for his spontaneous request for a meeting?"
"His secretary said he's flying into town this afternoon and needs services." She winced. "Sorry."
A hundred emotions barreled through Max, few of them pleasant. The rush from this morning faded into memory. His 'vacation' had officially ended.
"Thank you, Kimberlyn," he said stiffly, his mind working too furiously to bother with softening his tone. He knew she understood his distraction so he wasn't concerned with offending her. Displeased, he rounded her desk and entered one of two hallways that formed an oval around a central desertscape courtyard.
The glass-walled offices, sixteen in all, were empty at this hour. The coffee maker gurgled in the break room but beyond that the only sound in the office was the piped in classical music Max personally selected each Monday.
He had renovated the offices of the Elite Poole after taking over the business from his Uncle Edgar, modernizing them both technically and aesthetically. Max was a workaholic, and if he expected to spend the majority of his waking hours in these offices he would do so in surroundings which pleased him. Thus the Elite Poole was a study in frosted and clear glass, modern Italian furniture, and stunning lithographs from famous modern artists. The computers and security system had been updated so that Max had access to every piece of data that passed through or was generated by the company, and he could easily connect to relevant law enforcement and judicial databases in the state.
The expense had been great and his uncle would have protested the expenditure but the older man was in the French Riviera, far from influencing Max's decisions. No, Uncle Edgar couldn't dictate what color carpet Max installed in the offices but his legacy did remain in the form of his client base. Much to Max's dismay.
Frowning, he let himself into the largest office in the building. Plenty of large windows and plush seating made it a comfortable place for the higher-end clients who required face-to-face meetings with Max, but it was the large desk at the end of the room which pleased him most. He settled into the tall leather chair and mentally sighed as he turned on his monitor. He could feel the portrait of his mother and father looking down at him from over his shoulder.
He'd placed the painting on the wall behind him to instill the illusion of familial support. This morning however, it felt more as if his parents were peering down at him critically and with disapproval. The feeling increased as he regarded his calendar and this morning's appointment with dread.
Peter Monaghan. If there was one name and one client Max hoped to have washed his hands of, it was him. An outsider would have been surprised by Max's reaction. Monaghan had just purchased the Las Vegas Miners, the city's new professional baseball team, and rumor had it he was considering getting his feet wet in gaming by buying one of the small local casinos. He was a major mover and shaker in Las Vegas, his influence undeniable, and his account would be worth tens of thousands if not more, to whoever managed to secure him as a client.
But Max wanted nothing to do with him. It didn't matter that Monaghan's business associates would take notice that the man had chosen the Elite Poole and would consider the agency for their own security work. It didn't matter that the Elite Poole was practically guaranteed free television and newspaper advertising when cameras caught an Elite agent beside Monaghan. Nothing was worth taking on Peter Monaghan as a client.
It made it all the more galling that Max had no choice but to do so.
~~~~~
Bored, Ethan began snooping. He hadn't meant to. He wasn't a nosey guy. But after an hour of twiddling his thumbs waiting for Dominic to return from his errands, Ethan remembered his situation: he was going to be living with Max for the foreseeable future. It wouldn't hurt to learn the man's likes and dislikes. The more knowledgeable Ethan became about his new lover the better their relationship -- however shallow it was -- could become.
That was his excuse as he began plowing through the contents of Max's wardrobe. The first thing Ethan learned was that Max liked all his clothes to be dark. Walking into his closet was like walking into the Bat Cave. Ethan shook his head in amusement as he fingered one dark suit coat after another. Even the man's dress shirts were shades of dark gray and navy. He wondered what Max wore to play tennis.
While he wasn't fond of the darkness, Ethan could certainly appreciate the quality of Max's wardrobe. The high fashion labels jumped out at him, making him embarrassingly conscious of his own department store off-the-rack suits. Those that Max possessed were undoubtedly tailored to fit the man as though he had been born in them. Ethan hadn't had the cuffs of his own slacks hemmed even though they hung over the backs of his heels and were now frayed.
Feeling like a hobo, he moved to the dressers. There he found more label clothing -- even Max's underwear was designer. And who in the world owned twenty pairs of cashmere socks?
