Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
MICAH
Yesterday was real.
Waking up, my brain fought against reality. This was the most lucid of dreams. I was no longer in a garden shed with a questionable rodent population, nor was I starving. Instead of the scratchy blanket that usually surrounded me, I had cool, smooth cotton under me with a fluffy duvet on top. I had a pillow. And perhaps most strange of all, my expected body aches didn’t exist. Still, when I opened my eyes, I was more surprised than anyone it was real. I was in a bed. In a house. And safe? The last one may still be determined, but there was at least a chance. It was also likely to backfire spectacularly and end sooner than I wanted.
As my brain came back online, more memories flooded in. The cop had been stern but worried about me, which wasn’t my usual interaction with the police. Previously, it had been more about move along or go to jail. If nothing else, foster care taught me to differentiate between predator and prey. I’d spent my life avoiding the former not to be the latter.
Oh no…the sheets are going to be ruined.
I almost leaped out of bed at the horrifying thought of having ruined the beautiful linens before remembering the shower with endless hot water and multiple showerheads last night. For the first time in the better part of six months, I was clean. After a few minutes of soaking in the bed, I forced my muscles to move. If this was the only time I experienced this, I wanted to savor every thread, every brush of fabric, every memory. I’d slept in the robe from the hook behind the door, the fluffy folds swallowing my short frame.
My dirty clothes were in a neat pile on the bathroom floor, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of putting them back on, but I didn’t think I could leave the room in a robe. My indecision paralyzed me and left me sitting on the side of the bed, chewing my bottom lip while I tried to figure out what to do next. Hiding in here and hoping I was forgotten wouldn’t help the hunger gnawing at my stomach. One dinner, and my body had already forgotten food was a commodity in short supply. Venturing out in a robe seemed rude and inappropriate. In the absence of clear direction, I stayed rooted to the spot.
Today, I would be the prey.
An insistent knock forced me off the bed. I carefully opened the door while tightening the hold on my robe’s lapels to avoid flashing accidents.
“Here’s some clothes.”
“Thank you very much. I appreciate it, Mr. Rutledge.”
I forced myself to give him a small smile. It was met with an unblinking stare. The stormy depths of his dark eyes flashed with more emotions than I understood at that moment. There was annoyance and anger, but indecision lurked around the edges.
“Cal or Calvin. I don’t like you calling me Mr. Rutledge. Meet me downstairs in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir…Cal.”
With another indecipherable look, he handed me the stack of clothes before leaving without a word. I quickly shut the door, tossed on the clothes at least two sizes too big, and hurriedly brushed my teeth. I wiped down the bathroom and made the bed before I left. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I wasn’t grateful for his hospitality. My backpack waited for me next to the bed and I slung it over my shoulder before I headed out of the guest room.
I’d forgotten to ask where I was supposed to go, but I followed noises drifting from the back of the house. I found Cal sitting in a chef’s dream kitchen at the marble island. My feet wouldn’t move forward, and I stood rooted in the doorway.
“You can come in here.” Cal beckoned me forward with a curl of his fingers.
I shuffled forward but still didn’t know where to look.
“Coffee?” Cal gestured to the pot sitting on the counter. When he noticed my bag, I saw his eyebrows rise, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“If it’s not too much trouble, yes, please.”
“If it were, I wouldn’t have asked.” His words caused an involuntary flinch I tried desperately to cover, but to my shock, he sighed heavily. “Fuck. Sorry. Do you need creamer? It’s no trouble if the answer is yes.”
“Yes, please.”
Cal got to his feet with a stretch and a groan. He fetched a small carton from the refrigerator and the cupboard.
“Here, put in what you need.”
Our fingers brushed when he gave me the creamer, and I swear a bolt of electricity shocked my body. Of course it was only static, but it seemed more like a jolt of connection or recognition. Either way, he frowned and withdrew his fingers quickly. His frown deepened when I poured a minuscule amount into the cup he’d also fetched me.
“Is that really how little you take, or are you worried about taking too much?”
“I want to make sure there’s enough for everyone.”
“Everyone is you. I drink it black. It’s for guests. What about some sugar? Sweetener?”
“Uh, sugar, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“You’re not too much trouble,” he said gruffly.
