Chapter 20
Wallace
Wallace sat at the head of the boardroom table. He didn’t really see why it mattered, since he wasn’t the one giving the presentations, but his father called it a power move. Mostly it meant that he couldn’t see the screen without getting a crick in his neck or awkwardly turning his chair around.
He’d settled for a mixture of the two, so he was glad when he could turn back to the table for a moment.
“Thanks, Mr. Chaudry. We’ll be looking forward to your next report. Ms. Martinez, you’re up.” He hoped he sounded normal when he said that. He’d even made eye contact with both of them, though it felt awkward every time.
Could they tell that he was faking it? He was supposed to be in charge of “strategic visioning,” whatever the fuck that was, but every time he’d had an idea, his father abruptly shut it down. And since his senior managers all knew what they were doing, he kind of just let them do it.
He wondered sometimes if anybody would even notice if he just didn’t show up one day.
He knew everyone would remember it, though, if they saw him crying in the hallway.
So he kept his mind empty. Tried to focus on the reports that his project leaders were giving. Nodded and encouraged when it seemed like the right thing to do.
Sometimes it felt like he was in a play, and everyone else had been given the script in advance. He was up there, reading his lines like he’d never seen them before, and waiting for the laugh track to roll in behind him when he screwed up.
He was not going to think about Volt.
His shame, the sheer overwhelming embarrassment of ever believing that paying a sex worker for kinky texts could have meant something…
He was going to relive his mortification until his dying days.
Better, though, to be embarrassed than hurt.
Because it hurt waking up each morning and not looking back at Daddy’s, er, Volt’s texts from the night before. He couldn’t even open the thread to look back at old messages, because all he could see was I’m so sorry, baby boy. I refunded your payment.
Was that Volt ending things? It had to be.
For the past two days, Wallace had skipped lunch, and he darted from his office to the parking lot each evening as quickly as possible.
He never wanted to see a path or tree again.
How could he have been so stupid?
“Mr. Wollencroft?”
He realized, a moment too late, that he was the one being addressed. Thirty-two years old, and he still assumed that name belonged to his father.
Even though most people called his father Charles.
That was the thing with all of his father’s “power moves.” He told Wallace to call people by their last names to gain more respect in return, but then his father never did it himself.
Was it all some colossal joke?
“Apologies, Mr. Chaudry. Could you repeat that?”
Mr. Chaudry was twenty years older than Wallace was, and eminently more qualified for his position. “I was just asking if we had the go-ahead to start on phase two of the tracing project.”
“Yes, yes,” Wallace agreed. “Please get started.” They had permission, right? Wasn’t that what his father had said this morning?
He remembered, with relief, that it was even true. “We’re expecting a six-week ramp up, which should provide enough time to plot out your development velocity.” He nodded at Ms. Yin, his product manager, who was really the one in charge.
She gave him a sharp nod in return. “I’ll have that ready for you.”
“Excellent,” he agreed. “Anything else?”
There was a round of inquisitive looks and head shakes, then he broke up the meeting.
His employees wandered off, talking in pairs or trios, some hanging around in the boardroom a little longer.
How did people just do that so easily?
He could hear their conversations. Weekend plans. Project schedules. Children. The weather. Sometimes there was laughter. Sympathy. Commiseration or excitement.
Did people really enjoy all that chit-chat? They sure seemed to, but it had always felt like an impenetrable wall to Wallace. He knew if he tried to approach any of the groups, they’d fall silent immediately, like they were waiting for him to make some big announcement.
And then he’d stand there, awkwardly, trying to think of something to say, which would inevitably sound worse.
He scuttled back to his office, making sure to avoid eye contact.
Having a job was only a little better than school had been, because at least at work, people only ignored him or talked about him behind his back, instead of bullying him to his face.
And he knew they talked about him.
He supposed he should be glad it wasn’t worse.
But god, it was just hard to go into work every day, knowing that no one wanted him here.
And now that he didn’t have Daddy…
He felt a tear starting to form and forced it back. He would not cry in the hallway.
It had been an illusion.
An illusion that had let him imagine, for a few months, that someone cared about him.
He thought about the pink nickel drive with the little red heart that sat at home on his dresser. At first, he’d been unwilling to consider it.
