My Billionaire, page 11
I shook my head. This was crazy. My train of thought was derailed. I should count my luck stars. In some ways, fuck in most ways, I had won the lottery. Yes, if I was in some Southern Baptist church they would say I was a sinner burner in some smog filled humid hell. They would certainly call me all the classic names.
Fag.
Hooker.
Fuck Boy.
That was okay though. I didn’t mind it, not really. Well okay, maybe “mind it” was the wrong phrase. I had… grown to except it. It wasn’t how I identified myself. Rather, I thought of myself as a hustler. Somebody who had done what I needed to survive, and besides, I was far better off than I had been a month ago. I certainly felt no shame about that…
It just didn’t mean that one of the most eligible bachelors in the world would ever fall for me. Toy with me, yes. Use me, certainly. Brag to the other rich men in his boy’s club, of course.
But did Maxwell Declan actually care about me?
I doubted it.
Yet Max had saved me. And, he had awoken a side of my sexuality that I had somehow pushed down, and had not even known was there. Deep down I had known, but even if all I was to Max was “his professional pleasure assistant” it didn’t matter. What he had given me, aside from a very nice compensation package and salary, was a part of me back, and for that, I was forever grateful to him. Even if my life had been put at risk, he had taken care of that too. I had certainly ended the day in a much better situation than when I had started, that was for sure.
I shook my head for feeling like a foolish little boy with a crush on the big hunky billionaire, and slipped into the connecting bathroom to take a shower and wash myself free of our multiple love juices and the smell of our affair.
Still, even after the shower the faint smoky spiced scent of him lingered in the air. I didn’t mind, and as I crawled into the luxurious bed (it was just as comfortable as the Play Room bed) the sent kept me company, cuddling my senses as I drifted off.
28
Blake
I awoke to the smell of bacon in the air. I raised my head and sniffed letting the delicious odor fill my noise. There was another sent in the air too, coffee. It smelled fresh, and between the two strong breakfast scents it was easy for me to throw back the sheet, blanket, and comforter and exit the bedroom. I was still dressed in my matching silk pajama set, and I felt a little silly. It was like I was a little boy coming out for breakfast back when I used to stay with my Grandparents over winter break from school.
I was surprised to find a totally stranger in the kitchen, cooking up a storm.
It was a man, and Max was nowhere to be seen. He was exotic looking, and European. The man was stick thin, and had on a aqua blue dress shirt with the top two buttons undone.
HIs hair was a golden brown. It was parted neatly to the right side of his head and longer in the front, which hung down halfway down his forehead in a perfectly styled swoop. His cheeks were thin just like his figure, and he had light brown eyes.
He reminded me instantly of an actor, but I couldn’t remember his name. All I could recall was his face, because he played a great villain in a Bond movie and Hannibal Lector in the TV show.
This mysterious cook looked like he could be that actor’s younger brother.
If he noticed that I had entered the kitchen, he gave no indication of it. Instead he just continued to cook, scrambling eggs on a skillet.
I went around the kitchen island and saw that he was also making pancakes. The bacon was sizzling, and light classical music played in the background as he continued to cook.
In five seconds of watching him, I deduced two things: he was well aware that I was there, and he was a professional. He moved with a kind of kinetic grace that only came from someone who had spent long hours in front of a stove.
The exotic chef had on blue pinstripe dress pants and his dress shirt was neatly tucked into it, and I suspected that he had matching suit jacket that went with the outfit somewhere around the luxury apartment. He was also wearing a white apron.
He was humming softly as he worked and without looking up pointed with his wooden spatula at a French press half full of my morning elixir of choice.
There was an empty black mug next to the large vessel, and I moved around him and filled the cup.
Some mornings I take it with cream, but most often I do not. This was one of those mornings where it seemed unnecessary.
It was still steaming and I took a long sniff of it before I took my first sip. Delicious. Dark and rich and chocolatey. It was getting almost comical how everything relating to Maxwell Declan was basically the best ever. The best apartment, the best looking… the best sex. Now it was the best coffee. Fitting.
Even if the list of bests related to the sexy billionaire ended there I would be happy, but I had a feeling as I eyed the eggs the mysterious chef was making that more would be added to the lists shortly.
“Everything smells amazing,” I said, and took another sip.
“Good,” he said, his accent thick, though I couldn’t place it with any certainty. I thought German, but that was only a maybe.
He paused for a second, the constant motion of his arms coming to a singular halt. Then he titled the eggs on the nonstick and poured even portions onto two white plates that were sitting on the other side of the corner. There were still some left in the pan. He added the bacon and a fresh pancake to the plate and then moved around the counter to where the dinner table was and set the plate at one end, where there was already a placement prepared.
“Juice?” he asked and I nodded.
He moved quickly but calmly opening the fridge and pulling out a carat of fresh squeezed orange juice.
