Grumpy Boss

Modesto appeared a few hours later, right after we finished lunch. Ever since waking up, we’d seen only house staff, and it was like staying at some private hotel. But Modesto materialized in the living room and sprawled out on a couch, his cheeks flush like he’d been for a run.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, gesturing for both of us to join him. I sat at the very end, and Rees sat at the midpoint. We were still ten feet apart at least—the couch was bigger than my entire apartment. “I had a meeting this morning that went late.”

“What kind of meeting?” Rees asked, head tilted. “And did it take place on a golf course.”

Modesto laughed loudly and nodded. “You got me, you got me. I’m not very good at hiding it. I’ll admit, I have an addiction. Golf’s fickle, but it treats me well.”

“I’m sure,” Rees said. “But you’re here now.”

“Let’s talk about our deal.” Modesto sat forward, elbows onto his knees, and his eyes flashed to mine. For one second, I thought he knew—he’d heard us, heard me moaning the night before—but no, he looked away, back to Rees, and was smiling again. “Did you rethink my offer?”

“I did,” Rees said. “And I can’t accept. You know I’d never sign a morality contract like that. But you should still invest with me. I’d be happy to give you a good deal, and any promises you’d need.”

“But nothing in writing,” Modesto said, his tone sounding flat, his face slowly falling from that charming smile to something else.

“Nothing in writing,” Rees said.

“Hm,” Modesto said, and stood. He paced away, toward the TV, hands behind his back. “Here’s the thing. I got a call before you showed up from Desmond, and he told me something I didn’t like. He said you’ve been dating your assistant—“ He stopped pacing, glanced at me, then started again. “—and that I should run this morality contract thing past you if I didn’t believe it, just to see what you’d say. It’s true that you two are together, isn’t it, and that’s why you won’t sign.”

Rees looked at me, and I sat there, eyes wide and surprised—not sure what to say. The reporter must’ve told it to Desmond, or he found out some other way, though I had no clue how. And I realized then that maybe, just maybe, that hadn’t been a reporter at all, and it felt like I might be sick.

“That’s right,” Rees said, and I squirmed in my seat as Modesto stared at me like I was a harlot—as if he had any right to judge, based on his gaudy home and all the disgusting millions he spent on himself instead of on people he could actually help. “I’ve been seeing Millie, and I don’t plan on stopping. But I wouldn’t sign even if that weren’t true.”

“I see,” Modesto said, and stopped walking again. This time, he faced Rees, with a sharp edge to his expression. “I think we can’t do business, you and me. I think you should maybe leave.”

“Modesto—“ Rees started.

But Modesto spoke over him. “I think you brought a harlot into my house. You know how I feel about loose women, Rees. I don’t appreciate this, not one bit.”

Rees stood, and I leaned back in fright. His eyes were wide, nostrils flared, shoulders tensed, hands balled into fists. I thought back to that first meeting, to him cracking Mirko in the face.

“Rees,” I said, warning.

“You won’t talk to her like that,” Rees said, staring at Modesto—and to Modesto’s credit, he didn’t back down. “You will apologize for calling her a harlot.”

“This is my house, Rees,” Modesto said. “I do not scare easy.”

Rees took a step forward, and Modesto flinched.

“Stop it,” I said, getting to my feet. “Enough, Rees. He’s an asshole, but you’re not going to hit him. Stop right now.”

Rees grinned, showing all his teeth. “Lucky you, Modesto.”

“Get out of my house.” Modesto’s voice shook as he walked away. “I’m showering. When I’m done, I want you both gone. Get out of my home, and get out now.”

“Gladly,” Rees said. “You fake fuck. I know you’ve been sleeping with your pretty little bible interns, you asshole. And your stupid cross is tacky as hell.”

Modesto walked off, shaking his head, and Rees stood there vibrating with rage. I gaped at him, and once Modesto was out of the room, I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself—that was such a crazy display of pure rage, and calling the cross tacky was hilarious.

“Is that true?” I asked him as we headed upstairs to get our things. “About the interns?”

“Probably,” he said, and grinned at me. “There are rumors. Based on his reaction, I’d say yes.”

I sighed, shook my head—then stopped him and kissed him. He kissed me back, hand on my hip, and grinned viciously.