CONFLICT OF INTERESTS

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CHAPTER 5: THE BREAKING POINT

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Smart’s penthouse on the fifty-fifth floor was a monument to minimalism: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the endless city lights, designer furniture in ash tones, and a deathly silence broken only by the sound of the projector on the main wall.
It was eleven at night. The ties had disappeared, the jackets rested over the backs of the armchairs, and the sleeves of their shirts were rolled up to their elbows. On the black marble coffee table, three different versions of the draft alliance, two bottles of mineral water, and a couple of crystal glasses with half-consumed whisky were piling up.
—I’m not going to give you control of the casting department or platform distribution —Boom said, throwing the pen onto the paper with a dry snap—. Your team is too rigid, Smart. If we let them filter the projects according to your conservative standards, we’re going to lose the young audience in the first quarter.
Smart was standing beside the window, watching the nighttime traffic hundreds of meters below. He slowly turned on his heels, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on Boom.
—And if I leave the creative direction to you without supervision, you’re going to inflate production costs by forty percent just because of aesthetic whims —Smart replied with cutting calm—. One of us has to keep our feet on the ground.
Boom let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair before standing up and walking directly toward him.
—Feet on the ground? —Boom murmured, stopping only one step away, forcing Smart to hold his gaze—. You’ve been using the numbers as a shield for three hours. Every time we touch a clause where we have to make decisions together, you look for a way to put up a barrier.
—Because I know your methods, Raveewit. You like to push until the other person gives in from exhaustion.
—I’m not trying to make you give in on the contract, Chisanupong —Boom said quietly, taking another step, closing the last bit of air between their bodies—. I’m trying to understand what you’re so afraid of if we work side by side.
Smart lowered his gaze to Boom’s lips, the same mouth that forty-eight hours earlier had begged him not to stop in the hotel library. The professional coldness he had maintained throughout the entire day began to fracture.
—I’m not afraid of working with you —Smart said, his tone descending into a hoarse, dense register—. I know exactly what you’re capable of in a boardroom... and outside of it.
Boom took half a step closer, placing a firm hand against Smart’s chest, feeling the immediate acceleration of his pulse beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
—Then stop negotiating as if we were enemies, Smart. We already crossed that line.
Smart caught Boom’s hand against his chest, squeezing his fingers with restrained strength. With his other arm, he wrapped it around his waist, pulling him against his body with a possessive, brusque movement that drew a broken exhalation from Boom’s lips.
—If we sign this agreement, there will be no going back —Smart warned, his dark eyes devouring Boom’s face in the dimness—. Three years sharing offices, projects, and every night we feel like staying to review contracts behind closed doors. You won’t be able to escape from me even if you want to.
Boom smiled with that lethal mixture of pride and surrender, intertwining his free fingers at the nape of Smart’s neck before pulling him down.
—Who said I want to escape? —Boom whispered against his mouth a second before Smart kissed him with all the possessiveness he had been holding back since the beginning of the night.
This time there was none of the desperate urgency of a parking garage or the forced secrecy of someone else’s library. In his own territory, Smart led him toward the large leather sofa without breaking contact, taking off his shirt with sure movements while Boom responded with deep caresses, claiming every corner of his skin with an intensity that sealed something far more dangerous than a simple multimillion-dollar contract.
That night, between shared sighs and whispered promises in the darkness of the penthouse, the rivalry did not disappear; it simply became desire.