He set the table and pointed to the empty seat.
“Please,” he said simply.
I took it and looked at him for a long moment. “Are you going to join me?”
He looked at my oddly for a moment and short-lived shrugged. I couldn’t tell if it was a yes or a no.
But he did join me, or rather he sat at the other side of the table, and ate half the amount I did.
Mads Mekinsen. The name came to me halfway through the meal. The actor that the chef looked like.
I felt awkward eating alone, and I wondered exactly what time it was and the name of the chef. The food was of course perfect, the eggs cooked to perfection and the pancakes had some lemon essence that worked fanatically well with maple syrup and a healthy application of butter.
“What’s your name?” I asked finally when it seemed obvious to me he wasn’t going to speak.
He looked up, surprised at the statement.
“Hans,” he said.
“Do you have a last name?”
“Hans,” he repeated, like that explained it all.
“Have you worked for Max for a long time?”
He shrugged again and looked down at his plate, like he had lost the ability to speak.
I noticed that the oven had a clock and saw it was almost ten.
I can’t remember the last time I had slept in that late.
For a moment, I panicked because I felt like I had somewhere to be. Then I remembered that I didn’t, since this was now my job. I was supposed to be available when Maxwell Declan called on me, but it had clearly stated in the contract that being in the residence was part of the requirement of being his… aid.
After the awkward but delicious meal was over, I went back to the guest bedroom which I guessed was mine and considered. I didn’t like Max not leaving a note or anything else, and I certainly didn’t like not being able to easily communicate with my brother. Still, the basically mute chef had said to just ask Sonya, and while I had found her to be slightly unpleasant in our last interactions, it had been under tense and unusual circumstances.
I looked at myself in the bedroom mirror and realized my outfit was completely and totally ridiculous, and that before I did anything else I should probably look suitable for the day.
I headed back into the bathroom and took another shower, this time washing my hair (the night before it had been the fastest of rinse offs. I relaxed and took a long shower to wake up fully, enjoying as the water poured down my body. I closed my eyes and drifted, flashing back over the last few days in my head. To think that two days prior I had thought I was going to give up my entire life and start running again.
Of course, I had given up my life. Well, I had given up part of it.
Just not the part I had ever thought I would let go of. It’s amazing how certain people’s actions can make everything crystal clear.
I had a flash of the two goons, both not just threatening me, but also my new lover’s life.
I squeezed my left hand into a tight fist.
On some level I had wondered before sleeping with Maxwell Declan if I was going to feel guilt, but I had felt none.
Now, less than twenty-four hours later I was having an unexpected side effect emotion to the event, but it certainly wasn’t guilt.
It was pure, white hot rage.
I was furious with whoever was trying to ruin our lives. Ruin my life. I knew I was just a pawn, somebody they didn’t consider worthy of anything other than leverage, but still, it left me completely and totally enraged.
Still, I was free of Max’s enemy, at least for now. Both of us were, as long as whatever Max said about his people taking care of it was actually true. I believed him of course. Sonya wasn’t even his security and she had taken care of the two goons like they were nothing. I didn’t even want to think about what Ron and the rest of his detail were capable of.
After the shower, I got ready for the day, but in a far more relaxed and slow manner than I had the time to do in ages. The evening before I had taken a fair amount of time too, but it had been different, since I had been in such an altered state.
It was nice, getting dolled up, and made me feel more like I was a kept man.
Back in the bedroom I opened the drawers and looked at the clothes. Apparently, he had a thing for me looking like a fashionable work out dude. Everything was tech wear and comfortable mesh microfiber type affair. I selected a pair of crystal blue joggers, a black pair of silk boxer briefs, and a tight white microfiber long sleeved t shirt to wear. I did a slow circle in the mirror and was very happy to see that not only they fit me perfectly (because of course they did) but that also they complemented me well.
I inspected myself in the mirror. I looked utterly causally, but I thought it suited me. Besides, it was clearly what Max wanted, and I guess that was technically part of my job.
I selected a pair of slip on grey vans and put them on. Yeah, I looked like just about every other hipster twenty something college student. All I needed was a trendy messenger bag and some Red Beats headphones blasting G-Easy and I would fit in at a upstart tech company. A black leather jacket that looked like it had been time traveled from the 1970’s completed the outfit and I was good to go.
Sonya was waiting for me as soon as I headed out of the apartment
“Hey,” I said.
Sasha looked up at me, but gave no verbal response.
“So, listen. The chef, Hans I mean, he said that I should come talk to you. Something about you having a phone?”
Sonya interrupted me by opening a drawer behind her desk and holding up a brand-new iPhone. It was the latest model, with a white glass back.
“Look at favorites,” she said.
