A month and a half is both a long time, and not much time at all. Six weeks following my takeover of The Palisade, Troy had managed to put together a winning presentation and had presented it to the board. Implementation of the new plan was only just starting to roll out, and it would be a long, arduous process, but that it was being put into action was fantastic. I’d made plans to stick around The Palisade for a few more months, at least until at least the new year, or maybe longer, if I was needed.

After that…

I hadn’t given it much thought. There were still a few months ahead of me, and with Troy’s wallet at my disposal, I wasn’t exactly strapped for cash. I’d worry about my next adventure when I got there. For now, it was nice to settle into a routine, even if that routine was temporary.

I’d made use of my time in Troy’s office, of course. After the first few days, I’d eased him into a schedule and made my expectations known. Every morning, whether I’d spent the night with him or not, he brought a coffee to my desk. At one o’clock every day, he delivered lunch to me. I’d expected him to start to slip after the first week or two, after the excitement of having me in town had died down, but to my surprise, he continued to be every bit as submissive and well-behaved as before. I rewarded him generously for it.

On this particular day, at one o’clock sharp, Troy returned to the office with today’s lunch offering—grilled chicken Caesar wraps. I’d requested them specifically, so even though he came in carrying a brown paper bag, I knew what was inside. He had a drink caddy in his other hand. I assumed Lena had opened the office door for him, because it looked like there was no way he would have gotten in on his own.

Without a word, Troy came to my desk and set the bag and the drink caddy down. He freed the first paper cup from the cardboard base and set it beside me, then opened the bag to get my wrap. I hadn’t exactly been hungry, but all of a sudden, my stomach twisted in the sharp, almost nauseating way it did when it had been left empty for too long. I squirmed in my chair to try to stop the feeling.

“Chicken Caesar wrap, as requested, Mr. Mills.” Troy undid the folded top of the paper bag and took out the first wrap. As he did, my nausea spiked. I pushed back from the desk and staggered to my feet, repulsed by the smell.

“Robin?” Troy asked hesitantly as I backed away from the desk.

“Can’t…” I was going to puke. I fucking loved chicken Caesar wraps, but this? This musty, tangy smell? It was sickening. “F-Fuck…”

“Robin?” Troy’s concern grew. “What’s going on?”

“Need to go.” I staggered around the desk to the door, then yanked it open. Lena glared at me from her desk. The squirt bottle still sat there, within reach.

“Robin!” Troy yelled after me.

But I couldn’t stop. I bolted from Lena’s reception area, then down the hall to the bathroom. I managed to close and lock the door, then sank to my knees in front of the toilet and waited for my breakfast to come back up for a visit, or for my stomach to settle.

Not even half a minute later, there was a knock at the door.

“Robin?” Troy asked, more concerned than before. “Are you okay?”

“Did it look or sound like I was okay back in the office?” I asked sarcastically. How many people had put their asses on the toilet seat I was stationed in front of? If I rested my forehead on it, how gross would it be? Was I feeling sick enough that I didn’t care? I glanced at the seat, and while it looked clean, I decided I wasn’t quite there yet.

“Let me in.”

“Are you insane? This is a bathroom.”

“I can help.”

I took a deep breath that only made me feel sicker and glared at the door. “Unless you have ancient vomit-extracting techniques, I don’t think you can help. I’m okay. I just need to… to take a second and pull myself together, that’s all. Go back to work.”

Troy paused. “You should take the rest of the day off, if not for yourself, then for the sake of everyone else in the office. If you’re contagious, and everyone catches what you have, we’ll have a larger problem on our hands than you barricading yourself in the bathroom all day.”

My temple twitched. Whenever I felt well enough for it, Troy was going to be punished for saying that. Fuck him.

I let the air out of my lungs and hung my head, more tempted than ever to rest my forehead on the toilet seat. The nausea I was going through right now beat out the worst of my hangry behavior. I was short-fused and irritable. While it hadn’t been the most emotional or compassionate statement, Troy was right—we were in a business environment, and if I was coming down with a stomach flu, it’d be better if I went home and quarantined myself.

