Chapter Thirteen
Oliver
My phone rings, and I pick it up without a second thought.
“Yes?”
“Ah, so you are alive.” Robbie’s bitter voice caresses me, but it doesn’t feel good. Not like it should.
“I know you do not believe me, but I am working. From the hours of seven to five, every single day. Some days, possibly later if my boss needs me to.”
“You aren’t so busy you can’t answer a damn text. I know your phone is glued to your side because your schedules are synced, so don’t give me that shit, Oliver.”
“What do you want?” I ask, my gaze fixed on the door, waiting for Sloane to return at any minute…
“I have it on good authority that our boy is invited to Parker Pavrocci’s big party this weekend.”
“Parker who?” I ask. “How did you get that—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Robbie says cooly. “Parker and Sloane used to be quite close. Roomates.”
“And this matters why?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low.
“They had a bit of a falling out.” Robbie’s voice is nonchalant. “But you’re going to patch that up. By insisting he go to Parker’s party.”
“Why?” I ask, adjusting my stupid cock, which has not gone down yet.
Fuck.
“That’s need to know. And you don’t need to know the why, baby. You just need to do what I tell you.”
“And that is what? Exactly?”
“Get Sloane to the party. Get him and Parker in the same fucking room, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“Why does that sound ominous?” I ask. “You’re not going to hurt the guy, are you?”
Robbie’s tone softens, but there is nothing soft about him or his words.
“Aw, what’s the matter, baby? Are you worried I’ll break your new toy?”
“No,” I bite. “I just…”
I watch the door, my heart in my throat. I glance down at my crepe. My stomach twists into knots.
“Get him to agree. That shouldn’t be hard, considering you can be so fucking persuasive.”
I swallow hard as the door clicks.
“I have to go," I say, not bothering to hear his goodbye. I lock the phone as the door opens. A mixture of relief and sadness floods me when I see it’s not my boss.
It’s Chicora.
I sit up straighter as she smiles warmly at me.
“Made it to day two, I see," she says.
“Is that a record or something?” I ask, my voice strangely despondent.
She shrugs. “For him? Yes.”
She laughs. “The last one barely made it a full eight hours.”
I swallow. Hard.
“Can I, uh… help you with something?” I ask.
“Yes, actually.” She heads to my seat, and that’s when I notice the thick folder in her arms.
“What’s that?”
“Paperwork. The usual stuff. 401K, Insurance, and your tax information. Oh, and Sloane put in the paperwork to have your company benefits… extended and expedited.”
“Company… benefits?”
She sets the folder down on the table in front of me.
“Mhm. Gym memberships. Flex spending account.” She smirks at me as if she wants to say something, but the way she twists her lips is almost mischievous. “The works. Only the best for his best, of course.”
“I will take care of it as soon as I can," I say, forcing a smile.
“Mhm.” She grins. “Sooner the better. See you in a few hours, sweetheart.”
She’s halfway to the door when I stop her.
“Thank you,” I say.
She turns to look at me.
“I’m just doing my job, Oliver. No need to thank me.”
And that’s when I hear him, his deep rumble of a voice beckoning me like a lost sailor. He brushes past Chicora, smiling at her.
“Thank you, Chickadee.” He grins. “Make sure you grab a croissant before they go. Saw Bill was eying up the last one.”
Chicora shakes her head. “Bastard.”
And with that, she leaves me and Sloane Pierce alone again.
He saunters towards his desk, hands in his pockets and doesn’t say a word. Nor does he look at me. He just… pulls up his chair and settles into his space, logging into his computer as if everything that had transpired was not real.
Had I imagined it?
Is it the stress of what I’m doing chipping away at me and causing me to crack? To go mental?
I can’t handle this sort of whiplash. Nor can I handle the fucking hardness in my pants.
Why won’t you go away damnit!
“I, uh… am going to hit the little boy’s room,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ll be back and we can go over the venues.”
“Uh-huh," he says nonchalantly.
I stand carefully, angling my body so that I am turned enough away that he can’t see me… or my issue. I arrange my jacket so that it covers me and briskly make my exit.
Once in the hallway, I feel like I can breathe. I am clearly out of my league here. I don’t know how to do this. Hell, I don’t know if I can.
There are moments Sloane Pierce feels like the man Robbie says he is. Brutal, maybe even a little conniving. But there are also moments where he is the exact opposite. Where he is kind. Where he is…warm.
