He suppresses his smile again and nods, approving. “Any roommates?”
Why is he asking? Does he want to meet at my place? Christ, there’s a stage picture. This character in his perfect suit and his gold and silver mask standing beside my pile of dirty laundry and takeout containers.
“Naw, I got my own palace. Sixth-floor walk-up. No elevator. Studio with a private bathroom smaller than your closet. But it’s got a great view … of a wall.”
He finally laughs, glancing toward his own view. The smug bastard.
“Why?” I pick up another piece of the California roll. “You looking for roommates, boss? Cause this is probably out of my price range.”
He stands straighter, unamused by this joke. No, embarrassed. “Yes, actually. Not rent sharing. That’s ludicrous, but yes, I want to … hire you to live with me.”
It’s my turn to gawk. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Live here. With me. I want that. Is that crossing a line?”
Oh, honey, you’ve crossed so many lines by now I could build a fucking bridge. “How long you thinking?”
He shrugs. “Until the arrangement is no longer acceptable to either party involved.”
Dude, it’s called a breakup.
“At least until … after the holidays.”
Just in time for him to offer to sponsor the summer camp again.
“If you are amenable.”
Amenable. Like this is him borrowing a blender. This is dangerous. This is stupid. “And what else, boss? I mean, sex, obviously. But what else?”
Mr. Ito clasps his hands nervously, then corrects his posture and sips his tea. “I’d like to have you wear the things I buy you… To travel with you. I’d like to show you Japan.”
Fucker. I knew he wasn’t from ‘Frisco. “Are you talking costumes? Cause, like I’ve said, role play is fine, but pet-play just doesn’t do it for me. It’s too humiliating and I—”
“Christ!” He puts his head into his hand, sliding the mask up. “I didn’t mean it in a weird way. I just wanted … I meant nice things. Suits and bathrobes. Nothing weird.”
It’s the most American thing he’s ever done. For a moment, his accent slips, as if he’s fallen out of character or gone off-script.
I’m reminded that I have no clue how old he is. I met him at the charity ball. Mostly old men, but in the tech field … he could be my age. Or younger. Christ, I wish I’d paid him more attention.
Mr. Ito recovers quickly. “As I’ve always said, I’m not interested in hurting you. Or your pride. I just … I’d like to have you here when I want you. This place is…”
Mr. Ito does not finish. He doesn’t need to.
The place is beautiful, shiny, luxurious. But it’s empty. Lifeless. Lonely. He wants a … lively piece of art to brighten his home.
I’ve been objectified for less and by less pleasant people. “Sounds like a deal to me, boss.”
He nods, but he does not smile. “Then, there’s one more thing.”
I brace myself. What the hell else could he want?
“I…” He takes a long breath. Overthinking. Reconsidering. Settling for. “You spend too much time around Carlos.”
“Carlos? Like Carlos the techie?” I’m shocked he even knows Carlos. I mean, yeah, Mr. Ito has clearly stalked me online. He knows too much personal information. But Carlos…
Carlos Mendez is a shadow. A non-person. So shy and timid—I think I even have his last name wrong. He might be Ramirez. I could understand banishing Van from my life. Mercy or Faizz with their beautiful voices and sensual manners. Christ, my next-door-neighbor ought to rank higher than Carlos.
“Yes. Carlos the techie,” Mr. Ito answers.
“Boss, I’m not sure I can pull that off.” I’m honest because I’ve been caught off guard. “I mean, I’ve got nothing for or against the guy, but he’s kinda integral to the show. I’ve got to work awful close to him.”
“I’m aware.”
Just how aware is this man of my life? I’ve had a crush on Carlos since I first met him. But I determined around the same time, he was off the table. I don’t mess around with techies. They’re notoriously straight. And Carlos was … he was really talented and really hard-working and really shy. A romantic failure with Carlos wasn’t worth it. I kept him safety in the realm of not-available and treated him with as much distance as I did the ladies.
So how did Mr. Ito notice?
“Mr. Ito, he’s just shy and needs people to be nice to him.”
“No.”