Each new discovery might have been depressing if Ethan hadn't been so preoccupied with finding some dirt on Max. He didn't find any incriminating sex toys, which disappointed him, but he knew Max had hidden them somewhere. The man hadn't done anything especially kinky to him so far but Ethan could tell he was into it: Max liked it intense and rough, and that meant bondage and probably a bit of S&M too. Ethan wanted to know -- was dying to know -- what he would be in for later, but the condo yielded up none of Max's secrets. It was looking more and more like he'd have to squeeze Dominic for some info.
While he was carefully searching through the bottom drawer of Max's second dresser, Ethan heard the front door open and close. Smiling, thinking that Max had tricked him and had taken the day off after all, he hurried to the living room and nearly bowled over a petite older woman who let out a yelp of fright.
"Oh, oh," she said, clutching at her chest. "You scare me."
"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry," Ethan apologized, glad he hadn't knocked the poor woman to the floor. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I thought you were Max."
"Signor Poole no here," she told him, wagging her finger. She tucked her short brown hair behind one ear and studied Ethan critically. "I his cook. I make breakfast for you. Signor Poole say so."
"Oh, no, you really don't need to," Ethan protested, uncomfortable with having this woman waiting on him. He had a difficult enough time being comfortable eating at nice restaurants where the waiters were extra attentive. "I've been cooking for myself all through college. I can manage fine. Really."
She scowled and gave him the once-over. Ethan felt a laugh bubble up from his throat at how skeptically she appeared to regard his cooking skills. "You no cook," she told him firmly. "I cook you good meal. Signor Poole tell me to take care of you and I make you nice healthy meal. Good for young men. Many proteins."
Ethan blinked and stifled a laugh. Oh, he's been feeding me plenty of protein, don't worry about that.
She headed to the kitchen with such determination Ethan knew he'd lost this battle. He followed her through the swinging door and watched as she began pulling out eggs, smoked salmon, green onions and cheese from the refrigerator. He was amazed she knew where everything was considering how huge the kitchen was.
"I'm Ethan," he introduced himself as he leaned against the counter. "Can I help you with something? At least crack the eggs or something?"
He saw the corner of her mouth twitch as she pulled some paper towel-wrapped scallions out of a bag. "Okay, you give me three eggs. No shells!" she added emphatically. As Ethan began breaking the eggs into a bowl, she started chopping the scallions. "My name is Analisa. I work for Signor Poole for many years."
Ethan paused, a light bulb glowing above his head. "You don't say. So that must mean you know all about him, huh?"
She shrugged. "He very private man. But I work for him long time."
Ethan smiled as he checked the bowl of eggs for shell fragments. "So you wouldn't mind if I asked you a few questions, would you?"
"You naughty boy," she told him, moving to the package of smoked salmon. "I told you, he very private man. That means I don't talk. Not even to handsome young men who break my eggs."
"So he brings other young men over every once in a while?" Ethan asked, enjoying his conversation with Analisa.
"No young men. No young women. Signor Poole no take lover." She eyed him suspiciously. "You first in many years." She shrugged then and began carefully slicing the salmon into thin strips. "At least he have taste."
"But you don't trust my cooking," Ethan reminded her.
"Pretty face don't mean you good at cooking," was her reply. She glanced at him again and huffed. "Take out that cheese. I teach you something so he don't get rid of you."
CHAPTER TWO
"You don't like me, Mr. Poole. I would go so far as to say you hate me."
Max folded his hands carefully across his lap and leaned back in his chair as he regarded the man seated across from him. Grieg was playing over the speakers again and Max tried to take comfort in the sprightly notes of Anitra's Dance but it was like holding a rose to his nose while walking through a garbage dump. Nothing could cover his distaste for this meeting.
"Hate is a strong word, Mr. Monaghan. You don't deserve that much passion from me."
Peter Monaghan laughed. Max couldn't tell if the accompanying smile reached the man's eyes since the older man was wearing sunglasses. Indoors.
