Well-Hung by the Chimney: An All-M/M Christmas Novella Collection

The Christmas Bonus
by EM Lynley

Chapter One
Monday, December 20
New York City

Alec glanced at his watch and tried to swallow but his throat was dry. Nearly Christmas, his favorite time of year: bonus time at Whitman, Whitman, and Walker, the Wall Street investment firm where he was a whisper away from making full partner. They wouldn't give out checks until January but at the obligatory pre-Christmas meeting with the firm's founding partners, he'd get a taste of what was in store.
He'd had a stellar year, his best yet, and he expected not only a healthy bonus but a promotion as well. Generally, the mood of the whole office would be loud and light, but this year had been tough given the state of the economy and markets, so nearly everyone was in a sour mood. The firm as a whole hadn't done well and some people wouldn't be back after Christmas; a few people had already been let go.
Alec couldn't delay any longer so he got up, pulled on his suit jacket, shot his cuffs, and headed for his boss's office. He moved down the hall, and his colleagues nodded greetings as he passed open-door offices. The hallway was strung here and there with tinsel, random Christmas decorations, and anemic sprigs of mistletoe hanging from a couple of doorways.
At the end of the hall, he entered Ben Whitman's outer office. Gina, Whitman's secretary, greeted him with a silent thumbs-up and a nod in the direction of the dark walnut door, slightly ajar. Alec took a deep breath and pushed it open.
Inside, Ben Whitman sat at a conference table at one end of the richly appointed office. Flanking him were his two partners: his younger brother Will Whitman and Rob Walker. Alec padded across the thick oriental carpets and greeted the men with a weak smile as he took a seat across the table from them.
Ben Whitman was known as "Big Ben" to Wall Street and the firm's employees, but never to his face. Alec and Ben had never really clicked. Despite Alec being considered the up-and-coming star of the firm, Ben had never been more than cool and distant toward him. Without so much as a greeting, Big Ben slid a yellow craft-paper envelope across the smooth, wide table, and left it sitting in the vast expanse halfway between himself and Alec.
Alec stared at the envelope for a moment, then at Big Ben's face. Mr. Whitman’s pale watery blue eyes betrayed no emotion, so he waited for instructions.
"Open it up, Alec."
Alec turned the envelope over. His name was scrawled in spidery ink. The envelope felt light, giving Alec a little surge of relief. If they were cutting him loose, they'd have a thick sheaf of paperwork for him to sign, giving up his right to just about everything and anything he'd known or enjoyed while here at Three Dub. It must be his bonus check, which even with the firm's bad year, wouldn't be too light. He resisted the urge to hold the envelope up to the light.
With a dry mouth, Alec slipped a finger under the flap and eased it open. It was empty. He blinked a couple of times and looked inside again.
"Nothing in there but air. A little bit like some of our staff this past year," Big Ben glanced over at his brother and the two of them chuckled.
Sure, let them yuk it up. Alec admitted to being surprised either of the Whitmans could even laugh.
"Schrader was in here just before you. His envelope had a big fat termination package." Big Ben paused for effect.
Alec tried to hold back a gasp, but a tiny strangled sound managed to escape. Schrader was his boss. If Schrader had gotten canned . . .
"Hank Schrader failed to close on the biggest deal we've been working on here at Whitman, Whitman, and Walker." He never called the firm “Three Dub” or any of the other industry nicknames. "So we're hoping you can step up to the plate and salvage the mess he's made."
Schrader had lost the Turner Foods deal? The one with Brant Linton? Hank had been crowing for weeks; boasted he had Linton wrapped up like a fucking early Christmas present. Apparently Schrader had been drinking his own Kool-Aid and he'd OD'd.
"We need the deal closed by December 31 and you can have Schrader's bonus on top of what you've already earned this year. How does twice last year's bonus sound?"
"It sounds great."
"So you have two choices right now, Compton. You can have a big fat envelope like Schrader, or you can have a nice thin envelope with a big fat bonus check."
Alec knew which one he'd rather have. He looked Whitman in the eye. "I'll take door number two."
"Then what are you doing still sitting here? The clock is ticking." Whitman's face held no trace of amusement. He held the empty envelope out to Alec. "A little reminder."
Alec took the envelope and left, walking deliberately, but not particularly quickly out of the room. He wouldn't let them see him run. But as soon as the door closed behind him, he raced back down the hall to his own office, slammed the door, and settled behind the desk. He stared at the envelope for a moment while his pulse slowed.
"I don't need no stinkin' reminder," he practically growled, crumpling the envelope and tossing it against the door. Time to see whether he could salvage what Schrader had started.
