𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕳𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖘

รɦαω

"Your laptop wasn't in the office," Riel groans through the window as the car stops at my feet.

"Oh . . ." I feint forgetfulness, "my bad, I forgot, it's at my home office." I climb into the backseat beside him.

Riel slides down to the far side of the seat with a scowl on his face. "You forgot?" he glares at me.

"Yes . . ." I lie.

"Why don't I believe you?" He questions me.

"I don't know," I answer.

"Okay." He hums, thumbing the window button to look outside. A breath of the night's wind lifts his medium brown locs out of place, revealing the soft freckles that trace down from his neck to his collar.

I set my heart on one day savoring the taste of his sun–kissed skin on my lips.

"Aah . . . Sir?" Riel brushes his hair down to the sides of his shoulder that's exposed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I was so disabled by lust that I couldn't focus on what he's asking me.

I pull my gaze away from him. "It's like you don't know that I'm a man." I mumble. Riel is crazy gorgeous, and somehow completely oblivious to the fact.

"You said something?" He frowns. "You know never mind that, we're at your house."

He steps out of the car, and goes up to the stairs of my house. I trapse after him, finding it difficult to climb up the short flight of stairs.

"Are you okay?" Riel raises a worried tone at my heavy breathing.

"I am fine." I exhale, punching the security code onto the keypad to get the door open.

I enter my house, and the familiar scent of steak waves at my nostrils, and tail it into the kitchen.

"Mr. Harlow," Lisa cheers. "You're back!"

Riel joins me in the kitchen. "Who's this?" He eyes the redhead suspiciously.

Lisa was the young woman that Mallory recruited out of culinary school to cook for me.

"Wow, you're too pretty for a boy." Lisa coos, reaching to touch Riel's hair.

I shove her hand away from him. "Personal space," I remind her.

"Sorry," she squeaks.

Mallory thought she did me a favor by hiring a young attractive girl to come to my house, and cook for me –

that my life wouldn't suddenly be so lonely because there's some young girl for me to get stuck on while she's off with her partner. She doesn't even know me well enough to know that I have never shown interest in someone younger than me until Riel.

"Well," Lisa says. "Dinner is ready. You didn't send me your usual text with what you wanted me to make, so I improvised. I made Steak Fettuccine Alfredo."

"Oh," my mouth waters at the idea of eating something that isn't hospital food.

"I'll make you a plate." Lisa smiles.

Riel shakes with a scoff. "Don't," he says to Lisa. "Mr. Harlow won't having steak tonight? Isn't that right, sir ?

"I am not ?" I ask.

"You're not." Riel angrily pierces in my direction.

"I am not," I tell Lisa.

Lisa turns a confused look at me,"Why not?"

"Because, he said so . . ." I point at Riel.

"Sir?" Riel hisses.

" I don't understand," Lisa sighs.

"Me too," I grumble under my breath.

Riel circles the marble counter, heads to the fridge and swings the door open. The pale light from inside spills across his face, bringing my attention to the way how his brows usually scrunch together when he's trying to figure something out, and how he tries to smooth them out with his fingertips as if to untangle his thoughts.

I join Riel at the fridge. "I'm starving ," I whine. "Why can't I have the dinner she made?"

"You're in recovery," he says. "You shouldn't be eating red meat, it's not healthy for you right now."

"What should I have for dinner, then ?" I ask.

"Vegetables," he says.

"Vegetables?" I scowl.

"Or fish." He adds.

I settle onto a stool by the counter, propping my chin in my hand to let my gaze linger at him.

"What if I take a small bite?" I plead.

"No," he says.

"I'll make something else for you," Lisa offers me.

I had forgotten that she's still around.

"Like?" Riel says in a snarky tone.

"A vegetable quiche," Lisa suggests.

Riel's eyes wheel with disapproval. "He'll do well with some soup."

"What kind of soup?" Lisa must've realized that Riel's word was final. "Give me an idea, and I'll make it."

"It's a fish tea," Riel says.

"Okay," Lisa says."Give me a recipe, and I'll make it."

"Don't worry about making it," Riel tells her. "I'll write down a list of ingredients, and you can get them."

"I studied at a French culinary school." Lisa scoffs.

"Should I write the list in French, then ?" Riel asks.