I took the phone from her and swiped to open it. There was only a few apps installed, but I went straight to the phone app. It only had seven names in it. Three of them included her, Ron, Nancy, James, Hans and of course Max. Aside from that, my one buddy from back in the day was also in it, but I hadn’t talked to him in months. He had not been a big fan of my ex.
“You people really do think of everything, don’t you?”
Sonya arched an eyebrow before she returned her attention to her own phone. “We’re thorough. We have to be,” she said, not looking up from her screen.
I was both impressed and a little nervous that Max had known about my friendship with someone I hadn’t talked to in months, but I guess it really shouldn’t have surprised me. He did seem to know just about everything. If it had been anyone else I would have found it a tad creepy, but for Max it was just… fitting. Or I guess as Sonya had just said, “thorough”.
My thumb hovered over his name, but I didn’t press it. I didn’t think I needed more company. What I needed was a walk, to just clear my head.
29
Max
It was strange, thinking about Blake as I worked. the night before had been even better than the night before that, and what was most remarkable was that it didn’t seem like he had minded any of it. In fact, quite the opposite. If anything, he seemed to be very, very into it all.
Almost like he’s the next Hank, I thought, before I quickly pushed the thought from my head. It was the wrong way to think about it. Blake Stone was not Hank, and he never would be. But that was the thing, the thing I had to remind myself. He didn’t have to be. He could be his own person, his own, beautiful, unique person. I didn’t have to always think of any lover and compare them to Hank. If I did, it would only continue to lead to the problem I was already having. I had all the money and power in the whole world, and nobody to share it with.
Which is totally why you had Blake sign the contract to be your personal sexual executive. Because that’s what a normal and healthy relationship is built on. I shook my head, once again pushing that voice from my head. To think, even for a second that I was normal was a mistake, and all of me knew it. This was the only way to really get to know anyone, at least in my case, and be safe about it. Hell, even being careful and selecting Blake had led to consequences.
They hunted him, and thought they could use him against me. That had been a mistake, and one that I would make sure that my enemies would pay for. It was, of course, understandable why they had thought they could target Blake. I had been single for a long time, especially for a man of my position and power, so they thought that me having somebody actually spend the night, much less a former assistant of mine meant I would value them a great deal.
Well, they were both right and wrong; I did value Blake a great deal, and I wasn’t going to let him be a weakness for me. If they hurt him, or tried to target him again, I would only make it worse for them. Of course, while I was sure that they would try to target him again, despite Sonya’s warning to them, I also knew that waiting around for them to attack was a fools errand. That was not my approach, and it was not what I was going to do. No. It had been just over twenty-four hours since they had attacked Blake, and now that my security had a lead, it was time to go on the attack.
The meeting I was in (and barely paying attention to) ended, and I dismissed everyone from the conference room. I was on the thirty fifth floor, and while it was important that I was present for the meeting, I didn’t have to say anything. Everyone in that department was doing a good job, but having me be there was often just reassuring. I think in grand total I had said less than ten sentences. When everyone was out of the room I pulled out my second phone (my secure one, that I used only to talk to my special lawyers and security when I don’t want there to be a clear record,) and called Ron.
He picked up on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“You texted me and said you had a lead?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. We know who sent the goons, but you’re not going to like it.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it looks like they are gearing up for another job. I’m out side of their hide out as we speak. There’s more than just the two that Sonya ran into as well. There’s at least six of them, and from the looks of things, they are heavily armed.”
I felt my pulse quicken, but I tried to keep it from my voice. “Do you think, do you think it’s all for Blake?”
Ron paused, clearly considering the question. “Unknown. It seems like an access amount of muscle for a civilian. On the other hand, they may be smart enough to know that you now have a protection detail on him.”
I considered for a moment. I didn’t really know how I wanted to play it. “What do you want to do?” I finally asked.
“It’s a risk, but I think the best course of action would be to follow them.”
It made sense. Ron and his team would do whatever I asked them to, even if it was technically illegal, but Ron would prefer to do things properly, or at least with an easy level of deniability. I couldn’t say I disagreed with him either. Still, they had targeted Blake the last time, and there was a good chance they would do the same again. Did I really want to risk it?
Is it really worth the risk? I considered for a long time, long enough that Ron asked “Sir?” as if he wasn’t sure I was still on the phone.
“Do what you think must be done,” I said. “However, if they get even within a hundred yards of Blake, you take them out, you understand. He is not to be used as bait.”
“Understood sir,” Ron said, and then he was gone.
I lowered the phone and looked at it for a long time. I wasn’t sure if I had made the right choice, but I also wasn’t sure if I could have made a better choice. I knew I just had to trust Ron, but even that decision felt… strange. After all, it had always been me before. I had always been the one to know the right call, always. But now that Blake was in the picture… it wasn’t like I had lost my judgment, but for the first time in my entire life, I was at the very least questioning it.
