Page 3 of His Little Stowaway

No money and now, no place to go except where my feet can carry me.

Suddenly exhausted, I grip the handle of a car door after leaning against it.

A long, black limo that gleams in the semi-darkness like slick oil.

I let out a dry sound of surprise as it opens, warm air reaching out for me and inviting me in even though it’s not running. Nobody is inside.

There’s the calming scent of something I’ve never known as well.

It’s a woodsy scent with a sweet muskiness to it. Earthy but clean. Crisp. Like a forest or something.

Glancing around with my ears straining to prove I’m actually alone, I somehow just know I’ve found a bed for the night.

A massive camel toned woolen overcoat proves to be the source of the delicious smell, and the perfect blanket and pillow all in one.

Someone has the best taste in cologne or probably has it custom blended.

I’ll just rest for a few hours. Just… rest…

I feel a heavy bulge against my neck as I lay down on the huge leather seats, sinking into them with a moan of pleasured relief.

It’s a thick wallet. Not the regular kind, more like a folder of some kind, but filled with crisp hundreds and fifties, making me whistle aloud.

Making me wish I’d never looked now.

A card falls, then another out as I move onto my back, figuring I may as well snoop while I’m here.

Before long I’ve got a man’s business card as well as what looks like an ID, which I lift up to the light to study.

Pearce Masters. CEO. Masters Group.

I frown with a silent and satisfied respect.

Then I gasp, moaning a different sound once the eyes from his photo bore into mine.

Oh my god…

Why couldn’t you be drilling my mom?

Why couldn’t you be drilling me?

Chapter Two

Pearce

My hand shoots from under the covers, shutting off the alarm seconds before it goes off on the nightstand.

Something I started to do as a kid, training myself to beat time.

That’s what it felt like I was doing anyway.

In a single movement, I toss off the covers and swing myself to the edge of the large bed, stretching as I stand before letting myself fall forward.

The strain of my weight against my hands lets me know I’m awake, that I’m not dreaming.

The niggling pain in my lower back as I start my push-ups reminds me I need to stretch more the older I get.

I glance at myself briefly in the reflection of the floor to ceiling glass as I lift myself up and down.

My reflection makes me look like a giant superimposed against the view of the city skyline.

It tells me I’m in fucking great shape for my age and I don’t need to be so hard on myself.

I ran last night, laps on the roof, so only a light workout this morning.

It’s still dark, nothing unusual about that for me getting up at this hour. But day or night, my private condo only hums with the sound of silence and the odd piece of computer hardware.

Maybe the refrigerator if I listen hard enough.

I’m only here to sleep though, it seems. The rest of my day is spent in my offices, bigger versions of my condo.

Gleaming chrome and glass cubes stacked a hundred and fifty stories high.

Filled with people worrying, stressing. Making things happen.

Making it happen.

The wheels of Masters Group turning.

I stifle a yawn at the mental image. Twenty years of this and aside from being set for twenty more lifetimes financially, I feel like I’m about to scream sometimes.

Like I’m in an invisible prison.

Springing to my feet after a hundred more crunches, push-ups, and burpees, I feel a little better as my body pulses from the strain of my muscle rather than from creaking joints as I head towards the bathroom.

Naked, I tilt my head back, letting the powerful jets of hot water run over me like tiny rivers. Deciding I’ll break all conventions today and not shave.

I feel my light stubble scratching at a fingertip as I brush my teeth, growling and smiling to myself.

“You dog. What else can you do today to break all the rules?" I wink to myself in the giant wall of mirror opposite.

I’m not into looking at myself all day, far from it. Just these architect wannabes make even the biggest rooms look bigger with mirrors and glass everywhere.

All the windows are mirrored too, so although I can see the world whichever way I look, nobody can see Pearce Masters until he’s ready to let them.

Toweling my hair dry as I make my way through to the kitchen, I crease a frown at my obvious lack of breakfast.

Checking my Rolex, then the thin gray line of dawn on the horizon outside, I know it’s not me that’s running late.

Still. Make a change. Maybe today will be truly different after all…

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