Archive of Our Own ^beta

You stare down at your phone, scowling at the message on screen as the van jostles you on a turn, pulling into a new neighborhood. Your coworkers, Alicia and Gladys chat in the front seats while you sulk in the back. You don’t mean to be so off putting, but you’re reflecting on how you ended up here, staring at a text from your father inquiring about your day at the firm. Guilt squeezes your insides at the fabrication you’ve concocted, the way you couldn’t be further from the false narrative you’ve given to your parents, and with hardly anything to show for it yet.

“Wait…” you mutter, your eyes focusing and scanning along the perfectly manicured street of gorgeous brownstones rising up, all crammed together. You know that despite the small, more humble outsides of these homes, the insides are immaculate, thousands of square feet renovated to perfection. “I know this street.”

Alicia turns from the passenger seat, raising her eyebrows at you. “This richie rich neighborhood? Who do you know here?”

You feel your cheeks warm up, too embarrassed to admit to them that your own parents’ luxury apartment is on a street not too dissimilar to this. In fact, you don’t even need this job in the slightest, but have been desperate to make your own money under the radar, away from your parents’ obsessive peering into every aspect of your life. Every day that has passed since you hatched your little plan that had felt like some kind of genius at the beginning has only proven how futile it was to jump into it so hastily.

“I… swear I’ve been here before…” you mutter, mostly thinking out loud to yourself, eyes staring out the window as you wrack your brain. 

When Gladys pulls into a drive, dipping below the house into a garage that opens for the van, your stomach tightens. It’s all too familiar, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. You haven’t been here for a few years, at the least. 

“W-who’s our client today?” you ask urgently, tightening your hands into fists. 

Gladys glances at her work tablet, filled with the itinerary for the entire week. “Mr. Miller, hon,” she replies before peering back down at the screen, confirming it. “Joel.”

You can tell you must look as shocked as you feel, eyes flashing with fear and going a little wider and your face dropping instantly.

“I-I know him,” you manage to stutter out. “Well, he knows my parents. Like, really well.”

Joel could not, under any circumstances, see you like this. What a disaster that would be - your rich daddy’s rich friend getting a house cleaning from said friend’s daughter. One who is supposed to be off interning somewhere. Instead, you’re plotting to live by scraping by, collecting money for what you hope could be an escape from this life, their life. 

Your parents are both insistent on you taking over the family business - some corporate bullshit you have no interest in - so you’d sated them by claiming you were off gaining experience in between classes with some interning hours at a firm. You’re lucky that a friend of yours from college actually does work there, hoping if it came down to it, they could vouch for you. If the truth got out, you know the possibility that you would be cut off is high. It’s the kind of massive fallout you’re not sure you’re prepared to deal with yet.

The lies you’ve had to concoct and the harsh reality of cramming your schedule full between class and this job - scrubbing floors, endless vacuuming and wiping surfaces, your body aching after each and every day of work - was starting to get to you, but you had to persevere.

“They’re hardly ever even home when we come anyways, especially this Mr. Miller,” Alicia suggests at your panic, and you swallow and nod. Gladys agrees with her, then they shoot each other a concerned, confused look. They’ve been a team for a while, but you’ve only just met them a few weeks ago, assigned to train with them. Both of them are older momma bear types, having clung to your young ass like glue, vowing to teach you all the ropes and take good care of you, which you’d appreciated. You’d been lucky enough to have gotten a job with this particular company, having no experience in the field, or nay field for that matter. The client base they worked with was high end, their homes millions of dollars, the service only known to the more wealthy side of Manhattan.

“Y-yeah, you’re right. It’s totally fine.” You’re not sure if you’re trying harder to convince yourself or Gladys and Alicia, the two women staring you down with their brows wrinkled in worry. 

It’s the last cleaning of the day, and all you need to do is get through it. It has to be fine, it just has to - you need the money. Desperately. You push out a small smile, moving to exit the van. “Let’s do this,” you add on a little more encouragingly after the two of them look less than convinced.

“There she is,” Gladys teases, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as you all start to unload all your supplies. You’re let in by a middle aged woman with dark hair in a sleek bob answering the garage door with a polite smile. His house manager or assistant, you realize. Men like Joel Miller had assistants, you remind yourself, to help take care of everything - the house, grocery lists for the week, light cooking, or even his schedule. She likely did it all.

You take in Joel’s home with wandering eyes, recalling now that you’d come here for dinner before - a family outing that your parents had dragged you to, the details of the place coming back to you as you all move further inside. It feels strange to be here without his permission, without your parents knowing where you are right now. Your chest is tight at the thought, but once you three get to work, you feel your anxiety dissipate as you get lost in the monotony of it - the drone of the vacuum, the mindless scrubbing of sparkling surfaces, the fresh lemon scent as you clean the bathrooms. Joel’s house isn’t all that dirty to begin with, an easy job compared to some of them you’d seen since you started.

You’re feeling downright pleasant by the time you’re finishing up, a job well done filling you with satisfaction as you wipe a thin layer of sweat off your forehead. You’re heading back to the main living room, hoping to link back up with Gladys and Alicia when you spot him.

He’s walking down the hallway with purpose, eyes glued down on his phone, dark framed reading glasses shielding his eyes from you further. His black suit hugs his body like it was meant for him, and you suppose it likely was tailored to his exact measurements, right to the very centimeter. You stop dead in your tracks, head whipping from side to side, looking for an out, a door you can rush into, but you’re trapped, the nearest one at least several paces behind you. When Joel glances up, he’s silent, stopping as he’s close to crashing into you and giving you a range of emotions rushing across his features - quizzical brows turning into full on confusion as he just stares.

Your name finally leaves his lips, almost incredulously. “Now what’re you doin’ here?” He takes in your outfit with his dark eyes - the branded tee shirt, your working slacks, and plain black work shoes - possibly one of the least flattering ensembles you could be wearing. “What is all this?” 

“Not sure what you mean, Mr. Miller,” you spit out in a panic, keeping your voice professional, a high, sweet lilt as you hold your smile. 

“C’mon now,” Joel urges, his brows coming together further in concern. He steps towards you with his voice lowered, but you step back a little almost instinctively, keeping your distance. Like you can run from this, from this mess you’ve suddenly made of your life. You break a little, lips faltering as your smile starts to fall. Tears prick behind your eyes, embarrassment from being caught creeping its way up from your chest.

“Please don’t tell my parents…” you mumble, darting your gaze away from his intense stare. 

Joel pauses for a moment, adjusting the glasses up on his nose before deciding to take them off completely, tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“I don’t even know what I’d be tellin’ them, if I’m honest here,” he admits, rubbing a hand along his lips and chin, studying you. It’s starting to practically burn your skin, the way he stares, a man of confidence and command looking at you this way. Not something you were completely unaccustomed to, your father having plenty of business partners and associates with the same demeanor. But Joel felt different, like he was genuinely concerned for you.

“There you are,” Gladys huffs out, turning the corner behind Joel, her mouth forming a small "oh” when she sees who you’ve run into. 

“Mr. Miller, great to see you, sir,” she chirps immediately, giving him her professional grin, one you’ve seen plenty of times already in the few weeks you’ve worked with her.

Joel, not forgetting his manners, smiles back at her and greets her, turning his body to let Gladys into the conversation. Alicia follows close behind, and you’re starting to burn up with embarrassment at this clusterfuck of a gathering you’ve found yourself in now.

“Everythin’ looks great, ladies. Why don’t you two head on out and I’ll steal her for just a bit,” Joel says, charming and smooth, his accent thick. “Think my office needs some special attention.”

Alicia and Gladys shoot each other a glance, then you, then Joel, seeming to try to piece everything together. Your cheeks couldn't possibly be any hotter, white hot and spreading up to your ears, knowing that this looks bad. Like Joel is about to take you into his office and do unspeakable things to you. The classic maid trope, or whatever.

“It’s okay,” you mouth quietly to the both of them, giving them an encouraging smile even though you feel shaky, like your stomach is bottoming out.

“She’s an old family friend in need of some catching up. In fact, I’ll drive her home after. Don’t y’all worry about it, I know you’ve got places to be,” Joel adds to sweeten the deal. The two ladies exchange another look, but then turn back to Joel, their faces slightly strained but professional.

“Of course, Mr. Miller. We’ll see you for the next service, then,” Alicia says a bit robotically. They both nod curtly and then bow out, not before peeking one last look at where you stand like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“This way,” Joel says, turning back to face you with a steely expression, brushing past you to lead you towards where you already know he’s going - his office. You hadn’t been in there today - Gladys had tackled the office, so it’s all new territory to you as you pass the threshold, taking in the modern but cozy decor. It’s mostly black and dark wood furniture, dark gray chairs but contrasted with airy white walls, a high ceiling, and colorful art, making the room feel spacious despite the dark features.

Joel sighs softly, shutting the door behind him, even though nobody else is here, no reason to need the privacy. It serves to make you even more nervous, and you lick your quickly drying lips, standing near the doorway with your hands folded in front of you.

“Look, Mr. Miller -” you start, wanting to explain yourself. Joel moves closer, sending you backing up into the room, cutting off your train of thought as his large, imposing form closes in on you.

“You gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on here?” 

“W-what do you mean?” you ask innocently, knowing there are a myriad of very reasonable reasons for Joel to be questioning you right now. You’re not sure what charade you’re even trying to hold up at this point, it’s only pure panic. Another step closer, and another step backwards for you, he continues until the backs of your thighs hit the desk and you stop, surprised as you glance back at it behind you.

“Don’t play coy. Imagine my surprise when I see my one of my oldest buddies' daughters, knowing he takes care of his family, here cleanin’ my floors and toilets. Now don’t you think that’d strike me as odd?” His head cocks, and he looks at you seriously, brows raised. You can’t quite tell if he’s getting any satisfaction out of this, or if he actually seems angry.

“Mr. Miller, I - I can explain, okay?” you start nervously, and Joel waves a hand impatiently, as if to say go on then. “They, my parents, I mean, they want me to be in the family business, and I…” You sigh. “Don’t know what I want, but it’s not that.”

Joel stares at you for a long, quiet moment, flashing eyes studying your face, trying to read if you’re being truthful.

“And what’s this have to do with cleanin’ my house?” he asks curtly. 

“I… well, it doesn’t. I mean, it does. I just need to make my own money. If I don’t follow in his footsteps, I think they’ll… cut me off,” you reply, deciding to try to be as blunt as he is. Your voice falters on those last words, the reality of it painful, twisting in your gut. What kind of parent cuts their child off for something so frivolous, so selfish?

Joel looks amused suddenly, cocking his head a little further, and you can tell he definitely doesn’t believe you. He’s so close, so in your personal space, you’re finding it hard to breathe. “So you’re sayin’ your daddy ain’t takin’ care of you?”

You bite the inside of your lip and give him a small nod. The thing about your dad was if you acquiesced, if you followed exactly the plan he’d laid out for you, you’d have been riding high, walking on easy street for the rest of your life. And if not, well, he’d always made it perfectly clear he didn’t deal with traitors, because what was the point of having children if they couldn’t take over your business for you? Sure, it was tempting to take the easy route, but maybe you’d gotten tired of it all, found your rebellious streak a little later in life than most people. 

“Yes…” you say out loud, unable to believe you were sharing this with Joel of all people - someone more likely than anyone to feed this information straight back to your father. It’s not like you knew him well, despite him being one of your dad’s closest and oldest friends, one of his closest business partners and confidants. You’d spent a decent amount of time in the same room as Joel, but you only knew the surface level, just the polite, agreeable conversations you were expected to have. It typically was some kind of public function, or the holiday party at your parents’ place every year, maybe a dinner party sprinkled in here and there, but you’d certainly never been quite this close to Joel Miller. Or alone.

His face falls at the sincerity in your voice, seeming to feel the gravity of it weighing down on him. “Now what d’you mean, cut you off? Like, full on, ‘n everything?” He steps back a little, giving you some space, his brows scrunched together in concern and arms crossing over his chest.

“Er, with all due respect, Mr. Miller, I don’t think I should be talking to you about it all.” You slump back a little, pushing yourself off of where you lean back on his desk, glancing past him to look around his office. It’s tidy, bookshelves lining the far wall full of perfectly placed, perfectly organized books on all kinds of things - some practical and business related, some seeming more like guilty pleasures of fiction and nonfiction of various genres, but mostly mystery, it seems. 

“Y’made it my business when you stepped into my house today though, didn’t you?” he quips back, but you detect a hint of teasing there, feeling it start to disarm you.

“C’mon, sit,” Joel says, seeming to soften when he notices you stuttering to reply, gesturing to one of the chairs that sits near the large bay window in the room, a matching one set up across from it. “This’ll be… confidential.” He smiles, trying to convince you, and you don’t know if you believe him, but the twinkle in his eye almost makes you want to. You decide to sit, smoothing your scratchy work slacks, crossing one leg over the other, feeling like you look as stiff as you feel. 

Joel, on the other hand, looks relaxed as he sits back, legs spread wide, his large palms settling onto his thick thighs, fingers spread over them. 

“I… don’t believe you,” you finally tell him. “What’s to stop you from telling my dad everything I say right now, or even that I was here in the first place?” you ask before feeling your heart sink a little at the likely prospect of it. Your life as you know it could be over, starting from scratch with one phone call from Joel. 

Joel chuckles, the corner of one side of his mouth twitching upwards as he eyes you. “Look, I get it, I wouldn’t trust me either,” he replies, his hands lifting off of his legs to be thrown in the air before he fists his upturned palms and settles them on the arms of the chair. “I wanna hear you out, though. Your dad, he ain’t uh, without his faults, I know that.”

You try to hide your surprise, keeping your brows from twitching inward, your face showing the intrigue you feel. You breathe out, slow and steady. “My dad isn’t interested in anything but me being the next, well, him. And if I’m not interested in that, then I don’t think he’s interested in having me as his kid.”

Joel goes stone-like at your bare confession - so honest - and he seems to soak in the words quietly with serious consideration. “An’ where do they think you are right now, hm?” he finally questions, steady eyes on your anxious ones.

“An internship.” Your cheeks heat a little as you face your lie and how stupid it sounds when you say it out loud.

Joel chuckles again, this time looking a bit impressed by you. He shoots a handsome, devilish smirk your way and you avert his gaze. “Yeah? And they’re buyin’ it?”

You let out a small laugh of your own, releasing some tension, and shrug. “Seems like it.”

“Why… this? Why the, uh, cleaning?”

“Turns out the job market is pretty shit when you have no skills, no experience, and are trying to do things under the radar - y’know, name recognition around all the big places, and all of that.” Being spoiled for your entire life, never worrying about wanting anything, needing anything, had predictably led to you never having needed a job, even now into your early twenties. The only things you’d learned were with your dad, the days he’d dragged you up in his high rise to shadow him and start preparing you for the future. Your future, as directed by good ol’ dad.

Joel nods softly a few times, running a hand across his face. “Got it. An’ what exactly do you want to be doin’ if it ain’t workin’ for your daddy, fast trackin’ to CEO?”

“I…” you stutter, your eyes falling. That was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t had the mindset, the freedom to wonder for so long, not realizing that you did have a choice in what you did with your life, that you could try to find a path you at least tolerated more than what your dad was going to have you do. You’d seen too much - the pressure, the stress, the kind of person it had made him into, and you wanted no part of that lifestyle. 

“I don’t know yet, honestly,” you admit, embarrassed that you’d started this whole plan without an end goal, all built on a frustrated whim you had one day. “Maybe something in education? Maybe fashion, interior design? Something more creative, I think. Or I could even be a lawyer, help people out, or something.”

“Thas’ quite a laundry list, sweetheart,” Joel says, and your heart thuds at the pet name. You hate it, hate how it makes him sound condescending even if he isn’t meaning to, like you aren’t smart enough to figure this out for yourself.

“I know, I know,” you acquiesce. It was all a pipe dream, you knew that deep down. “I just needed to get away from it. I hate business school - it just feels like a load of shit, honestly, Mr. Miller. I don’t want to become like my dad.”

“An’ what’s that, hm? What’s becomin’ like your dad?”

You shake your head. “I-I’m not answering that. It’s your friend, and clearly you see some merit in him to stay close all these years. I… don’t want to ruin that for him, too.” The thought makes you sad. Your dad is already about to lose his only child if he finds you out, and you don’t want to bring losing Mr. Miller into it, too. While it was by your dad’s own choices and shortcomings that he’d lose you, you still find your heart squeezing a little for him at the thought.

“Fair enough,” he says with a small smile, rubbing his hands together before putting them back on the armrests, gripping it. He pushes himself up, standing and walking over to his desk, opening one of the top drawers and pulling something out. You can’t see from this angle, and fight the urge to get up and go see what has so suddenly grabbed his attention. 

“How much?” he asks, grabbing a pen from a tiny box on the desk - a pen that likely costs more than what you’re making from this one job today. 

Your lips part, mouth hanging open slightly. “What?” you ask, shaking your head.

“How much do you make in a week? Here at this job? I’ll pay you five times just f’you to quit it.”

“Mr. Miller… n-no,” you spit out, hopping up from the chair in a hurry. You rush towards the desk, your non-slip work shoes clunking along the hardwood until you reach the plush rug that surrounds his desk. “No,” you say a little more firmly, planting your hands on the desk, standing opposite of him. 

“And why not?” He smirks now, like he’s somehow having fun here, and it irritates you. That would only make one of you having a nice time, because you are certainly fully out of your depth here. 

“B-because! It’s ridiculous, that’s why. I don’t need handouts,” you say indignantly, now moving both of your hands to your hips, standing taller. 

“Sounds like you might,” he half-teases, looking down at where he’s pulled out his checkbook onto the desk. His face falls suddenly and he rubs the back of his neck. “Jus’… I don’t like hearin’ what I’m hearin’. Could never imagine cuttin’ off Sarah, and if that’s true what you say about your dad, well, I…” he glances up to you with a more serious look in his eyes - pity.

Like your father, Mr. Miller also only has one daughter, Sarah, who as far as you’ve heard is well and thriving. Doing some kind of work in animal rescue, you think. You two had never been close given the over ten year age gap between you two - Joel had Sarah relatively young, and as long as you’ve known them, her mother hasn’t been fully in the picture. You’d always noticed how much Joel cared about her, how good of a father he was, remembering the pangs of jealousy you’d get as a kid when you saw how engaged he was with Sarah.

“You’re a good dad, that’s why,” you murmur in reply, eyes casting downwards. 

“I try t’be, I suppose,” he says, sounding more bashful. “C’mon, jus’ name it, sweetheart. No harm done, it’ll be our secret.”

“Wh- what am I even supposed to do? If you give me the money? What do I…” You swallow hard. “Owe? What do you get out of this?”

Joel’s energy turns a little lighter, his smirk returning. “Let’s just say I enjoy helping you. I want to. Nothin’ owed, except coming by same time next week for your next check. We can talk more then, give y’some time to think.”

Think? About what? You almost scoff, but reign it in at the last second, fighting your eyes from rolling on top of it. “Mr. Miller, this is…” 

“Ridiculous? Is it, really?” 

Oh, he’s good, so convincing when he wants to be. Suave and calculated yet warm at the same time. You understand how he got to be so successful, how so many people likely fall at their feet to just be a part of the air he breathes, the aura he fills a space with. He’s a giant, knowing how to command a room, take up just enough space, yet feel so relatable at the same time.

“I’d feel too guilty…” you say quietly, your shoulders sagging in defeat.

“More guilty than doing this job, droppin’ out of school behind your parents back?”

Your skin is burning up, your brain at war with itself. He’s too insistent, there has to be some angle here that you’re missing, some reason he’d be so kind to you. Leverage - blackmail, maybe - to your father, to be able to hold it over your head to get what he wants at some point.

“Hey, c’mon. I’m serious, sweetheart. Just the check, nothin’ more,” Joel says more urgently, seeing the way you’re starting to waver.

“How can I trust you?” you finally spit out, and Joel leans back in his office chair, just watching where you stand. “I’m sorry, it’s all very nice and everything, but no. I c-can’t. I shouldn’t. I need to do this for myself.”

You turn to leave, and you hear the creak of Joel’s chair as he sits forward, watching you throw the office door open and move with purpose, rushing to get yourself out of this situation as fast as possible. You feel the spell lift immediately now that you’re out of reach, whipping past his fine furnishings and art as you move through the hallway back to the foyer. You hear Joel, hot on your tail, his energy a little more frantic than he’s been as he follows you.

“At least let me drive you home,” he finally offers as he rushes to catch up. You keep moving, shaking your head.

“N-no, I’ll just get a ride or something. Call my driver,” you throw at him over your shoulder, and his hand on your wrist stops you in your path just as the front door is in sight. You fully turn your head to face him now, and his eyes look soft, like he does care.

“Offer’ll stay on the table, okay?” Joel says and you just let your lips part, meeting his gaze for a moment. It’s intense, the standoff between the two of you, his eyes searching for weakness, for any crack that indicates you’ll give in. You offer him a succinct nod, slipping out of his grip and not looking back as you step out into the bright sunlight of the evening, shielding your eyes before pulling out your phone to call Karl, the man who has been your personal driver for years. Your father hired him, but he’s been nothing but loyal to you - you know Karl has kept every secret of where you’ve been, overheard phone calls, arguments with your father. He never says a word, never spreads the information - he’s paid well, and that extra cash pays for his silence.

In the back of the car, your phone buzzes in your lap while you stare contemplatively out the window. You ignore it, letting your eyes glaze over as you watch the houses pass you by on the way out of Joel’s neighborhood and back towards downtown. 

What if this was your chance? Your only option to really get out from underneath your parents? It could be a huge cushion, much more than you’d make doing what you’re doing now. At this rate, it would take ages to get enough to push you through school, where you’d already have to start from scratch, leave Columbia and start an entirely new curriculum, most likely. Find a much cheaper school, then take care of housing, bills, everything on top of it that you’d never been prepared to have to worry about in your life, always promised the comforts of your parents money. You knew you were lucky, going around with your life spoon fed to you, but you wanted to feel something, the part of you that was excited about anything having died off completely when you realized the spoon had been fed to you through a cage. Live this way or we starve you, cut you off.

You sigh, dropping your head into your hand where it rests along the window of the car. The noise of Manhattan traffic goes in one ear and out the other, fading into oblivion as you realize you may have made a mistake by leaving so soon, not hearing Joel out. 

Did you have a choice?

Your phone buzzes again, a reminder of the message from your father you’d ignored and you tear your eyes off the passing landscape to peer down at your lap. Your face falls, brows pushing together when you see it’s an unknown number texting you.

Unknown: If you change your mind, let me know. - JM

How the hell? You stare down at the message, eyes scanning rapidly over the screen in disbelief. You scoff quietly, but find your lips turning into a smile before you can stop it, unconsciously putting your fingers over your them as if Karl seeing you grin like this could give it all away. 

You: How did you get this number?

Joel: I think you underestimate how persistent I can be.

You: Does it hurt your ego to take no for an answer? Is that what this is?

You eagerly lick your lips, smile growing as you find yourself so quick to banter with him. It’s always so much easier over text, you think to yourself, to be a little more bold, a little more careless. Joel had a warm, welcoming energy, but it doesn’t mean you’re immune to the way he charms, the way he seems to be a man who gets what he wants more often than not.

Joel: I think it’ll hurt you more than it does me sweetheart.

You: I’m thinking about it, okay?

Joel: Think away.

You tuck your phone away, flipping it over on your lap so you can’t see the screen anymore, drumming your fingers along the back of the case as you feel a surge of frustration wash over you. If Joel’s offer is genuine, if he really expects nothing in return, you’d be a complete fool to pass it up, right? Who passes up free money? You knew you were screwed either way, really - the job you had right now wasn’t getting you anywhere near achieving your dreams. You needed more, you needed support. Financially first of all, but if you were honest, someone like Joel with some life experience to help you figure out your next steps couldn’t hurt.

Fuck.

You wince and flip your phone back over, unlocking it to where the messages still sit on your screen, taunting you. Your fingers go flying before you can stop yourself, your heart starting to pick up in pace.

You: You’re serious? I wouldn’t owe you anything? Have to pay you back someday?

Joel: Serious as can be.

You: $800 a week. Without tips from lovely clients like you.

Joel is quiet on the other end for a while, slower than his usual response thus far, and your throat gets a little tight. You swear, if he was backing out now, or worse, sending screenshots of your conversation to your father, you were going to have it out with Joel Miller. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Instead, a few moments later, a text comes through, a photo. That same checkbook, the background the sleek black surface of his desk, with the top check filled out for four thousand dollars. Signed and everything, with the memo line reading ‘knew you’d make the right choice’. Your hand shakes a little, all of this feeling wrong suddenly now that it's gone this far. 

Joel: 9am tomorrow.

Joel sits back, satisfied as he smirks at his phone. The check lays in front of him, taunting him, his energy buzzing and satisfied picturing your pretty hands taking it from him tomorrow. He sighs heavily, a hand creeping up his thigh to where he’s started to bulge through his black dress slacks. 