This is a deal-breaker for him, and suddenly, I want this deal. An hour ago, I didn’t need a penthouse view or a nice shower or even a billionaire patron for the summer camp, but it had been offered, and now I want it. And Carlos…
“Carlos is sweet. I don’t know if I’m mean enough to hurt him.”
The mask makes his gaze harsher.
I’ll see his face again soon. If he wants me to live with him. If he wants me to wear nice things, to show me off, he’d have to be seen as well. Surely it was worth being a little unkind to a friend. Carlos might not even notice. And even if he did, the show would go on…
But what about the next one? Who would Mr. Ito cut out next?
Burn that bridge when you get to it.
“All right then. I’ll do my best. You decide if it’s enough.” To prove I was worthy of being owned.
“Good, Omocha.” When he shifts away from the counter, I see this whole conversation has his cock straining at his trousers. “If you’re ready. Get on your knees.”
God, it’s sick how much I like it when he commands me. “Of course, Ito-sama.”
****
When Van sends me to gather the team for a pre-rehearsal production meeting, I find our green room, which doubles as the costume room, triples as Carlos’ favorite spot to nap. He sprawls on a couch that can easily fit six children, but the memory of little girls in pink and glitter is utterly obliterated by vivid fantasizes centered around all the variety of sexy ways to wake this lazy techie. His ankles are crossed and jut past the couch’s arm. His sweatshirt is balled under his head with the hood over his eyes, which makes his mouth and chin much more formidable until he gently smiles in his sleep. One arm is slung over his chest, and the other hangs on the floor, palm open in quiet invitation. His t-shirt rides up on his chest, showing his abs and the elastic band of his red boxers under his ripped and paint-stained jeans.
It’d be easy to yank his jeans off. Easier to open them and start sucking his cock. Easier to quietly take out my own cock and rub it along his slack mouth, to brush my head over the sleeping lips. Even a kiss innocent enough to wake Sleeping Beauty seems obscene because of that exposed midriff, that thin red line of his underwear.
Why this sudden lust? It’s not like I lack sex. Mr. Ito has worn down and rubbed raw every single part of my body since I’ve been staying with him. Not that I’ve seen his face. Or that we’ve had many conversations. I’m just there every night, instead of when he calls me.
Carlos should not weaken my usually strong stance. Carlos is… I mean obviously, he’s hot. You don’t get wibbly-wobbling just because some tech’s gotten lazy in the green room.
Except … maybe it is the softness. The vulnerability. Usually, Carlos is stoically building or straight-backed in a computer chair, muddling the lights and scowling at Vectorworks. To see him so relaxed … un-relaxes me.
“Yo, Carlos.” I tap his foot. What if somehow Mr. Ito is watching this greenroom? What if he knows I’ve been ogling my napping coworker?
Carlos opens his eyes. So sleepy under the dark lashes that his eyes are cuts of shadow. He smiles when he sees me. “Hi, Harp.”
“Come on, Sweetness. Time to talk shop.” I feign indifference, hoping to conceal the melting in my belly at least from him if I can’t ignore it myself. “Production meeting in ten.”
“Thank you. Ten.” He yawns and snuggles into his hoodie.
I laugh at him. “Dude, you’re going to
fall asleep again.”
Carlos makes a little dismissive sound and absolutely falls asleep again.
****
Van fetches him, herself, ten minutes later, and we all gather in the lobby while the cast warms up onstage. Van, a bit like a drill sergeant, calls on the lesser board members. She’s already chewed out Scissors for lagging on costumes, and Joanna sweats bullets because the postcards she’s ordered haven’t arrived yet.
“Mercy, I know you’ve got this handled.” Van’s tone implies he absolutely does not. “But you’ve talked to Ali about her absences, right? I don’t want us missing our flute on the night of the performance.”
How did Mr. Ito even know about Carlos? It’s the most unreasonable thing about this arrangement. Denying me… I mean Carlos is straight, off-limits, not my type.
“Vanessa, she’ll be there.” Mercy’s had this conversation at least once. “She’s not a flake; it’s one scheduling error.”
Mr. Ito is testing me. Just one of his games. Make me fixate on someone I’d never even thought about before by forbidding him.
