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Addison huffs. “Every time you bring up your childhood, I’m traumatized for you, Phillip. You act like it’s not a huge deal, but everything you experienced is like the definition of why we have child labor laws. You should have had more time to play.”
I know I should have. Every moment I spend with Addison makes me realize that I’ve missed so much. But the past is the past, and I want to be in the present. Even if the present includes a karaoke bar in an hour.
“Well, I’m playing now. The only thing that would be better is if you weren’t wearing that apron and I could see your breasts. Maybe if I could touch them… Squeeze them…”
She gives me a sideways grin as she goes back to chopping. “Yeah. That’s not going to happen, Mister. I’m okay wearing nothing but an apron to turn you on, but boiling butter burns on my tits is not worth it.”
“A guy has to try,” I say as I look down and see that the alfredo sauce is finally becoming a smooth and creamy sauce instead of cream with chunks in it. “I think this is done.”
She glances over at the sauce and nods. “Perfect timing.” She scoops up everything she was chopping and plops it into the sauce. “Keep stirring. The sauce might stick if you don’t.”
As she walks past me to the pot of boiling noodles, I reach around and give her ass a quick slap. “Watch it, buddy. Remember that I’m the sadist of the two of us. You might wake up tied to a bed with me in latex.”
“Are you Madame Rose after all, and this weird coffee mug collection is just a way to play it off?”
She just shrugs and gives me a grin before draining the noodles with a colander. “I think it’s time to eat, and then it’s time for your first torture session. Microphone included.”
* * *
I chose to experience new things instead of live the life of a billionaire. I regret that decision right now for more reasons than I’d expected.
Obviously, being a terrible singer at a karaoke bar is not exactly something I’d been excited about. But I’ve been pretty terrible at quite a few things since joining the normal world. The thing that is making this unbearable is that Victoria, Trish, and Sera are looking at me like I’m about to fire them just for sitting near me.
I’d hoped that Sera wouldn’t be so standoffish after spending a week in the same cubicle with her, but this is a very different environment. One that I don’t quite understand how anyone is comfortable in.
“Tell me again why I’m required to sing tonight? I think my brain is refusing to accept it.”
No one says a word. Each of them, other than Addison, looks like they’re going to be sick. Finally, Addison says, “Because you’re new, and every new cubicle-mate is required to sing one song here. I had to do it, so you have to do it, too. I didn’t make the rules, but I’m not going to let you get out of it.”
“Who made the rules?” I ask, and Trish pales. “I’m just curious since I’ve been calling Addison a sadist since I heard about this.” It’s supposed to be a little more playful than I guess it came out.
“Trish started it,” Sera says softly and glances at her drink, which has been empty since I sat down.
“Yeah, but you don’t have to sing anything if you don’t want to,” Trish adds. “I haven’t ever actually forced anyone to sing. It’s just a fun team-building thing. That’s all.”
I sigh. This isn’t going anywhere. I didn’t go into this with any expectation of making friends or even having the other employees look at me differently, but after getting close to Addison, it eats at me that her friends are terrified of me.
“Let me get the next round of drinks,” I say, hoping to liven the mood a little.
“I’m good,” Sera says, putting her hand over the empty glass.
“Same,” Victoria says.
Trish hesitates and glances at her friends before sighing and saying, “Yeah, I’ve got work in the morning. Don’t want to show up tired.”
My stomach sinks as I glance at Addison, who shrugs. Minutes pass as another guy sings “Friends in Low Places”. The way she’d talked about her experience singing karaoke, I’d expected it to be a lot of laughing and drinking interspersed with terrifying public singing. It sounded almost enjoyable.
But this is worse than being at a funeral. No stories. No laughter. Just everyone trying not to look at me.
Fuck this. There are plenty of good reasons for them to be afraid of me when I’m the boss at Loughton House, but tonight, I’m just a guy. I’m not wearing a cashmere suit, instead opting for yet another thrift store find from Addison and my shopping trip today.
And instead of being angry, I smile. They still think of me as Phillip Loughton, not Phillip, the guy who slept in a storage cabinet. So, I’ll do something that Phillip Loughton wouldn’t be caught dead doing.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” I say as I stand up.
Addison frowns at me, her expression asking where I’m going, but I just smile at her as I turn around to walk toward the karaoke DJ.
Twenty-Eight