I don't think that was what Lisa was trying to get at.

"Sir," Riel's gaze falls on me. "You should get some rest before tomorrow's meeting."

I face my reflection, measuring the length of gauze that hides the cut from my surgery. It's right above my cock of all places.

"Sir?" Riel knocks on the door of my room.

"You can come in," I say, pulling my pants up.

He comes in, leaving the door open behind him as he balances a steaming bowl in his hands.

"You didn't have to go through trouble of bringing this up," I tell him. "I would've made the trip to the dining table."

"Don't make a big deal of it," he shrugs, setting the dish on the bedside table.

I chuckle, taken aback. "I shouldn't make a big deal of you bringing the dinner you made to my room?"

"Yes . . ." he stresses. "I'm your PA, it's my job to make your life easier."

"It is?" I scoff at his answer. I don't know the response that I wanted from him.

It's doesn't matter how many shooting stars I wish on, Riel isn't doing this because he has feelings for me — he is just kind and I have fooled myself into believing that his kindness is out of affection for me.

"It is," he says. "Now, will you eat before the food gets cold?"

I settle into bed, bringing the bowl of soup over my lap.

The spoon falls from my hand, clinking against the china as my entire hands hurt to hold it.

"Fuck!" I curse, flexing my hand.

"Ohh , the consequences of your actions." Riel says in a cynical voice. "I can't for the life of me understand why you punched a door?"

Riel lowers himself beside me, quietly lifting the bowl out of my lap. He doesn't say a word or think it odd to

offer to feed me.

"It's hot," he says softly. "I'll burn my hands if you don't start eating."

"Ooh," I meet the spoon he lifts to my mouth— tasting the soup.

With the soup gone, the silence between us couldn't be louder. Riel shifts off the bed, turning his eyes from me as if some reality had set in his mind.

"I'll go put this in the sink," he grips onto the bowl with so pressure that it could break in his hand.

He steps away, leaving the room with only the sound of the door closing behind him.

I loose a heavy breath. Riel doesn't make my life easy – he's the magnet and I am his steel. Everything he does pulls me closer. I tell myself that I am strong; resilient, but I'm not, I am hopelessly yielding to his lure.

After an hour or so, there's knocking on my door again.

"Just come in," I yell.

"Sir," Riel steps inside, his eyes away from me. "I think, I should head home now."

"What?" I jump out of bed at his words. "Why are you leaving?"

I knew why he's leaving. He fed me with his hands and he's feeling awkward about it. I didn't ask him, but he and, I can't say that I haven't been aching for that level of intimacy with him.

"I just think it's best," he says.

"You're leaving me," I murmur.

"Yes," he whispers. "Your fiancée will be home at some point. And, I'm sure she'll want to be with you without me as company."

"My fiancée isn't coming home," I tell him.

Mallory is away in Zurich with her girlfriend; I won't hear from her until she needs to pretend that we're in a relationship.

"Ooh," he gives me a weak smile. "You should call her. I am sure she'd want to be here for you."

"Mallory and I don't have that kind of relationship," I tell him.

I could see the disbelieving look forming in his eyes.

"Why are you telling me this?" He whispers. "I don't what to say," he rambles. "Actually, I should say I'm sorry."

"I am not looking for pity," I growl. "I just want you to stay with me."

"You're forcing me to stay with you?" He looses a bitter laugh.

"Of course not," I gulp. "I am sorry, I shouldn't have–"

"Just shut up," he cuts off my apology. "There's been enough mushiness between us for the night."

"Mushiness?" I laugh.

I laugh ? I didn't think me laughing was possible until Riel came into my life.

"So," I chew on my lips. "Are you staying?"

My desperation is very loud.

"I don't have a change of clothes," he mumbles.

"I have clothes." I tell him shamelessly.

He bows his head, debating quietly. He's choosing his comeback, racking his brain for right answer to why he can't stay with me overnight. I liked that about him ... I like that about us, I like the little quarrels we had. Riel made me feel seen.

"Where would I sleep?" He asks.

"I have nine master bedrooms," I boast. "Choose one."

Riel shakes his head, sighing under his breath.

He turns his back at me, "I don't know how I feel about wearing your clothes."

"I haven't worn half of the clothes in my closet," I state at his hesitation. "Don't even think of them as mine."