Mr. Ito likes his games. Right from the start. That first night. Sitting at the desk in the corner as if he’d been at work. Wearing the mask. As if that was normal.
It had been so subtle on his part; the penthouse’s luxury, the view, the dim lighting, and soft music had done most of the seducing. I’d done the rest. All he had to do was languidly agree to my terms; I’d penned the script.
But he’d directed the show. From my flirting to the distance closing between us, nothing caught him off guard. But it was all so subtly done that any moment, he could have scoffed and said I’d misunderstood.
Right until I’d dropped to my knees before him and opened his trousers. No walking back from that. No denying what was happening when he bent me over the window-seat, forcing me to look down at the city, dizzy from the height while he fucked me long and hard. No other explanation for the arrangement when he showed me his donation to the kick-starter and told me to come back next week. I’d told him as often as he wanted until the end of the run. I’d never imagined I’d be going to his house every—
“Harper!” Van glares at me over the top of her clipboard. Everyone watches me with a mix of amused disapproval and vindictive pleasure. Except for Carlos. Sweetness looks concerned.
“We just have some Velcro left on the trick pants and tassels if you still want them for the elves.” I rub my neck. “We have time to add them.”
Van looks up from her checklist. She ought to be angry. “I was asking about rehearsal time. For the pole-dancers?”
“Oh.” The pole-dancers are from one of my classes. Volunteers just in it for the kicks and most donated to the show. It’ll be obvious they’re amateurs, but it’s fun and improvised. The choreography obviously looks sloppy to a precision dancer, but Van knows that. “We’re rehearsing during class times. You can come if you like and watch.”
She narrows her eyes, but her mouth is soft. Oh, Christ, she’s gonna ask if I’m feeling all right and I’ll have to lie. I don’t have the focus for this performance. Instead, she looks down at her clipboard and lets me off easy. “Just Velcro and tassels left?”
“Yeah, I can pull a few late nights and have them ready for next rehearsal if you like.”
Late nights in the theater would give me a little time to recover from Mr. Ito.
“I can help,” Carlos suggests.
Late nights in the theater with Carlos are not an option. “I mean, I think the elves look slutty enough without the tassels. It’s up to you and Scissors, of course. But that’s a low priority for me.”
Van nods then looks over at Carlos. “Sweetness, how are—”
“Lights are all fixed and focused unless there are any last-minute changes before wet tech. All the cues are backed up on universe 2,” Carlos replies. “Sets and platforms are ready for the detail painting, once you all decide on which set palate you prefer. I’ve also started the scaffolding for the elf-dance number, with a few removable, uh … poles in case the number of performers change.”
That’s why he’s so sleepy, doing all that work himself. He’s way ahead of schedule, but he’s still worried she’ll bite off his head. “If you want to sit with me in the booth, I can walk you through my notes, and you can call cues at the next rehearsal.”
“Sure. Thanks.” Van reviews her clipboard then dismisses us with a well-worn speech. “All right. That’s that. Sorry to be high-strung. Let’s go have a good rehearsal.”
Mercy, to show his magnanimous forgiveness, jokingly snaps a salute. “Company, dismissed!”
Joanna interrupts the laughter, unable to take a God-damned reprieve, “Once the postcards arrive, is it legal to hand them out in Times Square? Don’t we need some kind of permit for that?”
“If we do, we’ll find out after we hand out a couple hundred, won’t we?” Van answers. “If those idiots can wander around in Elmo costumes with the head half off and scream at families for not tipping, then we can hand out some postcards.”
This is not my department, so I grab my things and head toward the theater. Sore from teaching morning classes and lack of sleep. Also, I don’t remember if I’ve eaten today. I’m a little scared of eating at Mr. Ito’s—
“Uh, Harp?”
Carlos is so soft-spoken that it takes me a moment to turn.
Mercy’s gone ahead, and the chaos of rehearsals becomes a structured moan as he leads the vocal warm-up.
I pause in the dim lights of the aisles and rub my shoulder. “Hey, Sweetness. You have questions about the pole-dance lighting? All we need is the spot in the center. Anything more flash you want to add, go wild, man.”