He accessed the Turner file on the server and familiarized himself with the deal. Turner Foods, a conglomerate comprised of several smaller companies, manufactured and sold dozens, if not hundreds, of household names. Started as a family business over a hundred years earlier, it had expanded, but not always to the benefit of the company. The firm had been foundering for years, looking for new investors, and now the Turner leadership was ready to pack it in and sell to the highest bidder.
The buyer was Linton Holdings, run by S. Brant Linton, considered the next Warren Buffet by the most respected business people and featured regularly in the industry publications . Alec rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. He clicked on Linton's NY HQ phone number, and his computer dialed for him.
"Linton Holdings." The woman's voice managed to convey professionalism, competence, and helpfulness in just those two words. Alec was suitably impressed.
"Brant Linton, please. This is Alec Compton from Whitman, Whitman, and Walker."
"One moment, Mr. Compton." Something about the operator's voice made Alec want to wait.
To Alec's surprise, Brant Linton answered after less than a minute. Alec was at a loss for words.
"Hello? Compton?" Brant sounded as professional as the operator, but instead of helpfulness, his voice held an edge of impatience.
"Mr. Linton, thanks for taking my call. I know how busy you are."
"Then get to the point."
Everything Alec had read about Linton was true. He didn't like to waste time with niceties. So Alec didn't.
"I'm calling to see when we can close on the Turner Foods deal. I know you're interested, and we've got the rest of the funding in place. Can we can get the papers signed this week?"
"Refresh my memory on the deal."
Alec gave the shortest summary he could.
"Right. I'm about to step into a meeting. Call me back at six and I'll let you know where we stand."
"Okay and—" Beeps indicating the call had been terminated cut off the rest of Alec's words, and he slammed his own receiver down.
At two minutes to six he dialed Linton back.
"Compton, right on time. Good." Linton paused but started speaking again before Alec managed to get a greeting in edgewise. "I took a look at the details and there are two points which don't work for me. Specifically, I'd like to . . ."
For the next several minutes, Linton concisely laid out his terms.
"I'll bring this up with the client and get back to you with their decision," Alec said.
"Don't take too long."
"No, sir."
"Bring me the full pitch book tomorrow, including the details I just asked for."
Alec heard the beeps again. Of course he wouldn't take too long. He had ten days until his number was up.
He couldn't let that happen. He grabbed the phone and called Marcus, one of the second-year associates. "Get your ass in here five minutes ago," Alec barked and hung up.
He watched the seconds tick by on his watch: 25 seconds later Marcus flew through the door and locked it behind him.
"Where would you like it?" Marcus asked and clicked the door locked.
Alec blinked a couple of times until he realized what Marcus was talking about. Months ago there had been one very late night they'd been alone in the office and in the excitement and relief of getting the project done on time they'd . . . well, they hadn't been particularly professional, and afterward, both acted as if it hadn't happened. Apparently, Marcus was willing and eager for another go-round.
"I need you to help me build a pitch book on the Turner-Linton deal for tomorrow." It was eight o’clock at night, though no first-year in their right mind would mention this fact, but Alec waited to see how Marcus would react.
"Can I get help?"
"Sure. Who's still here?"
"Everyone." Marcus's tone indicated it was a stupid question.
Alec smiled. Where else would everyone be at eight? The associates were always here until all the principals and partners left, just in case someone needed help. No one wanted to be MIA when someone in power came looking for him. And no one wanted to miss out on a chance for a great deal, and let one of his peers get the glory—and the bonus that went with all successful deals. Alec had played that game when he'd first started out, and he'd been both pushy and lucky to get a series of high-profile and highly profitable deals which got him noticed by Big Ben.
"Take two interns or first years, and start working. I'll email you the docs you'll need. If you have any questions, call me, no matter the time."
"What's the deal?"
"Check your email." Alec nodded slightly in the direction of the door, dismissing Marcus. He knew Marcus was already running back to his desk, waiting for the little icon to pop up telling him a new email had arrived. Wel,l he could wait a few more minutes.
Alec picked up the phone and dialed Big Ben.
"I've got Linton back on the Turner buyout. He wants me to bring him an expanded pitch book tomorrow, and I've got a team already on it."
Alec wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected Whitman to say, but the only response he got was, "Be in my office with the book by nine."
"Okay—" Beep, beep, beep.
Alec looked up at the ceiling and let out a very long sigh. Nothing ever changes. Everyone craps on the person below them on the totem pole. He'd done it to Marcus and as soon as Marcus got the email, he'd start crapping on the two unfortunates he chose for his team.
No matter, Alec mused. That big fat bonus check would pay for plenty of dry cleaning.