Without another word, Mr. Rutledge, I mean, Cal poured my coffee and handed me two bowls, one with sugar and the other with packages, before he turned and fussed at the stove.
“Sit at the table. Is an omelet okay for breakfast?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to trouble you.” The only response was a silent glower. I followed his instructions, though, and quietly waited.
“If I’m asking, it’s not too much trouble,” he said with exasperation. “Yes or no on the omelet?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good boy,” he said with absent-minded approval, and my bones melted.
Based on his casualness, I wasn’t sure he realized what he’d said, so I doubted he registered how much his words sent blood thrumming through my veins. My little gay heart pounded. Did he even know what he said? I’d assumed he was straight based on nothing more than my gut, but the phrasing was unexpected.
The rest of breakfast was spent in silence. He joined me at the table, but his words hung in the air. There was no chance I’d say a word to him about it. Maybe he said the same to everyone, but the thought of him telling his employees good boy and their possible reaction made me smile.
Cal caught it and gave a nod of approval. “Eat up. I want to talk to you about helping each other.”
With those instructions, I quickly shoveled food into my mouth. As long as it was legal, or maybe only slightly illegal, I’d do whatever he wanted.
“I’m done.” With a nod, Cal pushed back from the table. “Where should I put my plate?”
“In the sink. We can deal with it later.”
He left the room without another word, and I trailed after him. He walked so fast that I didn’t have a chance to look around as much as I wanted. We passed a family room area. The house was big, but it seemed set up more like a family home than a showroom. Family photos and inexpensive knickknacks were mixed with pricey-looking ones, which set me at ease a little. I wasn’t in a museum.
He stopped at a room with a heavy wooden door and ushered me inside. His office was stuffed with more bookcases, a leather sofa in a sitting area, and two chairs facing an imposing desk. Over his shoulder, the bay window overlooked the tended garden that led to a beach area past the gardens. On his desk was an open laptop with an additional monitor on each side.
Cal gestured to the chairs and settled himself behind the imposing desk. He studied me with his fingers steepled and tapping his pillowy, soft-looking lips. I said nothing. Now that I wasn’t quite as terrified of going to jail, I had a little time to study him. His dark hair was wavy and thick and his stubble accented his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. He was tall and muscled, but I still doubted he spent all his spare time at the gym. His dark eyes shone with intelligence and a bit of cunning. His clothes weren’t overly formal, but they were expensive. I’d bet his outfit cost more than I’d made in the last six months. Probably the last six years. I was so out of my depth.
“Before we go forward, we need to clear up some areas of concern.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I won’t tolerate drugs near my property or stealing. If I suspect either of those things, your ass is back on the street. Are we clear?”
“Yes, clear.”
“How long have you been in my shed?”
“Maybe three months? I came over on the ferry for the first time because it was free, and I needed to escape my real life for the afternoon. When I ended up on the streets, it wasn’t…great. When I realized my pass still worked, I came across and scouted for a place to stay because no one hassled me over here.”
“Why did you have a pass?” His tone hadn’t changed while he questioned me. Some part of me worried he’d judge me and find me lacking, but considering I’d been found living in a garden shed, there wasn’t far to fall.
“It was part of the state program I was in. When I lost my place in college, they should have canceled it, but it kept working.”
“You got kicked out of college?”
“Sort of. I was in college with a state grant because I was in foster care, but my worker left, and the paperwork never got submitted to renew because a new caseworker was never assigned since I wasn’t a minor anymore.”
“Why aren’t you working?” The answer to that question was the most frustrating of all.
“Because I was still technically in care while in college, the state kept my Social Security card and birth certificate. The Social Security office wouldn’t issue me a new card without a birth certificate, and I couldn’t have a new birth certificate printed without a Social Security card. Without a worker assigned, there was no telling where the documents landed. I’ve submitted requests to search for my file, but they haven’t gone anywhere useful. Since I’m no longer in college, I was exited out of foster care, and that ended my housing assistance. There was probably a hearing, but I’d already been kicked out of the dorms at that point, so there was no way for me to get notice of it.”