“Actually, I … well, you’re tired.” He loses his nerve. “We can talk later.”
It doesn’t occur to me to drop it until after I gesture to the stage. “What’s up, Sweetness? The music-men won’t let us move until after the vocals warm-up is done. I got nowhere pressing to be.”
Not until after rehearsal. Where I’ll find Mr. Ito waiting at home. Maybe he’d be working late again, and I can soak in that big tub on his terrace. Maybe he’ll join me… A little wave of heat tickles my spine.
“I just…” Carlos avoids looking me in the eye. “Did I do … something wrong?”
Shit.
Of course, he’s noticed. Without me forcing him into the light, we’ve all watched Sweetness wither into the darkness. He’d never opened up to Van. Everyone else in the company was too caught up in friendly arguments to bother with someone as small as a techie. No one but me knew how to balance a conversation with someone shy. So, he’d faded into the background.
But he’s a techie. That’s probably where he wants to be. Up in the cat-walk, hiding from attention, wearing his sunglasses indoors, dressed all in black.
How would Mr. Ito want me to respond? Oh, fuck him. How can I answer that look of pain? It must have taken Carlos hours to screw up the courage to have this conversation. “Dude, you haven’t done anything wrong. I'm just busy. I have a lot going on after practice.”
He lifts his head, but never his voice. So, his insistence is cautious, nervous. He’s prying, and he doesn’t like it. “Is it that rich guy?”
Every muscle in my body clenches. You got to watch out for the quiet ones because they’ll figure things out. Then again, he’s the only one who knows about that text. “Carlos, you haven’t told anyone about—”
“Told anyone? No.” Carlos startles. “Why would I? Are you in—”
“Listen.” An overwhelming paranoia takes me. Someone else in the theater does know and is reporting to Mr. Ito. “I can’t talk right now.”
I soften my voice so much, he has to lean in. “On the fifteen-minute, we’ll do a Froth run, and I’ll … we’ll talk.”
****
During the break, Carlos meets me outside with coffee orders scribbled on graphing paper. He fiddles with his phone and looks as startled by the sunlight as a vampire. We’re stopped
at a light, on the tiny strip of grass between three lanes of traffic, surrounded by a buzzing moat of cars, when he finally speaks up. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah.” I’m not certain I do anymore. The plate of cookies one of my students brought, the moving around on stage energized me. That slightest change in my mood reminded me that Mr. Ito is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I don’t want to ruin it.
Still, it’s a good idea to make sure someone knows what I’ve got myself into. “Listen, you can’t tell Van or anyone else about that text, yeah?”
“Harp, what’s wrong?” He steps a little faster, hand and phone now firmly in his jacket pockets. “You sound scared.”
“I’m not scared, I promise.” And it’s true. I’m in control. Mr. Ito doesn’t care enough to hurt me. “You’re not wrong. I have been avoiding you. It’s nothing personal—”
My phone pings in my pocket, a warm buzz on my side.
I take it out without even thinking. Probably Scissors changing her order.
Mr. Ito has written. Don’t tell him anything.
Holy shit.
“Harper?”
Maybe I’m not in control. Maybe I never was.
“Scissors wants extra espresso.” I lie. “I just wanted you to know I get high-strung during a show, and I know I get snappish so I avoid people. Especially this show. But nothing weird is happening with Mr. Rich-guy. I told you we met in the lobby.”
That’s reasonable, right? Prima Donna knows he’s a bitch, but is improving. Damned near admirable.
The traffic clears. We continue toward Froth.
“Say, Sweetness, did you remember to get cash from everyone this time?”
“I’ll just put it on my card. Don’t worry.”
I don’t. How did Mr. Ito know—
“Listen, Harp.” Carlos skips to keep up. His fingers brush my arm. Then he recoils as if touching me is forbidden.
On the sidewalk, I face him, but I don’t interrupt his stammering. He’s blushing, too, tanned skin going dark. “I mean, you probably know this already, but Vanessa said…”
Billion Dollar Love: Manlove Edition Page 3