“Fuck…” he murmurs quietly to himself as he palms it, his hard and wanting cock desperate for any relief. It would be wrong, should be wrong, if you’re the one involved in all of this. But he can’t care when he pictures your lips smiling with the check in hand, you depositing the money and buying yourself something pretty with it, taking care of bills, getting a nice meal. You spin in a new dress or top, showing it off to him, bought with that chunk of change he’d so willingly given to you. Just the tiniest of dents in his finances, so much more where that came from if you’d let him. He’s hardly realized it, the way his hand had undone his belt and zipper while he got lost in the fantasy, hard cock in his fist as he pictures it over and over. He tries to make it not you, not his friend's daughter as he immerses himself in the scenes, but he’d be remiss if he tried to deny that you’re a gorgeous young woman, that you’d look so good doing everything he’s picturing.

“Fuck, oh god…” Joel whimpers while his hand moves along his cock, slickened from the bit of precum leaking out the tip and the saliva he’d haphazardly spit down there when he started. He stares at the check, your hands on it over and over, your pretty lips and smile and the way he could give you more and more and more until you wanted for nothing. He grunts, hips stuttering forward as he fucks his fist quickly and finds himself coming faster than usual, his release taking him by surprise with a loud moan.

“Christ,” Joel murmurs as he breathes heavily, quickly cleaning himself up with a tissue before rushing to the powder room connected to his office, washing his hands of it all. He stares at himself in the mirror, such a bastard for what he’s doing, all the secrecy inlaid in his plan.

Your father… one of his oldest friends, and this is what he’s doing with that friendship? That empire of business savvy they built together? Years of trust, of advising one another, throwing it all away for a little gratification on his end? No, he knows this is about more than just him, this could really help you if what you said about your father was true. He knows your dad isn’t an easy man to live with - he’s got a short temper and is stubborn as hell, a black and white thinker if there ever was one. If he truly was saying he’d cut you off, then well, Joel was starting to think he’d believe that. 

And he wants to be the one to ease that burden for you.

You fuss with your appearance yet another time, anxiety pooling in your gut as you inspect your hair and complexion, searching for anything amiss. It’s not like Joel hadn’t seen you a complete mess yesterday, your bland outfit so far from what you were used to wearing, your appearance an afterthought as you went into work at an early hour.

But last night, as you tossed and turned, anticipating meeting back up with Joel today, you’d wondered what he expected out of you. Someone pretty to look at, someone deserving of the money? Would you get there and find Joel completely different, taunting the check in your face unless you decided to get on your knees and suck his cock? Let him get a quick fuck in for the money? There was no way he was that charitable, just willing to drop four grand because you’d given him your daddy issues sob story yesterday. 

So what was the catch?

There always was one - men with money didn’t just give it away for free unless it was to charity, wanting to look good. And you surely weren’t a charity case by any means. Sex for money seemed like the next logical option to your tired, frazzled brain as you laid awake in the dark. You didn’t know if he presented it like that, would you go along with it? Would you, this far in already, bring yourself to your knees for him?

Joel Miller is certainly handsome, nobody could deny that, but you’d never thought of him in that way, not really. Maybe noticing his broad, muscled shoulders stretching across his suits when you’d seen him, his cocky, warm smile that seemed to melt hearts everywhere he went. He’d always seemed kind, more amiable than your parents’ insufferable network of friends, which you’d taken notice of and respected Joel for over the years. But you’d never thought of yourself with someone older like him, despite seeing those young dates being toted on wealthy, older men’s arms to all kinds of charity events and parties over the years. Would you want that? To be seen like that?

You feel your skin tingle as the thought comes to you again this morning while you get dressed. Joel Miller in a lavish, designer suit, tailored perfectly to his body, you next to him in an equally gorgeous gown that he paid for, your hand slipped between his body and his thick bicep as he glides into a room full of people with you. And he’s proud of how good you look on his arm, how he can show the world just what he’s bought, what he’s paid for. Your head shakes violently as if to jolt the thought far away from you.

“No…” you whisper to yourself. It wouldn’t get that far, you wouldn’t let it. Maybe you’d just take the one check and run, tell Joel you couldn’t be what he was looking for. But that’s when you realize you don’t even know what it is that he may want to get out of this, the curiosity eating at you. 

That bastard. Such an enigma he’d painted himself as yesterday when he’d so cooly offered you the money like it was no bother, like he’d expected nothing back. There was always something, always a trade - if you learned anything from your father, it was that.

You can't shake that incessant thought, walking up the steps of Joel’s brownstone, hesitantly knocking on his door and swallowing down the lump in your throat. The assistant you’d met yesterday opens it with a polite smile, beaming at you.

“Welcome. Mr. Miller will be right out,” she says, guiding you to a plush daybed off to the side. You just nod, a little dumbfounded as you step back into his grand foyer. It’s a lavish room with tall ceilings, a skylight at the top pouring extra light in along with the floor to ceiling frosted windows on either side of the front door. Joel’s dress shoes click along the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls as you stiffen and then freeze where you sit. You see him come into view, the top button of his pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned, navy slacks adorning the bottom of his look. He looks a little frazzled himself, like he’d tossed and turned just as much as you had last night. You hadn’t considered the possibility that Joel could have reservations about this now, too, since he’d been the one so eager to offer it up yesterday. 

“Thanks, Clara,” Joel says kindly, giving her a nod before Clara skirts along the edge of the room, dismissing herself at Joel’s signal. You watch her go, confidently striding away before you skim your eyes up to Joel’s face, trying not to look too guilty.

“Back this way,” he says, holding out a hand in the direction of his office as if you weren’t here only yesterday. You stand, meeting him, and he quickly takes you in, noticing your complete change in style from yesterday - dressed much more like the businesswoman he knows you loath with a pencil skirt on. He tries not to laugh at the irony as you follow him back, taking that same path you’d just been on yesterday, a strange sense of deja vu washing over you. 

You’re silent, just trying to breathe, to remember to stand your ground, not do anything you don’t absolutely want to do. You haven’t signed a contract, you aren’t bound to this, you two are just… talking. Joel smirks as he eyes you, clearly trying to walk in with confidence, but he knows this look - you’re apprehensive about the arrangement, you have questions. They always have questions. 

He curves around his desk, pulling out his highback office chair and sinks into it, you doing the same in one of the sleek armchairs in front of his desk. It feels too much like a professional meeting, and your skin prickles with discomfort at how formal this all seems now. His fingers scratch along the checkbook on the desk, and you salivate as you keep widened eyes on it, knowing the number written on there, the promise of more of it to come. Your way out.

“So…” Joel says cooly, letting his hands link together and pulling them behind his head as he leans back a bit, the picture of relaxation. “Let’s talk.”

Is this some kind of sugar daddy situation, or what?

Joel laughs, a genuine smile across his face at your blunt question as he sits across from you. 

“Well, in a lot of ways, I ‘spose it is,” he answers casually and honestly. You don’t understand how he can maintain this cool facade, this relaxed attitude given the circumstances. You’d think something so awkward and uncomfortable could get anyone frazzled, but then again, you take it this isn’t Joel’s first go-around with this type of offer. He goes on. “I’ll try to be blunt for both our sakes. We’re busy people. I want to… go beyond jus’ the checks. I’d pay for your lifestyle - school, car, whatever you want. Treat you, too. Give you money for all the things your pretty little heart desires, see you enjoyin’ it.”

That was not what you’d expected him to say. You stare wordlessly, stunned, expecting him to go on, to tell you now what you have to do to earn all of it. He remains quiet though, finally looking the tiniest bit sheepish as the both of you size each other up. 

“…And you get?” you finally ask, your face screwed up in confusion as you shrug, throwing your hands up.

Joel smirks again, and you notice the dimple on the side of his face that he seems to prefer tilting his mouth upwards. “I get exactly that. What I said. You enjoyin’ it.”

Your mouth hangs open slightly, eyes narrowing in his direction. You give a tiny shake of your head. “No… there has to be something. One day you’ll turn it around on me, blackmail me or something.”

Joel laughs again, and you’re starting to get irritated at how blasé he seems about all of this. Your foot starts to tap anxiously on the rug underneath your feet, arms crossing over your chest. You try to remain unimpressed as you stare him down, but he’s not budging in the slightest, remaining cool as ever. 

“You really think that’s the kind of guy I am, do you now?” he asks with amusement. 

You scoff, pinching the inside of your lip between your teeth. “How should I know? You offer me a bunch of money and we hardly know each other, Mr. Miller.”

“First off, Joel, please, unless you’re into that, I ‘spose.” He gives you a suave smirk and your lips part a little, cheeks heating almost immediately at his words and their insinuation before you check yourself, turning back to the conversation. You’re determined not to let his charm get in the way of you walking out of here with your future secured.

“Okay, then, Joel. I just… you don’t want something from me in return? It’s not that I’m not grateful, I just can’t understand.” You tut and glance around the room for a moment to collect your thoughts. “I mean you get it, right? People with money always want something out of it. I’ve seen it my entire life.”

Joel gives you an understanding look. “I do, I get it, sweetheart. If you want me to want somethin’ out of it…” he trails off, pondering for a moment. “If that’d make you feel better about takin’ the money, then why don’t y’come spend some time with me. Let me take you out, or jus’ come by for a nice dinner, me ‘n you. Get to know each other a little, keep an old man company, hm?”

You roll your eyes with a breathy chuckle pushing out of you, feeling yourself relaxing the tiniest bit at his appeal. “Really trying to play the sympathy card calling yourself old, I see,” you say, quirking a teasing brow. You grow more serious with your next words, worrying that you’re signing yourself up for something you aren’t sure you want or even understand. “But uh, I… could do that… if that’s all you want.”

Joel’s gears are turning, and you see a flash of recognition across his face as it falls a little. He leans forward, propping his forearms on the desk, his brows knit tight and eyes narrowed while they watch you. “D’you think I expect you to sleep with me?”

You nearly choke on nothing, just the air that you’re now fighting to gasp in as you clear your throat. Your cheeks burn like something fierce, that notion you’d been so worried about as you tossed and turned last night now sounding so obscenely ridiculous when Joel says it out loud. 

“I - I thought maybe that was how this sort of arrangement worked, l-like an unspoken expectation or something. But if you’re saying no -“

“I’m saying no.” Joel is hard with the words, concise, and his gaze ices over. He was kidding himself if he thought he wasn’t even remotely attracted to you, but he was already putting himself in a precarious enough spot with the secrecy of giving you this money behind your father’s back, let alone deciding to bring something as complicated as sex into it. 

You didn’t need to know that just the thought of handing you this check made him start to get hard inside his slacks. You didn’t need to know that this wasn’t the first arrangement of this kind for him, the only difference being that most of them involved a relationship of some type, or at least something physical once and a while. There had been times it was just about the money, and sometimes that was enough to satisfy him without the women having to fall into his bed, too. He’d hated that he fell into such a cliche - wealthy older man toting around a younger, gorgeous woman on his arm - but he’d come to accept it by now that this was who he was, trying to come to terms with the shame of it.

“Right… right, good,” you confirm, trying to sound equally as sure. What was that you were feeling? Disappointment? Relief? All you could sense for certain was the way your stomach tightened with nerves as you delved into this conversation with Joel. 

“We got enough on our plate without all that, don’t you think?” he asks, a very roundabout way of putting it, you think. Maybe he’s too afraid to hurt your feelings or directly tell you that he’s not interested in sleeping with you, even if that’s what he’d normally do in a situation like this. Joel Miller was nothing if not direct, though, you’d noticed in the last two days. You aren’t even sure why you’re thinking this way - it’s not like you’d really shown much interest in Joel, never thinking of him as accessible in that way. It never went past him being an extended part of your family, one of your father’s inner circle. So if he didn’t want to have sex with you, fine, your ego could take the hit. 

“Jus’ the money, helpin’ out a family friend who needs it,” Joel adds, seeing the way you’re a bit lost in thought. You bring yourself back, meeting Joel’s eyes, noticing the rich color of them in the early daylight streaming into his office. They’re so warm despite the chilly facade he can put on. 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, when you put it like that… I mean we go way back, right? You’re practically family.” You cringe at the words, kind of hating the implication when you’re half flirting with the man and then proceeding to call him your family. “Uh, well, you know what I mean…”

Joel chuckles again, and you return it a bit nervously. “I do, sweetheart. Known your daddy a long time, so I’m trying to be, as dumb as it sounds, respectful.”

Fuck my father, your mind churns out in a flash, not daring to mutter it under your breath. Fuck him for putting you in this position, pushing you to this point where you’ve ended up in Joel Miller’s office, about to become his latest sugar baby because your dad can’t figure out how to love his only child apart from what it could bring to his business.

“Yeah…” you say, putting on a grin that you fear may have started to turn a little diabolical.  “Respectful.” You’d be lying to yourself if you thought that this wasn’t starting to entice you more, the idea of such a big screw you to your father.

“So let’s talk terms…” Joel starts more pragmatically, picking up that same pen from the little box on his desk, tapping it on the hard surface a few times before he holds it over a blank page on an open black leather bound notebook. “I like t’start at five hundred for allowance. See how it goes. Then up to two thousand. An’ that’s just for you, and you alone. Your bills will come to me. Your apartment, tuition, your car, anything that’s a bill, I don’t want to see a cent of that allowance come out for it. Is that clear?”

Your mouth is slowly opening to gape at him, eyes tracking across his face as you try to follow what he’s saying, thinking it must be a joke. “S-sorry, but two thousand dollars? A… month?” you ask incredulously. That already sounds like too much to be going from Joel’s pocket to yours if he’s also taking care of your bills.

Joel goes completely smug, lips pressed tightly into a smirk. “You’re cute,” he deadpans. “Per week, sweetheart.” 

You almost gasp, shaking your head. “I- no, I just need money for school, to make sure I can do any major I want in school, I don’t n-“

“Shh,” Joel interrupts you. “You came here lookin’ for my help, and this is how I like to do things. You deserve to have fun, not just pay for classes and have no extra money f’yourself.”

“I have plent-“ you start, referring to the extensive funds you have access to thanks to your parents. Funds that you do realize could be ripped out from underneath you at any time, you realize all over again with a quick jolt of fear. 

“Enough,” Joel snips, raising a hand, palm facing you for further effect. “If what you tell me is true, I think your daddy ain’t gonna be too keen to pay for all your favorite things you’re used to gettin’ when he learns the truth, is he?”

You look down, ashamed. Were you really that shallow? Is that how you’d been raised to be? Joel sees through your facade right to your designer bag and clothes, all the expensive things you’d gotten accustomed to. But he doesn’t judge you for it - he understands it and he’s a part of that world, whether he likes it or not.

“No…” you murmur in defeat.

“And I’d like to keep seeing you in pretty things: nice clothes, shoes, gettin’ yourself pampered. So, two thousand dollars per week once you earn it.” He grins, setting the pen down and folding his hands together on his desk. You stay quiet, letting him go on, your heart steadily thrumming in your chest louder and louder with every word he says. 

“Weekly allowance is, of course, a suggestion. If you need somethin’ more, you ask me. And otherwise, I’ll set your bills, tuition, all of it, to be paid by me.”

“I mean, weekly allowances?” you sputter out, “This is a sugar daddy thing.”

Joel doesn’t waver, he just smiles a little at you, completely unfazed. “We can call it whatever you want, but I see you want it too. I’m gonna be straight w’you here - I want to do this. I like you. I think you’ve got spunk and deserve to carve out a place for yourself in this world. Doin’ something you want, not half heartedly runnin’ your dad’s company someday. So… Do you still want this?” he asks, picking up the check, holding it out towards you. “Don’t think you’d be here if you didn’t.”

Joel’s face is kind, like he’s listening, attentive, acting like he doesn’t have a plethora of meetings or things on his plate today, which you know he must. He’s content to hear you, if you have something to say. You feel your whole body sitting tense and rigid in his chair, your mind spinning. It’s all becoming too much, this idea you had to get out on your own seems to be poked with more holes every day you’ve been trying to work and save up. You don’t really have much of a concept of money, once again thanks to your parents who never thought to put in the effort of teaching you. Why bother when there’s so much of it to go around?

“I- I know… what I’m doing now, the house cleaning, isn’t going to cut it long term. Especially if my parents find out I’ve been bullshitting them before I can save up enough for school and stuff… I just don’t k-“ you clear your throat, holding back the way your voice wants to crack as you fight tears springing to your eyes. “I feel so out of my depth,” you sigh. “I have so much to learn about real life and it’s been so… overwhelming.” 

You breathe out a shaky breath, feeling your chest loosen a bit - you’d been holding this all in, doing it on your own for weeks now, not even able to trust your friends with the information even if just to vent about it because everyone in your world always has an angle. It’s exhausting. 

Joel hears your words and stands up, going the few paces around his desk to stand next to you. He lays a hand on your shoulder, and you look up from where you sit, seeing him through slightly watery eyes, but you refuse to cry and break down in front of Joel. It would be too embarrassing to recover from. But you’d be damned if you didn’t feel like you were about to snap in half, holding in your tears for weeks now as you navigated this foolish path you’d set yourself on.

He gives your shoulder a squeeze before moving to sit down next to you, turning the identical chair to face you more, settling himself down and crossing one ankle over his knee. He leans towards you, and you do the same, angling your body in the chair to face him. His gaze is so steady and clear, giving you that full sense of his presence once again.

“Y’know…” he starts, scratching a hand through his beard. “I think you’ve got more potential than you’re givin’ yourself credit for.”

You snort, a tiny scoffing sound. “Oh yeah?” you spit out sarcastically, “That I have no experience, no references, nothing to show for all the time I wasted doing what my dad wanted? Except for a last name and a family that people recognize.”

Joel tuts and bites the inside of his lip. “You’re smart and so young with all this potential. You know this kinda talk ain’t gonna get you anywhere. Neither is feelin’ sorry for yourself. All you can do is use the opportunities you’re given, like this one landing in your lap from me today. Right?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, I guess you’re right. This just feels… kind of wrong.”

“Well we ain’t a couple of saints for doing this behind your daddy’s back, that’s for sure.”

You find yourself chuckling softly amidst the seriousness of the situation weighing on your chest. You honestly don’t have a clue how your father would react if he found out about this - he’s unpredictable and stubborn, and you’ve seen his vindictive side more than a handful of times. It makes your stomach clench a little at the thought of him unleashing any of that in your direction. You strengthen your resolve, unwilling to let your father stop you from exploring new horizons any longer. It was your life to live, and it was about time you did what you wanted.

“A-alright,” you tell Joel, sighing out a calming breath and sitting up straighter. “Alright, I’m in, then. What’s next?”

You hear the tinkling bell of the boutique door as you slip inside, taking in the few other customers milling about. Soft white lighting bathes your skin, seeming to cast a pretty glow on everything in the high end shop. A put together, even toned employee greets you but you only half hear her, spilling out the typical “just looking around” in response.

You’d think it was your first time in a shop like this with the hesitant movements you make, the way your glances flit around the place as if everyone inside knows your secret. Hell, half of them might even be in on your secret with their own person behind the scenes funding it all, just like you are.

You passively flick through the curated racks, eyes half glazed over as they sweep over tables perfectly presenting clothes to you. You’ve never had so much hesitation shopping before or picking out what to try on, but you feel stuck, chewing at your lip as you approach yet another rack of dresses, everything starting to blur together.

You can’t help but wonder what Joel would like to see on you, what his expectations are. He’d sent you away with your first check, that huge sum to just get you to quit your job. You hadn’t quite gotten the nerve to do it yet, but you’re not telling him that. You want to make sure it’s all set in stone first before making any rash decisions, which may be the first smart and well thought through choice you’ve made this week. Or maybe even this year.

On top of that, he’d given you what he’d coyly referred to as a starting bonus to buy something new to wear for your upcoming dinner together. You knew it really was a test, a way to work out if this arrangement would work for the both of you. For him to see if you could really go through with spending his money, and spending it in a way that also pleased him.

You’d tossed and turned again last night after making what felt like a deal with the devil, leaving you barely awake for your morning classes before heading here. Joel hadn’t had any contact with you, and you suppose you hadn’t expected him to. It was clear enough that dinner was at six sharp on Friday, back at his house.

You sigh, running the chiffon fabric of a floral printed dress through your fingers before pulling out your phone. You anxiously tip tap your fingers on the darkened screen, arguing with yourself for another beat before pulling up your conversation with Joel.

You: Any dress code for dinner?

You cringe at your own message, trying to focus on browsing again as you await an answer. Luckily, Joel seems to be free, your phone lighting up with a response only a moment later.

Joel: Shopping, are we? 

You: Maybe…

Joel: Not going to say no to a pretty dress on a pretty girl.

You stifle a smile behind your hand, lightly biting the nail on your thumb. He’s bolder through text, you’ve noticed, and you think that you might like it. Joel’s attention feels focused, warmer than other men - something you find yourself unaware you were craving, but needing more of the instant it happens. It feels dangerous, but you’re unable to quite put the desire to have it all to yourself out of your mind.

You: A dress it is then. 

You: What about specifics? Color? Style?

You: Am I dumb for not knowing how to do this???

Your heart races, and you nearly hurl your phone across the room, hating the rambling you’ve succinctly blown Joel’s phone up with. So much for playing it cool.

Joel: You mean you’re not already taking random men’s money every week and spending it?

Joel: You’re fine sweetheart. Buy whatever you like.

Despite Joel’s blithe blessing, insecurity creeps in as you continue to browse, wanting to make sure you don’t mess this up. It isn’t often you feel like you’re pleasing anyone with your parents being who they are, and you’d always hated that feeling of never living up to expectations that followed you throughout your entire life. Joel made it sound so easy, but would he be disappointed if you didn’t measure up to his past entanglements, likely seeming to know exactly how to dress and act for him?

You’d already been nearing dizzy as he laid out all the terms for you the other day, going into detail about how he liked to do things in these so-called arrangements. At your insistence of needing to earn the lumps of cash he’d be offering you, he’d expected company in return, but nothing else. It struck you as odd, becoming friends with a man you’d known a good portion of your life, someone who was your father’s confidant first and foremost, but Joel seemed too genuine about the entire thing to be playing both sides. You truly got the sense that he wanted to help you from a decent place in his heart.

He requested dinners together every Friday, and the odd lunch or outing when your schedules allowed during the week. He was far busier than you, you assumed, running an entire billion dollar architecture empire, but school kept you occupied enough that you wondered when the two of you would find the time. In between all of it, he wanted texts and updates about what you were spending, making sure you were using that allowance for all the things your heart desired.

Joel requested that you transfer your bills to him, and starting immediately, your tuition. He encouraged you to start exploring what you really wanted to study, even if that involved transferring schools - he was here to fund any of it. More than financially, you felt his support emotionally too, something that struck you hard. Your heart flutters even now, recalling the sincere look on his face, one that showed he really believed in you, despite hardly knowing you on a deeper level yet.

You’re determined to make this work, so you refocus and snap photos of a few dresses on the rack, texting them to Joel. If you were going to do this, you may as well throw yourself all in and do it right.

You: Any preference? 

Your heart hammers in your chest again as you await his reply, wondering if you’ve been too bold this time, or if you’re bothering him while he’s tied up with business. It’s likely the middle of the work day for him, and the last thing he might need is your insecurities buzzing in his ear to make the decision for you. Instead, he surprises you with another fast response and you promptly berate yourself for the flutter you feel in your stomach as you read it.

Joel: Oh, the silk one. Definitely.

To your surprise, Joel answers the door on Friday evening instead of Clara, leaving you blinking at him with a soft smile on your face. He’s beaming at you with soft crinkles around his eyes, golden skin glowing as the evening light reflects throughout the house behind him. Joel’s hair is slightly pushed back, showing off streaks of gray that match the ones in his dark, full beard. He’s wearing black dress slacks with a blazer, but no tie adorns his crisp, white dress shirt. The top button is open, letting his chest breathe a little, and you can’t help but transfix your eyes there for just a moment, seeing a hint of chest hair poking out. 

Your bottom lip is pulled in, biting it quickly before releasing it and dragging your gaze back to his face. You smile at the effort he’s gone through tonight, knowing that you’d also spent far too long getting ready for something that was supposed to be so casual. You couldn’t help but want to impress Joel though, give him something lovely and desirable to look at over dinner, a sight you’re sure he’s accustomed to. He’s paying you to be here after all, you realize, so you might as well give him his money’s worth.

“Hey there. Glad you could make it,” he says, leaning in for a half hug, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you in. 

You lean into it a little, opting to just wrap one arm around him as well, feeling awkward. It’s a curt hug, over in just a few seconds, but you catch a strong whiff of Joel’s freshly applied scent - a cologne or soap he uses - something rich and woodsy but also distinctly fresh and classy at the same time. A blend you’re sure has a higher price tag than even you would guess, but the smell intoxicates you and makes your lips turn up even further as he pulls back and looks at you. 

“C’mon in,” he urges you, one hand along the small of your back to guide you into the foyer.

