Undercover Lover Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  “Undercover Lover”

  M/M Gay Romance

  Jerry Cole

  © 2017

  Jerry Cole

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is intended for Adults (ages 18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It may contain graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read this book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.

  Please educate yourself on safe sex practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you’re not sure where to start, see here: http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com/safe-sex-resources/.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner & are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images & are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.

  Edition v1.00 (2017.07.06)

  http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com

  Special thanks to the following volunteer readers who helped with proofreading: C Mitchell, Ken P, D Fair, Michelle Beer and those who assisted but wished to be anonymous. Thank you so much for your support.

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  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  The State Fidelity Federal Savings and Loan Association board met in the Liberty Tower conference room every Wednesday at three o’clock sharp. That Wednesday, though, they met at ten in the morning, summoned by CEO Mandy Bibiana for an urgent meeting. Only five people were sitting around the table, the head of human resources, the bank vice president, the head of IT, the head of financial analysis, and the head of sales and purchasing. Normally, the board room would have been full of investors sitting around the long rectangular table, along with a couple of high-ranking secretaries taking notes, but this was too important and needed to be handled privately and quickly. That was what the email Mandy had sent everyone had said.

  Mandy brushed her straight long black hair back over her shoulder before she set her gaze on the head of IT, Carlton Hayden. He was a slightly built man with huge glasses and a bushy white beard that hid the majority of his features. “Are you absolutely positive of this?”

  Carlton nodded. “Absolutely positive. It’s not a bug on our side.”

  Mandy didn’t reply. She turned to look at the head of financial analysis, King Trivedi, raising her eyebrows and saying nothing. King Trivedi looked like he was sweating under the harsh electric lights of the board room. “We don’t know,” he said. “It could be millions. Our customers are going to be more than angry. I imagine a lot of them will seek legal counsel.”

  “We need to prove that this isn’t our fault,” Crystal Parker, the VP, said. “Otherwise, State Fidelity is going to be held liable for any money lost.”

  “There’s no way for IT to prove that the program that FinaSoft Corporation provided State Fidelity is different than the one it provided other banks or financial institutions,” Carlton replied. “We only have the programs that they have provided us as reference.”

  “So, there’s no way to compare it?” Mandy said.

  “Not as far as we know,” Carlton said.

  Mandy nodded. Then she turned to look at Rosemary Collins, the head of human resources. “So, I take it you’ve already selected candidates?”

  “Yes,” Rosemary replied. She was only a few years younger than Mandy, and a lot more serious. “The plan is in motion. We may have something of a problem with one of them, though.”

  Mandy waited as Rosemary took a deep breath.

  “We think,” Rosemary continued, “that Jan Van Roy is gay. That normally wouldn’t be an issue, but he’s one of our top candidates and—”

  Mandy held
her hand up in front of her face. Rosemary closed her mouth.

  “Isn’t most of FinaSoft’s staff female?”

  “It’s about an even split,” Rosemary replied.

  “Then it won’t be a problem,” Mandy said. “Just assign him to that location. You said he’s one of our best shots, right?”

  Rosemary nodded. “He really is.”

  “Great,” Mandy said. “Then do what I said. Let the man do his job.”

  Chapter Two

  Morgan looked down at the food in front of him. He wasn’t even halfway done with his starter, and he was already regretting ordering all the food that he had. It had just been too tempting.

  He shook his head. Maybe he was just drunk. He hadn’t wanted to get drunk, but his tolerance for alcohol had obviously changed and he simply hadn’t taken that into account. He liked martinis well enough, but he missed the simplicity of drinking terrible beer and watching a movie in front of the huge CRT TV that his ex-boyfriend had rescued from the dumpster behind their building. It was weird to think that had been his life five years ago. He had been struggling to pay his bills while going to school full-time, relying on David’s barista job to make up the rest of the rent and leaving very little for any living expenses.

  The meal that Morgan was enjoying right now, by himself, would have probably made both him and David cry with happiness. They were used to eating food from food banks and churches. Sometimes, when things were bad, David would take some day-old pastries from the coffee shop and they would eat that instead of dinner. They could have asked either one of their families for help, and it would have been fine. Morgan knew that now. At the time, it had seemed wrong, unprincipled.

  Whatever his regrets were, Morgan didn’t miss that part of it so much. Still, even as he worked on his Caprese salad, taking little bites here and there, there was something about how life had been back then that he couldn’t help but long for. He knew it probably had more to do with the fact he was celebrating his twenty-sixth birthday eating overpriced food by himself, in a city where the only things he had discovered so far were this restaurant, which was right across the street from his apartment building, and a not-quite-gay club where he could cruise to his heart’s content.

  He supposed that it was just part of moving to the city too early. He had always been the planning type, and the company had sent him a sign-up bonus of a few thousand dollars a few weeks before he was due to start. He knew that getting there early to get his affairs in order was important, and there was only so much he would be able to do before moving to Danbury. He hadn’t forgotten that his birthday would fall on one of the first Saturdays that he was there—not exactly—but he also hadn’t paid much attention to that. Birthdays never had been important to him, not until David had made them important. And David wasn’t in his life anymore, so there was no reason why Morgan should still think that his birthday, or birthdays in general, mattered.

  Twenty-six wasn’t even an important birthday, he thought bitterly. He finished the rest of his martini in one sip, leaving his salad aside, and flagged down the first waiter he saw.

  The waiter stood there, waiting for him to finish his drink. Morgan didn’t want to look at him. He already felt judged enough, even though no one had said anything, least of all the waiter.

  Morgan didn’t even look up when he spoke. “Could you get me a box, please?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the waiter replied. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is great,” Morgan said quietly, after a beat. “I mean, the food’s fantastic. You’ve not… I wasn’t nearly as hungry as I thought, that’s all.”

