that you’re burdening yourself with too much. Tracy asked me if we need to hire more people, or if you need more assistants.”

“They’re talking to you about me?” John demanded. People were talking. People were going to Derek about him. They wouldn’t have said anything if they hadn’t known that he and Derek were lovers.

“Greg was keeping an eye on you, but he wasn’t going to say anything until he saw you in the office on Sunday,” Derek said.

“It was only a few hours,” John muttered.

“How many Sundays in a row?” Derek asked, quietly but with the tone of someone who knew the answer.

“Everybody knows that I’m the guy giving you head on the side,” John said.

“Excuse me if I think that I have a little something to prove.”

“How you perform in the office and how you perform in my bed have nothing to do with each other,” Derek said.

“We got together, I got a promotion,” John said. “That doesn’t look suspicious?”

“You got the promotion because you’re a great employee and you were capable of bigger and better things than your old position allowed,” Derek said.

“They know we’re together! They’re drawing logical conclusions! How can that not bother you?” John demanded.

“No one’s made any negative insinuations,” Derek said. “The people who’ve let me know that they’re aware of our relationship have been matter-of-fact about it.”

“You think that they’re going to accuse you? They’re not going to say anything to your face! You could fire them!”

“Has anyone said anything to you?” Derek asked. The backs of his fingers stroked up and down John’s neck, distracting, and the second John got free he was going to kill Derek for doing this to him.

“Of course! We’ve been together for eight months! Everyone knows about it by now!”

“What have they said?” Derek asked calmly, rubbing the pad of his thumb across John’s collarbone.

“They…” John floundered, agitated. “They’ve said things, they’ve made comments, they’ve… They’ve said things!”

Derek tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… Kurt said… Janine…” He couldn’t think of anything specific, nothing directly derogatory or accusatory, but there must have been something. “They know that I’m fucking the president and owner. They’re never going to trust me.”

“I don’t think that they have the problem,” Derek said quietly, dropping his hand. “I think that you have the problem.”

“My problem is that I’m handcuffed to your bed!” John shouted. He was furious at Derek for this conversation, for this situation, for fucking with him; and he was irrationally pissed off that Derek had stopped touching him, even though Derek’s touch had been driving him out of his damned mind with itching, crawling need.

Derek kissed him. “Your problem is that you’re becoming insecure and paranoid. I think that it’s time for a vacation.” Derek’s hand rubbed reassuringly over John’s arm, but John didn’t feel remotely soothed. “If you spend a week at home, you’re going to try to work from home. Maybe you should go somewhere.”

John was seething. “Maybe you should go to hell.”

Derek kissed his cheek, rubbing the outside of his thigh with one hand. “You should spend some time at my house on the coast. It’ll give you a chance to