Like yesterday… he came to eat lunch with me. I get the feeling that’s not something he usually does. He drove me home because he cared. Picked me up because…
Because why, exactly? If it was truly about my damn Chromebook, he could have waited until I got here today to give it back to me.
Or at the very least, texted me to come in early.
But he did no such thing. Instead, he took it upon himself to come and get me, and buy me breakfast, and then make me all…
keyed up, and now he’s tapping away on his computer while I run and hide in the bathroom like a damn coward.
I need to quit. I need to quit this job and tell Robbie it’s not going to work, but…
But then I think about the stack of papers Chichora brought me.
Insurance. Benefits.
Things I need, and can’t really afford to continue to go without. I need a new car, I need new contacts, I need to pay my rent on time this month, and my savings is not getting any higher with my not working these last few months.
I can’t quit. Not until I can get those things in place. Enough to at least save up for a car, and…
I push the thoughts aside as I head for the stall, knowing what I need to do.
I suck in a breath as I free my cock and tell myself it’ll be fine. I can handle this.
It’s my job. Aside from Sloane and Robbie’s directives, this is my job and I need to remember the position I’m in. Even if Sloane wakes up tomorrow and decides I’m no longer fun for him to poke and play with, I need to think about myself. So that’s exactly what I promise to do.
I purse my lips and stifle my groan as I do what I need, bringing myself the release that is both full of guilt and relief.
I let out a labored breath as I drain my cock, watching the remnants of my guilt circle the drain.
I stuff my cock back in my pants, straighten my clothes and wash up.
And when I return to Sloane’s office, I do everything I can to push aside my own insecurities and channel the man I’m supposed to be.
I don’t speak to Sloane. I walk past him, to my spot at the table, and pull up the email, searching for what I need and make my notes. And when I am done, I present the list to my boss on his desk.
I stand there, hands clasped, and wait.
He turns in his chair and picks up the paper, giving it a once over.
“What would you recommend?” he asks, his voice nonchalant.
“For the gala?”
He nods. “I mean these properties are good. Trendy. They would certainly create buzz.”
“But…”
“Would you attend an event at…” He peeks at the paper. “The Jetta Club?”
I purse my lips.
“It’s not about what I would do, Sir.” I avert his gaze.
Be demure. Be shy. Be the man who needs his direction.
“Humor me," he says, setting the paper down. “Tell me, if you could pick anywhere in this fucking city to throw a party, Oliver… where would you go?”
I think about his question. Or how I should answer it.
“Do not tell me what you think I want to hear," he says, his voice solid, direct. “Tell me the truth.”
I look at him, the words on the tip of my tongue.
Oh, Sloane… you can never know the truth. I can’t tell you the fucking truth…
So I settle on my truth.
“I have always been a fan of the SAM," I say with a shrug.
“The art museum?” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Yes, Sir.”
I watch as he crosses his arms.
“Seems an odd place for a tech gala.”
“The ceilings are quite beautiful. Open and bright… not all that dissimilar from your infinite glass.”
His gaze settles on me. “Go on.”
“The artwork is spectacular, but there is a lot of open space. For people to mingle. But there are also exhibits and spaces that are much more… intimate in nature. And at night…”
I let my mind wander back to my youth. To all the nights spent running through the museum when my father was forced to take me to work due to my mother’s late nights.
I’d loved it there. Reading my books amidst the art. It was so peaceful, so serene. The smile that forms on my face is hard to refute.
“Well, it’s quite lovely.”
“Then that is where we shall have it," he says pointedly.
“What?”
I blink, processing his words. He slides the paper to me.
“You didn’t even look—”
“I did not need to. Your answer told me all I need to know.”
“I spent hours composing that list, and the art museum isn’t even on it!” I say, feeling my temperature rise, my blood heat.
Sloane shrugs.
“Precisely," he says with a grin.
“You could have told me about any venue on that list. You could have sold me the Jetta Club. The Aviator. Or the fucking Excalibur.”
“But you said not to—”
“Tell me what I wanted to hear. Yes. I know, that’s called a test, Oliver. One you passed with flying colors.” His dark gaze roves over me. “Good Boy.”
I huff out a grunt of frustration.
“But I spent all that time—”
“Sometimes, Oliver, we do not get what we want," he says sternly.
“And if I recall, you left your Chromebook in my car, which means you did not have the time to complete your work on time. Which means you took time out of this very busy day to play catch up, and you still did not deliver me what you promised me, when I asked for it. So I improvised.”
My blood rushes with a flurry of emotion. Anger. Frustration. Shock.
“I told you it was an accident, I didn’t mean—”