“No Clara today?” you ask, and Joel shakes his head, lips pinched to the side in a coy smirk. 

“No. Sent everyone home so we could have the place to ourselves.” Joel explains, and you raise your eyebrows a little. You can’t ever imagine your parents or any of their other stuck up friends daring to go one night without their staff taking care of everything. Joel has already proven himself to be different from them in many ways, but he keeps the surprises coming. You like it.

“Let me take your coat,” Joel adds in a hurry before you can answer him. He moves to your back, helping you slide it off before draping it over his arm, standing with a hip popped while he seems to notice you fully for the first time tonight. 

“Well aren’t you a vision, sweetheart,” Joel breathes, drinking you in with his eyes, brazenly raking them from head to foot, then back up. The silky material of the dress clings to you, picked out in your favorite color, one you always feel good in. Your immaculate new heels are a perfect compliment to the outfit. Even your purse is new, all at Joel’s insistence, and his eyes seem to darken a shade as they take in all the details of what you’d spent his money on, almost like he’s valuing it all in his head. Then he smiles wider, turning to hang your coat up in a large closet off the foyer.

“This all the new stuff, then? Do a spin, lemme see,” Joel says as he moves back towards you. 

You breathe out a small laugh, your cheeks warming at his attention, the way he can’t seem to stop staring at your body, the silk of your dress as it ripples when you start to do a small twirl for him, your heels clicking along the luxurious, shiny floors. Your purse flings with you, bumping your body harder than you’d intended as you complete your spin and you laugh a little harder. Joel scoots close, putting an arm around you, fingers splayed along the small of your back again. 

“S’perfect,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. “This way,” he says, his hand slipping away from your back. Your body misses the warmth, the way he’d felt when he was close to you. You don’t know what it is, but Joel feels safe to you, warm and friendly, like a true ally in this messed up hole you’d dug for yourself. You trail along right beside him, following him through the foyer and into the main living room, an area you’d already seen the other day but still jaw droppingly gorgeous and tastefully decorated upon second inspection.

You know Joel of course had someone style and furnish the house for him, but he still must have had some input. Your parents always had done it that way, so you know the man has style. With a blend of mid century modern coziness and upscale modernity, it feels more like a home than a staged house like so many of your parents' friends' places. It makes you smile to yourself as you pass through, seeing the evidence of Joel living here - coasters still on the coffee table, a clearly bookmarked novel sitting on the table next to the couch, a spot where one of the pillows isn’t perfectly fluffed, maybe where he was sitting as he waited for you to arrive tonight.

A large, open frame on the right side of the living room leads you both to the dining room, and your jaw drops to see it in the evening like this. Your mindset had been so different here during the daytime, content to just get the work done and get out, not appreciating all the beauty this old brownstone has to offer. It’s an opulent room, a long and sleek lacquered dark wood table taking up a good portion of it with white cushioned chairs on all sides.

A gorgeous abstract chandelier hovers over the table lit low, clearly the centerpiece of the room. It’s unique: one long piece of gold with twists and turns strung together with lighting on the outside parts, your eyes lingering on the mesmerizing way it’s all woven together. The table and side pieces in the room are adorned with candles burning, warming the space up even further. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Joel was trying to romance you a little. It makes a smile creep onto your face to picture him lighting all of these candles and staging the room just so for your arrival. He struts forward, pulling out the chair perpendicular to the head of the table, gesturing for you to sit. He’s an old fashioned gentleman: another tick in a box for Joel Miller.

Your lips press together, suppressing another grin at his polished manners, the way he’s smooth and fluid with the movement as he helps you tuck the chair underneath you like he’s done it a hundred times before. Then you quickly realize it’s likely that he has. As you sit down and settle in, the thought makes your stomach feel uneasy - you’re just another girl in a long line of women who Joel has given money to and taken on dates. The only difference is you know that this evening most likely ended differently for those other girls - up in his bedroom, under his sheets, sweating bodies doing unspeakable things to each other. You swallow hard, fighting your thighs clenching at the imagery in your head, unsure if you wish it was you, or you just need to get laid in general. You’re hoping for the latter, that you can reach out to an old hookup or find someone to scratch the itch that’s been building since you’d entered Joel’s office that first time just days ago.

But Joel does look handsome as he moves to his chair, sitting at the head of the table and watching you carefully the entire time, seeming to be enjoying himself, blissfully unaware of the confusing thoughts rolling their way through your mind.

“You comfortable?” Joel asks, seeing the way you’ve been sitting nothing but stiffly.

“Y-yes,” you blurt out, trying to appear more visibly relaxed for him. “It’s beautiful…” you add on as you glance around the dining room, unsure of how to start a conversation in a situation so far out of the realm of normal. You’re at your dad’s friends’ house, eating dinner with him alone in a sexy silk dress because he’d paid for you to be here - you could guarantee no handbook was written for a situation like this.

“Thank you, darlin’,” Joel beams, glancing around the room with you. “Recent renovation was jus’ a few years back, love how the place turned out.” He picks up a bottle of wine from where it had been nestled in a chiller on the table, taking the glass set in front of you first, then his, filling them up.

“T-thanks…” you mutter, unexpected jitters sweeping over you. Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the glass, and you look down to your lap. “Sorry, I’m… nervous for some reason,” you admit to him, hoping that if you’re just upfront with your feelings, it might ease some of the tension.

“No need to be. Jus’ a chance for us to get to know each other. A meal, some nice chatter, and we’ll have y’home by ten. Jus’ in time to go back out and do whatever it is you like to do.” 

You laugh, the grin reaching your eyes as you feel your face warming up, starting to remember why you’d been excited to come here tonight in the first place. Joel has been sweet and funny, someone you would have been intrigued to get to know outside of all the complications it posed.

“I’m afraid I’m usually one of the world’s most boring twenty one year olds. That’ll probably be bed time for me, actually.”

“Well you have that in common w’ a damn fifty four year old, so how’s that feel?”

“Shitty,” you deadpan, and Joel cracks up, throwing his head back a little. 

“Promise me you’ll try to get out more, yeah?” Joel demands, eyes twinkling in the low light of the room, and you nod with a genuine smile. 

“On your dime?” you ask, lifting a teasing brow. 

“Be upset if it wasn’t,” he quips back, and you laugh again, tilting your head and putting it in your hand as you rest your elbow on the table. You lean forward a little, closing the space between the two of you, letting the intimacy of the moment wash over you. 

“Now what do you like to do, if it ain’t bein’ out partying with friends?” Joel asks.

“Nobody said I don’t like that,” you snip playfully. “I’m just… selective with it, I guess. I do like to read, and go… shopping…” You wince at how materialistic it makes you sound, but you’ve never really known anything else. Your mother is the most materialistic person you’ve ever met, and her friends are no better, ever the influence on you while growing up with all of their shopping dates. 

“Which isn’t really a hobby, but…” you quickly add on, focusing down at your place setting on the table. Being around Joel seems to have this odd effect of holding a mirror up to you, making you able to understand even more clearly than ever the privilege you’ve lived with. When your entire circle has been curated based on wealth, it’s hard to have moments to reflect on it. But as you’ve gotten older, you realize you don’t want to act like the tantrum throwing, spoiled brats you’d seen in your parents’ and friends’ lives. 

“It can be when you’ve got someone who wants you to spend their money,” Joel quips, seeming to sense your shame and wanting to put a positive spin on it. “Kind of the whole point of the allowance, right? You deserve to have nice things, and I wanna be part of that. Thought we already went over this, hm?” He’s trying to poke fun at you, lighten the mood, and it’s working.

You wave him off playfully, cracking a smile. “Yeah, yeah. We did. Sometimes… I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to be my own person.”

Joel nods like you’re the most rational person in the world. “That’s normal. You’re livin’ life, jus’ like the rest of us. That’s what it’s all about. You’ll get there, I promise.”

You offer him a sheepish, appreciative smile. “Sorry that I somehow end up dumping my shit on you every time we’re together.”

“No need for that,” he replies, holding a silencing hand up. “Happy to help. Like I said the other day, you’ve got more potential than you’re givin’ yourself credit for. Hopefully if I say it enough times you’ll believe me.”

“What was the word you used about yourself the other day? Persistent?”

“As can be.” He smirks, and your belly flips at the sight in low light along with the soft rumble of his voice. “So reading, huh?” Joel asks you, changing the subject. “What kinds of books have you been gettin’ into, then?”

You shrug. “Little bit of everything. Classics, some more modern fiction, romance, maybe some fantasy thrown in there. Just sort of seeing what sticks for me.”

“That’s impressive, you makin’ time for all that with school and everything,” Joel speaks with a natural frankness, leaning a little closer as if he’s enraptured by everything about you. 

A wave of discomfort rolls through you, unsure of what to do with the compliment from him. It seems to be his main mission that every time you’re in a room with him, you leave feeling better about yourself than before you’d gotten there. 

You peer down into the light, glossy liquid in your glass, taking a long swig and hoping it eases your nerves. “Well, what about you? Don’t think I didn’t notice all those corny mystery books on your shelves the other day.” You peer at him, brows raised, and watch his grin light up his face, crinkling the crows feet by his eyes.  

“Yeah, you got me. That and westerns, gets me every time.” He shakes his head in mock defeat.

“Western guy, huh? Even New York couldn’t take the Texas out of you.” He snorts out a chuckle and a bubbly little zing travels up your spine at the fact he thinks you’re funny, that he seems to enjoy your company as much as you do his. “I like westerns too, but you may have to lend me one of those mystery ones to try to convince me.”

“Happy to let you raid the library any time,” he tells you, his voice suave as he delicately holds his own glass of wine, taking a sip. You like this, making plans with Joel, the casual way he offers his life and things up to you. He’s generous down to the core, you realize, and that’s something rare in your world, something to hold on to. 

“Alright, so if you’re tryin’ to get to know yourself, what else do you like to do, then? What have you found out?”

“I said I was trying, not that I figured anything out yet,” you rib in response, knowing Joel can take it. “I like creative outlets the most, I think. I’ve done a lot of different things since I was a kid, but not a lot of it stayed with me, I guess. My parents kept me pretty busy growing up - always some new tutor to try out different hobbies or instruments. Things that I guess made me seem… proficient, or something. But uh… sorry to bring them up…” you trail off, cursing yourself silently. One way to surely make it even more awkward on a dinner date with your dad’s friend is to keep bringing him up. 

Joel chuckles kindheartedly. “It’s alright, it’s gonna come up. You feelin’ weird about it?”

“You’re not?” you ask incredulously.

“I am,” Joel says, contradicting himself by shrugging like it doesn’t really bother him.

“But…”

“But I like you too. I’m allowed to have a piece of the pie wherever I please, regardless of my affiliation with your dad. Just… privately.”

You snort, nodding. “Exactly why we’re here instead of a five star restaurant where you take all your other girlfriends.”

“Who says I have others?”

“Well, you have. Certainly.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him playfully.

Joel shrugs again, shooting you a smirk. “Yeah, thas’ true.”

You shy a little under his gaze now, hands dropping as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. “And… you’ve done this all before? The money stuff? The allowances and all that?”

Joel nods, swirling the wine in his glass a little before taking a sip. “Mhm. Does it bother you?”

“Well… no. I mean, it was pretty obvious with how quickly we got to that point the other day when you caught me here, so I made assumptions.”

Joel leans forward, setting down his glass. His eyes burn a hole in you, studying your expression as you look down again, then back up to fight that same dark stare. “And what did you assume?” he asks, sounding oh so cocky. 

You can’t decide if you want to wipe the coy smirk off his face or crash your own lips into his. His demeanor is exactly what you typically go for - self assured and a bit arrogant, but Joel has this sweet side so many others haven’t that’s really reeling you in more than you’d expected.

You scoff quietly, shaking your head at his unashamed questioning. “That you basically pay women to sleep with you, or be your girlfriend, or something like that. Sugar daddy shit.”

“Sugar daddy shit…” Joel laughs loudly, “I like that.”

“Shut up,” you scold him, brows pinching together as you fold your arms across your chest again. 

Joel holds up a finger, pushing his chair out and standing up. “One sec. Almost forgot we’re here to eat, didn’t we? Probably should get goin’ on the first course,” he says, smoothing out his jacket with a simple brush of his hands down the fabric.

Before you can speak again, he disappears through a door across the room, giving you a tiny peek into the kitchen. He returns only seconds later with two small plates, setting one in front of you. You see gorgeous, fresh greens and vegetables adorning the plate - a beautiful, simple looking salad. 

“‘S a mint vinaigrette,” Joel explains, settling back into his chair. When you take a bite, the salad tastes anything but simple, your mouth watering at the beautiful bursts of flavor and balance.

“Delicious,” you exclaim earnestly after your first bite, going in for another. He smiles, letting the two of you eat in silence for a few moments, but your eyes keep poking their way back towards him, your previous conversation still feeling unfinished.

“So… you’re all good with this, then, still? You’ve done it all before?” you ask.

“I mean that’s the gist, sweetheart. It’s not like I’m going through girl after girl, but well, it’s happened over the years. Turns out I like it.”

You stun for a moment, considering his words. “It doesn’t bother you? That they’re just taking your money?” you question him curiously. If anything it sounds lonely, even with the promise of companionship from them. Just like what you’re doing to him right now, you realize with a sinking heart. 

Joel lets your words sit in the air for a moment while he takes another drink. “It don’t… doesn’t bother me,” Joel starts, and you catch the quick fix in his grammar, something you wish he wouldn’t feel the need to do around you. You know he’s Southern - Texas to New York transplant Joel Miller is no secret, every article about his success never forgetting to mention his humble beginnings there. He starts to grin now to himself, like there’s some inside joke you’re not in on. You cock your head, mouth opening in a playful smile in return as your bite of salad hovers mid air on the fork.

“Oh my god…” you mutter, setting down your silverware and twisting your lips to the side to hide your chuckle. “You get off on it, don’t you? Like, of course they all do, but more than your average rich guy. Don’t you?” you ask excitedly, feeling like you’ve cracked the code. “Joel Miller gets off on throwing his oodles of money around.” You fully tease him despite knowing you’re right, and suddenly it all makes sense.

The way his eyes twinkle right now completely confirms it, and you understand now why he’d been so insistent on your arrangement together, not caring about the complicated nature of who your father is. This was a man just trying to get his rocks off in whatever way he could. So typical of a man - thinking with only his cock.

“And what if I do?” Joel asks, throwing caution to the wind and leaning forward, meeting your amused staredown. 

“I should have known,” you say, shaking your head. “Ugh, so were you like… fucking hard when you gave me that check the other day?” You hate the little twinge that pulls between your legs at the thought of him being hard in the same room as you, because of you, and brush it off as staunchly as you can, refusing to entertain it. 

Joel’s raised eyebrow answers all you need to know, but he speaks anyway. “Not - not ‘till after you left. I’m tryin’ to be respectful.” You scoff at his honesty and he just laughs, shrugging casually as if to say you asked!

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed, Mr. M,” you chortle, taking a long sip from your glass, savoring the bright, fruity flavor from the wine - it was a damn good bottle.

“C’mon now, I’m serious,” Joel says suddenly, his mood shifting. “I only wanted to get involved to that… that… level, okay? Just givin’ the money. You weren’t supposed to know, or guess… any of the other shit. That was…” Joel waves his hand off to the side in a wild, swift gesture before shrugging.

“Private?” you interrupt with a determined glare at him.

“You understand, don’t you?” Joel asks, eyes narrowed in distress. “I was tryin’ to keep you protected, didn’t want you to feel weird about any of this.”

“As opposed to what I’m feeling now, which is… well, weird.”

Joel seems to flush a little, unsure of how to move forward. It was never part of the plan for you to know the hunger he had for it all, this odd thing he’d discovered about himself the more that he’d started doing it. The way his body and mind reacted seemingly all on their own to the prospect of these beautiful, sweet young things enjoying his hard earned cash. It had surprised him at first, but the more he leaned into it, the more he enjoyed every purchase, every moment of seeing it pay off and how much happiness it could bring a woman, someone he felt lucky to just be in his sphere. He feared it was no different with you already, someone he almost felt shameful to be spending time with. It was going to be a constant battle, but one he’d willingly gotten himself into, and now had to face the consequences of.

“I’m sorry, really. I never meant for it to get to this point,” Joel says, looking a bit dismayed. 

You peer down at your plate, thoughtfully pushing the greens around for a beat. This was the point to make a decision: if you were going to back out now was the time, while it was still fresh. But you think of how honest Joel has been with you tonight, how kind, how generous he plans to be with you, and you realize that you think you want to be around him. Regardless of the money, Joel sees something in you, and it makes you buzz to have somebody on your side for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever. You look back up, glancing at Joel under your lashes as you bat them a few times. 

“It’s… alright. It’s okay. With me, I mean. The… other stuff,” you tell him, and his eyes flit quickly from where they were studying the table to meet your gaze. He looks surprised, like he’d half expected you to give up and walk out as soon as you discovered his dirty little secret. Instead, you see him and meet him where he is with no judgement. 

He clears his throat, his voice faint as it cracks. “I won’t, er, make it a thing, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “Stop apologizing. It’s honestly… refreshing to have someone just being their real self with me.”

Joel pushes out an abject chuckle, twisting his lips to the side. “Didn’t think this would be what you’d have in mind for bein’ real, but yeah, I s’pose that’s who I am,” he says thoughtfully, scraping the last bits of salad off of his plate.

“I’ve been with guys with way more intense kinks than this, anyways,” you say, tossing a hand through the air, listening to the tinkling sound of your diamond bracelet as it whizzes by your ear. 

Joel’s brows shoot up, his mood quickly shifting to intrigued. “Now is that so?”

“I don’t want to get into it, but yeah. It was a whole thing with feet and toes - just uh, didn’t do it for me at the time.” You clear your throat a little awkwardly, recalling the distant memories you’d tried to neatly stow away of that short lived, toxic relationship. 

Joel smirks, taking the bait. “Forgot to mention the other thing I’m really into…” he says with a fake, over dramatic grimace before attempting to peer under the table at your feet. 

“Oh, shut up,” you tease, giggling hard and reaching to push his shoulder, the entire thing coming all too naturally to you. Your skin flushes warm as you realize it, hoping you’re not crossing some unspoken boundary. “You know, I can’t believe I never knew you were so funny.”

“You never asked.”

“You hardly ever talked to me,” you quip back, getting a shrug from Joel. 

“Would have sooner if I knew you needed money.”

“Ouch,” you say, scrunching your nose at him and laughing softly before taking another bite of the greens. “This is seriously good, by the way.”

“Appreciate it,” Joel replies.

You pause, watching him for a moment as the pieces click into place. “You made this?”

Joel’s head tilts at you, seeming a little confused at your astonishment. “Er, sure did.”

“Huh,” you blurt out, chewing as you think. It was rare in your world for many people to cook for themselves, let alone for a guest. Money makes everything easier, more accessible, and that includes the need to ever have to step foot in your own kitchen for so many of the people you’d met though your parents. Joel was… different from any of them. Cocky on the outside, sure, but deep at his core, he was still humble. It was just another breath of fresh air that Joel was filling you with, and you found a new angle of new appreciation for the man seated next to you.

“Most people would have just had someone do this for them,” you say bluntly, and Joel gives another shrug before gracefully fending off your line of questioning. 

“I enjoy cookin’. Try to do it as much as I can f’myself when I have the time.”

You give him an awed smile. “I do too, actually. Well, I tried learning once I lived on my own. My parents… they don’t cook. Ever. I would love to be able to make something that tastes this good, though.”

“Just wait for the second course,” he tells you excitedly, his passion for it shining through. He stands up, taking both of your plates now that you’ve finished. He does the same routine, popping into the kitchen before returning with two larger dishes plated up with another beautiful assortment. 

“Happy to teach you, by the way. I’m no expert or anything, jus’ kinda honed it in over the years when I had the time.”

“You - you’d want to cook together?” you ask him with rising interest in your voice. Why were you feeling this pull, this desire to spend more time together outside of this arrangement? Why did you picture yourself, laughing in Joel’s kitchen as he shows you some technique of his, or a favorite recipe? You two are huddled close near the stove, his hand on the small of your back - it’s intimate and cozy and you feel safe there. Why did that thought already bring you so much comfort?

“Well sure, sweetheart. Sounds like fun to me,” he replies genially, and you try to hide the growing stars in your eyes as you watch him sit back down and finally turn your attention to the food in front of you. It’s a stunning plate - lamb, an assortment of glazed, bright vegetables, and some sort of silky, aromatic sauce. You start to suspect Joel may be hiding the full breadth of his skill behind modest words.

“Wow,” you murmur, gazing at the plating that looks like it belongs in some classy, upscale restaurant. “Joel, I need to tell you this because maybe nobody else has. You’re too humble. Please brag a little.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich, strumming pleasantly through your ears. His head shakes before he speaks, waving his hand in an additional signal of pushing off your request. “No, no. This was just me pullin’ out all the stops to impress you.”

You guffaw, picking up your silverware. “You want to impress me? You’re the one writing me checks.”

Joel shoots you a stern glance. “Doesn’t mean you’re not worth impressin’. You got that?” He points his fork in your direction for extra effect, and you hear sincerity beyond the teasing in his voice, making your chest clench tight. You wouldn’t say you were the most confident person, and the idea of what he’s saying, being someone worth impressing for reasons other than your money, was never something you’d thought much about yourself. 

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, silently begging yourself to stop this strange attachment you were starting to form towards Joel within hours of spending time together. You didn’t know just how long this arrangement would go on for, and you had to steel yourself now if you ever had a chance to see this through to the end of reaching your goals.

When you take your first bite of the main course, it’s magic on your tongue. You decide as the flavors dance perfectly in your mouth that you will indeed take Joel up on his offer of a cooking lesson. You’d love to be able to cook like this, maybe even return the favor to him one day if he teaches you enough. 

“Jesus, Joel…” you mutter, shaking your head. “This is amazing.”

He seems to beam a little with pride, clearly not hearing often enough just how good he is at this. “This one’s always a winner,” he tells you.

You take the last swig of your wine and Joel promptly refills your glass like the excellent host he is. You banter and eat and drink, having what you’d consider one of the best dinner dates of your entire life. Well, a date that’s not actually a date, you have to remind yourself. It was hard to fool yourself into thinking it wasn’t, with the low lighting, the intimacy of being alone in Joel’s house, and the glint in his eyes that told you that he was enjoying himself too. 

“J-Joel…” you utter during a lull in the conversation, overcome with the sensation of something happening within you. “Um, is… is there mustard in this?”

He stiffens, his face going stony as he takes in your fallen expression. “Yeah, some dijon,” he pushes out apprehensively. “Why?”

You inhale through your gritted teeth. “Er, I’m allergic.”

A switch flips within him, activating into some form of panicked paternal mode, his ass off the chair in a flash, over to you and crouching next to where you sit. “Shit, really? Okay, what do you need? Are we callin’ an ambulance? Or maybe my driver would be faster…” Half talking to himself, his eyes scan hurriedly across the room, his mind whirring into action.

You reach out to calm him, placing a hand on where he’s leaning against the armrest of your chair. “It’s not that serious, I promise. I’ll just get kind of itchy and my tongue and throat might feel weird. I can just take some Benadryl and sleep it off tonight.”

He seems to relax a little, but the worried lines stay etched deep in his face, refusing to fully forgive himself. He stands up, towering over your chair, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Sh - should have asked you. I’m so sorry. Shit, what kind of host doesn't ask his guests about allergies…?”

“It’s fine, I swear.” You stand up to meet him. “I forget about it sometimes, I should’ve said. I never have it around, and I sort of don’t think about it much since it’s not life threatening.”

Joel sighs, putting his hands on his hips and pacing towards the door of the dining room, then back in towards where you stand, trying not to giggle at his very sweet and touching restlessness.

“Okay, okay, so the medication. What else? What d’you need?”

“Just the Benadryl is fine,” you say reassuringly, clearing your now scratchy throat. This reaction was worse than you remembered having as a kid, but you don’t tell Joel that. He’s already panicked enough as it is. 

“Alright, c’mon,” he says, coaxing you to follow him with a motion of his hand. Long strides take him out of the room and back towards the foyer where you know the stairs are. You struggle to keep up, your heels feeling like they’re making too much noise in the otherwise quiet, tense house. 

Joel pauses in the upstairs hallway, opening a closet, and you look on with fidgeting hands. You’re right outside a set of double doors, nearly closed except for a sliver, and you realize with a pulse of inquisitiveness that it’s likely his bedroom. 

You should be focused on the task at hand, at Joel’s grumbling to himself as he digs through the contents of the closet, not wondering what his California King looks like behind those doors. What color the bedding is, what state the bedroom is kept in, if it feels as lived in as the rest of the house. Or picturing the women who have graced it - how many there have been, what they had that you don’t seem to if Joel is intent on keeping you out from under his sheets? Why the hell couldn’t you stop thinking about it, about being intimate with him, feeling his touch - is it gentle? Or would he be more rough? You swallow hard as your entire body seems to tense, the allergy induced itchiness in your throat reminding you once again to focus the hell up.