My life had entered the black hole that was social services, and no one could or would help me because they were too busy putting out fires for younger kids. I’d only enrolled part-time initially, so I was halfway through instead of finished. In hindsight, I could have kicked myself for being unable to tell the future. Once I was tossed out of college and missed the financial aid deadline to apply on my own, everything spiraled until I was homeless. It wasn’t that unique of a story for foster kids, but it was frustrating when it was your life.
After I finished my explanation, Calvin stared at me in contemplative silence. His expression gave away nothing. My shoulders ached with tension as I waited for his verdict. If this was a chance to change course, I was prepared to beg for it, but for now, I sat in the chair and waited for his decision.
“I need someone to accompany me to events who can act as a buffer. Your official title would be a personal assistant for HR purposes, but you’d be responsible for keeping the vultures away.”
“The vultures?”
“The people who want to talk my goddamn ear off about a bullshit investment that’s a step above a pyramid or Ponzi scheme. You interrupt for whatever reason you want, and I step away.”
“You need help with that?”
“Never underestimate the value of social lubricant,” Calvin said wryly.
“Umm, what if people talked about me? And you. What if they make assumptions?”
“Like that personal assistant is a cover story for something else?”
“Yes. I can’t imagine we’d run into someone from college, but I’m gay, and I was out there.” My attempted bravery was short-lived. My words ended in a whispered quiver.
“Meh, they probably will,” he said with a shrug but didn’t wait for an answer before he barreled on. “People think what they think. The only person you need to concern yourself with is me. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Rutledge.”
“I said not to call me that, and I expect you to listen.” His words caused the most embarrassing reaction of my dick.
Please don’t let me pop a boner in this man’s office . “Pardon, sir?”
“Better.”
He gave me whiplash with this conversation, and I wasn’t sure what agreement had been made, but he seemed satisfied with it. Calvin abruptly pushed his chair back from the desk. He was halfway out the door when he turned to where I sat in the chair. “Are you coming or not?”
I scrambled out of the chair and followed him to the door and down the hallway. Calvin stopped at a laundry room in the back hallway and grabbed a sweatshirt from the dryer. He tossed it to me and kept walking without a backward glance.
“Mr. Rutledge, wait!”
“For the last time, don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry.”
The catch in my voice gave away my nerves. I had expected to eventually be caught in the shed, but I never imagined this would be the consequence, and I floundered as we went into this unknown territory.
Electricity crackled in the air. Something was happening between us, but I didn’t understand it. We stood in the hallway while he loomed over me.
“What should you call me, Micah?”
His voice took on a husky quality that hadn’t been there before. He loomed over me, but for once, my instinct wasn’t to shrink back. It was to stand taller.
“Calvin, sir.”
“Now, what did you want to say?”
“I’m not wearing shoes.” Calvin glanced down at my feet with incredulity.
“Oh fuck. Go put yours on and meet me here in two minutes.” He pulled out his phone to check the time. “If we hurry, we can make the ferry.”
Surreal. This entire experience was surreal.
Cal was a relaxed driver, one hand draped over the wheel and the other in his lap. Every once in a while, the hand in his lap twitched like he wanted to move it, and he’d jerk it back into place. The leather seats of his vehicle were smooth like butter and the engine purred. Never, ever had I been in a vehicle like this.
I’d seen the look he’d given my shoes when I came downstairs, and the first thing he’d done when I got in the car was direct the heat to the floorboards. I wanted to say thank you, but after telling him so much this morning, I was more than a little ashamed at how I’d gotten to this point. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked for the details of how I ended up in foster care to begin with. No one needed to know how unwanted I’d been.
Cal hadn’t volunteered where we were going, and I hadn’t asked. The trip across the Sound was its usual quick twenty minutes, but then he drove away from the harbor to a more upscale area of town. Finally, he pulled into the parking lot of a nicer shopping center. Did he think I was lying about having nothing?
I hadn’t expected him to be cruel. Why would he bring me on a shopping trip for himself? I wasn’t foolish enough to think everyone else struggled just because I did. Still, bringing me along to watch him spend money seemed unnecessarily mean. I was grateful for the clothes he’d given me this morning, but my funds were down to pennies. It hadn’t occurred to me when he’d proposed his job offer this morning, but I had no funds to dress myself for the part.