I hadn’t been working on anything important, anyway.

“I’m going to stay here until my stomach is settled, and then I’m going to leave for the rest of the day,” I finally replied. “The wrap—” just thinking about it made me ill, “—you can do whatever with. I don’t want it. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll text you if I don’t end up feeling well enough to come in tomorrow,” I said. The cool tile floor soaked through the back of my slacks and chilled my ass and thighs. Maybe, if I put a layer of freshly dispensed toilet paper down, I could rest my forehead on it and cool down. The thought still grossed me out, but I had no clue what else to do. I felt absolutely miserable.

For a long while, nothing was said. I knew Troy was still standing outside the door, but I was too focused on myself to try to engage him in conversation. If he wanted to be weird and stand outside a bathroom door, listening to me potentially puke, that was his prerogative. Right now, I had to think about me.

“Let me come over tonight after work to check on you,” Troy insisted. “I won’t stay for long—I’m just worried.”

“It’s a stomach bug, Troy.”

“I’m allowed to worry, aren’t I?”

I sighed. The last month and a half had been… confusing, to say the least. Troy was my client, and while I’d decided to spend my new free time in his presence, it didn’t mean that I wanted something more from him. I wasn’t sure that he got that, though. The way he looked at me, the way he submitted to me, and the way he cared for me…

Lines were starting to blur.

If I let him come over tonight, there would be no excusing it away as business, or as part of my contractual obligation to him. Troy was kind, and sweet, and thoughtful, but I wasn’t really looking for a relationship. I valued the time we spent together, and I often found myself thinking about him when my mind was idle, but that didn’t mean much. People thought about their friends, or colleagues, or clients all the time. It didn’t mean I wanted more.

Not at all.

And the more I told it to myself, the easier it was to believe it.

“Robin?” Troy asked when I didn’t respond.

“I…” With a sigh, I gave in. “Fine. You can come over after work to check up on me.”

While I didn’t want Troy to get the wrong impression, the thought that he’d go out of his way to make sure I was okay was touching. If it’d make him sleep better at night, then who was I to tell him no? He was being kind, and I owed him a little respect.

Right?

Still uncertain, I glanced at the closed door. I imagined Troy standing behind it, his lips a thin line and his forehead wrinkled in worry.

“I really am okay, though,” I said. I hoped it would assuage his fear a little. If I wasn’t going to be in the office to supervise, I needed him to focus. If he was distracted over me, that would never happen. “I think I must have eaten something that disagreed with me for breakfast. That’s all. Or maybe for dinner last night. My brother took me out, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if something was off.”

Monty and his fucking fancy restaurants. I wouldn’t pretend to know what molecular gastronomy really meant, but I was sure that one of the fifteen tiny courses served to us last night could have made me sick. We’d been served seafood in tiny shells while wearing VR goggles that had planted us on a sandy shore, and I’d eaten blindly as part of “the experience.” Later, when I didn’t feel like I was going to get personal with the toilet, I’d send Monty a text and ask him how he was doing. I couldn’t be the only one.

“Let Pierre drive you home,” Troy insisted. “I’ll give him a call and have him pick you up.”

“I can pay for a cab, but thank you.” I’d draw the line at being brought home by Troy’s driver. While I was touched that he wanted to take such close care of me, I was my own man, and I could take care of myself. I didn’t want this to get personal. It wasn’t supposed to ever have been personal, but I couldn’t help the way my spirits lifted when I thought about Troy being so devoted, or how pleased I was to think he’d go out of his way to check in with me. “Go back to work, Troy. I’m okay. Thank you for looking out for me so far.”

“You’re welcome.” Troy paused. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

I heard his footsteps fade down the hall. When they were gone, I let my head sag. I was exhausted after our exchange. What was I going to do about Troy’s feelings?

… and what was I going to do about my own?