“God damn it…” Joel whips around to flick on a second light switch behind him, bathing the hall in brighter light before he seems to rearrange the entire closet, tearing out a pink box, holding it up in victory. “Only got the drowsy kind,” he laments. “I prefer it.”

“Me too. Puts me right to sleep every time.” You try to smile, hoping to lighten Joel’s mood, but it feels plastered on your face. He appears too far gone, leaving behind the genial flirtation you’d held together at the dining table. He’s too busy berating himself for putting you of all people in danger - someone he was responsible for this evening, supposed to be looking after. Christ, your father would kill him for several reasons if he learned the truth about this evening, but risking your life seemed to push it into a whole new territory. 

There’s a bathroom off the same hall, where Joel leads you before popping one of the pills out and handing it to you. He’s too silent now, bordering on brooding as he watches you dip your head towards the running water in the sink, taking a sip.

You stiffen as the water touches your lips at the same time Joel’s hand rests on your back - heavy, warm, and comforting. You slide the pill onto your tongue, swallowing and meeting his eye, his hand remaining in place now that you stand up straight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, sighing, his thick, broad shoulders dropping their tension. 

“Don’t apologize anymore. Please. I’m fine, see?” You flash him a smile, putting your hands on your hips and striking a pose, standing tall and hoping you appear as a vision of good health.

He finally breaks, cracking a crooked smile as he snorts out a half hearted chuckle. It’s suddenly too small in here, crowded next to the sink with him, personal space seeming to be lost to the two of you for a long, stretching minute.

Joel’s voice comes out tenderly. “You’re feelin’ okay, though?” 

You nod despite the fear trickling in at your body’s reaction - it’s been enough years that you nearly forgot all of the side effects, but you always remember the way your childhood nanny, Lena, would assure you that it wasn’t life threatening when it does happen. Stay calm, you chant the mantra in your head. And maybe reach for another Benadryl.

Joel eyes you inquisitively as you take a second pill from the box now laying on the countertop, but doesn’t say anything. “For good measure,” you reassure him. “I should probably call Karl, have him pick me up before I get too tired.”

Joel moves in front of you, blocking your body from exiting the bathroom, shaking his head. “Hell no. No way. Go back to your place all alone? With an allergic reaction?”

You sigh at his instinctive protectiveness. “Joel, it’s not -”

“Not deadly, I know. But you’re still pumped full of meds now and anythin’ could happen. You’re staying here. That’s final.”

The instant buzzing in your belly betrays you at his fierce, domineering tone. You crave to heed it, to listen to anything that Joel has to say and follow it, as if you’re already overwhelmingly aware that he knows best. There’s a natural trust here, and the origin is difficult to pinpoint, but you’re lost in the high it brings you already. It’s too hard to trust anyone in your circle, and worst of all, many of them are your own flesh and blood, your family.

“You’re right,” you tell him sweetly, hoping your gratitude shines through. “I - I appreciate it.”

Giving you a satisfied hum, he finally steps out of the way. “That’s more like it,” he says, and you’re relieved to hear the gentle teasing reemerging in his tone. “It’s the least I can do, anyhow. I’ll get you all set up, follow me.”

Joel is stubborn. You should have realized it sooner with all the obvious flags he was throwing out, but the man is staunch and stubborn and somehow it’s only adding to his charm.

You insisted on at least helping clean up dinner if you were going to be incapacitated soon, and the man acted as if you’d asked for something so absurdly out of the realm of appropriate.

“Absolutely not. You’re gonna stay right here,” Joel had insisted right back, gesturing to the tidy, inviting guest room he’d led you to. Blue, plush bedding and warm wood furniture gave the room life even with its minimal appearance - clearly purposefully left that way so that any guest could put their things out and make it feel their own. A hearth lays unlit across from the bed, and a huge flat screen television is mounted above it. It makes you wonder how often Joel even has guests stay over that aren’t sleeping in the same bed with him.

He wants you to make yourself at home, he says, but how can you when this night has turned into something far beyond what either of you could have dreamed up? You awkwardly use the attached bathroom stock piled with unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, and toiletries to garner some semblance of normalcy, but you’re acutely aware that you’re far from home with a man you know far less than you should.

You hear tinkering downstairs, a distant clinking of dishes as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed and look forlornly towards the open door, feeling the Benadryl starting to take effect. You’d noticed some hives in the mirror back in the bathroom, feeling self conscious as you had absentmindedly scratched at them. You’re up and walking before you can really reconsider it in your hazy state, traipsing down the slick, wooden stairs in your bare feet, having kicked your heels off in the bedroom.

You catch Joel in the kitchen before he can notice you, looking on to a heartwarming moment of him packing up the leftovers you’d barely been able to eat into glass containers, nearly muttering to himself. His blazer is off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up as he flits about the kitchen with a miffed but determined energy. 

When the fridge shuts and he catches you out of the corner of his eye, he takes one look at you lingering in the doorway, eyes clearly glazing over and body swaying, and can’t help but brighten up. You’re starting to wonder if your combination of two glasses of wine plus a double dose of Benadryl was a smart idea, leaving you feeling less inhibited than you’d like. You’re noticing how handsome Joel looks like this - acting in charge of his home and domestic. Your own parents wanted to believe they had any semblance of control over their home - where things were, how things stayed running, but they were so often not the ones pulling any strings. Joel is unexpectedly charming you once again, revealing there is more under the surface than the suave business mogul he’s painted to be. 

“Now what are you doin’ out of bed, young lady?” Joel teases, arms folded over his chest, hip pressing against the counter. 

Something resembling a giggle erupts out of you, nearly making you snort. “I’m helpin’,” you slur out slightly, stepping into the kitchen on unsure footing. “See?” You reach forward, placing a lid on the container of food.

Joel quirks a brow, snatching it away from you. “Thought we already discussed this.”

“‘M just having too much fun tonight. Don’t wanna sleep.” You hear your own voice, silly and far away, and you giggle another time.

“Nuh-uh. You’re lookin’ three sheets to the wind right now,” Joel says, promptly grabbing your shoulders and redirecting you towards the doorway. You lean back into the touch before you can help yourself, nearly colliding your entire back half with his front, suddenly yearning for his warmth.

It was official: your inhibitions were too, too low. Dangerously so.

“S-sorry,” you blurt out, stumbling on both your feet and your words.

“‘S’alright,” Joel replies. You miss the flush that colors his cheeks, traveling down his neck as your body nearly grazes his in far too intimate of a way. The sight of you leaning into him, searching for that connection and comfort pulls at his heart unexpectedly, followed by a lusty tug between his thighs.

“You’ve gotta lay down now, though. Er, here, hang on.” Joel offers you his arm, nervous in the movement, and you equally so as you link your arm through his. You glide up the steps and back to the bedroom, lost in his scent and his gentle touch, reminding yourself repeatedly who he is and what he should mean to you. Your father’s friend. Giving you money. No sex. No feelings. Just… an exchange. That’s all you can and ever will be to him, is company in exchange for money.

You flop down on the bed as soon as you’re released from Joel’s hold, sighing long and loud as your vision spins. The drowsiness starts to take over, your limbs loose and unwilling to work with you as you try to crawl under the sheets. Joel helps, seeming unsure in his movements as he pulls the duvet up over you. 

“I know you said not to bring it up anymore, but I am sorry. You shouldn’t be spendin’ the night here like this, you should be home or out with your friends or somethin’ on a Friday night.”

You quickly shake your head. “N-no. Wanna be here…” you mumble out, blinking slowly up at him.

His gaze softens, nearing something awed at your words. “Appreciate that. But I don’t think you’re in your right mind right now.”

“Promise, I am. I am. This was the best night I’ve had in a while. ‘Fore the mustard.” You let out a weak chuckle that Joel returns. 

You are something, alright, Joel ponders as he watches you drift further and further away, lashes curling lower on each blink of your beautiful, captivating eyes. You’re different than he’d expected, nothing like the disjointed and unsubstantial vignettes he’d gathered over the years at parties and gatherings and meetings with your father. He liked your humor and your attitude about life, never seeming to take things too seriously, but seeing how handled it when it was called for. He’d always felt that same way about himself, recognizing a kindred spirit in you from the get go. He knows it complicates things for him to be thinking so far into it, to analyze and decode your personality and how it fits with his, but at the very least, you two got along. That was important in these kinds of arrangements, he’d learned. He couldn’t find himself satisfied in the way he wanted to give out his money if he couldn’t find any spark of connection on the other end of it. And with you… as much as it might be trouble, there was a spark. Undeniably.

“Hey…” you murmur, forcing Joel to snap back to reality.

“Hm? I’m here,” he replies distractedly, trying to turn his attention back to you.

“Mr. Miller… Do…you think I’m pretty? Like… would you sleep with me like the other women if you didn’t know my dad?” Your eyes open again, lost to your grogginess, but with a detectable sadness behind them. You’re no longer in control of your thoughts, your words, everything seeming just out of grasp for you. It’s a stream of consciousness, flowing from brain to mouth in the most regrettable fashion. 

Joel’s mouth opens and closes, a tentative hand reaching towards you with a small, uncomfortable shuffle of his feet below him. He shouldn’t answer this, shouldn’t even entertain it in the slightest. But why does he feel himself pulled to say something, anything to ease your worried mind?

You scratch at your brow, running an sloppy, unnerved hand down your face at his silence. “Shit, shit, ‘m sorry. I’m not… I’m out of it. Just being stupid.”

Joel shushes you. He reaches out, brushing tentative fingers along your hairline, making you nearly melt into the foreign touch. “No, it’s alright. I just - we shouldn’t be -”

“I know. That was dumb.” You offer him a watery smile that he doesn’t quite believe, your body releasing a sigh as you relax into the bed. “I just need to sleep.”

He gives a stiff nod in agreement. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll check on you in a bit to make sure you’re alright.” Joel’s mind reels, itching to say more, to soothe you as you look so vulnerable cozied up underneath the covers. There’s a shift inside of him, wanting to care for you, to reassure you that he can’t see whatever faults you’re so clearly focused on. Forcibly pulling himself away from your bedside, he turns to leave, but your little, tired voice stops him in his tracks.

“Wait -” you call out. “Would you stay? Just ‘till I fall asleep?”

Joel deflates, knowing he’s unable to deny it even if every cell of him is screaming that it’s a dangerous road he’s going down. He offers you a nod, walking across the room to drag over one of the chairs that sits facing the fireplace.

“Thanks,” you utter quietly as he settles in at your bedside.

“Jus’ sleep.” He reminds you, eyes watching you with an intense smoldering, like he’s thinking too hard.

You want to continue to meet his stare in an attempt to read his mind, but your eyes blink closed seemingly against your will. You’d open them if you could, fighting against sleep just for Joel to see the look of appreciation in your now weary eyes. You hope you don’t imagine it, the sincerity in his voice when he says his next words, just before you drift off.

“You are beautiful. So you know.”

Your head pounds before you can even open your eyes for the day. A dimly lit bedroom greets you as you press your fingers to the top of the bridge of your nose, gently massaging it. 

What the hell?

Dinner with Joel comes back to you in a flash, the guest bedroom and fluffy, soft duvet wrapped around you. And the mustard. The god damned mustard. Without it, you’d never have made such a fool of yourself, leaving your cheeks blazing from the get go this morning. 

You stare up at the smooth, white ceiling and debate in vain whether you actually asked Joel if he thought you were pretty or if he’d have sex with you, or the much less embarrassing option that it was all a Benadryl induced dream.

He’d made it a point to answer you though, hadn’t he?

Making an already awkward situation even more so hadn’t been part of your plan last night, yet here you were still dressed in your silk gown, makeup likely smudged, hair a mess, and clothing wrinkled. You slide out of bed, confirming all of it with one look in the full length mirror perched next to the dresser. A long, drawn out sigh deflates you, making you look just as pathetic as you feel.

Familiar to you, but new to this room, you catch a pile placed neatly on the dresser out of the corner of your eye. These were your things: your clothing, your toiletries - makeup, face wash, everything you liked to use to get ready in the morning. You only manage to blink at it for a few moments, your mind still whirring to life for the day and unable to process it.

You use the toiletries, continuously questioning how they ended up here yet enjoying the convenience, and change into the comfortable ensemble somebody somehow had picked out for you - whoever chose this knew you well.

The last thing you want to do is leave the calm, safe bubble of this bedroom, where you never have to face the consequences of your actions. Could you have ruined this blossoming thing with Joel before it even started? Taken away this opportunity for your future?

Groaning, you realize there’s only one way to find out.

Tentatively cracking open the bedroom door, the house has a different energy in the light of day, making last night all the more embarrassing, feeling like a far away dream. You hear the most commotion from the kitchen, entering to see Joel distractedly sipping from his coffee mug while a tablet lives in his other. He’s on the move, his brow scrunched in concentration at the screen as he scrolls, reading glasses perched on his nose. When he sees you, he stops, always seeming to make sure you feel worth his time of day. He pulls his glasses off and bundles them in his hand.

“Mornin’” he says, clearing his throat. “How’re you feelin’?”

Your cheeks tingle, flushing warm at the sight of him. If luck was on your side, he’d hardly remember the conversation at all, but you know that isn’t possibly the case. “Uh, better, yeah,” you croak out.

“See you found the stuff I had brought over. Hope that was alright.”

Your fingers fidget in front of your belly. “Er, yeah. It’s fine. How - uh - how did you do that?”

“I called Karl for you. Sorry, might’ve been a bit invasive, now that I think about it and say it out loud. Jus’... thought you should be able to freshen up or somethin’. Change your clothes, an’ all that.”

It takes a moment to process his answer and the thought he’d put into making you feel comfortable here. It didn’t feel the slightest bit invasive at all, coming from him. “No, it’s… really thoughtful, actually. Thank you.”

His smile is soft, but he seems to rev back into gear now, his feet on the move. “Got coffee goin’, an’ Clara just finished up some breakfast. Feel free to help yourself.” 

You nod, feeling all the fun, flirty confidence from last night so far out of reach from the woman you are today. Spotting the coffee, you glance back to see Joel on his phone, tapping away rapidly with his glasses returned to their spot on his nose. He looks less amused himself, his brow furrowed and his features turned down in a scowl.

He sighs, draining the rest of his mug. “Alright, ‘m sorry about this, but I’ve got to head into the office. Somethin’ needs my attention for a deadline on Monday.”

You weren’t any stranger to the variable, on call schedule you’d watched your father deal with for much of your life, so you understand. You don’t want him to go, though. You want to ask him to stay and share breakfast with you, sip more coffee together and rediscover that banter from last night that made your heart thump a little faster. 

You can’t help but wonder if any of his desire to rush out of here has to do with how big of a fool you’d made of yourself, but Joel buzzes by you, placing a reassuring hand on your lower back. 

“Stay as long as you like. Enjoy your breakfast, yeah?” he tells you, more soft and focused. 

“I - uh - are you sure?” You knew it should feel weird, staying at Joel’s place without him here, but you’d already started feeling more at home here than you could have anticipated.

“‘Course. Don’t rush on outta here on account of me. It’s the weekend. We’ll talk later, okay?”

You muster up as much of a smile as you can and nod, filling a mug from the french press pot sitting on the gorgeous, marbled countertop. “O-okay. Have a good day in the office, then.” 

Joel’s fingers move on your back in the tiniest squeeze before he rushes off, and your entire face burns hot at how domestic that had all seemed. Like this was every morning for the two of you where you saw him off to work, wishing him well as he stands far, far too close for comfort. Your head buzzes from the interaction as you blow on your coffee, peering around at the quiet room.

You do as Joel says, trying to make yourself at home for breakfast under the watchful eye of Clara who flits in and out of the kitchen. Her smile is friendly enough, but you can’t help but wonder what she thinks of you. Is she keen enough on things in Joe’s life to have heard about the different kind of arrangement you have with Joel to his usual ones, or does she think you’re just one of the others?

Either way, you suppose you are one of them, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice booms into your ear through the speaker on your phone. 

“Hey,” you reply, propping it between your neck and shoulder, staring up at the ceiling from your place on your bed. You may or may not have been wallowing, despite it being a sport you often tried to not let yourself participate in. Some things, though, like embarrassing yourself potentially beyond repair in front of someone as put together as Joel, simply called for it.

“You made it home okay?” he asks you.

 “Obviously.” You huff a tiny laugh and instantly regret your rushed, snarky reply. 

You’d left shortly after breakfast, unable to take the memories of last night following you around the place. You’d tried to settle in and relax for a while with your second cup of coffee, but couldn’t help but feel like you were trespassing anytime you went anywhere. As much as you wanted to snoop a little and begin to unravel Joel’s mysteries, it hadn’t felt right to even be there in the first place. Your instinct was to run - far, far away from Joel’s house and even him, ending this entire arrangement and going back to slogging away miserably at your job. Then your phone rang this evening, and when Joel’s name appeared on the screen, you knew: there was no chance you were able to give him up that easily.

“Right.” Joel’s chuckle on the other end sounds awkward, strained, and your heart drops. You knew it was too much to ask for you two to just forget what happened last night. You’d promised him it wouldn’t come to anything sexual, and at the first chance, you’d practically asked him to hop into bed with you. You hadn’t even meant it, not really. Although a part of you, settled deep down inside of yourself, wondered why you’d been compelled to ask in the first place, like a urge you couldn’t quite hold back. It made your stomach turn too much to think about, so you’d spent the better part of the day ignoring it.

 “You, uh - it was kind of weird… I thought maybe you’d have stuck around today. Like I half expected to come home this afternoon and see you there,” Joel spits out.

Your lips part, feeling your lashes flutter as you blink a few times in surprise before you bite back the smile pulling at your cheeks. Something about Joel seemed to put you at ease so naturally, and after the day you’d had, toiling over your mistakes, his reassurance was an instant balm. 

“O-Oh. Really? I - I didn’t know when you’d be back. And I figured… just that I should go.”

“Yeah. I think it’s just that I thought last night felt, uh, unfinished, don’t you think?”

“I - I thought the same thing, yeah,” you tell him, perking up.

“So, I - I’m not really sure how to say this but -”

“Joel,” you cut in, your belly twisting with anxiety. You’d rather be the one to say it, to just yank the elephant to the center of the room and present it to him. This was far too painfully uncomfortable to go on any longer. Besides, you had to own your mistake. “Let me go first, please. I’m sorry about last night. That was not… okay. I shouldn’t have said that. It put you in a weird spot and I’m just… I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again.”

You hear the whoosh of his exhale on the other end of the line. “No, that’s alright. No apology necessary. I just want you to know, I understand. This can’t be easy for you - s’all new during an already tough time for you. I know you didn’t mean it like that, an’ you’re just tryin’ to make sense of things.”

His words stun you silent for a long, reflective moment. He’s so patient, his voice gruff with use from the day but soft - god, he speaks to you softly, like you matter to him, like you’re something special to him. 

He seems to take your silence as a chance to go on. “Point is, don’t beat yourself up over it. I get what you were askin’.”

You sit forward from your place on your bed, brows scrunched tightly. “You - you do?”

“It’s confusing, I imagine, me being me, an’ this whole thing comin’ about. I’m the one responsible for you here, and if I didn’t make things clear enough… well, that’s on me.”

You nearly scoff, biting it back. His words wound you, which only pisses you off, wishing that they couldn’t affect you like they do. You’d put too much stake in Joel being something different, this fresh start you’d desperately needed, and it gives him too much power over your emotions.

“No. It’s perfectly clear, Joel,” you snap back.

You can practically hear the disappointment crackle in the silence on the other end of the phone. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to… Is - is this too much for you? I’ve been wonderin’ if I rushed into this, feelin’ selfish that day. I was in a mood, and if you’re worse off for what I got you into, jus’ tell me now. No hard feelings.” 

You nearly laugh at how ridiculous his words are, his self effacing reflection instantly softening you from the irritation you’d felt a moment ago. “Selfish? You’re the one giving me thousands of dollars, and you’re thinking you’re selfish?” you ask him incredulously. “Of course you’re not.”

Your skin prickles at the stretching stillness on the other end as Joel thinks. “It’s just… it’s hard to believe that. Jus’ can’t help but think are - are we doing the right thing? I mean, ‘course we aren’t, but you know what I mean. This is different than what I’ve done in the past, and I just don’t want you to feel obligated over time to doing anythin’ like what you mentioned that night, ‘cause you think that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. This is supposed to be helpin’ you.”

You feel yourself choke up, clearing your throat to try to hide it. What was he saying? Was Joel already breaking things off with you? A sudden mania grips at you, starting low in your belly and tightening all the way to your chest. You couldn’t lose this, lose this comfort - not even monetarily you realize in a flash, but someone you’d confided in for the first time in a long time. Joel knew your dirty little secret and had responded only with kindness that you weren’t sure you deserved. Desperately, you cling to it now, needing him to see that beyond understanding, he already meant something to you.

“N-no. It is helping. I - What are you saying?” you blurt out, hearing the rising emotion climbing up through your throat with each word. 

“Hey, no, I’m not sayin’ anything,” Joel quickly replies, seeming to sense your panic. “I want to make sure I do my part. In a situation like this, there’s a certain responsibility of… well, care, that I need to take over you. Does that make sense?”

Your heart squeezes tighter, but this time with an unfamiliar warmth, one that’s difficult to put your finger on. It’s only then that you grasp why - why all of this has felt so right despite it being wrong, why Joel already felt like something addicting, why you’d seemed to be drawn to each other in such an unstable time. That one word: care. It hurts like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, yet lends a little piece of completion to your soul each time he doles it out upon you. 

You nod dumbly before recalling that he can’t see you. “Y-yes. It does.”

“Good,” he responds simply.

“I don’t want to mess this up. Not even - not even because of the money. I think you’re really nice, Mr. M, and I had so much fun last night, I really did. I - I don’t want to make you regret doing this.”

He clicks his tongue at you disapprovingly. “No, no never gonna regret it, promise you that. It’s just a learnin’ curve, maybe more than most given our… well, how we know each other. We’ve just got to work out the kinks -” You inhale almost instinctively to make a joke, but Joel quickly cuts you off. “Don’t say what I know you want to say to that.”

You laugh, and when Joel returns it on the other end of the phone, all the tension in your body fizzles out along with it, like it had never been there in the first place. Whatever this was with Joel was simply… right, it had to be. 

“God, you already know me too well. It’s scary.”

“I’m good at reading people,” he replies. “You’re easy.”

“Easy? Rude,” you deadpan back to him. 

“I mean, you did proposition yourself to me last night. Easy if I ever saw it.”

You gasp in mock horror. “Okay, too soon. I’d love it if we never mentioned that again, actually. Ever.”

Joel’s soft chuckle tickles your brain in just the right way, making you smile into the phone. “Alright, sweetheart, that’s a deal. Consider it forgotten. Now, speakin’ of deals, I actually was calling mostly ‘cause I have some making up to do.”

“You have some making up to do? I thought you called to talk about… uh, the thing we aren’t mentioning ever again.”

“No, no, I was the one that nearly killed you,” he explains, and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “So I’m takin’ you out to lunch this week as an extra treat.” You like that he presents it as a definitive, not giving any wiggle room for questioning or arguments. What he says, goes. “Tell me your class schedule and we’ll get it on the books when you’re free. What d’you say?”

You don’t even have to consider it, knowing that waiting nearly a week for your scheduled dinner to see Joel had already been a tough reality to face. The fact that he also seems eager to see you so soon makes that strange, new flutter of contentment light up your chest again.

Echoing him, you smile widely as you answer. “That’s a deal.”

The elevator softly whirs as you fly past the floors, all the way up to twenty. Alone and enclosed by the monochrome walls you fidget, smoothing your dress and wishing you had enough time to double check your appearance. 

It’s exhausting, apparently, actually caring what Joel Miller thinks about you. He always seems to have a compliment or two in store, but you can’t shake this pesky, anxious feeling gnawing at you that comes at the prospect of seeing him. Of him seeing you - perceiving you - and deeming you worthy of his time and money.

The elevator doors open to the office beyond with a rounded, wood paneled desk sitting centered in the foyer. Joel’s company comprises the entire floor, and you see a bustling crew beyond the glass walls and dividers. Black, shining floors beneath your feet, dark wood walls, and leather furniture adorn what appears to be a waiting room. It's decidedly masculine, but it doesn't feel cold in the slightest.

You nearly turn back around, wondering if this is a good idea after all. Being seen out in public together held its risks, you know that, but Joel seems assured that nothing will come of it. And if it does, he's promised to be there for you. You aren’t a public figure by any means, but any overachiever here in the know of Joel’s business associates might be able to place you and your connection to your father. The thought alone makes you feel itchy.

The young man behind the desk greets you in a chipper, smooth voice before you can make a decision on scampering back the way you came. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

You snap back to attention, approaching the rest of the way, trying to move with more purpose, a way to trick your brain into believing this will all be okay. “Yes, I’m here for Mr. Miller. It’s a - a lunch meeting.” Your cheeks heat in a rapid blaze, not having rehearsed any of this. You couldn't be the first of this nature in the office, based on Joel’s history, and you wonder if the man - Vincent, by the little nameplate on the desk - knew exactly what you were to his boss.

