Chapter 7

My fingers are stained with grease, and I can feel a bit of sauce caking around my lips. I wipe my mouth using the wadded up paper towel next to my plate, and then resume my pizza indulgence with slice number four. I slurp the cheese into my mouth, enjoying the slight burn of heat as it slides down my throat.

Blake sets down the half-eaten crust of his third piece and dusts off his hands on his jeans. If I didn't know my boss personally, I'd assume he was just a normal guy wearing jeans and enjoying a late night outing for food. I glance around the sparse pizza place, and the few patrons who are here exchange a look with me. They probably think we're just two normal guys too.

Oh how wrong they are.

Well, I'm normal. The person who I'm dining with, however, is an overbearing loony tune. The waitress approaches our table for the final time and smiles. She looks to be in her mid-to-late thirties, and her interest is clearly more focused on Blake than me.

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?" she asks with a slight rasp to her voice.

Blake looks at me and nods to the last piece of pizza left on the tray.

"You want to bring that back to the hotel with us? Or do you have room to finish it off?"

The waitress raises a brow at his words. The way he phrases his questions makes it seem like him and I are...a couple. I shudder at the mere thought. Blake is either oblivious to his most recent words or he did it purposefully. If I was to make a guess, I'd opt for the second. He's too smart of a man to let words just stumble out of his mouth without a reason behind them.

"Ah....a box," I finally say.

The waitress nods and rips the check away from her notepad. It settles directly in the middle of the table, and for the first time since this trip started, I feel like uncomfortable with Blake paying for me. At first I just waved off all the expenses as needed business purchases. Since I'm here for work, I had zero problem letting Blake pay for it all.

And I mean, of course I have to eat to keep this body looking as good as it is...but was a sit-down dinner really necessary?

I start reaching for my wallet and Blake's eyes flicker to mine.

"Put it away," he instructs. "You're not paying."

His words are softly spoken, but the determination and the dominance behind them is undeniable. My hand freezes at his words, eventually slumping back down to my side in obedience. I can't even explain why I'm listening to him. I'll chalk it up to a huge lack of sleep and coming off of a nasty hangover.

"Yea, I am," I say, despite the fact that I'm no longer making any attempt to do so. "That chick thinks we're a couple now. If you pay for me, that'll be it. We'll officially leave here with her thinking we're a couple of fagtoids."

Blake sets a fifty dollar bill on top of the check and clears his throat. "Callum, out of respect for both human kind as well as for your own sibling, do not refer to gay men as 'fags.'"

"I didn't. I said fagtoid."

"I won't ask again, Callum."

His voice is deep and raw, and hearing my name roll off his tongue sends another shiver down my spine. His bossiness is beyond intolerable. Yet there's something about seeing him act like this that makes me want to keep pushing him further and further.

The waitress comes by to drop off a take-home container for me and then swipes up the check and money. "I'll bring you back your change."

"Please," Blake corrects her. "Keep the change."

The prior disappointment on the waitresses' pretty face vanishes through a new-found smile spurred on by Blake's generosity.

"Wow, thank you," she says, pausing before leaving our table. "And – can I just say – you two are honestly the hottest couple I've seen in here since I started? I mean that."

Blake smirks and I lean forward to object.

"You've got it all wrong," I say. "We're not –"

"Thank you," Blake interrupts, speaking so loudly that my words are drowned to silence. "What a great compliment to start out our trip."

I glare at Blake from across the table. He really is crazy. Is this pay-back for me saying I wanted to bring a chick back to the room with me? The waitress giggles and thanks Blake again. When she leaves I slam my fist down in protest.

"I'm not a fuckin' fa-"

"Careful..."

"Gay," I correct myself with an eye roll. "I'm not gay."

Blake sucks down the rest of his water through the straw. "I never said you were."

"Ok, but you implied I was."

There's a beat of silence in which Blake tips his glass back and tongues down an ice cube, expertly sliding it into his mouth. He sucks on it for a few moments before pushing away from the table. Without addressing my prior comment, he starts a new conversation – one which leaves me beyond baffled.

"Callum, for the duration of this trip, you are not to flirtatiously talk to, touch, or sleep with anyone. Doing so will be considered inappropriate use of work time while on the clock. An act like that will lead to immediate suspension with possible termination. Do you understand?"

