“The key to your new car,” Martin said as he handed Richard the small box, which had the Porsche logo embossed on top.
William impatiently waited for Martin to finish instructing Richard on the car’s location and how to claim it. He glanced at the blond man, who was still looking at him with a smile. He wasn’t dressed like the other FIS Poker employees, who wore bright red shirts with white ties and black pants. His own outfit was modest: a simple white sweater and light gray pants.
Perhaps he was part of the hotel staff? Could he be their own personal concierge? He looked so young, though. Maybe he was Martin’s son?
“And for you,” Martin said, pulling William out of his musings. He gestured toward the blond man, who stood up from the sofa and pressed his hand against his heart. “Your very own Serviteur.”
William’s smile fell. “My what?”
Richard clicked his tongue. “You lucky bastard.”
“A Serviteur is—”
“I know what aServiteuris!” William snapped at Martin. He’d heard the term before, but he thought it was just an urban legend. How was this even legal, in Canada of all places? Surely, it was a joke.
The slave’s smile—because that’s what he was, a slave—almost imperceptibly wavered at William’s outburst, stoking William’s anger further.
“Do you not like it?” Martin asked. “If you’re dissatisfied with its looks, please know we can exchange it for another model. However, there will be a twelve-business-day turnaround.”
What the fuck was wrong with these people? Giving William an actual human being? Calling him “it” straight to his face? Treating the poor man like he was just a ... a ... athing!
William didn’t like Martin anymore.
“It has nothing to do with his appearance,” William said, incapable of looking the poor soul in the eye. He felt like he was walking a tightrope over a burning pit full of starving crocodiles, while the entire world watched, secretly hoping he’d lose balance. “You can’t give me a human being! What the hell?”
“William, please,” Richard said through gritted teeth, as if William’s reaction was embarrassing him.
Asshole.
Martin motioned for William to follow him and led him to the corridor. His features were still impassive as he came to ahalt and addressed him. “I understand you’re unsatisfied with your prize.”
Figured that out on your own?
William was going to lose it. He was going to punch this man in the face and get arrested and go to jail.
He crossed his arms to stop them from delivering his fury straight to Martin’s nose. “I am.”
Martin nodded slowly. “In that case, do you wish to relinquish it to Mister Leclerc?”
William’s jaw dropped. Giving Richard what he wanted? No fucking way. William wouldn’t even give him used gum he’d sucked all the flavor out of.
But this wasn’t about Richard. It wasn’t about either of them.
William’s nails dug into his palms as he once again found himself backed into a corner. The answer he was going to give Martin would have a direct—and considerable—impact on a vulnerable man’s life. A man who at the present moment was probably freaking out.
“No,” William said, miraculously sounding somewhat calm. Whatever he did, he couldn’t let the Serviteur go home with that over-privileged, egotistical freak. “I changed my mind. I’ll take him.”
Then I’ll help him find a real job and set him free, you sick fuck.
“Wonderful,” Martin said without a trace of a smile.
They headed back to the lodge, where they found Richard studying the Serviteur closely, as if appraising him. The blond man’s gaze locked onto William, his lips moving almost imperceptibly to form a silent plea.
William’s chest tightened. He’d made the right decision. He knew he had. But...
His body grew heavy when he realized he’d be going back home just as penniless as before. He’d endured all of this stressfor nothing. And now, on top of everything, he had to take care of a stranger.
“You will find everything you need in here.” Martin patted the top of the large box. “It comes with a deluxe set of accessories and, of course, its instruction manual.”
