Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  Jade scuffed over, her fingers glued to the pod in her hands. The red line of her mouth kinked in annoyance.

  He wasn’t sure she meant to come over here to engage him, or if her legs were moving on automatic as she typed. “On the hunt already?” Cut said. She might not even respond.

  “Yeah,” she replied, her mind elsewhere. “My wife’s been at me to pick up some shifts at her job, so she’s getting her wish.” She sighed. “I like this better than hauling dirt. I’m gonna ride this thing out. What about you?”

  Cut shrugged. “I’ll hit the beat like everyone else. What are you gonna do?”

  Two weeks was plenty of time to find something new, but in the meantime… He opened up the pay app and accepted the money Samson sent.

  Avoiding Samson was out of the question, but he didn’t have to seem as desperate about it as he felt. He wanted to pretend he had the option to not take this, but now, with this simple transaction, he was entangling further with this man who awakened such strange feelings in him, feelings he wasn’t ready to acknowledge now, and wasn’t sure he ever would be.

  He waited two days before he sent a message. True to his nature, Samson hadn’t communicated further after he’d sent the payment.

  How are you doing?

  Was that a good opener? Regardless of any other arrangement they had, they were adults. They could be friendly with each other.

  I’m well. It’s good to hear from you. Samson added an image of a winking face. God, he was too cute. How are you?

  I’m good. Meant to reach out sooner, but things have been hectic at the bar.

  With the curfew and power restrictions starting? I heard they’re going to install more batteries after this, which makes sense, but too little too late now. Things are going to get crazy on my end too. I hope it’s not anything too serious for you?

  Cut hadn’t thought about it before, but all nonessential facilities would be affected BY the curfew. That included restaurants. That made Cut’s concerns seem small by comparison.

  I’ll get by, Cut sent. I always do.

  What about you? Not gonna feel the pinch too much?

  It’s definitely going to sting at first, but I’ve got marketing on my side. People have always got to eat, and they’re willing to pay for something good. Even more when it becomes harder to get. But bars… Do you know what the owner’s going to do?

  He also hadn’t found the right way to propose they have more sessions, but with Samson so sure he was going to do all right, asking him now might not be the worst thing he could do.

  She’s abiding by the curfew and cutting hours. Everyone’s down to part-time. Most of ours business hours are after people get off work, so we’re kinda screwed. The sooner I find something to fill the gap, the better.

  Does that mean you’re not going to be at Hole anymore?

  Not as much as I usually am. Not much to be done about it, I’m afraid.

  He couldn’t afford to delve deeper and risk offending Samson when he might end up depending on his generosity more than before.

  I might know of a place with an opening for you. Give me a few days to come up with the details.

  What would happen to their dynamic if he accepted this kind of help? Would anything new be expected of him afterward? Keeping it simple was best.

  Cut would find a job on his own. But, out of respect for their arrangement, he wouldn’t flat out refuse his help.

  I’d appreciate it. Let me know if anything comes up.

  Anything Samson could give him would help. The money left over from their last session had rent covered for the next month. If Samson paid him half as much even just once a month, it would help Cut’s savings stretch

  Time to change the subject.

  So… did you enjoy our meet-up the other day?

  The icon showed that Samson was typing for a long time before his message came through.

  yeS

  Cut smirked. He knew the answer, but having Samson say it made his head feel warm and fuzzy. He hadn’t seen the fun in teasing others too much before. Dealing with Samson had shown him the light.

  Are you alright with how things have been going? Not too fast or too slow?

  The pace is fine... You’re very good at this. I’m going to leave it in your hands.

  But if you don’t like it, you’ll say so, right?

  Yes.

  In that case…

  Are you up for setting up another date soon?

  Absolutely. once your job issue is settled.

  Cut stared at his pod. That wasn’t exactly what Cut had been expecting.

  You sure? It could take a while I can job hunt and meet with you. It won’t get in the way.

  I’m willing to wait until you’re taken care of.

  He sent another winking face

  Cut had misjudged him. He thought this would be an easy upsell. Samson had money and a vice. He could have paid Cut to do whatever he wanted, now that his financial stability was in jeopardy, and he was backing down. He actually had Cut’s interests in mind. Cut couldn’t help taking that to heart.

  Cut had better hurry and find another job then.

  Priya had told them that news of the upcoming curfew was insider info, but Cut had his doubts. It felt like every night worker in the dome was out looking for new jobs.

  Cut applied to seven jobs and got six rejections. The seventh hadn’t bothered to respond. He reached out to acquaintances and coworkers, but most were in similar situations, looking for work themselves. Not even Jade with her dirt hauling job could help him. “Filled up the last slot three days ago. Sorry.”

  His luck had never been good, but it had never been so shit. It was only supposed to last a few weeks, so you’d think the infrastructure would be a little more sympathetic. Suspend the rent, bring down the cost of living. Anything to help the people, but no one cared about the little guy.

  He managed to get last month’s rent in just shy of being late thanks to the money from Samson, but it was a new cycle with new bills to pay.

