Giving Him the Business by Barry Lowe

He'll do anything to satisfy his lust - for power!
   

You don't get to be a winner by playing by the rules. Jared West thinks he
has seen off his competition for the job of PA to the head of the
international firm for which he works - or so he thinks. When he gets a
phone call from his nemesis, pretty boy Cory Warren, from the office on the
weekend, he determines to rid himself of his annoying rival once and for
all. It won't be strictly legal but it will satisfy his lust as well as his
lust for power!

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Excerpt:

 Friday night I actually whistled on the way to the car park to retrieve my Volvo. I had precipitated the demise of Cory Warren, the constant irritant in my rise to the top of the food chain at Clifford Industries. I wasn’t aiming for top cocky, that position was filled by the geriatric Jensen Galsworthy who owned the company. No, I wanted to be his PA. To that end I’d been sucking up to the old geezer for yonks and I didn’t appreciate it when the pretty boy had interrupted my plans.
Warren had everything I didn’t: the looks, the education, the money, the body, the charm. Let’s be honest here; I have the looks, the body, and a cock that stays hard for days, but Cory had all the rest. He also had the tightest little ass I’d ever fucked. It had started out as a grudge fuck but had become something else entirely. I remembered telling him he was my bitch and that I’d branded him as mine.
Why?
I’d never felt the slightest interest in having a man cunt on tap before. Real cunt was my preferred option. I smiled. There was something about young Cory that brought out the…what? Certainly not the sentimental side of me; I don’t have one. Possessive? Nah, not that either. I mentally shrugged.
Who gives a fuck?
I nudged the car into the peak-hour traffic, so high on my success that the constant rage of drivers alongside gave me not a moment’s pause. I gave no-one the finger, I didn’t blast my horn at any tardy pedestrians, and by the time I drove into the underground car park in the building that housed my impressive but over-mortgaged apartment, I was so relaxed I didn’t head straight to the drinks cabinet.
I slipped into smart casual gear, I never like to relax in my work clothes, and headed to the small third bedroom that I had appropriated for my home office. I powered up the computer to see if there were any emails from my fellow conspirators because Mr. Warren’s final humiliation and dismissal had been played out behind closed doors. I hoped someone had the dirt, but apart from junk mail about investing spare cash I didn’t have and the information I had fifty million Nigerian Naira awaiting my collection if I just sent ten thousand US dollars to have it ‘freed’ from the corrupt government agency that impounded it, everything else was silence.
My main aim had been the removal of Cory Warren from Clifford Industries but I was hoping for a bit of collateral damage – mainly Cavada, Galsworthy’s secretary, who had clambered aboard the poor guy’s gay, and reluctant, dick, and who knew far too much of my scheming. Sure, she was easy to manipulate and even easier to lay but she was beginning to have her own ideas lately. She was becoming too ambitious for my good. This is all about me, after all.
The other guys - Con, Phil, Pete, and Fergus - were sheep. They did what I told them and they hoped I’d drag them up the corporate ladder well above their ability as I rose ever higher. They believed I was their friend. Nah, no such thing as friendship in business. You either have a use or a skill, or you don’t. Simple. You think I’m a bastard? Business doesn’t have morals, only profit margins.
I wandered out into the living room, admiring my own superb taste, still dazzled by the view of the city and the harbor spread out below my twenty-second floor refuge. Happy though I was, I couldn’t help wishing someone would ring or text or email or anything. I didn’t want to say it…I needed someone to share my triumph...