With a few clicks on the computer in front of him, Vincent gives you a soft smile of recognition. “Absolutely. I’ve got explicit instructions to have you brought back to his office first.” He holds up a finger to you as he dials on the phone, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Mhm, Mr. Miller’s twelve thirty is here. Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

You shift awkwardly, but only for a few moments before a woman appears around the corner, wearing a stylish blue pantsuit. She calls you by name, making your eyes widen in surprise before beckoning you to follow her. You’re guided between cubicles, open areas that appear to be free working spaces, and conference rooms. The place is buzzing with energy, a well oiled machine with employees engrossed in their individual work or collaborating. A pang of jealousy shoots through you, reminding you just how far you are from your goal of feeling that same spirit and drive towards your work.

You stop short in front of an office enclosed with glass walls, half opaque, half clear. “Mr. Miller will be just a moment. You can have a seat,” the woman says. “Water? Coffee? Tea? While you wait?” She rapidly fires the questions at you, to which you shake your head mutely, having a seat on the leather sofa that sits opposite to Joel’s office. 

She settles in at a nearby desk, turning her attention back to her computer, and it dawns on you that this must be Joel’s personal assistant here. Movement inside of Joel’s office catches your attention, your prying, curious eyes unable to look away even if giving Joel privacy feels like the right thing to do. Hurried movements ensue - a flash of Joel, hands flung up and then falling in frustration, and his face comes into view, screwed up tight before he says something that you can’t hear. You don’t see who he’s talking to, blocked by the fully opaque door, only leaving a shadow of a body that looks equally as heated. 

A few uncomfortable, shameful moments of spying pass before the door to his office flies open and a woman appears, throwing it shut behind her with a purposefully loud and dramatic thud. She appears closer to Joel’s age, dressed well and adorned with expensive, flashing jewelry. She seems to have a permanent scowl on her face as she approaches where you sit, stalking with purpose in her heels.

When she makes eye contact with you, the side of her lip curls up with a sweep of her gaze up the entirety of your body. You feel small on the leather loveseat under her scrutinizing stare portraying her message loud and clear: I am better than you.

“Feels good to be the latest model, huh?” she rasps, hips swaying as she walks.

You stutter, your voice only able to make a strained sound before you finally squeak out, “E-excuse me?”

A scathing breath of a laugh leaves the woman, and she shakes her head as she slows to a stop in front of you, letting her eyes rake over your outfit once more. It’s a simple, casual dress covered with a jacket to keep the October chill off of you - you hadn’t wanted to go all out for only a lunch date, but you’d felt good, presentable, for Joel. Until now, that is. 

“Good luck with that,” she says without any real sincerity behind it. A cruel joke sits in her words, something you don’t seem to be in on. “Until the next comes along.”

Your brows knit tightly as you just stare at her, your heart thundering heavily against your ribcage, nearly painful. No witty retort comes to you, too shocked by the turn of events to even think straight as she just huffs in satisfaction, moving along. You crane your neck, following her movements with your mouth agape until she turns the corner, not even bothering a glance back at you.

It feels like hours condensed into these few moments passing as you sit stupefied on that couch, your cheeks burning in shame. You try to avoid eye contact with Joel’s assistant who almost surely heard the entire exchange with how close she’s sitting. Eyes down, you finally bring them up when you hear Joel’s office door open once more.

He looks brighter than you’d seen him minutes ago, so heated inside his office with that woman. At least one of you seems to have shaken her off.

His smile is wide and warm when he spots you, and you hope the distressed look on your face has wiped off enough to avoid suspicion. You’re not sure if you want to tell him what just happened, unsure if what it all means is something you can handle. It was embarrassing too, to imagine speaking the words she’d said aloud to him. It had felt demeaning, your existence boiled down to whatever that mystery woman saw in you, some kind of less than being, some thing for Joel’s pleasure. She knew nothing about your situation, who you were to Joel, or the fact that he didn’t even seem interested in it becoming about more than money. 

“Hey there,” Joel’s voice cuts through the depths of your mind, and you softly smile, standing to greet him. He places a hand on your bicep, wrapping his fingers tenderly around it, leaning in to peck your cheek. His scent envelops all of you, forcing you to hold back a sigh, this particular smell already worming its way to a place of comfort for you. “Y’look fantastic.”

You have to clear your throat before your voice betrays you. “T-thanks.” You flash him another smile that luckily he seems to buy, but that woman's piercing, judgemental stare has your confidence completely shaken up. Beyond that, your curiosity is piqued on who the hell she even is to Joel, but you don’t know if it’s nosing into his business too much to ask about it. The way things had seemed between the two, it gave the impression it was a topic best left forgotten in Joel’s eyes.

So you bite your tongue, trying to become the pleasant, fun-loving girl Joel signed up to spend time with. It’s hard though, to not break open this dam of emotions that’s been full to bursting. Everything has just been too much this past week.

This arrangement. That woman. Joel. School. Your parents. Lying.

You have nobody to lean on, nobody to understand the stress, the diamond forming amount of pressure you’re put under to be somebody you don’t want to be. You’ve been dodging calls from your father, not having the energy to make up lies about the firm you’re supposedly interning for. You know it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out somehow - knowing him he’ll likely try to call the CEO using his own influence just to try and keep tabs on you. To make sure you’re doing it all right, up to his gold standard. When this comes to light, the fallout could be catastrophic, and you wonder if it might be better to just come clean now, maybe helping to absorb some of the blow.

The thought of doing that instantly makes you feel nauseous, and you realize you’ve gone the entirety of the way back down the elevator and out onto the street with Joel, barely paying attention to your surroundings. Joel has been talking on and off the entire time, his voice a distant murmur, and you’re flooded with guilt for being so rude. The sudden city noise blaring hits your ears harshly, and you turn to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry, what’d you say?” you ask him.

“Oh, jus’ that we should walk to lunch. It’s nice enough, and the place is just a few blocks. That alright with you?”

“Right, um, sure,” you reply, stumbling over your words when you feel Joel’s questioning gaze on you. You try to brighten up to avoid suspicion, tuning in to the autumn sun on your face and Joel’s presence beside you. It doesn’t seem to help the constant loop of anxiety swirling in your gut like you'd been hoping.

“How’s school goin’?” Joel asks, sounding far away.

“Alright. Just trying to get through the semester until I figure things out,” you tell him on autopilot. You know he’s only being polite, trying to check in, but the question pulls up pressure from inside of you, choking your already anxious stomach. It’s like the weight of the world crashes on your shoulders, like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by now. That way, Joel can stop this ruse with you and get back to his normal life, not having to continue to waste his money taking care of someone who can’t seem to sort their life out. You’ve been researching schools, ideas, and careers, wanting to do your due diligence to Joel’s generosity, but you keep coming up short or feeling indecisive. It seems too big a choice, too weighty, right now to decide your entire future when for most of your life you’ve never been able to think this way.

“You’ve got nothin’ but time,” Joel replies, seeming to either not notice or not be bothered by your flat attitude today. His hand gives your back a quick, reassuring rub as you walk, and you stiffen, but only because of the unexpected flutter it brings to your belly, momentarily distracting you from overthinking.

You let him do most of the talking as you saunter along, and are grateful it’s only those few blocks until you reach the restaurant. It’s a chic, modern looking space with high, airy ceilings and minimalist furniture. It’s bustling, apparently a hot spot for the business elite to attend their lunches with each other and their clients as you scan the room and see mostly suits and black, gray, and navy attire.

You’re seated right away despite some lingering groups clearly waiting for tables at the front, which makes you finally crack a smile. Joel always has things so figured out, so planned to perfection.

“This place is all the rage, I guess,” Joel commentates, glancing around at the busy dining room. “Ate here a few weeks ago with some folks and it was pretty damn good. We’ve got to get you one of these grilled, uh, avocado appetizer things. Wouldn’t have thought myself keen on it, but hell, it surprised me,” Joel rambles on, picking up his menu and scanning it. He holds it further and further away from himself until he sighs, pulling his reading glasses from his jacket pocket and plopping them onto his nose with a frustrated sigh. The entire series of events melts away some of your sourness, and you grin at him. It makes you glad to have someone like Joel, who so effortlessly lifts your spirits.

“Don’t say anything,” Joel snips, noticing your amusement at his struggle. “You’ll need these someday too.”

“I didn’t say a word,” you reply smugly, glancing down at your own menu. 

“This is nice, y’know,” Joel remarks out of nowhere after a beat of silence. “Goin’ out together, enjoying the day.”

“Yeah.” You smile a little brighter, almost starting to feel silly for pulling into your shell so much. Joel is always laid back in his own way it seems, acting as if it’s not a bother to be here with you. You only wish you could believe it to the degree he so effortlessly exudes it. “It is.”

Joel orders for the both of you when the server comes around, but only after finding out what you’re interested in eating. Of all the assholes you’d been set up with or asked out by, thinking they were doing you a favor by ordering for you, Joel has been the only one who actually asked. 

Whether Joel has detected the difference in your mood or not, he seems intent on keeping the mood positive, continuing to carry the conversation while you two wait for your food. You do swear you perceive some minute difference in his eyes, though, some discerning quality that's attempting to figure you out. You try to avoid suspicion, but it seems that the harder you try to act normal, the less you feel it, and the more that Joel’s studying gaze deepens, trying to read your mind. 

You answer his questions about school, about your life, and ask him how his week is going, playing the part as best you can. When the avocado appetizer Joel so excitedly mentioned comes, you rave about it, but everything feels half hearted when all you want to do is scream out in questioning about that rude woman at the office. Could Joel be secretly married or have some serious relationship you aren’t aware of? Could that be the type of woman he liked to affiliate with - someone cold and mean with no regard for other people’s feelings?

“Everything alright?” he finally decides to ask once the main course comes. His fingers wiggle together anxiously, his voice softer with a shy edge to it.

“Uh, y-yeah," you lie. You’re caught off guard, blurting it out before you can think about it. “Just tired with schoolwork and stuff. Haven’t been sleeping enough.”

That stare is on you again, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he nods. “Well alright, then,” he says faintly, looking down at his meal. You feel a pang in your chest, a desperation there to fix it. You’ve wounded him, and you open your mouth to speak, to retract what you said and tell him the truth, but something catches your eye over Joel’s shoulder. A woman is approaching, deliberate in her movements with her eyes on Joel’s back like she knows him.

“Joel?!” the woman’s perky voice cuts in. Joel turns just as the woman sidles up beside him, a cheerful look of recognition on his face. She’s dark haired, curly and wild, but in a way you know has been styled to look so effortless. She seems to have a glow about her, something glossy in her aura that’s instantly friendly and attractive. “I thought that was you!”

You hate that jealousy sears through you in an instant. You hate this protective feeling you get over Joel, over this undefined, amorphous thing you have with him. She’s everything you wonder if you should be - the perfect, shiny match to his desires for investing all his hard earned money. You’re only the latest model, after all.

“Valerie? Hey there.” Joel is up in an instant, wrapping his arms around the woman in a familiar embrace. Never forgetting his manners, he introduces you in the next breath. She flashes you a bright, inviting smile and tousels her hair before waving a hand at you.

“Valerie,” she replies with her graceful, perky body language, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you muster up. The look she’s giving you is coy and knowing, understanding of the situation, because you’re guessing that she has been exactly where you are, who you are.

“Randy and I were just having lunch ourselves. We love this place. It’s so funny to run into you here. Did I tell you we got married last year?!” Valerie rambles on to Joel, her hands animated as she speaks, one of them held up to display the ring as if it would be hard to miss the giant, sparkling rock that sits heavily on her finger. She gestures to a table behind Joel, and you glance over his shoulder to see a man near Joel’s age, his hair a coiffed, shining silver. He’s facing away, typing on his phone, and blatantly unavailable and uninterested in his wife’s side quest to your table.

“That so? Well congrats to you two, then,” Joel says, sounding genuinely excited for her.

She nearly squeals. “Thank you, it was so beautiful! Just every girl’s dream, really. We flew everyone out to Fiji, did it on the beach at sunset and everything. But enough about me! I’ll let you two get back to your date. I just saw you here and had to say hi. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?!”

As much as Valerie steals the spotlight, you’re stuck on watching Joel’s face, the subtle ways it moves and reacts to her. The corner of his lip twitches up, clearly privately amused but not fazed by her erratic yet charming way of taking up the entirety of the space in the conversation. When he shoots a glance at you, your heart squeezes, feeling in on the little joke that this is just Valerie being Valerie. You feel part of his wide, glamorous world. 

Joel is polite and kind as they wrap up the conversation, sending Valerie back to her table with a smile where it appears she begins to animatedly recount the entire conversation to her husband.

“Who was that?” you ask, your lip curling up a little deviously, your problems half forgotten for the moment at your piquing curiosity and seemingly innate desire to tease Joel. “One of your girlfriends?”

Joel flushes, his cheeks tinged a soft pink. “You know I don -” He sighs, clearly flustered. “She’s an old friend. And married now, by the sound of it.”

“Ah, a friend. Like I’m your friend?” you ask, and Joel shoots you a pointed look. 

“Would that be a problem?” He finally snaps, latching onto your teasing and throwing it right back with a raised brow as he leans towards you. Your face heats the tiniest bit, knowing despite your teasing that yes, it actually did seem to be a problem while Valerie was here chatting up a storm. Even if whatever it was between them was ancient history, you feel insecure, wondering if you can live up to the other women he’s let into his life. You’d been feeling good about the arrangement - finally - even excited for this lunch today, until that presumptuous woman at the office threw a complete wrench in your emotions.

“I’m juuust asking,” you tell him, “So…?”

“Yes, alright?” He clicks his tongue, sitting forward and placing his forearms on the table, challenging you. “It was ages ago now, but yes, if you must know we had a similar arrangement.”

You give him a slow, intrigued nod. “I see,” is all you reply.

Joel’s lips twist to the side in irritation, but the sparkle in his eye reminds you that he’s having just as much fun as you are with this. “You see, what?”

“Nothing!” You chuckle. “I swear. I just - she’s really nice. And pretty.” You hear the way your voice falls, cracks a little without trying, on your last words, so you clear your throat, hoping to cover it up. Eyes on the table, on your half eaten meal, you can feel Joel’s gaze boring into you.

“What is this? What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, sounding a little impatient, losing that light edge to his voice that says he’s no longer teasing. 

You sigh, waving a dismissive hand. “No, nothing. I just, I mean what I said.”

“It’s true. Valerie’s wonderful person. And so are you.”

You nearly snort, but feel yourself go shy at the last minute under his praise. “I guess. Yeah, thank you.” You try to sound sincere, but you can hear the way you’re trying too hard, the strain of each syllable an attempt to hide your rising emotions.

“I don’t get it,” he says, sounding exasperated. Joel always tried his best, but sometimes he was stumped by the inner workings of the women’s minds he chose to have relationships with. Even Sarah, when she was growing up, had her share of moments just like this where he felt helpless, just wanting her to talk to him, let him help. “Are you jealous? Of a fling I had five years ago?” he asks, guessing what seems to be the first logical explanation. “Cause I promise you that I only like to focus on one woman at a time. That’s long in the pas-”

“It’s not that, I swear,” you cut in. Processing his words a second later, you flick your gaze to his, wonder in your widening eyes. “Wait, what? You - Joel, you don’t have to do that for me. This isn’t -” A relationship, you’d wanted to say. But you can’t discount that you did feel protective over keeping Joel all to yourself, even if he’d made the promise that it wouldn’t become anything more. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back because of me.”

“I’m doin’ nothing of the sort, I promise you. I’m too busy for having all kinds of relationships, and besides, I’m happy with where I’m at right now. I swear t’you.”

Joel’s reassurance instantly cuts through your racing thoughts. You put your head in your hands, your whole face hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m acting so… so… insane right now. I mean we literally just started this whole thing and I’m already more trouble than it’s worth. God, I -”

“Stop it right there,” Joel says softly, but his voice hits a dichotomy with the biting edge to his words, urging you to listen. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist. The touch is gentle but his fingers are thick and rough, sending a skittering of sparks across your skin. Affection isn’t something you’re used to, and it does the job he’d hoped of stopping you in your tracks. “Just know, whoever told you that about yourself before, it ain’t true. It’ll never be true. I chose this too, y’know. You didn’t force me to spend time with you, to want to help you out. I wanted it, too, right? Hell, I’m the one that offered, remember?”

Your breath catches, a lump in your throat thick as you attempt to swallow. You peek at Joel from where your head rests in your hands, slowly lowering them, but his hold on your wrist stays steady for a few more seconds, a comforting presence while his thumb rubs a few lazy circles. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him with a watery smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I think this is all just new, and a lot. And worrying about everything with my parents… Or being seen together like this…” You blow out a long, stressed breath. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

Joel gives you a nod of understanding. “It’s true, it is a lot. You know I’ve got your back now though, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m not gonna go back on things, that’s just not the kind of guy I am.”

Until the next one. The woman’s words cut in, making you nearly flinch. You believe Joel, you do. He’d already proven to be generous and steadfast, but would he really show up for you long term? Would he keep up the charade of pretending you mattered in the world, that you could find your place with his help? Or would he be distracted as soon as something better came along?

You stare at him for a long, quiet moment, biting at the inside of your lip. “The - the woman… Who is she?” you ask quietly, balling your hands in your lap underneath the table. At Joel’s quizzical look, you sigh, elaborating. “At the office earlier.”

He clicks his tongue, his head drooping and fingers coming up to swipe at his eyes then pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks decidedly defeated and tired now. “God damn it, Marissa,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes flick back to yours, burning with fresh intensity. “What did she say?”

“I - Well-”

“What did she say to you?” Joel’s sudden surge of protectiveness over you is surprising, but welcome. The intensity of it, though, takes you aback, making you start to regret bringing it up. This was a whole new side of Joel you hadn’t gotten to see yet. 

“J-Just some bullshit, it’s fine.”

You see the recognition flash across Joel’s face, now reaching a new level of anger and defeat. “I knew it was somethin’. That’s why you’ve been acting quiet today, yeah? So it ain’t fine.” 

You groan internally, hating the confirmation that he’d noticed. “She just made a dumb comment about me being the latest model, or whatever.” And looked at you like you were the scum on the bottom of her shoe, but you hold back from saying that part out loud.

Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “She’s got a flair for the dramatic, especially when she’s not gettin’ her way.” You stay silent, so Joel goes on. “That’s my ex. She’s - it’s complicated.”

“Two in one day. Lucky me,” you say flatly, and Joel offers you a sympathetic, guilt ridden smile. “At least one was nice.”

“Marissa is… it’s a different situation. As much as I wish we weren’t, we’re stuck together. On account of havin’ a kid and everything.”

The realization hits you hard. You’ve never seen Sarah’s mother or heard much about her. She doesn’t show up to functions, is never mentioned, and effectively, Joel has always seemed like a single dad from your perspective. 

“Oh, shit. That’s Sarah’s mom?” you ask.

Joel nods solemnly. “It’s complicated, like I said. It’s a long history, and her favorite thing seems to be stirrin’ up trouble for me, so I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That sounds awful,” you tell him, sympathetic to his cause. 

“She shouldn’t have said that, or said anything to you at all. I’m sorry. She showed up this mornin’ out of the blue as she does, on her usual shit and I didn’t notice the time. Should have sent her away the minute I knew you’d be comin’.”

You give him a shrug. “It’s - it’s not your fault, Joel. You can’t control what she says.”

“There’s no merit to it, I swear. I would never have let her speak t’you that way. She say anything else?”

You shake your head at first, hesitant to share more for fear of hurting Joel. You could tell how heavily the guilt of someone else’s words was weighing on him, like he was responsible for everyone in his world and how they behaved. 

 “Not really. Just… basically that I was about to expire and be replaced any minute. And if looks could speak, well, yeah. She had a lot to say with those,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact, focusing on fiddling with your fork on the table.

Joel’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Don’t pay any mind to it. She’s always done this, always wanted to make sure I’m less happy than she is, even though I’m the one that took care of things when she was too -” Joel cuts himself off, placing his palms on the table. His sudden distress causes you to snap your head back up, looking to him and seeing the worry now etched on his features. It nearly breaks your heart to see him like this. “Sorry, you don’t need my whole sob story, sweetheart.”

This time, you reach to him, placing a hand on his and squeezing before pulling it back, unsure of yourself in the intimate gesture. Joel seems to be so much better than you at this kind of thing. “If you want to share, I’ll listen. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I - I thought she wasn’t even in the picture, but…”

“She ain’t,” Joel snips. “Not really. She comes and goes when she pleases, and I - I let her walk all over me, take from me. Shit, hard to even admit it, but that’s the truth. Never do that shit for anyone, just… when it comes to Sarah, I’ll do fuckin’ anything. Marissa knows that.” Joel avoids holding your gaze, his eyeline averted to the left at some spot off in the distance. “The worst part is, watchin’ Sarah get that hope in her eyes, like maybe it could be different this time. Even after all these years. God, listen to me. Second meal together and I’m turnin’ into this big sap, ranting like some sad old man. You should be havin’ fun, being shown a good time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Joel,” you chide him. “What did you just tell me? About wanting to be here?”

He cracks a small smile and you return it. In a way, it’s nice to know he has this baggage, that he’s not always put together and suave. He has demons, like you do, like the rest of the world does. He’s not invincible, he’s complicated. Just like you, too.

“You’re a good one, kiddo, y’know that?” Joel says, sighing, and you try to fight the bolt of disappointment hurtling itself through your chest at the nominer. A kid. Joel says it so passively, and you know he’s not trying to undermine you, or make you feel the crush that it brings to know he doesn’t see you in the way you’d like him to, so you just smile.

“I like this kind of conversation much better, anyways,” you reply, swallowing down your hurt. “Helps me get to know you.”

Joel’s smile cocks sideways. “Right. Almost forgot this is what it’s all about, ain’t it?” he teases. “Been talkin’ your ear off, not even askin’ about you.”

“Oh, no, no. You’re not getting off that easily. I have more questions.”

He laughs, the thick tension in the air starting to evaporate as his shoulders relax. “Really, now? Alright, nosy, shoot.”

You bite your lip, reigning in your cheesy grin. “Okay. So… What happened with you and Valerie?”

Joel speaks bluntly. “We ended things. She did, actually.”

You raise one brow, unimpressed. “Well, that much is obvious. But, you just let her go? I don’t know, she seems so… nice. Perfect. Like someone every man would want to be with.”

Joel’s look shifts to something more amused. “You ever broken up with someone before?”

“I - Well, kind of, I guess. But they were assholes, and it wasn’t anything serious.”

“And maybe just not the right person for you, yeah?”

“A mistake, more like it,” you mumble, and Joel chuckles, scratching a hand through his beard as he shakes his head at you.

“My point is, some people just aren’t right for each other, no matter how perfect they seem,” he says pointedly. “Me and Valerie got along, but we were just wanting different levels of, er, commitment at the time, I guess.”

“Oh? And you… weren’t committing then?” It’s hard to see that for Joel, given what you’ve already learned about him in this short time. He was steadfast, seeming singularly focused when he put his mind to something, given his success, so it was hard to picture him shying away from commitment. Especially seeing as how whenever you’ve been in his presence, it's felt like you are his sole priority, like he's dedicated only to that moment with you - it seemed to be a gift he had. 

“She was lookin’ for more, and I wasn’t really there with her back then. We were havin’ fun, and she realized she was lookin’ for someone to marry, spend her life with, y’know? So, I’m happy for her that she found it. She’s a nice gal, deserves that.” 

You consider it, knowing there may be more to the story than he’s letting on, but you don’t press him. Maybe it’s too early to dig into things, despite you wanting to learn everything you can about him. 

“That’s really sweet, actually. It seems like things ended amicably, then?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, it did. Never was really contentious with any of the others, neither. Sometimes y’just grow out of things, or realize it ain’t a good fit, even if money's the motivating factor. For me, I want to look forward to spendin’ time with the person, too. It makes it all worth it.”

You give him a genuine smile, feeling your gaze going soft. Something about the way Joel speaks about this, so surefooted and thoughtful, and the way he regards the women he’s involved in his lifestyle, it grasps at you and refuses to let go. He recognizes where he’s at and owns it - not trying to say anything to please you, but just speaking honestly about the experience. 

“And not to mention the, you know, little boost of… motivation you get from it,” you say, poking at him.

Joel nearly chokes on the sip he’s taken from his water glass, then composes himself. “Very funny,” he grits out with an overexaggerated frown, one you can tell he’s forcing. “Keep it up, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You put your hands up in mock defeat. “It was just too easy. But I get what you’re saying. Uh… have the others known about that part of it, too? I - I’m just genuinely curious about all of this. I guess I never thought about the, uh, intricacies of these sorts of things.” You’d been wondering if it was obvious or expected in that kind of arrangement, or if what you knew about Joel was some kind of rarity. Was it always all about that for these men providing lavish gifts and financial stability? Or could it be something more, like what you and Joel have? Was it the big secret that all these women were in on, that writing checks and throwing credit cards their way was a one way ticket to these men getting hard in their overpriced slacks?