Everything about this man rubbed Max the wrong way. The man had shown up ten minutes late to his appointment, cruelly filling Max with the hope of a no-show, and demanded that his beefy bodyguards be allowed to sit in on the meeting inside Max's office, implying Monaghan might need the protection while inside the walls of the Elite Poole. Max did not take kindly to insults, and he had trouble warming to a man who would not allow his eyes to be seen.
"Then admit you dislike me," Monaghan went on. He waved his arms expressively, the movement of his thick, muscled limbs bringing to mind visions of violence that Max would rather not entertain. "It's no big deal to me. I'm a businessman. I stomp on a lot of people to get what I want. Grudges are a normal part of life."
"Normal in the life of the Mafia, perhaps."
Monaghan just smiled. He pulled his arms in again so that his body resembled a compact slab of granite dressed in navy silk. "So you believe that bunk too, do you? I never took you for a fan of media gossip. Your uncle never believed it. Edgar trusted me."
"My uncle wisely left this country so he would no longer have to deal with men in your line of business," Max returned evenly. "He did not trust you. He tolerated you, which is more than I care to do."
"But you will." The change in Monaghan's smile was infinitesimal but Max noticed it like he would a sudden chill in the air: he sensed it.
His fingers pressed against each other. "Yes."
Monaghan chuckled. He smoothed a hand down the front of his green tea colored tie, his shiny Italian suit rustling softly. He was the picture of wealth and respectability, but all Max had to do was look over the man's shoulders at the two bodyguards -- the two goons -- sitting in the waiting area of Max's office to be reminded of who this man really was.
"You need to borrow a page from your uncle's book, Mr. Poole. He understood that necessity sometimes meant turning a blind eye on what we're not comfortable with. No one's perfect and neither is this world. We make the best of it. We survive. Edgar understood that. He's a survivor just like I am."
"Do not compare yourself with my uncle," Max retorted coldly. "When he opened the Elite Poole he was a young man on his own in a foreign country, determined to make the American Dream come true through hard work and his intelligence. That he made your acquaintance was unfortunate, that he accepted your initial investment a mistake made by an inexperienced businessman. He has never stooped to your level, Mr. Monaghan. He gave you the benefit of the doubt concerning the true sources of your income and retired before having to learn differently." He narrowed his eyes. "We both know better however, and I, unlike my uncle, may owe you my services because of that investment but it does not purchase my respect."
"Because you think your uncle mistrusted me."
"Because you're involved with organized crime."
Monaghan sighed pityingly. "The Mafia doesn't rule Las Vegas, Mr. Poole. Corporations have taken over this city. Even the most powerful man, Mr. Wynn, answers to shareholders. I think you've seen too many mob movies. Are you a fan of the Sopranos, by any chance?"
Max's fingers curled into claws. He forcibly relaxed them. "State your business or get out of my office."
Monaghan's smile faded. Max had no doubt at that moment that if the man removed his glasses Max would finally see the truth he dreaded: a man capable of very bad things.
"Edgar was a friend," Monaghan stated, "more than he was an investment. I could have pressed for a long-term cut of his profits but I allowed him to pay me back in a lump sum. Remember that, Mr. Poole. I've been a generous man when it comes to the Elite Poole but with your uncle gone my association is now a matter of professional courtesy. Don't disrespect me. I have a lot of friends and a lot of influence. The days of card cheats being taken to the basement of Binion's Horseshoe and having their fingers broken are over. You'd be a fool to believe that I need the Mafia to get things done around here. Don't be that fool."
Max stilled. "Do not threaten me."
"No one said anything about threatening you," Monaghan replied calmly, studying the cuff of his suit coat. "I was merely pointing out the difference between old school Vegas and the present. Vegas today is all about juice -- it's who you know. I happen to know a lot of people."
The blood was pounding in Max's head. That Monaghan dared come into the Elite Poole and issue veiled threats infuriated him.
"Tell me why you're here," he bit out.
"I'm sure you know I have an interest in the Shangri-La," Monaghan said, referring to the off-Strip casino whose primary clientele were city locals. "I'm very interested in acquiring it. A little bird has told me the time may be ripe for such a purchase."
"Meaning, what?"
