Host Club on the Pleasure Planet (On the Pleasure Planet)

THIRTY

Oz wiped down the bar, then paused to admire his reflection in the polished wood. Saveur had never looked better, in his opinion. It had been days since Vito had tried to take over, days since they’d tried to trick the mobster into believing he was some kind of human sacrifice so Benedict could keep the businesses.

Oz pushed away from the bar, turning his attention to the glasses. It had been days since Benedict had really spoken to him. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or something else eating at the felid, but it was starting to grate on Oz’s nerves. Sure, he was pissed, but that didn’t give Benedict license to avoid him.

In fact, it kind of hurt that the felid would do all that to him, then just say … nothing. Wouldn’t even look at him.

Whatever , he thought bitterly as he pulled down a glass and started polishing it. It just proved what Benedict thought of him—really thought of him.

And it proved how stupid he’d been, how utterly brainless he was to think that Benedict, of all people, could see him as anything but a slave.

A thump on the bar drew his attention, and he summoned a smile for Sassa, who grinned back. “Ready for our grand reopening?” she asked.

Oz didn’t know why, but he was … happy to get back to normal. Back to the usual, back to what he’d been doing for the last decade or more of his life. No more digging through file folders, no more bringing Benedict coffee, no more meandering to The Pub to pick up a pint before work. Just the slow grind of getting up every evening and meandering to Saveur, serving up drinks.

Familiar. Relaxing. Comforting.

“Yup,” he told her, then picked up another glass, hoping he didn’t crack it under the force of his fingers.

She studied him for what felt like an incredibly long time, the enthusiastic smile slowly falling from her face. “Hey,” she said, “the boss apparently has something to tell us.”

He paused. “Oh?”

She nodded, but before she could say anything more, the kitchen door crashed into the wall. Both of them winced, then peered around the doorframe, into the kitchen.

Benedict had tumbled in from outside, shaking out an umbrella. Wet leaves had followed him in on the wind. Oz didn’t know what was up with the weather today, but the powers that be had apparently turned it up to eleven. Maybe there was a storm-chasing conference in town or something.

Benedict folded up the umbrella, then straightened, spying them both peeping at him. “Evening,” he said, trying to place the umbrella somewhere it wouldn’t fall over and failing miserably. The second he let go of it, it crashed to floor, making them all wince.

“Uh,” Benedict said as they all stared at it rolling wetly across the floor, and Oz was reminded of just how awkward the felid had been when he’d first arrived on Kateria. How unsure, how …

Cute.

His cheeks burned with the thought, and he shoved it away angrily. He was done with Benedict, and Benedict was done with him.

Sassa folded her arms and strode into the kitchen, her uniform glittering under the lights. “You said you had something important to tell us, boss-man?”

Benedict sucked in a sharp breath, and Oz wasn’t sure why, but his stomach knotted and his heart started tripping triple time.

What the hell could the felid possibly have to tell them?

“I, um, made some changes.”

Oz straightened his spine. “Oh?” Sassa asked, her voice needle sharp. Oz shuffled into the kitchen, his curiosity overwhelming him.

“From tonight,” Benedict said, fumbling with some papers in his pockets, “we’re operating as a charity.”

“A … charity?” Sassa’s brow crunched, but Benedict just nodded.

“How’s that gonna work?” Shakes asked loudly, nearly startling Oz out of his skin. She leaned on him, curiosity plain in her big, green eyes.

Benedict cleared his throat and looked at each of them in turn. “The proceeds of the night will be donated, and we’ll open early each night to serve a hot meal to those who are down on their luck.”

At their curious silence, he added, “It’ll be leftovers from the day before, stuff that would otherwise go to waste.”

“Right,” Shakes drawled, frowning openly at the felid now.

Benedict drew another sharp breath. “And,” he said, “if you don’t like it, you can leave.”

Oz glanced at Sassa, then at Shakes, but none of them said anything. Instead, all three of them ended up staring at Benedict, confusion almost palpable in the air.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sassa asked finally, crossing her arms again, her stance shifting into a slightly more aggressive one, like she was gearing up for a fight.

Benedict almost sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Oz swallowed the instant leap of his heart. Stars above, how was the monk so cute? It was irritating and making it virtually impossible for Oz to stay mad at him.

“I mean, you’re free now. All of you. So if you don’t like how things are run or you don’t like it or … or … whatever, then you can leave.”

Stunned silence greeted him. Shakes just stared at him, her mouth hanging open, while Sassa’s mouth worked around a number of syllables as she searched for something to say.

“What about the debt?” Shakes blurted finally. Her nails dug into Oz’s shoulder, and he realized he was the only thing holding her up; she was sinking to her knees.

Benedict shook his head. “There is no debt.”

“No debt,” Sassa echoed.

The other felid nodded. “I had Gwuill erase it,” he said. “Starting today, you’ll get paid. There will be back pay too.”

“Get paid.” Shakes’s voice trembled.

