Chapter 3. Florian
The scanner beeped a robotic chirp directly into my temples. BEEP. A carton of milk. BEEP. Frozen peas. BEEP. A gossip magazine promising that celebrities were just like us, except they weren't scanning groceries for minimum wage.
I bet Knox never scanned groceries for minimum wage. I bet he didn’t even know how much minimum wage was.
My fingers moved on autopilot, sliding items across the glass while my mind replayed the scene in the coffee shop for the hundredth time.
The weight of the envelope in my back pocket felt almost hot against my skin, a constant reminder.
I didn't want to leave it at home; however dangerous it was to walk around with this much cash. My house wasn't exactly the safest place in the world, not in a neighborhood like that. At least, that’s what I told myself to convince myself to not leave it behind. I didn’t want to leave his card either.
I kept touching it every five minutes to believe it was real.
And I wanted to show them to Luna, the card and the envelope.
Not to brag, but just so she could understand what was happening.
I had checked them both three times in the employee bathroom, thumbing the edges of the bills just to make sure they hadn't turned into monopoly money or ash, and running my fingers on Robert Knox’s name.
"That'll be forty-two fifty," I muttered. The shift had been dragging since I clocked in, each minute stretching.
"Earth to Florian."
A hand waved in front of my face, fingernails painted with chipped black polish and silver rings. I blinked, the grocery store hazing back into focus.
Luna stood there. She was color in the beige uniform. Her blue hair was pulled into a messy bun with a single chopstick. Her round wire-rimmed glasses had slid down her nose, and she peered over them with that teacher look: half concern, half lecture.
She could be a Domme, if she ever got into kink.
"Hey," I breathed, happy to see her. She was my best, and truth be told, only friend in the real world. I had my online BDSM communities, and I kept in touch messaging old friends, but it wasn’t the same. "What are you doing here?"
"Rescuing you," she said, leaning over the counter. She smelled weirdly like dryer sheets. It was good and unique. “Mark is in the office yelling at corporate on the phone. We have ten minutes. Come on.”
She didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong, and towed me away from the register. We were both almost the same height, but she could beat me up in a fight, I was sure of it.
We ducked into the storage room, the heavy door swinging shut and cutting off the store. The space was cramped by stacks of cardboard boxes and crates of soda. The air here was cooler, smelling of cardboard. Luna hopped onto a crate of paper towels, her legs swinging.
"Okay, spill," she demanded, pushing her glasses up her nose. "You've been buzzing with anxiety all day. Did Finn call again? Or is this about the eviction notice? Or some boy?"
I leaned against a pallet of bottled water, crossing my arms over my chest to keep my hands from fidgeting.
I hesitated. Telling Luna made it real, but I really needed to do it; I wanted to do it.
It opened the door to her judgment, which, while always well-intentioned, could be blistering.
But keeping it inside was making me nauseous.
I needed someone to verify that I wasn't hallucinating.
I needed someone to be my safety net, even though it was a very fragile and frayed net.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope. I held it out to her without a word.
Luna frowned, hopping down from the crate. She took the envelope, her brow furrowing as she peeked inside. Her eyes went wide behind the lenses. She looked up at me, then back at the cash, flipping through the bills.
"Florian," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you rob the register? Because I love you, but I can't be an accessory. I have bills."
"No," I said, a hysterical little laugh bubbling up. "I met someone. Or… I’m going to meet someone." I fished the business card out next, the card smooth under my thumb. I handed it to her.
"Robert Knox," she read aloud. "CEO. Very fancy address. Florian, where did you meet a CEO who hands out cash in plain envelopes?"
"On an app," I admitted, looking at my sneakers. "The one for… arrangements. Remember how you told me about that friend of yours...? It’s his real name as well. He said he never lied about these things."
Luna went quiet. I expected her to yell. I expected her to tell me I was stupid, that I was selling myself, that I was desperate.
Instead, she pulled out her phone. The case was covered in stickers of Korean idols, their perfect faces smiling up at us. Her thumbs flew across the screen.
"Let me see what I can find on this guy," she muttered. "Robert Knox… finance… city… okay."
I moved to stand next to her, looking over her shoulder.
"There," she said, pointing.
A LinkedIn profile popped up. There was a photo. Professional. It was him. Even in a tiny thumbnail, he looked commanding. Robert Knox. Chief Executive Officer, Sterling & Knox. The list of board memberships scrolled on forever.
"He's real," I whispered. A part of me had been terrified he was some catfish, a creep in a stolen suit. I mean, he could still be a creep. But everything else had been true so far.
"He's rich," Luna said, scrolling down to a news article linked in his bio. Knox Foundation Charity Gala raises 2 million. "Like, properly rich. Not just 'drives a BMW' rich."
She locked her phone and looked up at me, her expression serious. The playfulness was gone, replaced by the protectiveness that made her my only real family.
"Florian, look at me."
I met her gaze. Because I was good at obeying, even if it was her. Her dark eyes searched mine.
"He gave me this just for talking to him," I said, gesturing to the money in her hand. "Five minutes. Coffee. That pays my rent, Luna. It pays for the textbooks."
"I know," she said softly. She handed the envelope back to me. "I know you need this. But guys like this… men with this much money and power? They don't just give it away. They always want something. And it’s usually something that takes a piece of you with it."
"I can handle it," I lied. "It's just a job. He wants control? Fine. I can give him control for a few hours if it means I don't end up on the street."
Luna sighed, running a hand through her blue hair. "Just… be careful. Please. If it feels wrong, you leave. You run. Don't let him… abuse you. Okay?"
"I will," I promised. I was glad she didn’t say she thought I couldn’t do it. Because I very much believed I couldn’t. And hearing her say it would be the worst.
"Hey! Break's over! Unless you two are restocking the shelves back there!"
The manager’s voice boomed from the front of the store, harsh. Mark. He was only two years older than us. He had a need for control that screamed insecurity. Nothing like a real dominant. But we both jumped. We both needed that job. Luna rolled her eyes, pushing her glasses back up.
"Duty calls," she muttered. She grabbed my arm one last time, squeezing hard. "Location services. Turn them on. Keep them on. If I see your dot disappear, I'm calling the cops, the FBI, and my cousin who knows krav maga and owns guns."
"I promise," I said.
"I'm serious, Florian. Just be safe. Please."
She slipped out the door. I stood there for a second longer in the dim light of the storage room, clutching the envelope and the card. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my heart, and followed her out.