"Meaning friends of mine have informed me the Dealer's Union is considering a strike next week." Monaghan's smile was wide as if he savored the secret he held and couldn't wait for someone to ask him about it.
"Friends of yours." Max snorted indelicately. "You mean the Teamsters and the Culinary Union. The most powerful labor organizations in the city."
Monaghan inclined his head in acknowledgement. "And now the Dealers Union. If the dealers strike... some people will be happy and some won't. Those who don't happen to like it will start pointing the finger at me. Unfairly, of course."
"Because a strike involving the Shangri-La would lower the price of its shares," Max theorized, "allowing you to purchase it at a reduced price. Convenient for you," he added dryly.
Monaghan didn't bother hiding his glee. "I'm here at the right time, I guess."
Max shook his head. He wasn't fooled. Monaghan, either directly or through his mob connections, had pulled the strings on this upcoming strike. Las Vegas had resisted the formation of a Dealers Union since its founding, recognizing, correctly, that such a union would possess too much power in the city. Control of the dealers in the city meant control of the casinos. It had long been believed that such a thing would come to pass only with extreme difficulty, if at all.
Yet in the last four years the Teamsters and Culinary had done the unthinkable and backed a fledgling union. While the dealers in only three small casinos had dared to join -- Shangri-La included -- the powers-that-be in Vegas watched carefully for the fallout. Max and those who had contact with law enforcement didn't fool themselves into thinking the city was clean of mob influence. It existed. In the unions. And it could be trouble.
"So the Shangri-La dealers are striking and you stand to benefit, so you fear...?" Max let the sentence hang, though he already knew how it would be completed.
"Suggestions of a Mafia connection, of course. Even you were quick to make the association, Mr. Poole. I can guess what the court of public opinion will assume." Monaghan smirked as if the whole idea was entertaining. "It's getting to be that a man can't be Irish and successful anymore without unseemly accusations floating around."
Max ignored the feigned outrage. "You require the Elite Poole for security? Why? It seems rather redundant considering your connections and your 'situation'."
"My situation," Monaghan repeated, chuckling. "You just won't let it go, will you, Mr. Poole? I have to say, I'm starting to warm up to you. You're not like your uncle when he was your age. He was a spitfire, always searching for opportunities no matter high or low. But you're not like that. You're too civilized. You prefer to do your fighting with a pen while wearing an Armani. I suppose it's the European in you, eh?"
Spreading his lips into a thin semblance of a smile, Max replied, "If by European you mean not a criminal, then you're correct."
The other man shrugged. "There you go again but it's alright: I think it's funny." He leaned forward. Max could barely make out the other man's eyes through the amber lenses of his glasses. "I need security from you. A team of say, two agents. People see my boys--" he waved a hand at the bodyguards seated in the waiting area, "-- and they immediately think 'mob boss'. But with your agents they see attractive, high-class security personnel that they remember seeing with rock stars and politicians. It's all about making associations. The public will write me off as the businessman I am and they won't give me any grief about buying the casino."
"You honestly think that a change in security will make people look at you differently?"
"It's worth a shot, right?" Monaghan laughed at himself. "So anyway, that's what I need, Mr. Poole. I figured Edgar's nephew should be the first person I came to about this and I think it's the right decision. Your company has a reputation for supplying the type of look I need. I'm thinking a couple of clean-cut all-American women who--"
"No women," Max cut him off. While he was generally very fair when he made his assignments, matching clients, locations and skills with little regard to gender, he had no intention of allowing Monaghan and his crew anywhere near his female agents. Although he had every confidence his agents could handle themselves he'd rather not have his female agents subjected to even the suggestion of inappropriate behavior.
Monaghan looked surprised but eventually nodded. "Alright. Fine. I'm in town for fifteen days. I'll need your boys at my side when I'm out in public. I don't need them at my home. I've got plenty of coverage there. Like I said, this is a public perception issue, nothing more. It'll be just for show until my bid is accepted by the casino and Gaming." He paused and then he smiled. "You don't happen to have a picture book, do you? You know, of all your agents so I can pick out the ones I want."
It took restraint to keep from picking up his Mont Blanc and hurtling the pen at Monaghan's face. "This isn't a brothel."
