CONFLICT OF INTERESTS

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CHAPTER ONE: TERMS AND CONDITIONS

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The forty-second floor of the central tower smelled of bitter coffee, freezing air conditioning, and poorly concealed ambition. The bid for exclusivity with the largest media conglomerate in the region was not just a multimillion-dollar contract; it was the final blow in a silent war that had been bleeding the industry for months.
Smart adjusted his wristwatch with a methodical movement, without taking his eyes off the documents in front of him. The board of directors deliberated in hushed whispers, but the murmur of the room did not matter to him. His full attention was fixed on the other side of the mahogany table.
Boom was leaning back against the leather chair with calculated ease, twirling a fountain pen between his long fingers. He wore an impeccable suit, without a tie, with the first two buttons of his shirt undone just enough to challenge the rigidity of corporate protocol. When their eyes met, Boom curved his lips into a languid half-smile, deliberately holding Smart's gaze with unabashed confidence.
—The proposals from both firms are outstanding —the chairman of the board finally declared, breaking the silence—. We will make the decision first thing Monday morning.
Smart nodded with executive coolness, closed his folder, and stood up. He did not say a single word to Boom. The unspoken rule between them in public was absolute indifference: two ruthless directors fighting over the same territory.
Hours later, midnight rain pounded against the windows of a clandestine bar in the basement of a discreet street, far from the financial district. The dim amber light barely illuminated the suspended smoke and the glass of the drinks.
Smart was sitting in the most secluded corner of the bar, rolling the ice around in his bourbon glass, when the chair beside him moved.
The familiar scent of wood and expensive cologne filled the space before the newcomer spoke.
—Your presentation was almost brilliant, Chisanupong —Boom said in a low voice, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush against Smart's ear—. Too bad your financial projections are too conservative for what they're looking for.
Smart did not flinch. He took a slow sip of his drink before turning his head toward him, meeting those dark eyes that gleamed with restrained mischief beneath the low lights.
—My numbers are realistic, Raveewit. I don't need to inflate expectations to close a deal.
Boom let out a dry, almost inaudible laugh and snapped his fingers, asking the bartender for a whiskey without taking his eyes off Smart. He rested an elbow on the bar, deliberately shortening the distance between them.
—And what are you going to do if you walk away empty-handed on Monday?
Smart tilted his head, assessing the other's challenging posture before responding with dangerous calm:
—You know perfectly well that if I win, you'll be the one who has to come looking for me to negotiate.
—Prove it —Boom murmured, lowering his voice, letting the tension between them completely erase the rest of the bar.
The murmur of the bar seemed to fade, reduced to a dull hum that neither of them was listening to.
Smart placed his glass on the polished wood with a sharp thud. His gaze dropped for barely a second toward Boom's lips before locking onto his eyes again, intense and without a trace of doubt.
—Don't play with me, Raveewit. You know exactly how this ends every time you decide to cross the line.
Boom did not back away. On the contrary, he let out a crooked smile, filled with that arrogance that drove investors crazy during the day and disarmed Smart at night. He slid two bills across the bar without looking at the check, stood up slowly and deliberately, and adjusted the lapels of his jacket.
—The private parking garage downstairs is empty at this hour —he said in a barely audible whisper, turning on his heel without waiting for an answer.
Smart waited exactly ten seconds. He paid for his drink, stood up, and followed him at a prudent distance, keeping a steady pace through the dimly lit corridor leading to the back exit.
The cold, damp air of the underground parking garage felt heavy, filled with the smell of wet concrete and gasoline. Boom's footsteps echoed against the walls until he stopped beside the rear door of a black sedan, between two pillars that blocked any angle of view from the security cameras.
When Smart reached his side, there were no diplomatic preambles or corporate formalities.
Smart grabbed him firmly by the lapel of his jacket and pushed him against the car door with enough force to draw a muffled gasp. Boom did not try to push him away; instead, his hands immediately rose to the collar of Smart's shirt, pulling him down while a low, breathless laugh vibrated in his throat.
—It took you too long to make up your mind, Chisanupong —Boom teased, his breathing already uneven against Smart's lips.
—Shut up —Smart said before crashing his mouth against his.
The kiss was a violent collision of control and accumulated desire. There was no tenderness; it was the same ruthless friction they maintained in the boardrooms, transferred to the skin. Smart's fingers tangled in Boom's hair, forcing him to tilt his head back as he deepened the contact, stealing his breath with an urgency neither of them would ever admit to in the light of day.
Boom responded with the same contained aggression, holding him tightly against his body, digging his nails into the shoulders of Smart's coat. For a few minutes, the multimillion-dollar bids, the exclusivity contracts, and the war between their firms were reduced to muffled gasps against the cold metal of the vehicle and the frantic friction of two men who refused to lose control in front of each other, even as they surrendered completely to the impulse.
When Smart finally pulled away a few inches, they were both breathing heavily. Boom's chest rose and fell rapidly, his lips swollen and his eyes bright in the darkness.
Smart straightened the disheveled collar of his own shirt with firm fingers, recovering his mask of coldness almost instantly, although his racing pulse betrayed him.
—The agreement will be signed at eight o'clock Monday morning —Smart said, his voice lower and rougher than usual—. And I have no intention of showing your firm any mercy, Raveewit.
Boom ran the back of his hand over his lips, rebuilding his defiant smile as he leaned his back against the car.
—I expected nothing less from you, Director. See you at the meeting.