With or Without Him by Barbara Elsborg Page A

music teacher if I could go in early to practice. He must have seen some spark of talent because he arranged free lessons and gave me his old acoustic guitar. Music was the only thing I loved—apart from wanking.”
    Haris laughed.
    Tyler rarely got to eat steak. In fact he’d only ever eaten it when someone had bought it for him which wasn’t often. This was perfect. The chargrilled outside dark and crispy, the inside so soft he hardly had to use his knife. But most importantly there was no blood. He wasn’t good with blood. He had a habit of vomiting when he saw it. And fainting. Which made him feel an idiot.
    “Are you musical?” he asked.
    “No, but I like listening to music.”
    “What sort?”
    “Depends on my state of mind or the one I’d like to be in.”
    Tyler appreciated that answer. “How did listening to me play make you feel?”
    Haris laughed. “Horny.”
    A shiver of lust trickled down his spine. It grew easier and easier to imagine himself with this man.
    “What are your plans when you graduate?”
    “Get a job.” No point tormenting himself with thoughts about making it in the music world. He was neither lucky nor talented enough, nor was he good at arse-licking, well not in that way.
    “What sort of job?”
    “I plan to find a position in a call center persuading people they’ve overpaid on their mortgage payment protection policy.”
    Haris almost spat his champagne back into his glass as he laughed. “Alternatively?”
    “Land a contract with a music mogul.” Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m hoping inspiration strikes before I’m forced to resort to telephone selling. What do you do?”
    “I’m a venture capitalist.”
    “With your money or someone else’s?”
    “Mixture of the two.”
    “That’s lucky.” Tyler leaned forward. “I have a brilliant idea for a business that involves a man, a guitar and a piano. I don’t want to say anymore at the moment in case someone steals the concept but it’s out of this world.”
    Haris took a sip of his champagne. “I specialize in green energy companies.”
    “I could paint myself green if that helps, and the piano and guitar for that matter. Well, if I had a piano.”
    He smiled. “I need a bit more to go on than that.”
    “Damn. I’ll have to think about it. What made you go into venture capitalism?”
    “I wanted to make a lot of money. More than a lot. I suppose to prove a point to my father.”
    Oh fuck, maybe that’s something I wish we didn’t have in common.
    “I studied economics at university,” Haris said, “and went straight into a big investment company. When I’d learned enough, I branched out on my own.”
    “I have to assume you’ve been successful if you can afford to throw thirty thousand at me.”
    Haris put down his champagne. “Very successful. I’m rarely wrong in my assessment of whether something will work or not, whether I’ve reached the decision after careful research or through a gut instinct.”
    Tyler got the message. Haris seemed different tonight, more in control, far more confident. Tyler sagged. The guy already knew he’d say yes to just about anything.
    He took a drink of champagne. “Isn’t it risky, putting money into something unproven? Things could go tits up very fast.”
    “I told you, I’m rarely wrong.”
    Guess the Rolex on his wrist is real and not some attempt to fool me into sex for four months with nothing at the end of it.
    “What exactly do you do all day?” Tyler asked.
    “Interact with clients, bankers, financial analysts and entrepreneurs. The job’s about networking, a combination of people skills and playing the market. Everyone wants something different and I have to make sure all those needs are met.” Haris twisted his fork in his fingers. “I spend hours on the phone and the Internet evaluating investment opportunities, figuring out whether the company will fly, what the level of interest will be, how much I’m likely to make, who to share