"Maybe not, but you're still selling images. I know I can't be the first person to ask to hand pick his agents. You charge big bucks here, Mr. Poole. I want to make sure I'm getting exactly what I want."
Max did in fact have a booklet featuring headshots and brief professional bios of his agents but he had no intention of sharing it with Monaghan. He wasn't even certain yet if he would allow his agents' real names to be known by the reputed mob boss.
He stared at the spot on the sunglasses where he thought Monaghan's eyes to be and said with reluctance, "Tell me what 'look' you think would aid you in your deception and I shall see what I can do."
~~~~~
A throbbing headache accompanied Maxmillian as he slid into the back seat of his Town Car. His driver, Dominic, pulled the vehicle smoothly out of the business complex and merged with the street traffic that would take them to Paradise Road and from there to Radcliffe Place.
"Dominic, how did the tour go this morning?" he asked tiredly as he massaged his temples with his fingers.
"Sir, I took Mr. Winter east to Green Valley and as far northwest as Summerlin. I wasn't certain if you wanted me to show him Henderson but I can easily take him out to the city after I return you to the office this afternoon."
"No, that's fine. Did he enjoy the tour, do you think?"
"Yes, sir. He asked a lot of questions and seemed interested in everything I had to tell him. He was especially surprised by the number of drivers who run red lights here."
A faint smile touched Max's lips and he lowered his hands to the leather seats, his headache easing. "What do you think of Mr. Winter, Dominic?"
The moment he asked of course, he wished he hadn't. He didn't require Dominic's approval of his companions, nor would the man's answer have any effect on Max's preferences. But... he was somewhat curious. Dominic had been with him since he'd taken over the Elite Poole. Dominic used to drive Max and Jonathan. Max wanted to know how Dominic thought the men compared.
"He's very friendly," Dominic replied. His eyes touched the rearview mirror, meeting Max's steady gaze. "He's a nice man, sir."
Max's headache faded completely. "He'll be living with me from now on," he admitted quietly. "If he needs something while I'm at the office I trust you to assist him."
"Of course, sir. It won't be a problem." Dominic's eyes returned to the road. "Like I said, he's a nice man."
Max turned to the view outside his window and relaxed for the first time that day.
~~~~~
Ethan thumbed through the latest issue of Architectural Digest and tried to pretend that the fantastic homes featured inside the magazine were something he saw every day. It was a tall order when every other image made his jaw drop and his eyes bulge. How did people live in homes like these? he wondered. Most of them looked like hotels; they were too large for a single family to occupy. Many were decorated like the interiors of museums.
Is this what Max hoped to own one day?
Discomfort made Ethan fidget on the unbelievably soft sofa on which he reclined. It wasn't the plush furniture that made him uneasy; it was the growing sense of not belonging. He closed the magazine and set it on the glass coffee table which was actually three interlocking circular panes of glass which were suspended on moveable metal arms. It was a useless piece of furniture as far as function went but Ethan would guess it was worth more than his car. It was art, just like most of the contents of Max's condo appeared to be.
But Ethan wasn't art and he didn't belong here.
Chewing on his thumb, he stared at the 50-inch flat screen television mounted on the wall, watching the local news station's review of labor strikes from 2002. He'd enjoyed the tour Dominic had given him of the Las Vegas valley. The driver was in his thirties and a down to earth guy once Ethan had gotten him to loosen up. He'd given Ethan some suggestions for activities he could do while Max was at work and even hinted he would join Ethan if he needed a partner for golf. Dominic was an ally just like Analisa now was, but Ethan worried that even with their support he might end up drowning in this luxurious new life. Even while simply watching TV he felt intimidated.
Troubled, he sat up and pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket. He hit the speed dial.
"Winnaker Investigative Services," Bob answered, sounding both bored and irritated.
A smile broke over Ethan's face. "Hey, Bob. It's me."
"Well, hey! If it isn't Mr. High Roller. How's life in Sin City? Hey, Larry, it's our boy!"
The teasing lightened Ethan's heart. He relaxed into the sofa. "It's good here. You should see where I'm staying. You'd have a heart attack."