The Cattery
K.A. Merikan
Acerbi & Villani ltd
The Cattery
K.A. Merikan
--- Role-playing a cat for six months? You said you’re paying how much? ---
Goran’s mouth has no filter, and it’s losing him job after job. Desperate and a week away from being homeless, he finds an offer online that sounds too good to be true. Spending six months in a mansion by the beach in return for a hundred thousand dollars as long as he sticks to the house rules.
This might be the one job where his unruly mouth doesn’t get in the way. After all, saying the wrong thing is impossible… when you’re role-playing a cat.
Meeting all the other guys at the cattery seems to be the icing on the cake, but the inconvenient truth he dishes out turns out to be too much. Goran makes everyone his enemy, but worst of all, Ollie, the prettiest cat of the bunch, the one who’s been in the cattery the longest, and the one who makes Goran’s heart skip a beat.
Ollie’s big blue eyes hold secrets Goran is intent on cracking, but to do so, he will need to learn to bite his tongue and listen. Too bad the pretty blond ice prince is set on getting Goran kicked out of the cattery for good.
POSSIBLE SPOILERS:
Themes: debt, enemies to lovers, cat-play, Miami, immigrant, billionaire, love triangle, social anxiety, rent boy, backstabbing
Genre: M/M contemporary romance, sugar kink
Length: ~61,000 words (standalone novel)
WARNING: Adult content that might be considered taboo. Explicit content, strong language, multiple partner scenes. Reader discretion advised.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, events, places or names is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without a permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
Text copyright © 2016 K.A. Merikan
All Rights Reserved
http://kamerikan.com
Editing by Kelly Hartigan (Xterra Web)
http://editing.xterraweb.com/
Cover design by
Natasha Snow
http://natashasnow.com
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Afterword
Newsletter
About the Author
Other Books
Chapter 1
Goran’s nerves were on edge. If he’d have to repeat one more time that yes, mayonnaise does contain eggs, he would fucking self-combust.
“I’m telling you, E-G-G-S. I’m allergic to E-G-G-S, not mayonnaise,” said the customer, furrowing his brows and staring at Goran as if it were he who was the idiot here. “Do you even understand English?” he hissed in the end.
Goran had a strong Croatian accent, but that didn’t make his vocabulary any smaller. “Are you brain dead?” he asked so loudly that the table next to them went quiet. “What do you think mayonnaise is made of? Oil and eggs. If you’re allergic to eggs, like you told me, so that all the dishes you ate today had to be modified for you and all the utensils needed to be practically disinfected, then I’m not bringing you mayonnaise, or you’re going to choke and die in our restaurant.”
The man squinted his beady blue eyes. “I don’t care what it’s made of. I like it, and I want it.”
Goran sneered at him. “Well, you’re not getting it, because this means you lied about the egg allergy in the first place.”
The customer’s eyes went wide, and he banged his fist on the table. “This is an outrage! Maybe this is how you do customer service wherever you’re from, but here in America, the customer is right, no matter what you think! Just shut up and do what you’re told.”
Goran’s skin was so hot with fury that he was about to grab the fork from the table and stab the fucker with it. “In my country, people know what mayonnaise is made of,” he hissed.
“Someone’s not getting a tip today.” The man sneered at him.
“In my country, people actually get their minimum wage, not work for tips!”
The customer leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows with an ugly smirk. “I’d like to speak to the manager.”
Goran scowled and was about to turn around and get Felicia to talk some sense into this lying hog when a slim hand closed on his shoulder, and he immediately recognized the large ring on her finger. Professional as always, Felicia wore a dark blue suit and tasteful jewelry, but he frowned when her whole face twisted into a grimace of sadness, and she all but bowed toward the customer.
“I am so terribly sorry about this. He just started working here and didn’t yet have the chance to properly learn the work ethics we believe in at Carlito’s,” she said in a high-pitched voice. She pushed at Goran’s back, as if suggesting he should fall down to his knees and kiss the feet of the man who inconvenienced everyone in the kitchen to make sure his damn salad didn’t contain a product he just didn’t like. Not to mention that his condescending attitude was not only rude but actually hurtful.
The man pouted, eating up the apology as if it was dessert time already. “You shouldn’t let people like him work here before he’s taught manners. I don’t think I should be paying for this meal after the way I’ve been treated.”
Goran’s eyes went wide, and he looked from the asshole to Felicia. “Are you shitting me? He’s been insulting me from the moment I started serving him.”
Felicia’s hand clenched tight on his shoulder. “He is our customer, and your job is to serve him.”
“I really wouldn't feel comfortable if I saw him here again, nor would any of my friends who frequent this restaurant,” said the customer dryly, adjusting the silly cotton scarf he probably thought made him look twenty and hip instead of forty and trying too hard.
Felicia straightened. “I am very sorry about this. You are absolutely right about the meal. It’s on the house.”