You’ve been feeling so naive, ruminating on it since that dinner with Joel, that you hadn’t guessed the minute he’d brought it up in his office that day. Was that the only reason he was here doing this, to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of it? 

Joel grimaces a little, clearly anxious about toeing back towards this topic with you. “Well, yeah, to a degree. It’s not always spoken, but sometimes it’s part of the fun. Making jokes about it, or… shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we’re both adults here, I ‘spose. It’s foreplay at times, knowin’ about what’s going on for both people. Makes it fun.”

You fight the slight gape your mouth has dropped into, snapping it shut into a smug smile, nodding. “Oh,” you blurt out dumbly, feeling your cheeks go hot, curling the back of your knuckles to rest your chin in your hands, looking down. One mention of foreplay with Joel and you’re reduced to an awkward, wordless mess, unsure of how to proceed. There wasn’t any foreplay happening here, he’d made that very clear repeatedly, but your conversations always seem to edge towards something else, filled with an unspoken tension. It was messing with your mind, your ability to keep things compartmentalized for your own sanity. You pick up your fork, attempting to return to your meal just for something to do with your hands. “That’s…”

Joel seems to catch himself, leaping into action. “B-but not… this. This situation is different. I’m able to separate things, and… and… shit, I’m sorry. I’m the one goin’ on about not crossin’ those lines, and here we are. I was jus’ trying to tell you how it usually goes for lots of folks doing this sort of thing, that’s all.”

You wave your hands as if to pardon his blunder, finally collecting yourself. “No, no, I get it, and that makes sense. I was the one who asked. It sounds fun, honestly. I see why people do this.”

Joel loosens up, his tense shoulders dropping and lips giving you a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is. I’m havin’ fun now, too, just to make that clear.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, giving him a playful scrunch of your nose. “Me too, though,” you add on with more sincerity.

“Oh, so gettin’ treated to new things and meals because of me is fun, is it?”

You feign thinking for a long moment to irritate him. “Hmm, I guess so.” You laugh, grateful to be back on track with Joel, the banter right where it should be in both of your sweet spots. This was far from normal - secretly dating but not dating such an old friend of your father, accepting his money and gifts - but it felt like one of the most natural places you could be right now.

“Now, should we enjoy our meal together?” Joel asks.

Smiling at him, already feeling the hefty weight that had been pressing on your soul this entire week lifting some thanks to Joel, you nod.

You walk side by side along the busy sidewalks with Joel, his body constantly hovering close to you so as not to lose you amidst the throngs of people going about their busy days. The lunch rush is still alive and well, a blur of people in business casual rushing past, clutching their bags or talking hurriedly on their phones, likely all on their way back to their respective jobs.

Joel had insisted on walking together instead of going separate ways after lunch, seeming to have a secretive air about him that piqued your interest enough to go along with it. 

“Want to make up for everythin’ from today,” he tells you, stopping outside of a jewelry store with gold and silver alike, gemstones and diamonds glittering in the window displays.

“Joel…” you chide. “There’s nothing to make up for. This seems to be a theme with you. Wasn’t lunch supposed to make up for the mustard incident where you almost poisoned me to death?” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yes, but this is for Marissa.” At your insistent mouth opening to brush it off, he puts both his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’m serious. I’m gonna have a talk with her about it. She shouldn’t be gettin’ into my business or yours. I really am sorry.”

You melt quickly under the softness in his tone and the bulk of his hands weighing comfortably on your shoulders. 

“It’s really not like she’s making it out to be, I want you to know that. I know you don’t know me as well as you’d like yet, but it’s always been… as respectful as I can get things to be between me and whoever I’m with at the time. She can’t see that, and doesn’t want to, ‘cause she’s bitter she’s not getting more out of me. So if she made you feel like you’re just someone to use an’ throw away, I’m sorry about that. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m here until we get everythin’ sorted out for you and more, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, willing away the unwelcome tears starting to make your eyes shine. You’ve never heard words even remotely like what Joel is saying to you right now, never have had anyone take the time to express a sentiment like that, make you feel worth the time of day for it. It’s… incredible, a warmth that quickly burrows itself inside your chest, so foreign but so welcome to feel like you’re truly seen, truly matter to someone else beyond what it could give them. Even if it was Joel, who barely knows you, but seems to see the merit in helping you figure your life out despite it being risky for him. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before.

“I…” you stutter out, clearing your throat and looking down at the sidewalk. Joel’s gaze is pensive and sharp as he studies you, trying to read the emotions warring within you. “Thank you, Joel. I’m sorry, I’ve just never - you’re really kind. Not just the money thing, but you’re… not what I expected.”

He smiles, seeming to understand the struggle you’re unable to verbalize. It was obvious here, what was going on based on everything you’d told him about your father. There was a deep wound you were simply trying to fill. It should make Joel feel dirty, but he lit with pride somewhere deep inside, making him want to keep being the reason for you to smile.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he replies smugly, forcing a weak chuckle out of you. “Now c’mon. We’ve got things to buy.”

Joel surprises you when his hand trails down, grasping at yours, making a beeline for the door to the shop. You let your fingers intertwine with his like it’s a natural, everyday occurrence for the two of you, tugging you along. 

The man behind the counter knows Joel, greeting him by name, which amuses you to no end. Joel really has perfected this type of relationship for himself, down to the jewelry shop he frequents. Joel introduces you, and you can only offer a shy smile and hello, feeling the difference between the bustle of the outside world and placidity of the polished jewelry shop hitting you hard. You’re too aware of the way your hand is clasped tightly in Joel’s now that you’re somewhere quiet with eyes on the two of you. The more places you’re seen together, the more likely it is that your entire world could come crashing down with this secret getting out. There are millions of people in this city, yet you keep getting the sinking feeling it would be just your luck to be spotted by the wrong one.

Joel senses your shift, slipping his hand out of yours and briefly grazing the small of your back with it. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody here knows anythin’, or would say anythin’, even if they did,” he whispers, and you eye the clerk suddenly acting very interested in wiping the surface of a case across the room to give the two of you privacy.

You shoot him a nervous look. “Should we really be out together like this? It’s been making me nervous all day. What if - what if…?”

Joel’s entire body nearly lurches forward, but he holds himself back from grabbing onto you, squeezing those anxious cheeks of yours between his hands and holding them tightly, making sure you look into his eyes while he reassures you. This instinct he has, the one he’s never been able to ignore, feels like too much with you, too suffocating. You have a father, someone to look after you that way already. Hell, all of them have had a father, but never one that he knew personally. Yet, he saw the need you had for it, the craving maybe you weren’t aware of, the one that brought you to tears the moment he’d shown you any sign of that kindness.

It hurts his heart to see you so neglected - all these years of knowing you by proxy, and he’d never seen it. How could he have missed it, how miserable you’ve been? How much sooner could he have been able to help you realize that you were worth anyone’s time, that you were worthy of living the life you wanted to live? Somehow though, he felt that this was exactly where the two of you were meant to be at this point in your timelines. Any sooner and maybe he wouldn’t have been able to make the difference he wanted to because you’d not have been ready to face it, or too late in the game, already too miserably deep in your path to CEO to care.

Meant to be - the words that kept running through Joel’s mind, despite everything in him fighting to stop thinking like that, to stop gently placing your sweet self so deeply in his heart so early on in the relationship. You yearn so earnestly for something he was so innately able to give, and that’s making it harder than it ever had been with the others.

“We don’t have to go out like this again, if you don’t want. I know, I thought the same thing, and we can stick with my place if y’want to. I just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all.”

You throw him an appreciative smile. “I - I’ll think about it. I liked today, though.”

“Me too.” He smiles. “Now can I treat you to somethin’ pretty like I’m supposed to?”

“Alright, alright, Mr. Impatient. Let’s have a look,” you reply, stepping forward to peer down at the closest display, feeling Joel’s presence sidling up beside you. Heat radiates off of both him and the lights in the glittering case, making you sweat at the proximity of it all, the nearness of his body and that cologne of his wafting invitingly into your space.

“What do you usually like? Noticed you mostly wear gold. But not many bracelets.”

You flick your gaze to him, brows lifted. “Very observant of you.”

“It’s all part of the gig. Got to know what kinds of gifts you’re lookin’ for, so I can surprise you when you least expect it.” Joel’s pleased smugness shadows his face, and you roll your eyes at him, even though you are impressed. Men don’t have the best reputation for paying attention, or at least not the ones you’ve known. Your father has never opted to buy his own gifts for your mother, always either hiring someone to do it or deferring to you, since you’d clearly know better what his wife would like.

“Well, what would you pick out for me if I wasn’t here?” you ask him, feeling emboldened.

Joel seems to like this game, taking on the challenge with an intrigued twitch of his brows. He leans the tiniest bit closer to you, but he may as well have crossed an entire canyon with the difference the proximity makes to your steadily beating heart. He seems to morph into something more right there - giving you the suave show he offers to any other woman in your position. 

“Alright, well, I’d want to know first if you don’t wear bracelets because you don’t like ‘em, or if you just don’t think about buyin’ them for yourself, which would be a damn shame. ‘Cause for some reason, I really want to be the one clasping something nice to your pretty wrists. Just a feeling I get.”

You can scarcely breathe at the way his voice reverberates so close to you, lowering to a gravelly rumble with each word weaving its way inside of you. It’s all too sensual, too evocative of an image painted in your mind for this to be the casual thing you’re both seeming to pretend it is. Your skin is prickling, warm all over as you stand with tightening thighs, your hip pressed against the jewelry case to help hold you steady. You don’t dare look him in the eye now, for fear he’ll be able to see the mortification burning its way through you at the effect his words have. 

“I - I just don’t think about it. I like bracelets, though,” you somehow squeak out, keeping your answer safe and only opting to respond to the actual question rather than… whatever the hell all the other stuff was. You simply can’t dive into it further if you want to remain sane right now and pretend that Joel didn’t have some kind of obscene hold on you.

“Alright, then. Let’s have at it,” he says casually now, dropping some of the charm. He prowls along the cases at a slow, steady pace, carefully weighing the options. “I’ll stick with gold, for obvious reasons. No point in mixin’ it up if you’re not interested.” He flashes a glance back to you, to see if he’s on the right track, so you nod for him, agreeing. You do your own browsing, admiring the wide selection of jewelry while he’s quiet for a while, stopping to observe each case with scanning eyes before he glances to the clerk across the room.

“William, I think we’re all set here,” he booms out, and you look at him curiously, walking over to the case he’s landed on. You peer down through the glass, trying to guess which one he’s selected, but Joel stops you with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “Do you want it to be a surprise?”

You consider it, pursing your mouth in contemplation. A flutter moves through your middle, making you lick your lips before smiling wide for him. “Yeah, why the hell not?” you conclude. 

Moments later, after dutifully averting your gaze from across the room as Joel and William pack up your new gift, he walks over to you with a slender, black box in hand. There’s a bag in his other for you to carry it home in, sporting tissue paper and the shop's name in a classy, black font across the front. 

“For you,” Joel says quietly, presenting the box to you and cracking it open. It’s a dainty, gold bracelet, periodically studded with flowers, daisies by the look of it, each one beautifully crafted and shimmering with diamonds. You’re accustomed to nice things like this - diamonds, designer clothing and bags, all the highest quality things your parents provided for you growing up, yet you still gasp at the sight before you. There’s something touching about it being specifically chosen for you by someone who truly wanted to do it. That makes it the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen, despite having laid eyes on much more elaborate, eye-catching pieces. 

This feeling was pure magic.

“I love it,” you exclaim softly, bringing a hand up to your mouth, some self conscious part of you desiring to conceal your smile, not wanting to seem materialistic. Joel’s hand goes to your wrist, moving it away, his eyes intently flashing between watching your grin and your eyes crinkling happily with it.

“Mm-mm,” he chastises you, nearly a whisper. “This is the best part, watchin’ you be happy.”

Your smile falls into something more subtle, an electricity crackling down to your very veins at the intimacy brimming in the air between the two of you. “Thank you, Joel. I love it. You did really good,” you manage to say, your breath a little shaky.

“Let me,” he says, bringing your wrist a little lower and gently pulling the new bracelet out of its box. The way he so gingerly moves, wrapping the gold chain around your wrist and clasping it, all so certain yet reverent, has something inexplicable taking hold of you. He’s an expert, this sort of thing practically a second job for him, yet you feel like it’s the first time, as if he’d never tire of making you feel this cherished and special. 

“Now would you look at that,” Joel marvels as he finishes up, turning your wrist in a slow, graceful manner to allow a moment of appreciation as the bracelet shines and sparkles. When he lets go, you feel the absence like a plunge of ice to your skin, much colder than you could remember it being before he’d touched it. You smile absentmindedly at the bracelet, shaking it to hear the tiny, pleasant jingle. 

“It’s perfect,” you tell Joel. “Thank you again.” Before you can think, your arms are thrown around him in an embrace, wanting to show your appreciation. You feel his hesitation at first, but once his arms finally wrap around you, they’re committed, squeezing you tightly to his chest. “I thoroughly forgive you now for your rude ex. And the mustard,” you say into his shirt.

You both descend into laughter, pulling away to watch his crooked smile lighting up his whole face. “Thank god. I was worried it was a deal breaker.”

You shrug. “Nah. More where this came from, and we’ll definitely be even.”

Joel’s hurried footsteps have him rushing along the sleek black floors past the front desk, not so much so as to not give Vincent a proper greeting as he passes. Thankfully Bianca, his assistant, is still on her lunch too, no questions or needs or check-ins from her buzzing in his ear. Just for these few minutes, that’s all he needs.

The office door closed in a haste, shaky hands pulling the shades on his windows into the hallway, he makes sure to lock the door before settling in at his desk. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, the half hard cock he’d been fighting for blocks now straining against his slacks, so stiff and achy it’s nearly painful. Leaking a spot onto his briefs, he palms it, sighing softly at the relief it brings.

Jerking on his cock, the length of springs out, slapping at his belly before he tugs out his balls too, resting heavily against the hastily shuffled down fabric. He swallows the tiny pit of shame growing inside of him before skimming a finger through his precum, spreading it along his head in a circular motion.

This time, he doesn’t even try to avoid picturing it’s you doing it.

He’s hardly allowed himself to let go like this for days, not since your first dinner together. It’s been too difficult to not tie it to you, to not conflate the fact that he was rock hard more often than was convenient now to the fact that he had someone new out there enjoying all the wonderful things he could provide for them. That someone being you, maybe one of the few people he absolutely should not be fantasizing about. He was coming on too strong, he knew that, unable to help himself from giving in to what seems to come naturally between you two. You’re too nice, too sweet to ruin with vain, carnal desires, so he’d have to resort to this instead - holding back until he’s nearly bursting with unplaced desire. 

He thought he could handle the jewelry store, could handle you. But just as you’d said he’s different than you’d expected, so are you. Funny and biting, but so soft and caring underneath it all, passionate and driven but without a direction yet, something in you so wanting of it, so needing, you were simply… lovely. Radiant and perfect in all your own little ways, you’ve been one of the biggest pleasures to be around after only two god damned dates. Joel hates himself for it. It’s such a shame it had to be you, the one who’d finally caught his attention in this way. It has been too long since he’d indulged himself, let someone in and taken care of them. He’d just stayed focused on work and family, ignoring the part of him that ached to be satisfied with being seen as someone’s provider.

Joel’s slick hand slides up his cock, gripping tightly, a dichotomous hope uttered on his lips that it should be you, and that he wishes it wasn’t you running through his mind during such an intimate act. 

“F-fuck, yeah,” he mutters to himself, stroking faster. You and that smile, the new bracelet hanging off your wrist, just as he’d imagined it. The new dress you’d worn to dinner, aching to see more, more, more - new, pretty things, or to watch your stress melt away as he took on all those burdens for you. You could have everything, you could have it all, because of him.

He’d never touch you, no, and never let you touch him like this. But in this moment, squeezing his own slickened cock, he allows himself just one glimpse of it in his mind - one time, and he’d be done. One moment of imagining your hand wrapped around his shaft, fingers curling delicately as they move up and down, struggling to take him all in your hand. You would struggle, with that pretty new bracelet sparkling the entire way through.

He groans. 

It’s louder than he’d meant, unexpectedly so, but that’s just what you do to him. The unexpected. A thin sheen of sweat coats Joel’s brow now as he strokes himself furiously, enjoying every second of allowing himself to relinquish his morals. It would be over too soon, he thinks to himself, catching a glimpse of his ruddy, pulsing cock in his hand, desperately imagining you’re there instead, touching it, riding it, the two of you doing something nobody has to know about.

“Sh-shit, shit,” Joel blurts out, hastily reaching for a tissue, pumping his cock a few more times, throwing his head back. When he comes, it’s harder than he has in recent memory, so much built up tension and need behind it all, but he doesn’t picture any specific thing to push him over the edge. It’s just you.

Catching his breath, he copes with the shame of it all, still feeling you buzzing pleasantly around his mind. This thing he can not rid himself of now that you’ve taken up residence there. It was a new kind of high, one he hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever. None of the others had felt like this, his heart and mind seeming to slip out of his control and into something dangerous. Joel always found he didn’t like things to be out of his control if he could help it. You, however, were completely, irrefutably out of his control now.

Sitting there in his pool of shame, Joel cleans himself up and discards the evidence in the trash, feeling defeated. He’s already let this get too far, putting you in a dicey position, and for what? For him to self satisfy some part of him that he’s considered broken?

Isn’t that exactly what you were doing too? Could two people trying to fix what’s broken come together and not have it end in disaster? This isn't like his other relationships - there hadn’t been so much at stake, no end that resulted in upsetting the status quo of the other’s life. 

He’s pondering all of it, if he’s being fair to you, if he should be more careful with what parts of your life he holds in his hands now, when he feels his phone buzz inside his pocket.

You’ve sent him a photo of your wrist, seemingly out on the street somewhere. He catches the facade of a high end, cream colored building in the background, and he wonders in passing if that’s where you call home. Wonders if he’ll be able to see it, be let into your world a little more. Not the parts of it he knows from being on the fringes, but the bits of you that you don’t share with your parents, your friends, or maybe anyone else.

Never taking this off, you tease in the message attached to the photo, and Joel’s chest tightens and swells with affection. He longs to make you feel like this every day, to make sure you know that you have someone looking out for you even when so many people in your life seem to have forsaken that. He studies the picture, looking over every inch and promising himself to put aside his vain desires to see this through for you. To give you all the things you deserve to have, because you’re a nice girl who deserves better than the lowness he’s stooped to in his office today.

It nags at his mind though, in a way he can’t shake off despite trying, the things he feels when he looks at the photo, the new bracelet shining in the sun. The things he feels when he looks at you.

You. You were certainly going to be the death of him.

Fridays quickly become your favorite day of the week.

That cherished thing you look forward to, the one thing in your life that is simply yours, and nobody else's. Fridays with Joel.

It’s increasingly difficult to deny how smitten you are with the entire arrangement when every day leading up to that now sacred day has your stomach happily in knots, excitement building for another evening with Joel. 

You’d both decided to cool things off and keep your appearances in public as limited as possible for now until you better work out how you feel about it. You thought it might make things feel stifled - claustrophobic, even - but you feel nothing but at home in Joel’s brownstone when you visit. You’d both been too busy for another lunch date, and the last two Fridays had come and gone with little fuss other than more pleasant, wonderful evenings together. 

There’d been no more questionable moments - no accidental allergic reactions, no reason to stay the night again, although you’d kind of wished you could have a redo of that horribly embarrassing one, waking up to actually enjoy the morning with Joel. There’s nothing but smooth sailing - lovely meals cooked by Joel, a bottle of wine, and good conversation each time.

He fascinates you - his stories, his humor and his good sense all only serve to draw you further into his orbit. He has a multitude of lives he’s lived- from his younger years, getting into trouble with his brother, or when he first moved to New York, a struggling dad just trying to hang on to the dream of giving his daughter a better life. And he listens to you, truly listens, with sincerity in his gaze when you return the favor with stories of your own. It’s nothing like his life, despite how similarly the two of you appear to live now - you don’t have such humble beginnings to help tie you down to earth. You like that Joel could help do that for you, though.

He always seems to know the right thing to say to you, even if he isn’t trying. There’s no game here, no tricks, just a man who appreciates your company, and one that you strangely have a lot in common with despite the thirty odd years between the two of you. It’s like something just clicked into place that first evening you’d spent together, and kept on fitting more perfectly with each new conversation. Discovering Joel feels equally easy and terrifying - the thought of letting him in, such an easy thing to do in his presence, makes you uneasy.

You both finally seem to have reached some unspoken equilibrium after that lunch - just enough to not cross the line, yet you constantly live right there on the border with Joel, subtle and overt affections alike. The newness of it all has somewhat faded, falling into a comfortable routine, yet the excitement of being around Joel has not when you seem to do nothing but look at the other with little stars twinkling in your eyes.

It’s confusing and exhilarating and intoxicating all in one, and the only thing you know how to do right now is ride the wave, praying it doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass.

On Friday, you lay awake in bed far later than maybe you should, burrowed under your covers and watching the cloudy day unfold out your window. You can’t seem to find the motivation for now, but can only see later - later when you get to see Joel, later when he’ll make you laugh and cook you a delicious meal. Later when you’ll feel at home with him.

Your phone lights up, a new message alert on the screen, and you’re thankful it’s him and not either of your parents who have been trying to get a hold of you.

Joel: Morning sunshine. Are you awake?

You: Unfortunately… why?

Your phone rings mere seconds later, and you chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“You know you can just call. You don’t have to text me first,” you say into the receiver.

“Well, mornin’ to you too,” Joel says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Good morning, Joel,” you concede, forcing your voice to an overly sweet lilt. You rustle in bed, still half asleep, putting Joel’s call on speaker phone and propping it on your chest.

“Can you be somewhere by 9:30?” he asks. You like the sound of him, his rough little twang booming out into your bedroom. And you like him being the first voice you hear for the day.

“Ergh, that’s so early,” you whine.

“Yeah, well, early bird gets the worm, or whatever,” Joel replies, and you can hear that soft smile of his in his voice. “I know it’s your day off class to sleep in, but… what if I told you this was for somethin’ nice?”

“How nice?” you ask, your brows starting to raise in intrigue. 

You hear a loud sigh on the other end, picturing him sitting in the tall backed chair in his office, shaking his head or pinching at the bridge of his nose like he does when you frustrate him. “How about we try a yes Joel, that would be great?”

You giggle into your covers. “Why, yes Joel, that would be great.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out. “God forbid your sugar daddy tries to treat you once and a while without gettin’ a fight in return.”

“Joel!” Your face heats up, your fists balled into the plush fabric of the comforter now as you pull it up to hide your face. “You know I don’t - I don’t like you being called that.”

“Sweetheart, if the shoe fits…”

“Ugh, you wish,” you retort harshly, knowing you don’t have a leg to stand on. By all definitions of the term, that’s exactly what Joel is to you. You’d told him how it made you feel, that it couldn’t quite encapsulate the complexities of your relationship with him, and he’d agreed, saying he didn’t often prefer using the term so blatantly himself. But this morning, he seems intent on embarrassing you as payback for your whining. Serves you right. 

“Oh thas’ right, we agreed sugar friend was more appropriate, didn’t we?”

“God,” you mutter, “You’re so embarrassing. Seriously. That’s it, the deal's off.”

Joel laughs. “Now you wish. Maybe next time you’ll learn to do as I say and we won’t have to argue.”

You cock your head, feigning upset. “Aw, what would be the fun in that?”

Another sigh from Joel reaches your ears. “9:30, yeah?” he snips, moving you back on track.

“Yeah, yeah. Sooo… what is it?”

“You’ll have to be good and go there, find out for yourself.” Joel’s teasing voice travels across your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. Be good, he’d said, and it wasn’t the first time those words have left his lips, sending a strange twist to your lower belly. Be good, he’d told you last week, And buy yourself something extra nice today. You’d gotten a much needed hair appointment in response, the result of which Joel had fawned over at dinner that week. Be good, he’d told you, And get your studying done, when you’d tried to find a time to meet up in between your Friday dinners, missing him amidst the chaos of both of your lives. You’d heeded his words, studying hard, giving you the feeling that you’d aced your midterms this week.

You frown, huffing at him retaining information on the surprise like it’s top secret, yet you feel a warm tingling up your spine, excited for whatever is to come. If it’s Joel planning it, you know it’ll end up being lovely.

“Fine. Send me the address.”

You take the elevator up to floor thirty seven, double checking your texts from Joel for the correct address. Your finger had scanned over the panel in the lobby with each floor’s respective business, and it had said Essence Spa was number thirty seven. Your brow had quirked, impressed.

