1
MATT
I’m buried in a spreadsheet when a sharp knock sounds at my office door. I glance up from my screen to see my driver, Ivan, at the threshold, his cap tucked under one arm and a metaphorical steel rod fused to his spine. The man is wound tighter than a tourniquet.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask, glancing at the time. “It’s not even six o’clock.” I never leave this early, and even if I did, I’d call him to pick me up in front of the building. I can’t even remember the last time he came up to my office.
“The young gay said you would need a reminder about the charity auction,” Ivan replies.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the tension headache that’s been building all day worsening that much more. “How many times have I told you? You can’t call him that at work.” He’s referring to my assistant, James, whoisyoung and gay, but also Ivan’s husband.
“Why not? He calls me the ‘Old Gay’.”
“Christ, you two are an HR nightmare, you know that?”
“Yes, sir. I’m aware.” Ivan looks completely unabashed. “The charity auction?”
“I’m not going,” I growl, turning back to my screen.
“The Young gay said you’d say that.”
“For the love of God, please just call him James. I don’t have time for another sensitivity training from Carole.”
Ivan shrugs and tries not to grin. “Respectfully, sir, I’ll call him James once you get up and go to the event. If you’d rather skip it and let the school children go hungry, that’s your choice, but I’m afraid I might forget to use his proper name if you do.”
“I thought it was for new computers.” I frown at my driver.
“If I can’t call him the Young Gay, I’m sure I can come up with something more… inspired,” Ivan deadpans. His voice may be flat, but the threat is real.
“I’ll send a check. Feed the children or buy them an iPhone or whatever this is, but I’m not going.”
Ivan tilts his head to the side as if considering. “Maybe I’ll start calling him the fabulous cougar cub… that might be too long. I’ll have to workshop it; maybe get some feedback around the office. I bet Carole has some thoughts—”
“Fine,” I groan, grabbing a foam stress ball off my desk and chucking it at Ivan’s head. He doesn’t flinch as he snatches it out the air with one hand. In fact, I don’t think a single muscle moves in his entire body, save his right arm. A grin spreads across his face.
“Sharp as ever,” I mutter as I shut everything down.
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to look so smug about it, Ivan. It’s unbecoming.”
“Yes, sir.”
I flick my eyes up at my driver, who is smirking in the doorway. When he catches me looking at him, he purses his lips and lifts his chin, trying to look professional again.
“Let’s go get this over with, smart ass,” I grumble, heading out the door. Ivan pulls it shut behind us and follows me to the elevator bank. “You know, I figured if I gave James a half day, no one would force me to go to this thing.”
“Ah, yes. Never underestimate his ability to micromanage, even from a distance.” Ivan chuckles and presses the button for the ground floor. My car is waiting out front, and Ivan goes to open my door for me, but I shoo him toward the driver’s side. He’s impossible. I need a driver so I can work from the car, not because I want someone to baby me and open my door like it’s a first date.
As soon as Ivan gets in the car, he leans back, trying to hand me an electric shaver. “No,” I growl, refusing to take it.
“Yes,” Ivan argues. “You look like the unwashed masses. How are you going to bring in any money for the school children with a face like that?”
“I look fine,” I argue. “And who cares? As long as I buy something and cut them a check, a five o’clock shadow won’t bother anyone.”
Ivan snorts. “Five o’clock?”
“Scruffy beards are in. Or haven’t you heard?”