Goran took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm him down one bit. “He gets to insult me? Shouldn’t my manager have my back? You know what? Fuck this and this dick with a brain deficit who doesn’t know mayonnaise contains eggs.” He pulled off the polo shirt uniform with the company logo, and the customers at another table started howling and whistling as if that was exactly the kind of entertainment they’d been waiting for. “I quit!”
Felicia’s mouth turned into a pale line. “Very well. Take all your things and leave. And stop stripping in the middle of my restaurant.”
Goran spread his arms. “Fine!”
“You can strip at my place, babe!” yelled a girl from another table, and her friends laughed, watching Goran cheerfully.
“I bet it would pay more than the two dollars and thirteen cents an hour I get here.” He turned around, not waiting for an answer, and headed to the back of the restaurant with his shoulders tense and his body still in shock over what happened.
There were a few clapping sounds coming from various spots in the
restaurant, but he went straight past the kitchen and into the room where all employees kept their belongings in lockers. Blood rushed in his head furiously, and despite the satisfaction of having kept true to himself, worry was creeping up his chest. This wasn’t what he signed up for. He was supposed to get a good job through his uncle, but all his hopes had dispersed as soon as he had arrived at the airport, with the uncle backtracking on his promises quicker than a shady insurance agent. Goran couldn’t even stay at his house, because a ‘spontaneous’ renovation was taking place.
He quickly pulled out his backpack and pushed all emotions deep inside himself as he dressed. He’d hoped the customer would keep Felicia busy long enough for Goran to sneak out the back and never see her face again, but she walked into the locker room, which immediately seemed a few sizes too small. At least he wasn’t flashing his nipples anymore.
“What is wrong with you?” she asked, making a broad gesture with her arms. “It’s not your job to tell the customer what he can and can’t have. You just grit your teeth and spit into his fucking mayonnaise, like everyone else!”
Goran tightened the grip on his backpack. “I can’t deal with that much stupid. Come on, he was milking it. Do you really want customers like that coming here?” Maybe… just maybe there was still a chance he’d get his job back? This day was such a clusterfuck of bad choices. He didn’t even have a work visa. He was screwed.
Felicia took a deep breath, rosy pink underneath her foundation. “I want customers who can afford to overpay for salads and drinks, and that means that there will be a steady influx of jerks mixed in with the nice people. Everyone deals with it, so if you can’t, maybe it’s for the better that you’re leaving.”
Yep, he wouldn’t be getting his job back. He’d be stuck looking for odd jobs that paid shit money. Maybe the stripping idea wasn’t that bad after all. “Guess I’m not cut out for customer service,” he said through his teeth and stormed out the back door.
His last words in this job strangely resonated with the epic failure he had accomplished back at home, at his parents’ hotel—at the business that had fed them all since he was a kid. His parents had left him to manage the hotel for two weeks, and he had fucked up so badly that the usual steady stream of guests in the summer stopped flowing. He’d been so ashamed, so set on settling the debt the whole family was in because of him, and here he was, losing yet another job.
He walked down the alleyway with his hands in his pockets and some of the longish hair at the front getting into his eyes. It wasn’t his fault that the customer was so stupid. How could he have possibly not said anything? He only had enough money for another week of rent, and what then? He’d sooner die than ask his parents for money after all he’d put them through. He was twenty-three, and he had to fend for himself.
A window opened as he was reaching the end of the alley, nearing the street, and one of the cooks popped out his head, the wide, white grin shining on his dark face. “Heard what you did there, kid. This one’s on us.” He leaned out to pass Goran a warm pizza box. “We pooled today’s tips for you, they’re in the box. What you did was stupid but so fucking entertaining.”
Goran smiled, happy that at least he’d be having a normal dinner tonight. “Thanks. I had to say it. You guys had to change up everything for that prick.”
They shared a few more complaints, but Pete got called back to work, and Goran was on his way home. He had a lot of time and not a lot of money, so a bus ticket was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
At least the weather was great, the warmth of the sun reminding him of summertime back home, but instead of the quaint village where his family lived and a scent of the sea, Miami had a skyline of skyscrapers and came with a heavy stench of gasoline.
It took him over an hour to finally reach the hostel where he lived in a shared room with a bunch of other people, most of whom were here backpacking. It was the cheapest place Goran could find, so even the reception area left a lot to be desired with brownish smudges on the tiles and a bored girl spending most of the time on her headphones with no interest in the customers. It was a shame the hostel didn’t hold its employees to the same standards as Carlito’s, but you got what you paid for.
Goran first refreshed himself in the dirty, narrow bathroom and then returned to the bedroom, which he shared with nine more guys on the worst nights, but currently only half of the beds were taken, so he sat comfortably on a cleared one by the window and pulled his laptop out of the backpack.
