Free Maloney's Law by Anne Brooke

‘You’re serious.’
    ‘Indeed.’
    Okay, I thought. It was one year, seven months and nine days since I’d played the gay clubbing scene, the Saturday before I set up my company, and it had never been in a place as high-class as this. Not only that but, sexually speaking, things had been dead for a while. Maybe this would be the kick-start I needed to get living again, and at least no-one would find out.
    The decision made, I reached out and met the cool flesh of his arm.
    ‘What do you prefer?’ I asked, tugging him backwards into who knew what, but it would be away from the door. ‘Hand or mouth?’
    ‘No choice. Mouth,’ he said and kissed me. It was like opening a door to a room filled with spices, but a second later one important fact crystallised, and I pushed him away, ignoring the fizz of blood to my head.
    ‘You haven’t picked up a bloke this way before, have you?’ I said.
    ‘No. Does it matter? Anyway how did you work that out?’
    In the darkness I smiled. ‘Kissing wasn’t what I meant by “mouth”, though I’m not saying I objected.’
    There was a pause. ‘I know what you meant, but I wanted to do it. I’m not a fool.’
    ‘I didn’t think you were, but you are straight, aren’t you? At least on the whole?’
    ‘If you like to label people in that way, then yes. Perhaps. You see, in my business you learn two things, and you learn them quickly: The first is to be open to the possibility of change; and the second is to trust your instincts. When you strolled in with that unnecessary girl in tow, I knew I wanted you.’
    ‘Jade’s my friend, so leave her out of it. Okay?’
    Another pause, then, ‘Yes. Okay. So what should we do now? You seem to want to take the role of expert here, and, doing what I do, I like to consult the experts. Though I might not always take their advice.’
    This was the second time he’d mentioned work, and I laughed. ‘I see. So what is it you do then?’
    ‘That’s an interesting question,’ he said. ‘Here’s my card. When you’ve worked it out, call me.’
    And then in a haze of nicotine and seductive menace he was gone, through a narrow, tree-lined exit I hadn’t seen before, and wrong-footing me for the first of many, many times.
    It was only at home later on that I read his card and knew without a second of doubt that, unbelievable though it seemed, what it said was true.
    Dominic Allen, owner of DG Allen Enterprises Inc, the biggest IT and software company in the UK, the Attila the Hun of the Western business world and stalwart family man, had propositioned me.
    Three days after that I gave in and rang him. One hour and five minutes after the call, he was in my bed, and I was teaching him things he hadn’t experienced before. But in the end the only lesson learnt had been learnt by me.
    Don’t fall in love with a mainly straight bloke. You’ll never win.
    Nothing’s changed. I’m not winning now. When at last I leave the past and come back to the present, the four walls, the fireplace, the Staffordshire dogs are still with me, but The Macallan is mostly gone. As of course is Dominic. I’ve drained all of the whisky but a few drops at the bottom of the glass, and I haven’t tasted a thing. A shaming waste. I make the dregs of it last the length of another vital few seconds, the warmth of the malt firing my tongue.
    Then I sit back and think.
    Dominic wants to buy Delta Egypt. Or so he says. Blake Kenzie isn’t the type of man who looks as if he’s ready to be bought. Dominic hires me to check out Blake’s company, a commission that so far has gained me one near-miss escape with a knife, one amateur circus act, four gunshots, and one flesh wound. Not to mention a dead woman who might or might not be linked to anything and who might or might not be called Bluesky, and Blake’s indepth knowledge of my family life. All of it a barrel of trouble and all this so my ex-lover can find out whether Delta is clean or not. Or so he says, again.