Tony was late. It was a normal state of being for him, but this wasn’t normal late. He had passed casually-checking-his-watch late about an hour ago and was on his frantic way into a well-and-truly-fucked level of lateness. It would figure that the day of an appointment with one of his best clients he’d be held up by construction.
“Fuck this,” Tony muttered and leaned forward to catch the attention of his taxi driver. The man was tapping the steering wheel to the beat of a song only he heard and it took several pointed coughs before he turned.
“I want out. This is pointless, I could walk there faster.”
The driver shrugged laconically and calculated the charge, which Race paid without really paying attention to the bills in his wallet; he was busy mentally charting the different shortcuts he’d have to take to make it to his office building within the next hour.
It wasn’t hard to dart through the stalled lanes of traffic, since all the honking and swearing in the world wasn’t letting the drivers actually move anywhere. It was a bit harder to fit through the spaces between bumpers and harder still to resist the urge to tear off his suit jacket and throw it on the almost-smoldering asphalt. The thing had cost more money than he cared to think about; he wasn’t about to lose it because he was sweating a little. Okay, a lot, but it had been a lot of money.
He felt a little out of place when he reached the sidewalk and suddenly found himself among orange cones and wire and men in hardhats who barely glanced at him as they worked. He shook off the feeling; time and clients waited for no man. Especially clients with very large bank accounts. It took him a moment to orient himself and then he began picking his way around a large hole in the sidewalk.
It took Tony a minute to realize that the voice was shouting at him. He turned impatiently, checking the urge to look at his watch.
The voice turned out to belong to an equally impatient-looking man his age, holding a clipboard that he was brandishing in a manner that made it look like a deadly weapon. The hardhat and orange mesh vest he was wearing over his shirt obviously indicated that he was part of the crew, but he held himself with a sense of authority. The nametag that seemed to be pinned on as an impatient after-thought said “Site Manager,” which confirmed his suspicions.
Then he squinted up into the guy’s face and all thoughts of meetings and lost accounts skittered out of his mind and were instead replaced with every awful pickup line he’d refused to use in the past.
“Yeah?” he said, when the loud-mouthed part of his brain just wanted to say hey gorgeous, was your father a thief? And since the loud-mouthed part of his brain was most of it, it was a struggle.
The guy stared at him challengingly, his blue eyes intense. “You can’t walk through here. You get hurt, I get sued. I get sued, I’ll probably kill you.”
Tony smirked, the worst part of him getting the better of him. “Only probably?”
The look of challenge heightened, lips twisting up in a not-quite smile. “Well, it depends on how good you fuck.”
“Like a stallion.”
He didn’t even know the guy’s name yet, but when he started to laugh, Tony knew that getting to his meeting was a lost cause and couldn’t make himself care. Fuck clients; this was the rest of his life.
Ahahahaha. I am SO lame.