I ARRIVED at Rivera’s place a half hour early, thinking he would be impressed with my punctuality. I did not expect him to answer the door wearing nothing but a pair of black silk pajama pants and a bemused smile. I also didn’t expect to have such a physical reaction to seeing him that way, showing tight muscle, black chest hair, and a tantalizing trail of hair that stretched all the way down into his waistband.

And then there was his face. The stubble at his jaw, the swell of his bottom lip, the sleepy half-lidded gaze. There should not have been anything obscene about it, and yet in my mind there was. All of the tortured thoughts of my night with Theo suddenly evaporated.

“My, my,” he said in a voice still gravelly from sleep. “Aren’t you the eager young thing.” When I didn’t speak or move a muscle, he opened the door wider. “Are you going to stand in the hall all day?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.” I found my feet and hurried past him, settling my skateboard against the wall just inside the door. “I apologize for getting here early. I didn’t realize you’d still be in bed.”

“It’s okay, Peter. I was actually just brushing my teeth.” He looked down at his state of undress and laughed, running a hand over his sleep-tousled hair. “I hope you don’t mind business casual.”

“You’re the boss,” I said, reminding myself that he was indeed the boss, and there was no way I should be looking at him the way I was.

“Speaking of attire…” Rivera raised a brow and checked me out from head to toe. “We’ll need to get you something more presentable. You represent me now, and I like to look good.”

That stung a little. The khakis, plaid button-up, and white high-top sneakers were the best I had. I’d even dragged mom’s old iron out of the back of the hall closet and pressed them.

“I didn’t have time to go shopping,” I lied. The truth was, I wouldn’t have been able to afford anything nicer, anyway. It was woefully slim pickings in the Wal-Mart men’s clothing department.

Rivera’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a lock of hair from my forehead. “Peanut butter and chocolate,” he mused softly. At my confused look, he said, “Your hair. It’s an unusual shade. Like chocolate run through with fine strips of peanut butter.”

“Like a Reece’s cup,” I said.

“Yes, like a Reece’s cup.” He laughed and rubbed absently at his flat belly. “And now I’m hungry. How about you? Have you had any breakfast?”

I shook my head. “I usually eat a bowl of cereal, but I was so excited to get here I forgot.” My stomach growled right on cue, and we both laughed, though my laughter was more from embarrassment than amusement.

Rivera called room service and ordered a huge spread of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, cereal, milk, and orange juice. He had fresh lemonade delivered as well, which he put in the fridge for later. While we waited for the food to arrive, he put in a call to his tailor and asked him to come over and take my measurements.

We ate mostly in silence, and after we were done, he invited me to sit on the sofa. I took the same spot I had the day before, tucked into the corner as if I didn’t want to take up too much room, and Rivera paced the floor in front of me.

“So about your duties,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Yes?’ I prompted when he didn’t immediately continue.

He stopped pacing. “I must admit I haven’t really worked this all out. It’s been my intention to get an assistant for a long time, but I never really thought about what I would have one do. I’m something of a control freak, and it’s hard for me to let go of tasks I’m used to handling myself.”

“Are you firing me on my first day?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

“No, of course not. I’m sure I’ll think of something for you to do. You’ll just have to be patient with me, alright?” He rubbed absently at the hair on his belly, trailing his fingertips up and down the center line as he threw out ideas. “Deliveries, checking the mail, reminding me of appointments…”

His words faded into the background as I watched the hypnotic movement of his fingers. I don’t know how much time had passed before I realized Rivera had stopped talking altogether. I glanced up to find him watching my face just as intently as I was watching his hand.

He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“You said—” I struggled to come up with something. Anything. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rivera. My mind was wandering. It does that sometimes.”

“I should probably put some clothes on,” he said with a subtle wink.

While he left the room and got dressed, I chastised myself for being such an utter dumbass. I’d just gotten caught ogling my new boss on the first day of work, and he’d made it very clear that he noticed. I wondered if it made him uncomfortable having another man looking at him that way. He didn’t seem to be offended or angry, so that was a good sign.

I had never been obvious about checking guys out, or at least I didn’t think I had, but Rivera made it difficult. His body was like a magnet to my gaze, and he wasn’t shy about showing it off. Confidence radiated from him, and I had no doubt he knew just how attractive he was.

Rivera didn’t emerge from the bedroom for some time, and I heard his voice through the door a few times. He was talking to someone on the phone, and it didn’t sound like he was too pleased with them. I felt sorry for the poor bastard on the other end of the line, and I thought of the way he had looked at my father the day before. So far he had been nothing but kind to me, but I had no doubt there was another side to my boss that I did not want to provoke.

The tailor showed up while he was still on the phone. I was nervous about disturbing him, especially since he sounded irate, so I answered the door myself.

The man on the other side was small, maybe five-foot-six, with a receding hairline and blue-tinted glasses. His blue pinstripe suit was immaculate, and he carried a black bag at his side like one of those old timey doctors who made house calls.

“You must be the tailor,” I said.

“And you must be the clothing emergency.” He gave my attire an obvious once-over, offering a thinly disguised sneer in place of a smile. “I can see why. I’m surprised Gio even allowed you to darken his door dressed this way. He’s very particular.”

“I’m his assistant,” I said defensively. “I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts when he hired me. Maybe he’s not as particular as you think.”