"That . . ." he sighs, "doesn't put my mind at ease."

My grip finds his wrist as I march him into my walk-in closet. "You should know that I hate indecisiveness," I tell him. "So, take whichever shirt you like and wear it to bed."

"Fine," he mumbles."Don't yell at me." He walks under the yellow LED lights of the closet. I lean back against the door, watching as his fingers trail over the neutral fabrics with an almost awed touch. Hangers clink softly as he moved through my shirts, jackets, shorts, pants ... nothing was off limits.

"Can I ask you something?" I distract him before he gets too close to a drawer of my underwear.

I wouldn't mind him finding my boxers, but Riel being himself would get incredibly embarrassed. And, I don't this that I'd be able to manage seeing him flustered.

When he's flustered, he tucks a loc of his hair over his ear and I am not ashamed to say it stirs my loins.

"What is it?" He asks.

"Why did you stay in the hospital with me?" I ask him in a hushed  tone. "I'm not exactly the nicest man to be around."

"I didn't want you to be alone," he says. "It's as simple as that . . ."

"Is it?" I ask. "I won't be mad if you tell me that it was out of pity."

"Why would you be mad?" He scoffs. "Or does having all the money in the world puts you above my pity?"

"This isn't a university," I groan. "Spare me the lecture on my class consciousness."

"Fine, I won't lecture you on anything." He mumbles.

"Good," I reply.

"Good," he repeats.

"So, you're not going to answer my question?" I ask him.

"I already gave you my answer," he says. "I didn't want you to awake in the hospital alone. I care about people, and from what I can tell 'you're' people."

"I can't help feeling that's only part of the reason," I tell him.

"What do you want me to say?" He asks. "Should I tell you how my family forgot a sick and scared twelve year old in the hospital? I might not be twelve anymore, but that kind of loneliness never leaves you." He points at himself. "And, when the hospital couldn't get in touch with your family — I panicked and tricked myself into thinking maybe I was saving you from the waiting, the watching door, the hoping to see a familiar face, only to realize that no one's coming. Not today, not ever."

I had gotten my answer. And now, I didn't what to say, or how to say it – words seem so useless. So instead, I catch his head against my chest.

"I am sorry," I say to him. "You shouldn't have known how that feels like . . ."

"I don't think the universe agrees with you," he says in a weak voice.

"I'll make it," I tell him.

"I wish you could," he whispers. "I really do."

I don't know his family, but it didn't take long for me to decide on hating them.

"I got your shirt wet," Riel touches the part of my shirt that was soaked with his tears. "It's twice now, that you have seen me cry. I have to be the worst PA you've ever hired."

"Summers," I squeeze his hand. "You aren't the worst anything."

Riel lifts his eyes at me. And, I hear the sound of my knees buckling under their softness, more softness than I knew eyes could hold.

"It's getting late," I blurt. "We should find a room for you to sleep in."

I had to break us apart. Riel is reeling me in faster than ever. I don't think he knows what he's doing to me, and I don't have the will to stop him from doing it.

"Yes," he distances us. "I'm really sleepy." He pulls the shirt from earlier off its hanger, folding it over his arm.

I bring Riel to the bedroom just a few doors away from mine. "This is you," I open the door for him. "Don't be afraid to make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," he smiles.

He steps inside of the room, not closing the door after him as if he wanted me to come in with him.

How badly would the fallout be if I kiss him goodnight?

It wouldn't be a big kiss, just a feint touch of my lips on his cheek.

"Sir?" Riel waves his hand for my attention.

"Yes?" I try not to think about kissing him.

"Goodnight," he says.

"Y–yes," I whisper. "Goodnight."

I wait to hear his door close before heading back to my room.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

My feet are already on the ground before I could fully realize that I'm awake. I stumble towards the mirror to check the grand movement in my pajamas that sprang from the dream that I had about Riel sneaking into my bed late at night.

A very long, and very cold shower later, I could put on pants without raising a tent in them.

"Riel?" I knock on the door to the guest room.

He doesn't answer. I touch the knob of the door, but I don't open it. I back away from the door, daydreaming of the day when Riel will wake in my arms. I'll kiss him on the forehead, tousle his hair, snuggle him, then tell him that he's absolutely breathtaking.