But the idea kept popping back up. Insidiously. Would it really be so bad?
It wasn’t like he would be forcing Volt to love him, right? Just encouraging something if it were already there?
Maybe he could go back to Prism once, ask Volt to use the chip, and see what happened? See if Volt swept him up into his arms and declared his eternal love?
He shook his head as he strode down the hall.
No, that was wrong. Immoral.
But would it be worth it? To have Volt’s love and dedication?
He would do anything, anything , his Daddy asked of him, if only they could be together.
Really together, not paying him for sex.
A relationship.
He could see it so clearly. How happy they would both be. Volt could do anything he wanted—open a business, stay at home and read, really anything—and Wallace would be eternally devoted to him.
If there was something there between them, and Wallace could give it a little nudge…
He saw his office up ahead and slipped into it gratefully, closing the door firmly behind him. His mind was a million miles away from his work, and he just needed to be alone.
A warm, upbeat voice poured out of his speakers. “Wallace! I heard your…”
Wallace held up a hand, cutting Max off mid-sentence. “Not today,” he growled. “Go away.”
“Alright,” the deep, melodious voice agreed. “I was just going to say that your idea for the adaptive reality features in the education line was…”
“Leave,” Wallace grit out.
He didn’t need Max fawning over him like this. Sucking up, when clearly, he didn’t mean it. Wallace had been excited about his adaptive reality ideas, but there was no reason to even run them by his father. They’d end up in the trash with everything else he’d ever produced.
“Alright. Bye.”
“And no spying on me,” Wallace shot after him. He had no idea when the knowledge was spying on him or not, but he assumed it could be any time.
“I would never,” Max promised. “But I think I’m close with the body thing!”
Wallace grunted. “Good. But no more mistakes.”
“Of course not. The company is completely safe from me. Cross my heart.”
Wallace rolled his eyes. Max didn’t have a heart, and pretty soon he’d be gone, just like everyone else who’d pretended to befriend Wallace.
How ironic that Wallace envied Max that freedom. Unlike Wallace, the spark would actually get to leave Orbit Industries.
Volt felt a buzz in his pocket, and he was tempted to ignore it. Who really texted him anyway? His phone had been conspicuously silent since his failed attempt at dating. It was probably some autopayment alert.
But he knew he wasn’t going to get any work done anyway. Might as well keep himself busy.
He pulled his phone out, his fingers starting to tremble when he saw the name on the text.
Wallace, I cleared some space in my schedule for Sunday morning. Maybe we could go to the aquarium? Or hiking? I’d enjoy doing either one with you. I’m afraid the musical won’t be playing any more.
Wallace didn’t know what to do.
A refund receipt from Prism, two days of silence, and then this? What the hell did it mean?
He couldn’t help but notice that they were back to first names. What had happened to creampuff and hamster ?
And what did Volt mean by clearing his schedule? He might be a spark, but he worked in a sex club that opened at 4pm on weekdays and 2pm on weekends. What schedule could he possibly have, if it wasn’t taking other people up to bed in the room they’d shared?
Wallace shuddered. He didn’t want to think about it.
Another text came in. It looks like the aquarium doesn’t open till eleven, but there’s a nice park nearby. Maybe we could pick up breakfast on the way and have a picnic.
And now Wallace wanted to cry again.
Because wasn’t that exactly what he’d wanted? Just a normal date. And this should have been a thousand times better. Knowing that Daddy was thinking about him. Planning things for him.
I’ve been worried about you. You’re not obligated to text me, but I like knowing that you’re taking care of yourself.
Wallace hadn’t been taking care of himself. Not at all. But that part about not being obligated was even worse. He wanted to be obligated.
Were they just picking this thing up like nothing had happened?
Like Volt hadn’t callously refunded his money? Like that wasn’t the only thing between them?
Wallace wrapped his arms around himself, afraid to touch the phone.
Afraid of how much he wanted this to be true.
Was he pathetic enough to turn to Volt again, even if it was just an illusion?
By god, he was.
Even knowing that he’d be paying for the time, he would take it. He’d pay for every precious hour of having a picnic on the hill and going to the aquarium, savoring every minute of it while knowing that all of those sweet touches and whispered words were just Volt doing his job.