The tailor cocked a brow. “Oh, he’s particular alright. No doubt about it. Apparently he saw something he liked in you, though I think we can all agree it wasn’t your fashion sense.”

“But you can fix that, right? Make me look good for him?” I hoped I didn’t sound desperate.

The tailor smiled. “Like Cinderella going to the ball. Just think of me as your fairy godmother.”

“Cinderella?” I grimaced. “Can we shoot for the prince instead?”

“So no glass slippers?”

“No glass slippers. And no pumpkins, either.”

“Duly noted. Now please strip down to your underwear.”

My eyes bugged out. “Here? In Mr. Rivera’s living room?” At the tailor’s exasperated look, I quickly removed my clothes. Chill bumps sprang to the surface of my skin. “Okay, let’s get this over with. It’s cold in here with nothing on but my Calvins.”

“My boy, these are not Calvin Klein briefs. I know a pair of two-year-old Fruit of the Looms when I see them.”

I sighed and looked down at my ratty underwear, their color hovering somewhere between white and gray. “Yeah, I can’t afford Calvins. I wish I could, though. I’d totally rock a red pair. You think I’d look as good in them as Marky Mark?”

He scrutinized my body for long enough that I found myself wishing I’d never asked the question.

“Most definitely,” he said finally. “You have nice proportions, though you could stand to gain about twenty pounds of muscle.”

He pulled a tape measure out of his black bag, and over the next eternity he alternated between measuring me and barking at me to be still. Turn this way. Stop fidgeting. Pay attention.

“Fuck. How long does it take to do a few measurements?”

“Apparently a long time when your subject can’t maintain proper posture. Are your bones made of jelly? Stand up straight.”

When he turned me around to face the master bedroom, I caught Rivera leaning against the door frame and staring at me with an amused grin. He was dressed in gray slacks and a white dress shirt, but he was still barefoot.

“How’s it going, Bill?” he asked, still smiling. “Is my assistant giving you a hard time?”

The tailor pulled straightened, hung the tape measure over his shoulder, and took a deep breath in and out. “Good God, I think we’re finally done. If the pants turn out to be capri’s, and the jackets have one arm longer than the other, you can blame Mr. Fidgety here.”

I glared at Bill. “It’s not my fault that getting measured for a suit is boring. It’s worse than watching golf or boxing on TV with my dad. It’s worse than church.”

Rivera laughed from behind me. “I agree with you on the golf, Peter. And the church. But what’s wrong with boxing? It’s the purest sport there is.”

“It’s just two guys running around in a box and punching each other in the face,” I argued. “Stock car racing may actually be more exciting.”

“Quit while you’re ahead, kid,” Bill said under his breath. Then in full voice he announced, “I’m going to head back to the shop. I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to meet your deadline, Gio. Wish me luck.”

After he left, Rivera approached me slowly, making no secret of looking me up and down. Suddenly I felt twice as naked as before.

I wondered if he found me lacking. Too skinny. Was he disgusted by my dingy underwear? God, why hadn’t I worn my newest pair?

Because most assistants probably don’t end up nearly naked on their first day of work. Duh.

“What happened to the back of your arm?” Rivera asked.

I lifted my arm and peered at the purple and yellow spot just above my elbow. I shrugged as if I had no idea what he was talking about. In fact, I had known without even looking.

It was a bruise, kept fresh by my father, whose favorite way to keep me in line and remind me of my place was to pinch the shit out of my arm. Always in the same spot. I had gotten used to it over the years. It was part of me now, a defining feature just like my hair and my eyes.

I picked up my clothes and started to get dressed while Rivera watched me with hawk eyes of the clearest blue. It made me nervous, and my fingers trembled slightly as I tried to get into my clothes.

“You don’t know how you got the bruise?” he pressed. “It looks painful.”

“It’s not,” I lied. “I think I got it a few days ago when I fell on my skateboard. See?” I showed him the scrape on my knee.

“Is that how you got the shiner?” He gestured to the pale yellow remnants of my black eye.

Fuck. He had noticed. This man was way too observant to get anything past him. I’d have to remember that in the future.

“I got into a fight with some asshole at the pool hall when I was drunk. It was nothing.”

He let it go with a nod, and I breathed easier. I wasn’t used to someone blatantly questioning me about my injuries.

After I was dressed, Rivera sat down on the sofa, crossed his legs, and stretched one arm across the back of the cushions. “Speaking of fighting, explain to me what you have against boxing.”

Oh, God. Not this again.

I sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and clasped my hands between my knees. “Is this going to make me lose my job?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a grin. “You should probably choose your words carefully.”

I swallowed, hoping he was joking. “Well, I already told you. Two men punching each other in the face, end of story. How much of that can you possibly enjoy before it gets old?”

“Maybe if you had money on the line, you would have a different opinion.”

“Yeah, right. I could maybe bet a dollar on a fight. What would that get me if my guy won? A quarter?”

Rivera chuckled. “One Saturday night, you’re going to find out. I sometimes have friends over to watch the fights and have a few drinks. I guarantee you’ll find it interesting.”

“But I always hang out with my best friend Theo at the pool hall on Saturdays.”

“Invite him along,” he said. “He’ll have fun, too. I throw a mean fight party.”

As the room service girl arrived to gather our lunch dishes, Rivera got a phone call. He covered the receiver with his hand and whispered to me. “You can go now, Peter. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”