My mouth flounders open and closed. Is this...a joke?

"I thought you said..."

"I changed my mind," Blake says, answering my question before I have a chance to get it out. "Consider every minute you're here a minute you're at work. I'll of course pay you for every minute of over-time you accrue. But until we get home? You're on the clock. Understood?"

I'm floored. A piece of me thinks it's some sick joke, and that any second Blake will break character to let me know he's only kidding. Then again, the seriousness of his face tells me that's just wishful thinking.

Blake looks out the front window of the small pizza parlor and purses his lips.

"It's getting late and Todd's waiting for us. Let's go."

My feet irritatingly move on his command. As the two of us walk towards the door, I replay his words in my head. The man is infuriating. And crazy.

What's even more infuriating, however, is the way I'm reacting to him.

Blake pushes the door open for me, and once again the sticky heat caresses every inch of my skin. The seriousness in his expression all but dissipates when he greets Todd, almost as if our conversation never took place.

My eyebrows furrow with confusion. Blake never struck me as a 'normal' guy, but for the first time since meeting him, I realize just how very abnormal he really is.

Despite the heated words I shared with him only moments ago, he and Todd throw themselves into light-hearted conversation, discussing everything from the weather to sports teams. When the topic becomes fine-tuned to football, Todd even divulges a piece of his personal life by telling Blake he bought season tickets to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers games for his wife and daughter. I suppress a groan thinking how shameful it is to waste money on a team like the Buccs.

Then again, if Todd is anything like Blake, he comes by 'pissing away money' rightfully.

By the time Todd finally pulls onto the exit for our hotel, my eyelids feel like they're filled with sand. I shake my head back and forth, scraping a hand down my face to try and keep myself awake. It's only a few minutes past midnight, and yet I feel worse than I do on nights where I'm stumbling drunkenly into the house at four in the morning.

"Thank you, Todd," Blake says as the car comes to a stop near the front doors of the hotel.

"My pleasure, Mr. Benson," Todd replies without missing a beat. "Anything else I can do for you tonight?"

"No, Todd. That'll be all. I'll text you tomorrow to let you know what time I'd like for you to pick us up."

"Yessir."

I snort and allow Blake to step out of the car before me. I wonder if he appreciates the luxurious lifestyle he has, or if he's so used to it now that it's merely second nature. Already there's a man waiting for us outside the hotel entrance, his uniform spotlessly cleaned and pressed. He walks towards the trunk of the car, prepared to carry our luggage inside without being asked.

"Mr. Benson, the penthouse room is expecting your arrival. Your keys are waiting for you at the concierge's desk. I'll bring up your luggage shortly."

Blake pulls a crisp twenty dollar bill from his pocket and hands it to the worker. On cue the worker thanks him, and that's all the gratification Blake needs to depart towards the hotel without speaking a word to me.

It's not like I really have much of a choice at this point. I can either follow him to our room or I can embarrass the hell out of myself and sleep in the lobby instead. With an irritated sigh, I hop out of the car and close the door behind me. When I reach into the backseat of the convertible to grab my backpack, Todd cranes his neck back to look at me.

"Uh...you need something?" I ask when he refuses to look away.

Todd's face becomes blank as he studies my features. He tilts his head to the side and his eyebrows crease into a frown.

"Mr. Greene?" he finally asks quietly. "May I ask you a personal question....off the record?"

"I guess."

"How long have you known Mr. Benson?"

I scratch the back of my neck with my thumb and shrug. "I dunno – a little over a month, give or take. Why?"

Todd's eyes widen and he shakes his head, dumbfounded.

"It's a true honor and privilege to work for Mr. Benson," he answers under his breath. "I hope you don't lose sight of that."

Lose sight of that...what does he mean?

Before I get a chance to ask my question, Todd snaps his head forward. His fingers fumble to get the car into the proper gear, and when they do, the tires squeal to life as he pulls away from the hotel. My confusion intensifies ten-fold, and for the second time tonight I'm left with a mind full of questions and a dumb-founded expression to prove it.

But one floating question stands above the others, and I let it consume every inch of my brain as I shuffle into the hotel in search of my boss.

Just who is Mr. Blake Benson?