Joel was sending you on a spa day? Was he going to be upstairs, waiting to indulge in it with you? The thought makes you feel a little floaty, but when the doors open, you’re only greeted by a serene lobby with no Joel in sight. You try to hide the disappointment even from yourself, not wanting to recognize just how badly you were looking forward to seeing him. The tinkling of waterfall walls surrounding the check-in desk hits your ears, and a young woman stands from behind it, welcoming you.

“You’ve got quite the itinerary scheduled for you today,” she informs you once you’re checked in. She glances down at a tablet in her arms, looking over your appointment. “Let’s get you started.”

You’re led to a chic, clean locker room, and suddenly Joel’s cryptic text saying to bring a swimsuit makes more sense once you’re told to change into it and the robe hanging neatly in your designated locker. 

“Meet me back out in the main area, and we’ll get you started with that ninety minute hot stone massage to loosen things up, then we’ll have you relax those muscles in our soaking pools and sauna, nourish you with some lunch, and end the day with a deluxe facial,” the woman tells you, her voice a serene lilt that practically floats through the air.

Joel is such an asshole. The best, kindest asshole who you couldn’t deny was anywhere near being one. You find yourself defensive at this difficulty you have with accepting how sweet and thoughtful he can be at times. It also makes you cynically wary, wondering when it would all come crashing down, when the jig would be up and you’d owe him something, or he’d realize you’re not living up to his expectations.

You change into your swimsuit, putting the luxurious, plush robe over top while you let the soothing spa music drifting through the locker room get your mind in the proper headspace. You try to empty your mind of negativity, wanting to just accept this gift and enjoy it, as Joel wants you to. You take out your phone, pulling your lip between your teeth as you try to find the right way to express your gratitude to him.

Strangely emboldened, you stand in front of a full length mirror in the locker room, snapping a photo of yourself. You pretend it’s all by accident, that maybe you don’t notice how your robe isn’t cinched tightly closed, that it hangs open in the middle, the belt dangling loosely, to give a peek at what’s underneath - exposed skin in your two piece swimsuit - certainly more of you than Joel has seen before.

Fingers a little shaky, you type an attached message to the risky photo, feeling your stomach flip in the most pleasant way. 

You: Next time, you’re coming with. No way I’m here relaxing all by myself while you’re stuck at work.

The spa has a no cell phones policy in all of the treatment areas, so you shove your phone in the locker, closing it up before you can think any more on it, smiling a little devilishly to yourself that you’d actually sent that photo to Joel. You can’t decide if you’re trying to bait him, if you want something to happen because of it, or if you just like the idea of riling him up a little. Well, you certainly hope the photo would have that reaction from him.

“There’s hardly anyone here,” you comment in passing to your massage therapist as they get you set up in a private room. You’d seen only one other patron aside from yourself when you’d passed by the soaking pools to get here.

“We keep the client count low, so you get the most relaxing, immersive experience here. It’s sort of a bit of a secret, this place,” she replies cheekily. You wonder how the hell Joel knows about it, then - he didn’t seem much like the type to take time for himself to have a spa day. In fact, you wonder if he really ever treats himself, or if he’s too busy treating others, like he is with you?

You try not to dwell on the twinge of guilt while you receive arguably one of the best massages of your life, but you can’t help but wish Joel were here with you. He follows you around, a little thread of him tied to you as you enjoy each step of the carefully built itinerary for your day.

Throughout the refreshing soaking pools with an expansive view of the city, the heavenly sauna, and the cozy room they’d put you in with a crackling fireplace, bringing you cucumber water and some beautifully bright smoothie that tastes like health in a glass, he’s there. On your mind. Persistent.

So much so that after your facial, you practically run back to the locker room to check your phone, praying for a response and equally hoping the photo somehow got caught up in a wonky signal and never made it through to him.

Your heart leaps at the unread message notification from him, swiping furiously with a trembling finger to open it, ignoring the missed call from your mother right underneath.

Joel: Well shit. Don’t think I could say no next time.

Joel: Were you trying to be naughty on purpose?? Or am I just a pervy old man?

You crack up behind your hand, lost in the moment as you sink onto the locker room bench, not bothering to change yet. Mesmerized, you read over the texts another time, noticing them slightly spaced apart, meaning he’d gone back into the thread again, maybe to get another peek at your photo. You shake the thought out of your mind, begging yourself to stop overthinking it, and just do. Do what came naturally.

You: Who me??? I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. 

You: But to answer your question… yes you are. Very pervy. Very old.

You start to change out of your swimsuit, glancing anxiously at your phone what feels like every five seconds, until it lights up a short time later as you’re packing your things.

Joel: I knew it. You probably meant to send that to your young, not pervy boyfriend didn’t you?

You laugh, nearly startling yourself with its echo through the vast, minimalist space.

You: Nope. Just for this pervy old man I know. Had to thank him somehow for the spa day 😇

Joel: So you’re all angelic again? No more pictures??

You: Hmmmm. We’ll see about that.

You: By the way, thank you for real. That was amazing. You’re too much.

Joel: You’re welcome sweetheart. Hope you got to relax.

You smile down at the screen at his sincere response, your chest warm and light as you amble out to the lobby, feeling on cloud nine.

On your way home, your phone pings with another message from Joel.

Joel: Should be something waiting for you at your place when you get back. Follow up for instructions once you get it.

You snort at the formality of his text, shaking your head as you pull open the door to your building. You wave to Riya, one of the women who works the front desk there, managing all the deliveries and ins and outs of the place. Of all the people working there since you moved in, Riya has always been your favorite - she’s hilarious and kind, and seems to forgo the more professional side of herself you’ve seen when you’re chatting with her.

Riya calls you over, sipping on an iced latte. “I just got here, but Carmen said something was delivered for you this morning. Said it was wrapped all fancy schmancy for you.” She waggles her brows a bit and you roll your eyes, a soft burn of embarrassment at your cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” you reply, waving a hand. “Thanks, though.”

“Got a secret admirer or something?” she presses you, and you try to hold back your smile, failing miserably.

“Something like that.”

“Fine, fine, don’t tell me,” Riya says, crossing her arms in faux annoyance.

When you make your way up to your apartment, the doorway is empty of any packages or gifts. Maybe Carmen was mistaken about who received a delivery, although Joel had said to expect something, so you’re left confused as you head inside. You beeline past the kitchen to where you see a box sitting on your dining table, also littered with shopping bags full of new, pretty things on Joel’s dime that you hadn’t put away yet, and the jewelry bag from the other week. Seeing it all laid out has you feeling slightly embarrassed you hadn’t kept up with things, but it had been a tough few weeks studying for midterms and you kind of liked the constant reminder of Joel in your apartment. A new bouquet of flowers catches your eye, and you walk up to it, lazily smiling as you reach out to touch the petals of a pink peony, completely distracted.

“It would be nice of you to return my calls, but I see you’ve been busy.” 

Your mothers voice in the dead silence makes you nearly jump out of your skin, and you whip your head to where she sits on the couch, somehow seeming to have blended into the furniture. She’s staring at the myriad of gifts and bags littering your dining table.

“Jesus, mom,” you cry out, clutching your chest. “You - you can’t just -”

“If you’d bother to call me back, you would have expected me,” she snips, her mouth set in a strained line. It was true, you’d been avoiding her calls in the last week or so. You couldn’t claim it was only because you’d been busy navigating this new thing with Joel, or studying hard for your midterms - you hadn’t wanted her call to ruin the somewhat good mood you’d finally found yourself in.

“You can’t just come in whenever you want,” you breathe out, still holding your chest, willing your heart to slow down its incessant banging against your ribcage.

“You know the deal we made when your father and I got this apartment for you. The money for this place comes from us, so we get a set of keys. What else was I supposed to do, not hearing from you? You should be a little more grateful,” she says, glancing around at the well furnished space with a critical eye, likely looking for something amiss that she can comment on.

“I- I’ve been really busy, I had midterms all week.” Not that she’d bothered to ask at any point, or ever, you think to yourself. “I was just studying, that’s all. Not trying to blow you off.”

“Hm,” your mother huffs. “Well, if you’d gotten back to me, you’d see I didn’t call to argue. As you know, my birthday is coming up,” she says pointedly, checking for your reaction. You nod as if to say of course I hadn’t forgotten, fighting an eye roll and allowing her to go on. “So we’re hosting a dinner at home this year, and I was only trying to invite you.”

You breathe out slowly, trying to put a balm to your now frayed nerves. “Sounds great. I’ll be there,” you say, trying to perk your voice into something more chipper. You’d had such a lovely, relaxing morning, all completely erased by these five minutes you’d be spending with your mother. It grates on your nerves further, irritated that she was ruining Joel’s gift to you without knowing it.

Your mother’s smile doesn’t look genuine, but it’s better than the frown she’d been sporting since you walked in. “I’ll send you all the details then.” She stands up, her eyes fixed on the table as she walks towards you. “I brought these in for you, didn’t think it appropriate to let the flowers wilt in the hallway,” she tells you.

Your heartbeat picks up its pace again as she struts over, wondering what she’s making of all of this. “If you’re dating somebody you know your father and I should know about it,” she adds.

They’ve set you up multiple times with people they deemed worthy of being part of your family’s empire, of being the right hand to you taking over the luxury hotel empire someday. It wouldn’t be hard to find someone wanting to marry into status like this, even if they already came from money, which your parents are adamant about as it is. The only issue has been that every single one of them were entitled assholes, and likely only there because their own wealthy parents liked the match as well. It hadn’t stopped them from trying to make a move on you when there was no clear chemistry, and you’d since given up on taking any dating advice from your parents.

“I’m not,” you say sharply. “I just ordered some new things.” You gesture to the shopping bags and new box from Joel, white and wrapped with a thick, pink satin ribbon.

“Even this?” your mother asks, tapping a manicured finger on the box. 

“Yep,” you lie, trying to sound confident. “This brand likes to package their stuff in a way that makes you feel more special, or something. Guess I fell for it.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow, but she still smiles. It’s coy and suspicious, and you can’t tell if she believes you. “Hm. And the flowers? I did see a note attached.” 

You swallow hard, chest growing tight as you peer down at the bouquet, noticing the tiny white card clipped onto it. Shit. Shit shit shit. Your mother could be playing you, could have already discovered your secret and just wants to drag it out, torturously making you admit it for yourself. Joel may have put his name on the card, may have spelled it out for her so easily to learn just what her daughter has been up to this last month. 

You dare a peek at it, seeing his scrawl, a little touched that he took the time to write it himself instead of someone typing or writing it for him. See you tonight. JM. You breathe a small sigh of relief, thankful it’s only his initials, but it doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods.

“It’s just…” you start, feeling stuck on your words. You’ve never been a particularly good liar - never as a child to avoid getting in trouble, and now, to avoid your personal life being exposed to the last person you’d want it to be. “It’s someone from class. I - I thought we were friends, but he’s kind of into me. Keeps trying to win me over and get me to go out with him.”

“And you’re seeing him tonight?” she asks with a little more interest, peering at the card with you. Your mother is relentless, never knowing when to quit, to stop nosing into your life as if it’s hers to live. Your fear starts to turn to irritation, your face warming up as you stare her down.

“I agreed to one date, just because he’s been nice,” you snip, then groan. “It’s not your business, alright, mom?”

Her lips purse again, clearly not satisfied but willing to let it go for now. “At least he’s putting some effort in,” she snorts. “I wish we knew who he was, to see if we could approve -”

“It’s just one date. I’m not walking down the aisle with him,” you interrupt, begging internally for her to drop it.

Your mother huffs, but stays silent for a long moment. “Well, keep me updated. I’ll expect to see you for my birthday, but really, we should spend more time together.”

What for? You wonder in almost a reflex. An old ache and sadness pulls at your heartstrings. You’ve never had anything but a complicated relationship with your mom, starting before your birth. Your parents had a hard time conceiving, and once they did, an even harder time with the pregnancy. But for them, one child was enough, one little being to put all of their hopes and demands onto, the one person to continue the family legacy they’d built up. Knowing your father, you’d always suspected he’d wished for a boy, and sometimes you’d wished that too - that you could belong somewhere else, to someone else, and let them have the satisfaction with their child that they craved.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good. Maybe school will let up a little now,” you tell your mom, trying to keep the peace. This has already been enough stress for the day, and you’re itching for her to leave so you can tear into the new goodies from Joel and hopefully turn your mood back around. You’re afraid of souring the entire evening with him before it even starts.

She must have been thinking along the same lines, your stiff goodbyes coming only moments later, and a long, doleful sigh parting your lips as you lean back on the front door, eyes fixated on the pretty pink ribbon across the way. Your lip twitches into a semblance of a smile again, going back over to inspect the flowers more closely. You move them to your coffee table, front and center in a spot of admiration and pride. It isn’t the first time Joel has sent you flowers, and you suspect it won’t be the last, but every time has your stomach flipping just as pleasantly as if it all was new to you.

You peel the ribbon off the box next, opening it to find something peculiar, but Joel always ends up having his reasoning for things. Soft, delectable cashmere slides through your fingers as you lift up the clothing in the box, finding a loungewear set - flowy pants, a tank top, and a sweater, all in a calming cream color. Calm: the theme of the day from him, apparently.

You text Joel, telling him you’ve acquired the package, trying to sound as secret agent-like as he did in the original message. You hope it makes him chuckle when he reads it, then scold yourself for thinking about it so deeply. He responds a few minutes later, telling you to wear the new ensemble tonight to dinner, which makes your brows lift in surprise.

Typically, you’ve been getting more done up for your Friday night dinners, wanting to impress him, to build up some confidence knowing you looked your best in whatever new outfit Joel’s money had purchased for you that week. You liked the feeling of it, that moment when he would pause and his eyes would take it all in, clearly pleased that you were pleased, that his generosity had done that. It was a strange turn of events, but you know you can’t deny his request, wondering with butterflies in your stomach just what Joel had in store for you tonight.

You’ve been avoiding Karl’s glances the entire ride over to Joel’s. You’ve always taken to sitting in the front seat more often than the back with him. The front seat has always felt more natural to you unless you were needing space, and you’ve never much cared for the strange, detached relationship your parents had with him. He often drove for them too, and was technically paid by them, but you’d always felt he was your confidant first and foremost. Karl mostly kept to himself - his opinions, his commentary on where you went, but tonight, his air felt bordering on impatient. You know him too well to see that he has something he wants to say.

Pulling onto Joel’s street, he looks to you again out of the corner of his eye. “You know, Mr. Miller called me that one morning to bring your things. You’d slept here.” He’s being roundabout for a reason, and you get it. It’s hard for people like Karl - someone paid to not dig into your personal business - to find a way to express their concern.

“I know,” you reply quietly, looking over to him. He’s got a weathered but friendly face, all round cheeks and kind, blue eyes. 

“You know I know it’s not my business, and I hardly ever ask. But… I just want to make sure you’re being smart.” His cautious tone comes from a caring place, somewhere loving for having been practically an extended part of your family for ten years, but it still makes you bristle a little. You’re entirely too protective over what you have with Joel.

“It’s not - it’s really not what it seems. You know I share a lot with you, Karl, but this is just… I can’t right now. Not yet. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” he says simply, and you get the sense that he really does as he pulls up in front of the now familiar brownstone. The sight of it alone makes your heart give the tiniest leap, your chest swelling. You can barely contain your smile as you turn to Karl, trying to convey your sincerity.

“I’m being safe, I promise. This whole thing is complicated, but… I’m happy.” The admittance takes even you by surprise - when had it happened, this soft slip into something better, this happiness? You flush warm at the words, knowing it’s written all over your face just how smitten you are with your time spent with Joel.

Karl’s lip quirks up in a rare smile. “Alright, then. Good for you. That’s good,” he concludes, nodding his head.

“I’ll probably just catch an Uber later, so you can have the night off. I’m not sure how long I’ll be,” you tell him.

“You call me if anything falls through, though. You know I don’t mind.”

You return his smile, your eyes going soft. You hope they show even a fraction of the depths of your appreciation for him. “I know.”

Stepping out of the car, you wave back to Karl as you practically leap up the steps and knock on Joel’s door. Karl waits until it opens, and when Joel flashes his own polite wave to him, he starts to drive off, having seen you safely to your destination.

You’re ushered inside, then pulled into an embrace the moment the door closes behind you, all of it feeling like a whirlwind. Your arms wrap around his neck, melting into it naturally. Ever since you’d hugged Joel in the jewelry store, it seems to have broken some ice that had held the two of you back from physical touch. Before, everything was fleeting touches and half hearted hugs, but now, the embraces last longer, true and firm, something always sparking pleasantly between the two of you. Something the both of you are apt to ignore, pretending that holding onto each other for this long is perfectly normal.

“Nice t’see you,” Joel murmurs in your ear, loosening his grip on you, much to your dismay.

“You too,” you say into his shirt, your cheek pressed against it. When he pulls back, it feels strained, neither of you wishing to move, but realizing you need to hop back behind that line, the one you’re constantly standing on together. “It smells good,” you comment distractedly, glancing around.

“Pizza got here just before you.”

“Pizza?” you wiggle your brows a few times. “Very… informal of you compared to the usual.”

Joel’s smile goes crooked. “Tryin’ something different tonight instead of my five star meals, if that’s alright with you, princess.” He throws the word with a little playful venom, and you laugh, rolling your eyes at him before putting your hands on your hips defensively.

“I never said I don’t like pizza.”

You follow the delicious scent all the way to the kitchen with Joel, where several boxes are piled onto the counter, plates and napkins at the ready.

“Domino’s?” you question him again, spotting the logo.

He exhales a tiny huff of a laugh. “Makes me nostalgic. We lived right by one, and used to eat this practically by the truck load when we first moved here. And, they have these -” Joel grabs a smaller box, opening it to reveal a trio of tiny, chocolate cakes, dusted with powdered sugar. “Lava cake things. Not much of a baker myself, so I wanted to get you dessert for once.”

Your lips press tightly together, moving your hand over your mouth to conceal the half smile, half laugh at how adorable Joel could be sometimes. You lean your elbows on the counter, putting your chin in your hands. “Did you ever realize sometimes you’re like, too thoughtful? It makes it hard to know how to return the favor.”

There’s a soft thud when Joel snaps the box closed, setting it aside before sauntering closer. “When are you gettin’ it through that thick skull -” he says in a low tone, poking your forehead, “- that you’re missing the point of all this?” 

“The point is you’re going above and beyond, and I thought you were just paying for clothes and stuff. I mean, the spa day and everything? Joel…”

He crosses his arms. “No Joel-ing me, okay? Last time I’ll say that I will treat you how I see fit, okay? We both like it, we both want to be here, yes?”

“Yes,” you mutter, fighting the urge to roll your eyes out of discomfort. The truth is that of course you were used to nice things - your family had never had anything but money - yet when Joel provided those things, it seemed different. It felt like a burden, a hassle, for him to have to do this for you. You didn’t like relying on him, yet you didn’t want to be anywhere else but tangled up in this mess together. His thoughtfulness is the problem, you’d been realizing, not the money. You’d had pretty things and money thrown at you your entire life, but you had always felt it was only to quell you, to try to provide something for you when they lacked everywhere else.

Joel made it a point to use his wealth to make you feel good, to really understand what you might want or need and then follow through on providing that. It stirs up parts deep inside of you that you never knew existed.

“So, you’re gonna let me spend my money how I see fit from now on without a word, right? Spa days and lava cakes and whatever I want,” he replies, edging extra sass into his words. 

You chuckle weakly, feeling oddly embarrassed at the whole ordeal. This argument wasn’t new to either of you - in fact, you tended to fight Joel along the way more than you knew was necessary. You’ve started to wonder what it would be like to fully give in to this, to let your guilt melt away and allow something beautiful to finally happen in your life. 

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” you tell him.

Joel instantly falls into something more serious. “Hey, don’t apologize. It’s okay to enjoy it, y’know. It’s okay to just accept it and be happy. No use in fighting it.”

He says it as if he’s read your mind, and you find yourself leaning a little closer to him, almost a subconscious reaction to his presence. “Yeah, yeah, I won’t fight it anymore. I’ll try to accept all your constant showering of gifts more… uh, graciously.”

“Well I’d say you were mighty gracious today,” he teases in a lightning quick response, and your lips part a little, heat rising to your cheeks in a rapid blaze. 

You’re not sure why you hadn’t expected it to come up in person, the photo you’d sent Joel, like the world you lived in through text is completely separate to the man in front of you. That bold version of you from earlier dissipates into the air around you now that you’re faced with it. “Er, I…” you stumble on your words. “Shut up,” you add on succinctly, averting his gaze.

Joel laughs, patting you on the arm. “Don’t worry. I thought it was very kind of you. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I am a little,” you admit. “It was stupid. I was just being funny and it didn’t mean - I don’t know what I was thinking -”

Joel’s finger touches your chin, getting your attention. It’s gentle yet commanding, making your mouth snap shut immediately. Every inch of your skin, every cell in your body, seems to buzz now, lighting up your nerve endings.

“I’ll just say this once, ‘cause I probably shouldn’t say it in the first place but -” He takes a breath, looking strained, at war with himself. “I didn’t mind it, and I wouldn’t mind it, if you ever wanted to do it again. No pressure, though.”

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your lip, still feeling the burn at your cheeks, but you smile again. His go ahead makes your skin prickle, and knowing that neither of you should be feeling this way, agreeing to that kind of intimacy, only seems to make the sensation grow stronger, pooling between your legs. “Uh, really?” you ask, knowing the question goes deeper than this surface you’re both standing upon. It’s an admittance, a permission to push the boundary you’ve both put yourselves behind, and for the first time, cross new lines together. 

“Only if you want to, if you’re comfortable,” Joel reiterates. 

You can’t quite meet his eyeline when you reply. “Yeah, okay,” you say simply, feeling arousal turn to anxiety in a quick turn of events. You’d wanted to say something more, something sexy that Joel would go crazy over, but you’re terrified of where this is heading even if you desperately want to continue down this new path. You haven’t been able to get a grip on what it all would mean if this was something real. 

There’s a pause, silent tension crackling within it before Joel seems to be released from whatever spell he’s under, leaning back and stepping towards the boxes on the counter. “Now, pizza. And I thought let’s eat in the living room, watch a movie.”

“Ah, this is making more sense now,” you say, gesturing to your new, comfortable outfit, thankful for the change in topic. 

Joel chuckles, nodding. “You’re catchin’ on. Looks good on you, too.”

You’d enjoyed the way the material clung to all the right places on you, soft and lush as you’d draped it over your body. It fit you perfectly, and you’d wondered as you inspected yourself in the mirror earlier just what Joel might think of it on you. A fleeting thought of him inspecting the cashmere hugging your ass flits through your mind, your cheeks going a degree warmer as you picture it.

“You know what? I agree. Very good choice,” you tell Joel, watching him serve up slices of pizza onto the plates. It’s a funny juxtaposition, the overtly fine dinnerware being slapped with greasy slices of Domino’s. But it’s a lot like Joel, you realize, and it makes your heart grow warmer.

Joel, ever playing the good host, refuses your offer to carry your plate into the living room, forcing you to sit down on the couch while he grabs the rest of the soda and napkins. 

“So, John Wick. Have you heard of him?” Joel asks, plunking himself down onto the couch next to you.

You spurt out a laugh, looking at him from under raised eyebrows. “Yes, Joel, I’ve heard of John Wick. Most people have.”

“Alright, then,” he tsks out fake annoyance, “Don’t get yourself into a twist over it. Thought we could watch it. I, uh, haven’t seen any of ‘em yet.” Joel snatches the remote off the coffee table, leaning back and propping a foot on its surface.

Your brows flick up a little higher. “I haven’t seen any of them either, but sure. So, you’re into the action flicks, huh?”

“The hell’s not to like?” he asks you, sensing your playful judgement.

“You would. You’re such a typical dad,” you mutter. “Bet you like Curtis and Viper and all that shit, too.”

Joel’s forehead scrunches, forcing the lines deeper before he turns his head towards you and leans in, playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “Don’t go actin’ like you don’t love it, too.”

“I’m all in,” you reply, grabbing your plate of pizza off the coffee table. “Let’s watch John Wick kill a bunch of guys.”

“Wow. I thought I was exaggerating, but he kills a lot of guys…” you say about an hour later, a little dumbfounded as the action continues to rage on the screen. Joel laughs next to you, his eyes glued to it. You chuckle yourself at how invested he is already, and get the feeling several John Wick movie nights are in your future to complete the series. It’s the least you could do for him. 

You sit among your greasy plates, long finished, and the chocolate remnants from the lava cakes. Joel had been right, they were pretty damn good. He had tried to offer you two of the three, but you’d insisted on splitting it. Satisfied and full, you lay yourself down on the couch, resting your head by the armrest and curling your legs up, feet next to Joel’s thighs. He glances at you, a soft expression on his face as the light from the TV flickers on his face. You smile back, feeling content and perfectly at ease, your heart fluttering delicately in your chest. 