“I’m going to continue paying for your apartments—I told Gwuill we’re renovating them.” He made a face. “And we’ll operate them as a halfway house, and …”

He stopped short, his gaze finally landing on Oz. He pressed his lips together, like he wanted to speak, but the words didn’t leave his mouth. Instead, he thrust his hand into Oz’s face, peppering him with paper. “Here.”

Oz reared back, nearly knocking Shakes over. “What’s this?” he asked, trying to get a good look at the paper flopping in his face. He grabbed Benedict’s arm—warm, strong—hoping to catch a glimpse of the writing.

“Your freedom” was the reply.

Oz dropped his hand and simply stared at the paper for a long time. “My …,” he started, his voice cracking. “You mean, I’m …?”

He looked up into the felid’s glowing yellow eyes, watched him nod almost imperceptibly. He dropped his gaze back to the paper, his breath stuck in his throat.

He wasn’t …

He was …

“Oh my stars, Ozzie!” Shakes squealed, crashing into him as she latched onto him in the hardest hug he’d ever endured. “You’re free ?!”

She rocked him back and forth, squishing him harder and harder, like the force of her joy would destroy him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the papers, still clutched in Benedict’s hand.

His … trembling hand.

Oz looked up at him again, barely managed to mouth thank you as Shakes continued squeezing the ever-loving crap out of him.

Benedict smiled hesitantly, and Oz felt himself returning it. What was blooming into a beautiful moment was ruined when Shakes released him, practically knocking him to floor, screaming, “Now you two can hook up!”

“What!” Oz spat, and Benedict spluttered indignantly, turning purple.

“Don’t deny it!” Shakes cried, putting her hands on her hips. “You two are totally into each other, you’ve been boning each other with your eyes for weeks!”

“It’s kinda gross,” Sassa added.

“I don’t … we’re not,” Benedict stammered.

Shakes clapped her hands on the felid’s shoulders. “But you couldn’t hook up, because you’re the boss and Ozzie was your slave , and that’s icky.”

“Icky,” Benedict echoed, his ears flattening against his head. Oz wasn’t sure if he was just cluing in to the dimensions of what they’d done—or if he was amazed that Shakes would summarize something as icky . Oz knew he found her innocence hard to believe sometimes.

“But now Ozzie’s free, and that means you two can finally get together!”

They stared at each other, both of them clearly trying to decide whether they should tell Shakes that they had already hooked up.

Oz shook his head. “Who says I want to?” he scoffed, giving Benedict some side eye. “I’m free now. I can do what I want.”

“Oh,” Shakes said, her hold on him slackening somewhat, like the truth of that had just hit her across the face.

Oz himself shook with the realization. He was free. He could do whatever he wanted.

He caught Benedict’s sheepish look, like the felid hadn’t thought that far ahead either. Hadn’t realized Oz might reject him.

Could reject him.

And should, Oz thought, given everything his boss had put him through.

“Come on.” Sassa sounded far away. “We can chat about workplace romances after close.”

“Oh, yeah!” Shakes enthused, pumping her fists in the air. “Getting paid! Hey, does this mean we actually get the tips now? Should I dress sluttier, like you, Sass?”

“Shut up, Shakes!”

The two hostesses passed out of the kitchen, back toward the bar, which left Oz and Benedict standing there, looking awkwardly at each other. Benedict scraped the toe of his shoe against the floorboards. “So,” he drawled, tucking his hands behind his back and glancing pointedly away.

“How’s this gonna work anyway?” Oz asked, and even he wasn’t quite sure what he was asking about.

“Uh,” Benedict said, jerking his gaze back, one ear flicking.

“I mean, charity? How …”

The felid’s expression relaxed a fraction. “Oh,” he said, “that’s easy. We serve the clients—basically, the same as before, but instead of me making money, the money goes to …” He waved a hand. “And there will be other stuff—performances, maybe charity auctions and the like, and we’ll let the patrons know where their money is going.”

Oz frowned a bit. “And you … think that’ll work?”

Benedict almost grinned. “Rich people love philanthropy,” he said, his fangs on full display. “And tax write-offs.”

“Oh my stars,” Oz breathed, and Benedict waved a paw, stepping toward the bar.

“So it’ll basically be a who’s-who sort of thing, everyone will want to be seen here—sort of like it already was, but with the added ‘warm and fuzzy’ feeling.”

“Yes,” Oz agreed, already churning in his mind how all at once, this was exactly the same and entirely different.

He supposed the more things changed …

They stopped at the bar, peering out across the polished floor, the empty booths set for the dinner service, Shakes and Sassa ordering the other hosts around, shouting about how they had to get ready for opening.

“So, uh,” Benedict said, and they turned to look at each other.

“Let’s talk after,” Oz said, something warm bubbling and popping in his chest. Part of him wished it was anger, because he knew he should be angry at the felid still.

“Coffee?” Benedict blurted, cheeks staining purple, and yeah, that definitely wasn’t anger in Oz’s veins. It was too fuzzy and soft.

“Sure,” he agreed, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Your place at eight?”