  There was no avoiding it now. After half a month of failure, Cut messaged Samson. He made it seem like he was offering a sure thing, and Cut needed that right now. He’d only accept the job until he found something else.

  Samson responded immediately. He sent the address and told Cut they had an appointment slot available if he got there within the hour.

  He had to hop two connecting transports and sprinted the rest of the way, but he made it, sweating and disheveled with a little time to spare. He stood out front and checked the address again.

  Galantis Fifth tower. 87th floor.

  That was so high up… He stepped back into the street and still only a dozen floors above ground level were visible. But staring at it wouldn’t bring it any closer.

  With a little doing, he convinced the very human guard that he belonged there and to let him use the washroom to freshen up. He dried off with the air dryer and dabbed his forehead and face with a little bathroom paper. A few bits got caught in his stubble, and he brushed them out.

  He was starting to think he should reschedule this whole thing and start fresh another day, but getting this over with and not wearing on Samson’s kindness was a better idea. He’d get it over with and if he bombed, he bombed. He gave himself one last look over and headed for the elevator.

  It was packed with people who were better dressed and not as sweaty as he was. One person pressed themselves closer to the wall as he got on. He sighed. Whatever. Their acquaintance would be brief.

  The elevator stopped ten times before he reached his floor. It felt like every time someone got off, two more people got on. Most people got on and off without a word or glance his way, which he didn’t mind. He’d rather they be quiet than say something rude.

  The car cleared out as they reached the upper floors until only Cut and one other passenger remained. He noticed when she got on as she stood out in the same way he did. S
he was wore leggings that hugged every curve of her legs going all the way up to the bottom of her rib cage. She had a short jacket and a slightly longer shirt underneath, leaving only a thin strip of pale skin visible, but every item she had on was the same shade of black. Probably expensive. But she didn’t look like a businessperson. What was her purpose here? He was curious about her for two seconds. Then the car began to glide upward again.

  Close up now, he could see she wasn’t much older than him, maybe in her early 40s, if that. But it was hard to tell. Right before she got off she brushed her hand over his to get his attention. Cut snatched his hand away, not meaning to, just startled by such familiar in such an unfamiliar place. “You’ve got a little something right here.” She pointed to the side of her firm, pale jawline, just past the fall of pink hair that obscured much of her face from this angle.

  Cut brushed his jaw and a few crumbles of toilet paper came off in his hand. He wanted to thank her, but the doors had already closed.

  On the 87th floor, the doors opened onto a Reception area made up of a pair of couches mirrored in front of a large crescent shaped desk with a half wall behind it. On the other side of that wall was a sea of desks, only about half of which were manned. Along the far side of the floor, were several glass cubicles. A person sat inside each one toiling away at a keyboard and soon he would be too, if he was lucky. No one looked ready to receive him, but he was here.

  He went up to the desk, and the human there, a young man, stopped, his hands frozen above his keyboard mid-stroke, to address him. He stared at Cut silently, waiting for Cut to explain his presence.

  “I’m here for an appointment? I was told someone was expecting me.”

  The young man put his hands down. “Who is expecting you? Do you have a name?” He shifted, resting his elbows on the desk when Cut didn’t immediately produce a name.

  “I can’t help you unless I know who you’re here to see.”

  “Just a sec.” Cut whipped out his pod and skimmed the message again and found no clues to that question. He blasted off a message to Samson. I’m here. Who am I meeting? When no reply came, Cut started to sweat.

  He glanced back up at the receptionist. The nameplate scrolling across the desk said his name was Edgan. “Sorry. Must be a shoddy connection.” He laughed, hoping it eased the mood. The receptionist didn’t so much as smirk. “Just a sec.”

  Edgan sighed again. “Can you tell me who told you to come here, then? If we can track them down, then maybe we can resolve this.”

  Cut relaxed. “Oh, yeah. It was Samson—”

  “I’ll take it from here.” Speaking his name willed Samson into existence. He came from the direction of the desk sea, covering the distance in long, confident strides. His hair was free of gel and hung in its natural, curly state. Cut told him to lay off the styling products when next they met. Had he planned this, or at least hoped for it? The sight of him and the memories tied to him got Cut’s blood pumping in a way that was totally inappropriate for the workplace.

  Edgan glanced from Cut to Samson. He wanted to question how they knew each other, but he knew better. “As you say, Mr. Ba. Will you be needing anything?

  “Just the usual refreshments we have for guests sent to my office, please.”

  Edgan nodded and pulled his attention back to his work, though Cut knew he was listening with a keen ear. That’s what Cut would have done in his place.

  “If you’ll follow me back to my office, Mr. Jones, we can get started.”

  The workers at their desks kept their eyes on their work, not giving so much as a sideways glance as Cut’s path went right down the middle of their work space. Samson’s office was a large glass box with darkened sides that Cut hadn’t seen from the reception area. It took over a whole corner of the floor, standing apart from everything else. The view inside was amazing. Cut could see nearly across the dome, and everything looked so small, like pieces from a set of children’s building blocks, all in rough rudimentary shapes. They were so high up, the soles of his feet prickled, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to press his face to the glass for a better look. He controlled himself and instead stopped in front of Samson’s desk.

