From A Measure of Security:

Grant stretched, a yawn cracking his jaw; looking at his Rolex, he realized it was almost six. He closed the thick file and pushed it aside; the arguments were sound, his notes
complete; he could leave it ‘til Tuesday. Right now he wanted a double scotch and a really rare steak. Then he would see about some company for the evening, preferably with a hot dick and a tight ass. Like the one on that weekend security guard. He’d noticed him Saturday afternoon last week—at least six feet of olive-skinned, taut-muscled Adonis—something like that would make a nice night cap.

Yawning again, the lawyer rose, grabbing his briefcase and jacket, and left the office. As he locked the suite, he heard the elevator chime. Damn!

Grant jogged down the hallway toward the foyer and called out, “Hold the elevator, please!” Rounding the corner, he saw a head of curly hair lean out of the elevator, looking left, then right. He recognized the weekend guard. Grinning, he stepped inside the box. “Thanks for waiting.”

The security officer looked at him. “I thought everybody had gone by now.”

“Don’t think I didn’t try,” Grant chuckled. “I had some last minute work to finish. This
way I don’t have to come back tomorrow.”

The elevator had begun to drop toward the lobby.

The lawyer extended his right hand. “My name’s Grant.”

The guard took it, smiled, and nodded. “I’m Matt. Matt Brewer.” The handshake lasted about five seconds too long.

“You in school?” Grant asked.

“Nope,” Matt grinned. “Too poor. And too stupid too, I guess.”

Grant scowled at him. “I doubt that.”

“Hey,” Matt laughed. “If I was smart I’d be wearing a suit like yours.”

Grant surveyed the tailored expanse of uniform. Little was left to his imagination.
“There’s nothing wrong with what you’ve got on,” he countered pleasantly. The compliment seemed to hang in the air.

They passed the 21st floor, the floor indicator above the door blinking monotonously.

“Which office do you work in?” Matt asked, pointedly changing the subject.

“I’m a lawyer at Perlman, Perlman, and Hall. Suite 2810. I’ve got a trial starting Tuesday
morning. I wanted to make sure my opening was all in order. That’s why I’m—“

The car shuddered, shaking like a paint mixer. The elevator blinked past the fifteenth
floor when it suddenly swung sideways, banging against the support beams in the shaft.

–© C.C. Williams 2012