I walk down to kitchen, thinking I'll get my daily fill of coffee, but nothing ever goes to plan.

"Riel?" I hyperventilate.

I found him. He's in my kitchen . . . in my shirt, making breakfast.  I think I'll be needing another one of those cold showers again.

I bring myself closer to him. I could feel dribble down my chin at sight of the oversized shirt hanging loosely just above his thighs. He moves around the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the tile as he tosses a bunch of green vegetables into a juicer.

A giant smile tugs the corners of mouth. He hasn't seen me yet, he is too preoccupied with not getting burnt by the waffle maker. There's something about this – about him, in my shirt, in my kitchen – that makes my heart skips a few beats. I don't think it's safe for my heart to be skipping beats, not after my heart attack, but I don't want the skipping to stop.

Unable to resist, I get closer, and outstretch the length of his arms to get jar of honey he's trying to reach. He jumps back, jailing himself between my chest and the edge of the counter.

"Sir?" He says in raspy voice. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Don't worry," I tell him. "From my experience it takes more than getting startled to get one."

"Sorry," he shies away from looking me in the eyes. " I shouldn't have said that."

I laugh slightly. "It's fine. I'm not upset."

"You aren't?" he looks up at me.

"I'm not," I answer. "Now . . . tell me about breakfast."

"Breakfast is waffles with sunny–side up eggs, avocado and salsa on top."

I actually don't care about what's for breakfast. I just wanted him to have something to ramble on about, so he would forgo the thought of putting on pants.

"Hmm," I bite my lips as I think about lifting him onto the countertop. "What are going to do with the honey?"

I didn't even know I had honey in the house.

He tries to get the jar out of my hand, but I only need raise my arms up, and he has to tiptoe to reach for it.

"Sir," he groans. "I need that," he trails his hands along the length of my arm, so he can get the honey out of my hand.

Riel doesn't realize but in all his struggle to get the jar out of my grasp, I'm enjoying the feel of  the motions of his warm body against mine.

"If you really need it, just answer my question and I'll give it to you." I tell him. "I'm in very giving mood this morning."

I mean what I really want to give him is hot and hard in my pants, but it would be just as sweet as the honey.

"I need it to put in the green juice I made for you," he says.

"Green juice?" I gag at the idea of vegetables being in juice. "What happened to you bringing me a good old cup o' joe ?"

"I don't think caffeine is a good idea while you're still recovering," he finally gets the honey out of my hand. "So if I were you I wouldn't think about that good old cup o' joe until sometime further down in the week."

"I'm starting to forget who's the boss," I say to him.

"You're the boss," he says. "Now move, my waffles are burning."

I step back, and Riel gets his waffles out.

"Sit," he orders.

I follow the order, and in no time, I am eating a hearty breakfast. "This is actually quite good," I comment on his green juice.

"I'm glad you like it ," Riel takes the empty plate from the counter. "Your meeting with the board is in fifteen minutes, and after that you've a ten minute walk in Central Park . . ."

Zone out his rundown of my schedule for day, to focus on admiring him. It's the first time that I get to see his hair out of place. His hair isn't braided back or laid in place with gel – it's free, messy, in his face – and he isn't so guarded, he's soft and more prefect than ever.

"Did you eat breakfast yet?" I ask him.

"Yes," he says softly. "I ate all the waffles that didn't come out perfect, and a cup of your expensive coffee."

"You're not funny," I catch his waist, pulling him close so I could admire him from a different angle.

"Sir," he mumbles. "You're getting late for your meeting."

"Yes, of course," I let go out of him. "I should get to that."

I wasn't getting late for my meeting, fifteen minutes were nowhere near expiring, but I suspect Riel is going to make the chase difficult. He's completely oblivious to flirting. "Thanks for the breakfast," I tell him. "I like when my chef doesn't wear pants."

"Oh god," Riel looks down at his bare legs.

I watch as the blush of embarrassment spreads across his face.

"I – I – I . . ." he drops the plate back on the table, and rushes up the staircase.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The car stops in front of Riel's apartment building. It took a lot of convincing, but I was able to convince him to join me on the walk and not just sit in the car.

Riel is still bothered by the whole naked legs incident. He isn't saying much, and staying a noticeable distance  away from me.