  They stayed like that, with Samson moving around the office, not saying a word, for minutes. This whole thing was pretty weird, but Samson’s silence was the oddest part of all.

  “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Cut didn’t get why he had to be the one to break the tension. Samson had set up an ambush for him and then he was just sitting there?

  Samson took his seat and moved some windows around on his terminal before he closed it.

  “Is it all right if we wait for the coffee?”

  He might as well. Cut dropped into the chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt.

  A brief knock on the door heralded the entrance of a droid. It wheeled in a cart of pastries, and decanters of coffee and tea. It smiled in the flat way they all did before pouring their drinks. Cut took a coffee and a pastry with fruit in the middle. Samson took tea. Once they were set up, it left, quietly closing the door behind it.

  Samson found things on his desk to fuss with, dragging this out longer than it had to be. They needed to tear this off like a plaster strip.

  “Please tell me what’s going on here.”

  Samson straightened, finally meeting Cut’s gaze. “Y-yes… I meant to offer you this position as soon as you reached out to me the other day. I need an executive assistant. You were waiting on something else to come through, so I didn’t press it, but I didn’t fill it in case you called. It’s not very difficult work, and it doesn’t require a lot of experience, but you have to be dedicated and smart and you’ve got that. It sounds perfect for you, but I doubted you’d take it if I offered it to you outright.”

  “Why not?” Samson clasped his hands on the desk. “If I can say so…”

  “You can.” Cut had asked, after all.

  “You seem like a very...proud person. You could have asked me over messages the other night, but you held off. I wanted to offer it when we spoke before, but you kept insisting you were fine. Forgive me if I’ve done something out of turn. I wanted to help because I’m in a position where I can. I shouldn’t have manipulated the situation.”

  Cut winced. He didn’t like being called out like that, but Samson was right on all counts.

  “Thank you. But I wouldn’t even know how to be helpful to you. I don’t know the first thing about executive assisting.”

  Samson’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a soft sigh. “We can figure out the details as we go. But mostly you’ll help me out when I need it with stuff like research, and entertaining guests until I’m ready to meet with them. You’ll be great at it.” He sounded so confident. What did it hurt to try?

  He took in the office again with his annoyance abated. An ancient vase sat on the shelf overlooking the window. The whole shelf was filled with curios, all small and finely made.

  He bit into his pastry. The jam in the middle was apricot and it melted in his mouth. So damn good.

  “What is it you do exactly? I thought you ran The Cupboard?”

  “I do. I own that, as well as the bakery Crumb. Pretty much if you’re eating good, high end food, it’s come from my company, Deyaa Group.”

  Cut lifted the pastry in his hand. “This?” he said around a mouthful of it so the word was full of unnecessary Fs.

  Samson wrung his hands on the desk. “Yes…”

  He’d seen the Family Kitchen takeout machines emblazoned with the Deyaa Group’s logo. He’d never gotten worked himself up to spending that much money on a single meal, but he knew of them. That someone with that kind of standing wanted to associate with him, let alone help him, was unthinkable. Anyone could take Cut’s place, and help him with work or with his proclivities. Like a real professional. Or was being with someone as rough and untested as Cut part of the appeal? Why did that idea irritate him so much?

&n
bsp; Cut took several seconds to breathe again and then swallow the contents of his mouth. Everything had gone to mush, but it went down rough. He chased it with a sip of coffee. “Good to know.” This revelation made him feel odd about accepting the job, but he wasn’t in a position to turn it down. “I accept your offer. I’ll do what you need for as long as you need me.” He wouldn’t even need to negotiate a salary. Any money was better than none.

  Samson ducked his head a little, a soft grin on his face. “I’ll have HR draw up the paperwork. And also, I was wondering about our other arrangement?”

  Cut smirked, glad to be back in more familiar territory, if only for a second. “I’m ready to set up a date when you are.”

  “More than that,” Samson said, his whole face flushed. “I was wondering what I should call you?”

  It was clear he didn’t mean in the sense of friendship or around the office. Cut had never considered this would come up. He meant a title, a sign of respect between them, like how some dominants liked to be called Master or Mistress. Master left a bad taste in Cut’s mouth.

  “Give me some time to think about it.” By their next session, he would have it figured out.

  Chapter 9

  C

  ut started his new position at Deyaa Group’s headquarters later that week, and time flew by. The way Samson had talked, Cut assumed this appointment was going to be a breeze, a position in name only, but those first weeks had him earning every ICD.

  Samson was far too important to spend his time on such menial tasks as following up on email threads in person when the replies were too slow or delivering files between departments when the terminals were malfunctioning. Cut was not too important for such tasks.

  He didn’t mind the work. This way he could collect a paycheck without guilt, so he did each assignment that came into his inbox or was whispered to him by Samson with an appropriate amount of vigor.

  One such job that fell to him was organizing Samson’s schedule. As soon as he was given control of Samson’s calendar, one thing became abundantly clear: he needed help long before he took Cut on.