One of the perks of the hostel was free Wi-Fi, so at least he could search for jobs online. To think that he only came to the US out of all the places he could have gone because his uncle claimed he had a good job for him at his family business. Things that were too good to be true usually were. Goran had learned that all too many times.
He gorged on what was left of the pizza he started eating on the way and told himself that at least he stayed true to himself and that he deserved to not be treated like dirt just because his job was serving someone.
But the job search never improved his mood, slapping him in the face with opportunities he couldn’t grab. Without the right documents, he couldn’t even apply to be a lifeguard at one of the numerous beaches. That would have been the one job he was actually qualified for. Not only would he get to ogle guys in Speedos all day, but he would also probably hook up with some of them, like in the good old days back home. Too bad that at the moment he wasn’t a sexy Croatian lifeguard but borderline homeless.
He was quick to open his usual haunt, B-U-Lettinboard, which listed many jobs that sounded borderline illegal, and so he hoped to find something that could help him pull through another week at least.
As always, the website was packed with sketchy-sounding ads for everything from sales of used furniture to weird sex fantasies that the poster wanted to fulfill. Goran narrowed the search to work-related items, and he looked through every single one, knowing this wasn’t a time for being picky. He stalled for a moment when he noticed a job advertised specifically to gay men.
It sounded too good to be true. Like usual. Yet he itched to find out where the catch was. After all, what did he have to lose? Only time if the offer turned out to be some crazy scam.
The ad read: “Looking for young, single gay men with a passion for theater and acting. You need to be open-minded and easygoing, open to experimentation. All details of the job will be disclosed at an interview after the acceptance of a face and body photo. Can be very lucrative for the right candidate.
Perks:
- Accommodation in a luxurious villa with other fun-loving men
- All food and board provided (professional chef providing meals, as well as access to a well-stocked kitchen)
- Flexible working hours
- Access to a swimming pool, sauna, and gym (spa treatments also included)
- Time for self-development and self-exploration
- A friendly atmosphere
For privacy reasons, I cannot disclose more online, but I look forward to hearing from you, so we can proceed to an interview. One job opening at this time. Only apply if you can dedicate a minimum of six months to the job.”
Goran squinted at the computer as if it was mocking him. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he whispered to himself. Was he one hundred percent sure this was a scam? Yes. Was he still going to find out what this was about? Hell yes.
Chapter 2
Goran double-checked the golden letters on the side of the monumental gate with lanterns the size of Goran’s torso hanging on both sides. The intricate metalwork on the gate itself created art deco shapes with silhouettes of birds worked in between. Once again, he couldn’t help but think that this ‘job’ opening was just some kind of elaborate prank, and yet here he was, standing in the shadow of palm trees, over an hour’s walk away from the nearest bus stop. The address was the same as the one he got during his initial telephone interview, and after a few more minutes of pondering whether he should risk being chased away
by dogs that undoubtedly guarded the huge gardens, he stepped to the intercom and pressed the single button.
A breeze swept across Goran’s face, bringing the salty aroma of the ocean, and he took a deep breath, staring into the convex lens of the tiny camera in front of him. He smelled his shirt to make sure he didn’t stink after such a long march in the heat. All he could sense was the mild cologne he used, with a hint of his own body odor, but it wasn’t unpleasant. A rapid, crunching sound came from the speaker, followed by a deep voice that managed to send shivers down Goran’s back despite the distortions.
“Hi, Goran! I’m glad you’re here on time. Follow the driveway straight to the house. I’ll meet you there,” said the man, and in the same moment, the ancient-looking gate squeaked, opening as if touched by magic.
For the first time since he pushed this process into motion, Goran was beginning to wonder that maybe the worst-case scenario wasn’t looking like an idiot and losing time but being gutted for organs. Maybe that was why he’d been required to get tested for STDs and general health at that luxurious clinic in downtown Miami? He wasn’t complaining because he’d been receiving a wage for every day he waited for the interview, but the whole thing was becoming unsettling.
Still, he didn’t want to back out. He was fairly certain this was some kind of live-in rentboy situation, but he was past being picky. If the guy turned out to be cool, what did Goran have to lose? Luis sounded good over the phone and the intercom. The man was either sexy or it was just Goran projecting his hopes on the soft, deep voice that so far had no face.
He followed the driveway through the lush greenery that had to cost thousands of dollars to keep up in this heat, not to mention that Goran doubted Luis was the one mowing all that grass to keep it from growing too tall. He walked on for several minutes until the mansion finally emerged from behind the patch of trees in all its millions-of-dollars-worth glory. Its cream-colored walls, roof covered by red ceramic tiles, and green shutters immediately transferred Goran into more familiar territories. The architecture had been inspired more by Italian buildings than the ones he knew from home, but it was heavily based in the Mediterranean tradition, even though it was too large and too polished to be the real thing.
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