I didn’t realize he’d parked the car until my car door opened and he regarded me impatiently. I murmured an apology, undid my belt, grabbed my bag, and climbed out of the car. He slammed the car door and headed for the entrance of the Target without a word. His long-legged stride had me scurrying to keep up with him. At the entrance, he held the door for me, which equally made me blush and annoyed me.
My reactions to Cal were absurd. I both loved and hated them. Foolish dreams about being swept off my feet and rescued were for fairytales. But after being numb for so many months, it was nice to remember I was still capable of feeling something, even if it was inappropriate. More than anything, I needed to remember I was half a step out of the gutter.
After grabbing a cart, Cal’s long legs ate the distance across the store while I jogged behind him. I careened into his back when I was distracted by the store’s displays. Yeah, it was a box store, but one I’d rarely been in and had never shopped in.
“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you—” Cal swung around and gave me a stern look. “Yes, you’re sure because you said so.”
“Good boy.” He practically growled. “We need to pick you up some clothes, and there better not be one word about you being unable to pay for it. My job, my requirements. Think of it as a uniform.” That dashed my arguments and left me feeling churlish for my earlier unkind thoughts about him. “You need everything, right?” Humiliation ran through my body, and all I did was mutely nod. “Fine, let’s get started.”
I’d barely wrapped my head around the good boy before the follow-up embarrassment as he grabbed a cart and headed toward the back of the store. He steered the cart first toward socks and underwear. He perused the options as if they mattered. In my brother’s house, I scrounged whatever I could find. In foster care, I took what I was given.
“Boxers, briefs, or the best of both worlds?” Cal held up the packages like it was normal for an adult man to buy another new underwear.
“Uh, I-I…” My words failed me. Again.
“Oh, how sweet. What a good Daddy you have,” exclaimed a man who popped up out of nowhere next to me. I could practically see the heart-eyes shining from him.
The humiliation of this day was never-ending. “No, no. He’s not my Daddy. He’s my boss.” The stranger’s eyes narrowed with speculation.
“Your boss?” He sounded incredulous and, honestly, fair enough.
“Yes, my boss,” I repeated.
Cal had moved farther down the aisle, so, fingers crossed, he wasn’t hearing this conversation. Please, please, please don’t let him hear this conversation.
“In that case, are you interested in one?”
Oh, I hadn’t expected that. A guy I “dated” my first year in college claimed to be a Daddy, but that had begun and ended with the declaration. Regardless, relationships were so far down my list of priorities that it was into the double, potentially triple digits. As it turned out, I was wrong about whether Cal overheard the conversation because he stalked back to where we stood at the question.
“He has one.” Mr. Rutledge’s eyes flashed hot enough to melt glass. “Isn’t that right, little one? There’s no need to keep it quiet in front of strangers.” The smile he flashed at the stranger wasn’t friendly. It reminded me of a snarling grin from a junkyard dog right before he locked in on his target.
“You sure about that?” the stranger asked with unabashed curiosity.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Cal answered as he threaded our fingers together. “And right now, my boy and I need to finish shopping. Don’t let us keep you.”
The dismissal was curt and final. With a gentle nudge, Cal brought me back to where he’d moved the cart. He did not immediately let go of my hand. My understanding of what was happening was unclear. Murky. Swamp water was easier to see through.
“Mr. Rutl—sorry, I mean, Calv…”
“Actually, I think Daddy is better.”
“Pardon?”
“I like Daddy better. It makes more sense.”
“To who?”
“To anyone. Why would I take my assistant to work functions all the time? Consider the overtime. The entire situation would be a walking HR violation.”
“So now it’s a fake-dating situation?”
“No. It’s real.”
“You can’t decide we’re dating.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t work that way.”
“Why?”
“Because…because…” I sputtered, but the words would not come. His calm demeanor threw me. Is this what it was like to be rich? You decided, and it was so? That was wild. “Do you want people to think you’re gay? Are you gay?”
“Why would I care either way? They’ll probably think I’m bi or pan, though, since I’ve publicly dated women,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Hell, the whole damn island is crawling with rainbow flags. There’s probably something in the water.” Cal let go of my hand and held up the options he’d been showing me earlier. “So, which of these?”