  “Of course,” the waiter said. “Would you still like me to bring out your dessert?”

  Morgan scoffed. “The chocolate cake? Yeah, please. It’s my birthday, so I’m going to eat this by myself while I get drunk on an expensive bottle of vodka. Or a cheap bottle of vodka. I don’t care, I just need vodka. Speaking of which, you don’t happen to sell vodka here, do you?”

  The waiter laughed quietly. “This is a restaurant, sir,” he replied.

  “Of course it is,” Morgan said, waving his hand in front of his face. “You can ignore me. Sorry I’m being such a brat.”

  “I don’t think you’re being a brat,” the waiter replied, his voice steady.

  For the first time in their entire conversation, Morgan looked up at him. He was wearing the restaurant’s uniform, tight-fitting black pants, a white button-up shirt and a black waistcoat. He looked younger than Morgan, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, his dark blond hair swept back and held together with hairstyling product. He had big light eyes, covered by long dark lashes. Morgan couldn’t tell what color they were from where he was sitting. He could only tell that his eyes were gorgeous. This man, the one he was making a fool out of himself in front of, was gorgeous.

  He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “Sorry about this,” Morgan said quietly. “I’m just having a weird day.”

  “I get that,” the waiter said. Morgan looked at the golden name tag on his chest. The typography that the restaurant had chosen wasn’t exactly clear, but Morgan thought his name was probably Ian. Morgan couldn’t tell. He didn’t like asking people their name when they were in the middle of serving him. It always felt wrong. So, he decided to say nothing and sit there as he waited for this man to bring him his box so he could eat his feast in peace and in private, in an apartment that was far too big and lonely for him. “Would you like another martini? On the house.”

  Morgan smiled thinly. He appreciated the gesture but it didn’t help with how upset he was. All it did was remind him of the fact that he was in a fancy restaurant by himself, that he had no one to share drinks with.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Let me get these out of the way for you.”

  Morgan cocked his head. “I wanted a—”

  “I know,” the waiter replied, smiling at him. “Let me handle it.”

  Morgan nodded, looking ahead. He didn’t want to meet his gaze with this waiter again and add to his humiliation. He knew it wouldn’t have been a big deal if he hadn’t opened his dumb mouth in the first place.

  He took his phone out of his pocket and checked his email. He had a few ecards, one from his parents, one from his sister and her family, and one from his brother. He was about to check his Facebook when the waiter came back with a bunch of boxes.

  “I already packed up your food,” the waiter said. “There’s an extra slice of chocolate cake in there. Maybe it’ll cheer you up.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Is it that obvious that I’m miserable?”

  “An extra slice of chocolate cake never hurt anybody,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. Morgan looked up at him and smiled, this time sincerely.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” he said and instantly regretted it. That martini had gone to his head.

  “I’m nice to my customers,” ‘Ian’ replied, then winked at him. “And you’re cute.”

  With that, he turned and walked away. Morgan watched him until he disappeared into the kitchen.

  Maybe living in this city wouldn’t be as bad as Morgan had thought.

  ***

  Morgan had known that drinking a bottle of vodka by himself and watching reruns of old television shows wasn’t the greatest idea in the world. He couldn’t help himself, though. It was his birthday. His twenty-sixth birthday, which meant he was a grown-up, unequivocally so. That was what he kept trying to tell himself, anyway, as he ate the last of the gummy bears he purchased at the pharmacy next to the liquor store. He wasn’t twenty years old anymore, and that was obvious by the way his body was handling his hangover.

  His mouth was dry. His head was banging and he could barely open his eyes. Once he finally did, he saw all the empty boxes from his birthday feast the night before. He wanted to shake his head, but it hurt too much to move. He had an expensive bed in an expensive apartment, and he had spent one of the first few ni
ghts there on his sofa. It wasn’t particularly big or comfortable, though it had taken a sizable chunk out of his moving bonus. His apartment was mostly subsidized by the company and the way things were going, Morgan would be able to retire in twenty years, when he was forty-five.

  Moving to this city and to the company that had headhunted him was part of that plan. He hadn’t ever considered moving away, but opportunity had come knocking, and he couldn’t turn down something that paid twice as much as his last position and came with amazing benefits. One of which was living in the sweet apartment he was in, rent-free.

  If he could just bring a guy here, that would make it all the better.

  Not right now, obviously. It was a disaster. He had a biweekly cleaning service, one of the luxuries he had allowed himself ever since he had taken his first adult job after graduating from university, but that wasn’t enough. He considered expanding the service so they came every day, and quickly decided against it. That would be too much, and he wasn’t busy enough to justify it. It wasn’t as if he had anyone to impress anyway.

  He had already hooked up with a couple of guys in Danbury. There was more of an LGBTQ+ scene than in the last city he lived in, which he was equal parts grateful for and annoyed by. On the one hand, it meant there would be a bigger playing field and that he would be able to date, something that he had barely been able to do when he lived in Atlanta. On the other hand, he was already twenty-six. Things weren’t the way they had been when he was in his early twenties, when everyone was constantly dating, breaking up and getting back together. So far, he had met cute queer couples with children, people who had been together for a decade and were thinking about expanding their families. That would have been fine, except that most of the men interested in him—if they could even be considered men—seemed to be under twenty and all of them wanted to call him daddy, which disturbed him. He wasn’t even old. If those things had been independent of each other, Morgan wouldn’t have minded so much. Younger guys being attracted to him just proved that all the work he did to look after himself was worth it, and he would have to be a jerk not to be happy for people who had found a family. When he thought about them in conjunction, though, it made him want to throw up.