Or at least, mostly Volt doing his job. Because Volt had to at least like him a little bit, right? Even if it was Volt’s role as a Daddy to ask about Wallace’s health, it sounded like he’d still been worried.
So there was at least something there, even if it was just a professional Dom’s responsibility for his sub, right? Daddying was Volt’s kink, so maybe he got something out of it for himself. He still had to like Wallace somewhat to keep doing this with him, didn’t he?
Which brought Wallace’s thoughts back to the pink nickel drive with its little red heart. How bad would it really be to use it on Volt?
If this date thing meant something and he could just nudge it to be a little bit more?
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
He was tearing himself up inside.
But he really wanted that date. He wanted that adorable picnic and holding hands at the aquarium.
He didn’t know what was more pathetic: how much he wanted it, or how afraid he was to go for it.
He could hear his brother’s voice, casually cruel in his head. Coward. Wimp . And his father’s. Be a man. You’re a Wollencroft, son, act like it.
He huffed, trying to banish the internalized disgust. Even while he knew how his family would sneer at him for his gay, submissive nature, he knew exactly what they would expect him to do: take what he wanted and make it his.
Either of them would have used the nickel without a second thought—probably on the grounds that it would be cheaper than buying Volt outright. Wives, he’d heard his father complain, were expensive. Though mistresses were, too—especially since everyone knew from the beginning that they were only there for his father’s bank account.
That cost had never stopped his father from jumping everything that moved. It wouldn’t have stopped him from using a mod like that either, if he set his sights on a spark.
That was finally what decided him. Wallace had spent most of his life trying to gain his father’s respect.
But now that he knew what affection felt like—even if it was bought—he wasn’t going to hunt after it anymore.
He would be different from his father. Better.
He wished he had the nickel now so he could crack it in half and flush it down the toilet.
Wallace wasn’t going to be his father.
That decision settled him, but it left him with the new fear of going on an actual date. Or was it hiring an escort for a pretend date?
Maybe he just shouldn’t go.
The phone buzzed again, nearly making him jump out of his seat.
If you don’t want me to bother you anymore, please let me know.
Shit. Wallace scrambled for his phone. Sorry, he typed out. Sunday would be fine.
Did he sound like an idiot? He sounded like an idiot. Like he was confirming a business meeting time. I mean, I’d like to go to the aquarium with you, Daddy .
Now he was blushing like mad. Was that too much? He sounded like a pathetic child.
Fortunately, Volt’s return text was swift. I’ll be looking forward to it, creampuff.
Sooo… that was it. He was going on a date. With Volt.
But not for another six days. Fuck.
What was he supposed to do?
He felt like he couldn’t go back to Prism now. It would be too weird. He wanted to see what Volt was like in the real world, and returning now, when he’d stormed out the last time… no, it was all too awkward and horrible.
He’d wait for the date on Sunday.
He wondered if he’d get the bill before or after. Not that it really mattered. That was fine. Expected. But if there were hours blocked, he would at least know how much time he had.
Would they eat lunch together? No, he should eat first. Volt didn’t eat.
And oh, god. What was he going to wear? What would Volt wear?
Wallace pretty much owned work clothes and some ratty sweats for when no one would see him.
Volt seemed to own loincloths, immaculate suits, and, apparently, dresses that he’d worn at some point in his past.
What would he show up wearing? Should Wallace go out and buy… casual wear? Sexy casual wear?
Was that a thing?
Well, probably it was if you were built like Volt.
No matter what Wallace wore, he’d still look short and dumpy.
Ironically, he kind of wished Max was around to talk with. Well, technically he probably was, even if he wasn’t actively monitoring Wallace right now. And it would be nice to panic with someone else, someone who—based on their past conversations—he was pretty sure would be all-too-eager to dive into his little dating problem with him.
Not because Max was truly his friend, of course. Just because Max seemed like one of those effortlessly cheerful and helpful people who…
No, not because the knowledge was cheerful. Because if Wallace reached out, Maxamillian would be eager to keep sucking up to him so he didn’t alert the authorities.
Wallace sighed and put his phone back into his pocket, wishing there was one person in his life—just one—who actually liked him for him. Wishing he had an actual friend .
But he didn’t, so he’d have to figure this out by himself.
Just like he always did.