Chapter 3
My legs were getting wobbly, and I was starting to sink lower and lower. Noah scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
Noah asked, "Which one's your room?" My face burned as I barely managed to point toward the master bedroom.
He strode right over there, holding me by the scruff of my neck like I was some helpless kitten.
He'd barely set me down on the bed when...
My stomach decided to rumble at the absolute worst moment, and the vibe got awkward real fast.
I turned my head away, cleared my throat, and tried to sound like the one in charge. "Noah, go make me some pasta."
His fingers froze on his belt buckle. He gave me this withering look. "I'm here to be your kept man, and now you want me playing short-order cook too?"
I shot right back, totally indignant. "What's the issue? Free rent, free food. The boss giving you extra jobs is just investing in your personal growth!"
Besides, when I worked for him, didn't I wear a dozen hats at once?
On paper I was his executive assistant. In reality, I was his babysitter, bodyguard, drinking buddy, plus-one for every meal, movie, race, theme park... you name it.
He'd slap the word "overtime" on everything to steal my evenings and weekends.
Any time a woman got too close, he'd drag me in front of him like a shield, flirting just enough to make it look sketchy and redirect all the crazy toward me. I once had actual rotten eggs thrown at me by one of his obsessed fans.
"Fine. I'll go make your pasta." He stood and headed to the kitchen, leaving me sprawled on the bed, cheeks still flaming.
That was when it hit me what we'd almost done. I nearly hooked up with my old boss.
I shook my head, forced myself to focus.
What did employees fear most? Overtime. Mind games. Getting chewed out. Pay cuts.
Oh yeah, and early mornings that feel like torture.
I was going to use this month to make him pay back every second of misery from those two years.
Noah had the pasta ready fast. At the dining table, I got all official. "Since I'm keeping you for a full month, that means for the next thirty days, you do whatever I say."
I slid the freshly printed rules across the table.
"Rule number one: Every morning, 8 a.m. sharp, you make breakfast. Late once, deduct 30 bucks.
"Rule number two: Every night, you wait until I'm asleep. No heading to bed early by yourself—that counts as leaving early. 60 deducted each time.
"Rule number three: You're on call 24/7. When I'm out, phone stays on, answer within five seconds. Miss a call, 100 gone."
I rattled off a whole list, but his face stayed completely blank.
"You catch all that? I'm literally messing with your head here," I said.
"Yeah, I got it," Noah replied.
"So you're cool with everything? No complaints?"
He actually seemed to think about it, then said, "I do have one."
Finally. Where was this energy when you were working me to death?
I opened my mouth to roast him, but he went on, "Your rules don't specify how often I have to perform those kept-man duties."
My face went nuclear.
The guy who used to run the whole company was now a paid companion. Having to "perform" had to feel like the ultimate blow to his pride.
I finally had him in a corner. No way was I passing this up.
It was time to flex.
"Depends on my mood. Minimum once a day," I shot back.
His face suddenly clouded over.
I watched him, feeling a rush of glee, like I was watching a good drama unfold.
Got you rattled, huh? Furious? Selling your dignity for a few grand a month.
"Once a day might be cutting it a little low," he muttered, barely audible.
"What'd you say?" I asked.
"Nothing. Eat your pasta." He pushed the plate toward me. It looked and smelled amazing.
I took a bite and my eyes went wide.
"Noah, these noodles are insanely good!" I blurted out.
"So do I get a reward?" He flashed this eager, brown-nosing grin, like a puppy begging for a treat.
Why did this feel so familiar? Like déjà vu.
The memory clicked, and I smirked. "Keep dreaming. Maybe I'll draw you a nice bonus at the end of the year."