He steps out of the car, but closes the door as I try to get out behind him.

"You're not inviting me in?" I ask him.

"No," he says. "I like keeping my work away from my home."

"I'm just work to you?" I ask him.

"Yes," he smiles. "Just stay here, and I'll be back."

I look around the area, and a few questionable looking people are strolling around the building.

Riel finally makes it back to the car, and I could finally stop pretending that I like being in the neighborhood.

I bring up the backseat window the moment he gets in the car. "How come there's so many weird people going in, and out of your apartment?" I ask. "I don't think it's safe for you here . . . Let me call my realtor, he find you a better place to stay by the end of the day."

"I'm not looking to move." Riel says. "And this is New York – people are weird. And what makes them weird? You're the weirdo for judging them from your fancy car with your fancy chauffeur."

"Are you done?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he answers.

"Tom," I say to my fancy chauffeur. "Drop us at Central Park."

I hear as Riel feet hit the pavement as soon as the car  rolls to stop at the metered parking near Mid-Park at 66th.

"Come," Riel orders me out of the car.

"You know," I say, getting out the car. "My house has a gym, and there's a treadmill in that gym."

"You need the fresh air," he says.

I match my steps to Riel's, as we following trail lined by the shadows of trees way above our heads.

"So, you like soccer?" I ask Riel, taking interest in the Manchester City jersey he has on.

(Riel's outfit 👆)

"Not really," he says.

"Then, why do you have that jersey on?"

Riel stops walking, it's like he's considering giving me answer to the question. "I brought it for someone," he sighs. "But, I moved to New York before I could give them."

"Oh," I mumble, remaining myself that I shouldn't get jealous over a silly jersey. He could've brought it for anyone, like a sibling, a parent, or a platonic friend.

"So," he says. "Who brought you that hoodie?"

"Why?" I ask him. "Who says I didn't buy it myself?"

"Everything," he laughs. "You're way too serious to buy a hoodie with a bear on it."

(Shaw's outfit👆)

"I'm not too serious," I argue.

"S–sure . . ." He teases, before deciding to rest on one of the empty park benches.

I sit beside him, and this time he doesn't try to put any distance between us.

"Here," he offers me a bottle of water from the bag over his shoulder.

"Thanks," I let my hands splay over his before raising the bottle to my mouth. "And, my sister brought me the hoodie as a birthday gift."

Felicity didn't remember my birthday until it was two months past the actual date, but I had to be happy that she figured her big brother was worth getting a present for his 37th birthday.

"That's nice," he says in bored tone.

I feel as Riel's hand inches over my chest. "You're like a child," he giggles, "spilling water all over yourself."

He brushes the drops of water from my hoodie. I relax under his touch, leaning back on the bench. I should probably tell him that this counts as him fondling my chest. But, I have a rule that people should keep their stupid thoughts to themselves. So, why would I break my own rule?

I was a teddy bear first," I consider. "Now, child ?"

Riel's fingers stay on top of the hoodie, but the touch still grazes my chest. The feel of his touch is light, and almost unsettled, but it swells of heat through me, like fire catching dry tinder.

"And, let's not forget weirdo from this morning." I add.

Riel's eyes shine up at me, his gaze locking with mine, deep and steady, like my breathing as the linger of his touch fades into my soul.

He flushes. "You should forget that I ever called any of those things."

"Not going to," I tell him. "I pretty much can't wait to hear what you'll call me next."

I have suggestions in mind.

"Don't get your hopes up," Riel says. "It's only going to be sir, and Mr. Harlow — " he looks on his hands on my chest. " — from now," he pauses.

I watch as his hand becomes still as stone, then fast as wind. He pulls his hand from me, and himself from the bench. He must've just realized that the few drops of water had dried a while ago. And, there was no longer any reason for him to have his hand on me. Or maybe the fact that I was enjoying an innocent touch way too had become blatantly oblivious.

"Are you okay?" I ask Riel.

"Yes," he mumbles. "I–I, um, I really want to see that castle."

I smile at his awkwardness. "Belvedere?"

"Yup, that's one." He says. "We should go look at it."

Riel has knack for pretending nothing ever happens between us. And, he can't possibly believe that our relationship is white–collared, and all professional.