“No.” I opened the door at the curbside. “Isaiah.” My voice was sharp. He snapped to attention.
“No, no.” His words were soft, but I heard. “Sir, I thought we were—”
“We were what?” I asked, shrugging. “Because clearly your thoughts aren’t your friends.”
“You said we were meeting at the office, at half past.”
I pushed out my chest, my shirt holding on by a mere button, and folded my arms over it. “I changed my mind. And I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”
“You . . . you . . .” He stepped toward me, his laces untied.
I’d been good at masking my emotions, but the mask was a snarl—and maybe that wasn’t a good mask to some. “Do you always look this... messy?”
“Please don’t fire me.”
I snapped my fingers, just so I could see him straighten up at the sound. “I’m not firing you, Isaiah. I’m trying to make you into something.” I stepped closer. “If you want this job, you must show me you want it, every single day. You must... take initiative. You must strive for success.” I scrunched up a hand into a fist and placed it at his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat on the back of my hand. “Do you want this job?”
“Yes.” His voice was a squeak. “Yes.”
I zipped his fly up with my other hand then proceeded to tuck his shirt into his trousers. “There,” I whispered to him. “You’re looking much better.”
“Thank you,” he whispered back.
“Now get in the car.”
He obeyed, no questions, and he climbed into the passenger seat and sat there, facing forward, quiet. He clearly really wanted this job. I sat in the space beside him, my hand on his lap. I leaned in close, testing the waters, and whispered in his ear, “Good boy.”
***
I’d been testing the waters with my new assistant for days now. Picking him up, taking him to businesses across the city, letting him know we owned those places. It wasn’t enough for him just to see the places, he had to understand how we operated, and howIoperated.
It was just after 8:30 a.m. and we were together, heading to a construction site. They were getting ready to pour concrete, and I love a bit of a cliché.
“Have you been getting many calls?” I asked on the drive over.
“No, not really,” he said. “Maybe two a day. I tell everyone the same thing. You’re busy.”
“Good boy,” I whispered. I’d called him that a few times now, watching the way his body responded to me in miniscule shivers. There was something there, and I’d been so patient for so long, waiting for my dad to die. I just wanted to fuck any submissive man with a pulse, wherever I goddamn wanted.
“Sir,” he whispered, the breath hitching in the back of his throat.
“Yes.” I placed my hand on his thigh.
“The other phone,” he said, almost panicking. “I’ve only looked at the calendar.”
I faced him, head on, staring into his eyes as if I was searching for his soul. “You haven’t even looked at the images or my notes?”
A light twitch, almost a flinch. I knew he had, or at least I hoped he had. There were photos on there—my dick for starters, from a lot of angles. My notes weren’t deep, just a tally of all the “good boys” I’d given him. And he must’ve seen those, or else why was he being so much more put together and obedient for me?
“I promise I haven’t done more than look at the calendar,” he said, avoiding eye contact.
I squeezed my hand on his knee. “Good boy.” And I swore I heard the lightest pant from the back of his throat. Maybe he was the one. Maybe he could handle this life. “Well, are you ready to see concrete poured?”
He nodded and smiled, looking straight ahead, trying his best not to look me in the eye. “Yes, sir.”
Today wasn’t just any old concrete pouring job. At the construction site for a new apartment building, they’d just finished laying down new rebar, pipes, tubing, everything that went into running a smooth apartment complex at the ground level. Today was also about showing Isaiah just what we did here at Bianchi Construction.
It was a short drive, and when we pulled up, the driver got out to open my door, and Isaiah scooted out after me. It was a cool day. Fall was coming. The front of the complex was covered up with tall, thick walls of metal, rusted and a worn yellow color like the side of a shipping container. Sammy, one of my lieutenants, pushed the metal, which was on a hinge, and welcomed me in.