You jump and then stiffen when Joel’s hand, warm and rough, picks one of your feet up, pulling it to his lap, his fingers already kneading into your arches, almost seeming a reflex for him. 

You blink at him, dumbfounded, the movie completely forgotten, only static noise in the background. “Joel…” you nearly whisper, watching his fingers work. “You don’t have to do that.” 

The look he shoots you is almost surly, some kind of despondency in it before it turns a little brighter. His head cocks, his eyes locking with yours, the begged question behind them asking for your permission to be more. “You’ve had a big week. You should be relaxing,” is all he says, not bothering to stop his ministrations on your feet.

“I relaxed plenty today,” you reply, unable to help yourself from melting into the touch. His fingers are strong, digging into your arches in the most pleasurable way. He doesn’t seem intent on stopping or even arguing with you over it again, having had enough of your protestations for one day. Your face softens, and you give him a more approving look. “But this is nice, too.”

“Thought so,” he says dryly, but the corner of his mouth pulls up.

You let it lie for a few moments, blankly watching the images on screen and thinking about what he’d just said. “Is that what today was about? The spa and everything?” you ask. 

Joel nods. “Studying takes a lot out of a person. You deserved it.”

You feel your shoulders drop, every muscle in your body following suit. Joel understands. This offering, so much the antithesis of your mother’s reaction only hours ago, has a war of emotions flashing through you. Despite it all, you can only smile at Joel, studying his profile as his eyes stay fixed on the screen where another epic shootout is playing out.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, unsure if he even heard it until you see him smile again.

“You think you passed?” he asks, his voice just as low as yours, somehow seeming afraid of breaking this moment, breaking you. He just as gently picks up your other foot, letting it rest in his lap alongside the other, beginning to massage it. The warmth of his thighs, clad in denim, reaches your skin, and your heart skips at the intimacy, at where a part of you lingers so close to such a private part of him. 

You nod. “I… do feel really good about it,” you admit, feeling shy all of a sudden at the prospect of bragging. “Won’t know for sure for a few days though.”

Joel tears his eyes off the screen, showing a sparkle of pride on his features. “Good for you, sweetheart. I didn’t want to stress you, so I thought something relaxed would be good tonight. Thas’ all.”

Thoughtful. So thoughtful.

A fresh wave of appreciation for this man - someone you’ve known but never really known until now - rolls over you, and you happily let him spoil you for the remainder of the movie, his hands never stopping their now absentminded massages and strokes of your skin, trailing higher to your ankles and calves, just content to be connected to you in some way. 

It’s so casual, the way he does it, that you’re caught off guard as to what it means. He makes it seem normal, like you might find any two friends in this same situation on a Friday night. It’s unhurried and with zero pressure behind it - he simply enjoys making you feel doted on with nothing expected on your end.

When John Wick ends, you both glance each other’s way with a dazed excitement on your faces while the credits roll. It had been much better than you were expecting, and you’d liked sharing it with Joel most of all. 

“So good,” you say, breaking the post-film ice.

“Very good,” Joel murmurs, scratching the back of his head, clearly itching to say more.

“Part two?” you ask, brows raised, and you happily watch Joel’s face light up.

“Well shit, you read my mind, girl,” he drawls, and you chuckle. “It’s not too late for you?” 

“It’s barely after eight o’clock,” you say. “Unless it’s past your bed time, old timer.”

He scoffs, playfully shoving your feet back towards you before gathering them right back up, letting you resume your position. “Have a little respect for your elders,” he teases, and you scoff back, rolling your eyes.

“Just put the movie on. Mr. Wick is waiting for us.”

The room is now silent as your eyes blink open, only bathed in light from a small lamp behind a cozy chair perpendicular to the couch. It takes a moment to register where you are, but then you focus in on Joel’s form in the chair, hunched over a book. He senses your stirring and looks up.

“Did I fall asleep?” you ask timidly, your voice a little hoarse as you rub at your eyes. Joel nods. “I’m sorry. You should’ve woke me.”

His eyes crinkle with amusement. “We both know I wouldn’t do that t’you.” 

You huff with a tired smile, your eyes still heavy. “So you just watched me sleeping instead? Creep.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. “You never let up, do you?” 

Half asleep, you mutter, “Nope.”

You watch as Joel gently slides a bookmark into his novel, setting it aside. “You want to stay here? You seemed tired, shouldn’t have to go all the way home.”

An immediate and resounding yes nearly flies off your tongue, although you’re surprised by his question. Instead, you ponder it for a moment. “That’d be okay, if I did?” you ask him, feeling that familiar anxiety in your chest, the one that tells you you’re putting Joel out of his way.

“‘Course,” he says without a second thought. “You can use the same room as before.”

You only now notice the blanket thrown over you, snuggling yourself into it a little more. It’s warm and comfortable beneath it, your body sunk into the couch cushions just right, and you consider that moving sounds like the worst thing in the world right now.

“...Or stay right there,” Joel comments, ever entertained by you.

“Mhm, that option,” you mumble out, nodding a few times. “Sooo comfy.”

He stands up with the matter settled, towering over where you lay, and you blink up at him drowsily. He slightly adjusts the blanket around you even though it’s not needed, more a force of habit than anything.

“See y’in the mornin’,” he says faintly, his voice a little raspy with the need for sleep. You hate that he’d stayed up to make sure you’re okay if he’d been tired, that he’d ignored his needs for yours. His hand moves, as if to brush at your hair or your cheek, but he pulls it back to his side. A flicker of something sad, or sentimental, you can’t quite tell, moves through his eyes while you mutter out your own goodnight to him.

When the lamp clicks off and you’re plunged into darkness, you’re thankful you can fall back asleep before your mind runs away with its meaning.

Joel attempts his morning routine, each piece of it imbued with you - your presence, your light following him around. Even your sleeping form seems to bring more life to his home than it’s had in years. He feels awake and alive, an odd tingling incessantly humming across his skin, a wishful thought on the edge of his mind that this could be every morning with how natural it feels to be around you.

He makes his coffee, trying to be as quiet as he can, wanting you to rest in the next room over. He’s always up far too early, and you shouldn’t have to suffer for that. Catching up on the news and his emails, knowing he works too much on the weekends, he fights the urge to sit in the living room as he had last night, just to see you, peaceful and content burrowed in his couch cushions. A quick walk on the treadmill proves fruitless for getting any of this excess energy out, these jitters he can’t remember ever feeling in such a way. They’re unshakable when it comes to you. This wasn’t what he’d expected, this was never how it was with anyone else. It hadn’t been serious, it had been… fun, frivolous behavior - a way to quell some loneliness inside of him that never quite went away. With you around, that constant bother of it seemed to quiet and disappear for a while.

By the time Joel has showered and dressed, it’s late enough that he needs to make a fresh pot of coffee, setting a steaming mug of it on the table in front of you, half hoping to rouse you. The rustle of his clothing and heavy footfall as he turns to leave makes you stir and you sit up, expecting Joel to be there in the same chair as last night, but finding it empty. The mug on the coffee table catches your eye as you stretch, smiling to yourself. A soft rain pitter-patters on the large windows on the far side of the living room, sliding down the panes in dreamy rivulets. You stare on, entranced as you grip the warm mug in your hands now, relishing in the way you’ve woken up today.

It’s almost too good to be true, but Joel’s tinkering noises in the kitchen remind you that it is real, and you’re happy here, something to not take for granted. 

You slip into the room with him, only wearing the tank top with your lounge pants, having discarded the sweater in the heat of the night. Joel stands at his open fridge, dressed in dark jeans and a gray sweatshirt, the least formal you’ve ever seen him. 

“Sorry I slept in so late,” you say, seeing how fresh and ready he looks for the day, a dampness from his shower still clinging to the strands of his hair. He shakes his head, turning towards you, and you catch his gaze falter, unsure of how to process you standing there with a fresh morning glow, everything about you a little messy. 

“You needed the rest,” he states plainly, blinking in your direction. “Gave me time to get breakfast prepped for us.”

“Oh?” you ask, clutching the mug to your lips and breathing in the scent, letting the steam condensate on your skin. You move a little closer to where Joel has started whisking eggs in a glass bowl, the yellow swirling as the clinking sound of the whisk against the sides fills the sun soaked room. Joel’s kitchen is spacious and bright despite the dark wood cabinets, and it’s a well loved room with evidence of his affinity for cooking on full display. Pots and pans hanging above the island, an abundance of utensils next to the stove, and a spice rack that would make home cooks everywhere jealous.

“I think it’s time for your first cooking lesson,” Joel says cheekily, his eyes glued to where he’s vigorously whisking the eggs as if it’s no effort at all. 

You chuckle. “Right now?! I’m still half asleep.”

“It’s alright. This is an easy one,” he says, casting a glance your way. “Promise,” he adds on, noting your skeptical expression. 

You can’t help but give in immediately, always so freely caught and swept out in the tide that is Joel. It’s easy - so, so easy.

You shoot him a tiny smile, moving closer and inspecting his work as you look down over your nose at the counter. You step around him, reaching for the french press and topping off your coffee like you’ve done this exact routine countless times at Joel’s place. Seeing you so comfortable, Joel’s own body language is loose and relaxed, clearly pleased by it. 

“Omelettes,” he explains. “I was thinking we could use up these peppers and mushrooms I’ve got sittin’ in the fridge for the filling.”

You nod determinedly. “Alright, chef. Just tell me what to do.”

Joel huffs a chuckle, his lip quirking to a lopsided smile. “You want to try cutting those peppers?” He gestures to where he has them ready on a cutting board, but the large chef’s knife he has sitting next to them has you pulling your lip between your teeth with fear. 

“Uh…” you mumble, inspecting the setup while keeping it at arms length.

“Can I show you?” he asks, and you nod. He takes the knife, beginning to slice into the top of the pepper, cutting off the stem. “Make sure you keep your fingers right here, and just start like this and cut it into sections,” he explains, and you take note of the absence of any kind of condescension in his voice. Your lack of real world skills has sometimes embarrassed you, made you feel less than to the millions of people who have all of this down pat far before they reach your age. You watch carefully and dutifully as he deftly works the knife, making it look too easy to cut the red pepper into a perfect dice. He sets it down, gesturing for you to give it a go.

“I’m right here,” he reassures you, watching you clumsily hold the knife, curling your fingers back as he’d shown you.

“I’ve been trying to work on it, but nothing ever turns out super even,” you tell him, recalling the Youtube videos you’d watched at home. How to Dice an Onion. The Key to a Perfect Julienne. Knife Skills for Dummies. 

“You got this,” he says gently, hovering over you, his eyes glued to your fingers to keep them as safe as he can. You try to follow exactly as Joel had done, moving much slower and with less precision, but doing it nonetheless. 

“Here, like this,” Joel says, scooting beside you as he watches you start to struggle, his body nearly flush with yours. It catches you off guard, knowing this is far less safe than he’s intending for your poor fingers as he wraps his hand around yours, holding the knife with you. “You’ve got to rock it a little, makes it easier.”

You pray he can’t hear your heartbeat bursting through your chest, the uneven breaths that stutter out of you as everything on you seems to connect with him now. The fabric of your clothing does little to hide the way his jeans feel against you, or the softness of his pullover brushing against the bare spots on your back.

Together, you rock the knife as he says, cutting cleanly through the strips of pepper, dicing them. It looks better than any time you’ve tried on your own, and despite the circumstances, you try and somehow succeed in staying focused.

“Thanks,” you breathe out as he steps away, sending a chill to your now lonely, barren back.

“Looks good,” Joel coos proudly, taking the cutting board and setting it next to the stove, where he’s got a pan with butter melting inside of it. His hands find your shoulders, scooting you front and center to the stove, where you look down at another intimidating set up. “This should be ready,” he says, reaching around you to grip the handle of the pan, boxing you in. He swirls the butter in the pan, spreading it, and you watch on, so mesmerized by the flex of his strong rough hands, the competency with which he moves that you almost don’t hear his instructions.

“You can put the eggs in now.” You follow the command wordlessly, too busy fighting with yourself over how close Joel is. You watch as the eggs start to cook, a pleasant sizzle filling the room. You and Joel add seasonings and then the fillings together, watching the cheese melt.

“Now’s the hardest part,” he tells you, scooting the mixture in on itself until it actually folds over, and your brows lift when he slides it onto a plate, looking perfect.

“You make it look easy,” you grumble when he insists you make your own next, dropping another square of butter into the pan. Thanks to Joel, it does end up being easier than you’d expected, with his little approvals along the way - little nods and mhm’s and attagirl’s urging you on until you end up with a finished, albeit less perfect looking, omelette.

You flash a cheesy grin, holding your plate up for him. 

“Hold that pose,” Joel says quickly, his face lighting up. He slips his phone out of his pocket, holding it up to snap a photo. You laugh as he presses on the screen, your stomach full of butterflies yet again at the spectacularly ordinary moment with him. “We’ve got to document your first omelette.”

“Dork,” you quip, your face warm at all the attention. 

Joel brushes off your teasing and you both settle in at the counter, him standing across from where you sit on one of the barstools. Your steaming plates fill the room with a delicious scent and you both dig in, admiring your handiwork with the biggest complement of all to the dish: being too busy eating it to say much.

The silence brings forward the itch to say something, to say the one thing you’d wanted to last night, but refrained for fear of ruining the mood. You’d wanted a nice night with Joel, not for your mother’s surprise visit to taint yet another thing you had going for you. But you wanted Joel to know, wanted to confide in him, if only for the sole reason that he’s somewhat involved in it, too. This could affect his life as much as it does yours.

“I saw my mom yesterday. Or, more like she came and saw me,” you finally blurt out, poking your fork into the omelette, staring down at the plate.

Joel tenses in the corner of your eye before taking a hearty bite and leaning forward on his elbows onto the counter. “Oh, yeah?” he asks with his brow ticking up, sounding a little cautious. He’s letting you take the reins of the conversation, still unaware enough of the long, fatigued history you have with your mom to know the implications of your words.

“Mhm,” you reply simply. “She was waiting for me at my place. Let herself right in.” You hear the bitterness rising in your voice, tamping it down with a small clear of your throat.

A weighty pause hangs in the air, and Joel’s brows scrunch inward, deepening the lines on his forehead. “This has happened before?” Joel asks you, concern lacing his words.

You shrug. “They technically paid for it, so… It’s their right, I guess.” You echo your mother’s words with an exasperation you hadn’t even realized ran this deep.

You peek at Joel long enough to see his gears turning as he chews, a little at war with how to approach this. “They have a key, then?” 

You only nod, returning to poking at your omelette before taking another bite.

“If I’m honest, I don’t know how much I should comment on all this, but I can’t say I like your privacy gettin’ invaded like that.”

You almost snort. “Me either,” you reply. “Sorry, it just… It shook me up a little, because she saw all your gifts and everything. It just gave me a scare, and I thought you should know, that’s all.”

Joel grimaces. “I - I’ll be more careful. She didn’t… y’know, figure anything out, though, right?”

“No, no. We’d have had a very different vibe last night if that was the case.” You both crack a wan smile, and you chuckle dryly at the memory of your terrible lying. “I had to make up some story about some guy from my class sending me flowers and taking me out.”

Joel goes a little stony. “What do you mean, some guy from your class?”

Your mood instantly lifts at Joel’s shift, your lips pressing tight to suppress your smile. “I made up a fake guy to get my mom off your scent, so you should be grateful.”

You watch Joel bite the inside of his lip as it curls upwards. “I gotta say I don’t think I like your imaginary classmate taking you out.” It’s meant to sound playful, but it’s just biting enough to allow his real, scathing jealousy to shine through.

You lean forward on your elbows, the chasm the counter creates between you two still far too wide. “Really? Jealous?” you tease him. “Of a fake man I made up to cover your ass for sending me flowers?” 

The energy in the kitchen morphs right before your very eyes, the sun streaming in brighter, urging the two of you on. That familiar, equally craved and hated electricity blooms and crackles, reflections of it in both of your brightened, glinting eyes.

“Mhm,” Joel challenges you, his voice moving towards a low rumble. His cheeks go a little pink as he cocks his head. “I could stop sending you flowers, if that’s what y’want.”

You shake your head, slow and steady. “I don’t think I’d like that very much.” Your eyes lock, smirks taking over both of your faces as you just stare. It takes everything in you to try to cram down the desirous butterflies in your stomach now, watching Joel tuck his hair away from his face, his cocky expression refusing to break. It’s a standoff now, one you aren’t sure you understand, or maybe one you’re actively avoiding understanding to not fall into a hole you know you’ll never crawl your way out of. Joel was like that - threatening to suck you in every moment and never let go, and you’re already too far in to care.

The silence breaks then, and Joel laughs. It’s a wonderful sound, so full and rich, rumbling its way up from his barreled chest. “Damn, you give me a run for my money, sweetheart,” he marvels, and the moment is gone, shifting back into something else, something more amenable to both of your sanities. 

Your smile softens as you laugh, almost grateful for the tension passing, ignoring the bout of disappointment settling in your chest. “It’s become a hobby of mine, you know. Bugging you. I like it.”

“That makes two of us. Except for this part about the fake little boyfriend of yours.”

You roll your eyes, secretly loving that he’s as protective over what you two have as you are. You’d wondered if you’re taking it too seriously, too wrapped up in things when it was maybe just another chore for Joel. That maybe he didn’t actually care in the same way you did, but was going down some checklist of things he did for women in your position. But his jealousy and his softness around you was proving otherwise, and it made things complicated. It was a complication you realized could never lead to anything more, but you could enjoy it while it lasted.

“And whose house did I end up at last night? Falling asleep watching John Wick 2?” you snip back at him.

“That’s a good point. Especially the fallin’ asleep part.” He shoots a playful glare your way, as if he’s actually annoyed by the transgression.

You perk up, sitting straighter in your barstool. “Wait, that reminds me. I missed the ending. The last thing I remember was… er, that thing in Rome. The woman dying. What happened next?”

“Oh, nuh-uh. I ain’t gonna spoil it for you.” Joel gives an adamant shake of his head and your jaw drops before you let out a scoff.

“Come on, just tell me!” you squeak out, practically bouncing in your seat before pointing your fork at him, as if the threat of it alone will force him to spill the secret.

“You’ll be mad if I tell you, act like it’s my fault I’m spoilin’ the movie for you.” Joel shovels some of his omelette into his mouth and crosses his arms over his chest, stretching the fabric of his sweatshirt at the biceps. You pretend on the surface that somewhere deep down you hadn’t noticed the way it made your mouth water and your thighs press a little tighter together.

“Okay, that is something I would do to annoy you, but I promise I won’t. Pleaaaase,” you say, batting your lashes a few times, hoping for it to have some effect on Joel.

“You really want to know? Like, really, really. You ain’t gonna be mad?”

“Really, really,” you reply quickly, waiting with bated breath, your fork hovering somewhere above your plate, food forgotten.

“Fine.” Joel scrubs a hand over his face, warily narrowing his eyes at you. “He’s excommunicado now.”

“Who? John Wick? No way…” Joel only nods in response. “You’re shitting me.”

“Serious as can be, sweetheart,” he says, amused. His lips quirk upward and his chest starts to shake, fighting off a laugh at your jaw hanging open.

You nearly stand up out of your stool, flabbergasted. “So what, they’re all gonna try to kill him? Hell no!”

“Well I expect they ain’t gonna succeed, considering the other movies and all that.”

“Very good point,” you say more pragmatically. “God, I wish I hadn’t fallen asleep,” you lament, “I’ll catch up, and we can watch the third one soon, yeah?”

“I’d like that,” Joel tells you, his voice kicking down several notches, almost shy and bashful now. You soften, see now how much the time you’d spent together last night really meant to him. You hope he knows you couldn’t feel more the same way. It was nice to share in something that was all Joel, a hobby and passion of his that maybe he didn’t get to have acknowledged. Even something as seemingly small as his love for cheesy, over the top action films, maybe ended up falling into the fray of everything else, usually lost in his relationships. You wanted him to feel as cherished as he did for you on a constant basis.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Joel questions you a few moments later. You give him an amenable nod, turning back to your food. “If it’s not digging into things too much, what did your mom want when she came by, then?”

You want to laugh bitterly, but you don’t. To pretend like we’re normal, like we have a good relationship, you nearly spit out. “I… I hadn’t been calling her back. I’ve been busy and… I didn’t feel like talking to her.” You spew the words quickly and then wince a little, waiting on some harsh judgement from Joel, some chastisement that it’s your mother and you should respect her, but it never comes. “Her birthday’s coming up, so she wanted to invite me.”

Joel nods slowly, soaking in your words.

“I told her I’d been busy with school, and she didn’t even… she didn’t care. Didn’t ask. Nothing. I don’t know why I even -”

“Why do you?” Joel cuts in. “I know you’re figuring things out, but why are you still goin’ to these classes, stressing yourself takin’ these tests when it’s not what you want long term?”

You blink at him, surprised by his sudden directness. “I…” you try to explain, but come up short, your mind reeling as it searches for any explanation that makes sense. “I don’t know. It feels like what I should be doing.” 

Joel’s expression is serious, his brow scrunched as he thinks, looking so much like that first day in his office, when all of this started last month. “Why don’t you quit? And let me -” He pauses, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. Take care of you. You are not his to take care of, not really, despite the way your lives are intertwined now, this playing pretend you’ve fallen into. “Let me handle things, like I have been. There’s no need for all this stress, sweetheart. I think you know that. So what’re you trying to prove?”

Tears prick at your eyes, the anxiety of the last few weeks crashing over you. Your parents always expected excellence, and anything less than top grades didn’t seem to do for them. You’d spent so much of your life studying, pouring over your classwork, and expanding on your skills in your little free time, but that pressure only seemed to mount higher when you started college. You’ve been trying to hold everything together around everyone, but Joel is the first person that makes you start to wonder if there is someone you could be safe around. A soft place to land. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice only a tiny, timid whisper. You shut your eyes, forcing away the tears.

You hear Joel sigh, a soft and gentle sound, before he shuffles closer to you, coming around the counter. You open your eyes, now shining, to see his struggle, the way his body buzzes with the need to comfort you, his arms with a mind of their own to wrap around you, but he holds back. “I know, I get it. There’s no reason to be, though,” he says.

“What if I never figure it out? What if I quit school and wasted all that time just to end up back where I started?”

He clicks his tongue. “You can go back whenever, do whatever you want. Even if that means you go back to those same classes and that same degree someday. That’s for you to figure out.” Joel’s sincerity pains you with a clenching squeeze to your heart.

You want to groan and whine, knowing how ungrateful it seems when you have everything, the entire world at your fingertips with Joel offering you whatever you need to get through this. “So… what? I just… stop going to school?”

He throws his hands up, palms towards the ceiling with a shrug before clamping them shut, letting them fall to his side. “It seems better than what you’re doin’ right now.”

“Quit school, and - and do what?”

Joel’s hands press to your shoulders, curling around them with vigor as they hold on tightly. “Whatever you want,” he says , locking his eyes with yours. “All I know is you’re not doing yourself any favors right now, takin’ classes that you couldn’t give two shits about. I see it every time you talk about it. If you had more time, more energy, you could think about what you really want.”

You stare blankly at him, your chest heaving a little at the intensity he’s throwing your way. You mull it over - Joel does have a point. You’re not sure it’s a smart decision by any means, but you’ve been making decisions to please everybody but yourself for so long, and you wonder how it would feel to throw caution to the wind a little bit more. Joel’s confidence in you is liberating, instilling a fearlessness that makes you finally smile at where he’s looking at you expectantly.

“So I’m not in class, and that means I have more time to spend your money, is that it?”

Joel laughs heartily, shooting you a sly glare. “That’s one plus. But I’m serious. You should relax a little before you start the rest of your life. Let me help, let me take care of things.” There’s a curious desperation to his words, an urgency that suggests he needs this as much as you do. It feels like that first day, the standoff you’d had in his office, all over again. His persistence breaks you down once again, but this time you know how dependable he is, how invested he is in seeing this through, and you feel your apprehension melt away. 

His fingers dig into your shoulders a little, massaging them. You tilt your head, playfully trying to brush his hand off with your cheek, but instead he starts using his thumb to stroke at your cheek. “I don’t think it’s a smart idea to just quit, but…” you trail off, unable to think completely straight with the way he’s touching you right now. There’s no good reason that comes to mind to say no, to continue fighting the battle you’ve been entrenched in. Not when there’s someone - not just someone, but Joel, your Joel - offering a way out, a luxury you haven’t been afforded before.

“Sometimes it’s okay to not do the smart thing, but what you want to do,” Joel says, his voice a low rasp, inches from your face. Your skin tingles, further emboldened by his belief in you, and you lean forward, wrapping your arms around him in an embrace. It’s less hurried than your others, just letting your body do the talking, letting it show your deep, moving gratitude for this man.

“You’re a really good person,” you whisper, fighting tears again as he slips his arms around you, holding you close.

There’s a heavy, fraught silence lodged between the tiny sliver of space that exists between your bodies in this moment. “Not always,” he finally says, quiet enough that you almost don’t hear him.