Page 7

“You should forget them; think of the ratings.”

Daniel bit his lip and ducked his head, and finally Jane took mercy on him. “Right there, darling,” she said through a grin that looked ready to break with laughter. She pointed her spatula at a neatly folded pile on the far counter. Daniel nodded, but made no move to take them. “You can put them on, you know. Master never said a thing about you streaking through the apartment all morning.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Our bathroom’s just through there.” She pointed with the spatula again to a hallway off the kitchen opposite the one that led to the master’s room. “You have the red toothbrush. Don’t know what kind of razor you like, but Dave’s got an electric and a few different disposables, so take your pick. Breakfast in five, okay?”

Daniel nodded, wondering who Dave was and whether this morning could get any stranger. He somehow managed to brush his teeth and shave and get dressed in the time allotted. His clothes, apparently, had been laundered while he’d slept.

When he came back into the kitchen, a male slave was setting the table with two plates, two glasses, two sets of silverware. “Dave?” he guessed.

The man turned around and offered a smile and a handshake. “Yup.”

Daniel hesitated, but he supposed this was a private place, and they could touch if the master allowed it—and presumably Dave wouldn’t have offered if the master didn’t. Dave’s handshake was firm, and Daniel’s eyes were drawn to the gold bracelets around his wrists, a more masculine version of the ones Jane wore. He was a handsome man, black hair buzzed short, eyes and skin such a rich dark shade of brown that his ancestors had likely never suffered a master’s unwanted attention—a spectacular rarity after four centuries of opportunity to interbreed. He was bigger than Daniel by significant degrees—easily as tall as the master and twice as strong. The kind of man Daniel might go for if NewWorld didn’t keep such a tight lock on that sort of behavior.

“Welcome to the family, Daniel. Please, sit.” Dave pulled out a chair and gestured toward it. “The master wants you to eat with him this morning.”

Daniel did as he was told, watching Dave and Jane and wondering if he looked anywhere near as lost as he felt. He probably did, because Dave clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. Master Whitman’s a good man. Just try to relax and be yourself.” Then he turned to Jane, kissed her on the lips, and said, “I’ll see you tonight, babe,” before leaving the apartment for Daniel couldn’t even imagine where.

“It’s true,” Jane said, sliding an omelet and a stack of pancakes onto each plate. “Master didn’t have any use for Dave, but he bought him anyway, never mind he’d never owned even one slave before us, had no idea what was involved in taking care of us. Insisted he’d learn; didn’t want to break up a couple, he said. Master rents Dave out now for construction work, but he’s all mine in the evenings.”

“And I just might make my money back before he’s eighty,” the master called from the entranceway. His hair was still damp, and he was suppressing a smile as he slid into the seat next to Daniel. “Morning, Jane.”

She greeted him back and poured him a glass of juice, then disappeared.

The master attacked his breakfast, downing half his omelet without sparing Daniel a single glance. When at last he did look, he saw that Daniel hadn’t yet touched his food and frowned. “What? You don’t like eggs?”

“No, Master, I . . . I mean, of course I like eggs. It’s just, you didn’t—”

“Oh,” the master said, theatrically loud, drawing out the single word into at least four syllables. “Right. NewWorld with all its rules. God, the stick up its ass must reach all the way to Australia.” Daniel grimaced at the dig on his corporate master, at his new master so casually taking the Lord’s name in vain like he didn’t care who heard him. But the master didn’t seem to notice, just kept on talking. “You’re waiting for permission, aren’t you?” Daniel nodded, and the master shrugged, waved at his plate. “Well, go on then. Eat.” He took another bite of his own breakfast, then mumbled around a mouthful of pancake, “Everyone trains ’em different. I never know how to handle you people.”

They spent the rest of the morning in a strange, semitense silence. Daniel was practically vibrating on the couch as the master, lounging in his recliner with the sports pages, wordlessly passed him sections of the New York Times and the Washington Post. Daniel had heard that companions knelt naked on the floor at their master’s feet, but his master had asked no such thing of him. Hadn’t even touched him, really, except this morning in his sleep. Maybe that wasn’t his intent after all; maybe he really had bought him for something different: to discuss ideas, or talk about the news, or . . . Daniel chuffed quietly. Yeah, right.

Jane flitted in the background, dusting and straightening and washing. At 9:50 a.m., she leaned over Daniel’s shoulder and whispered, “Your car will be here in ten minutes,” then went back to her work. Daniel glanced up at the master, who was buried waist deep in little teepee’d stacks of newspaper sections, scribbling on a notepad, and cleared his throat. He didn’t dare leave without approval, no matter how permissive the master had been so far—or how derisive he’d been of NewWorld’s training—but he also didn’t dare speak out of turn.

His master either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him, so he tried again, a little more deliberately this time. The master flipped the page with a loud rustle and a sigh and said, “Yes, Daniel? What is it? Speak.”

“I, uh, it’s almost ten, Master.”

“Yes, yes.” Carl shooed him away without even glancing up from his paper. “Go. I’ll see you tonight.”

The moment Daniel stepped onto the news floor, he began to think he’d rather have stayed in his new master’s awkward company. A grim-faced Tim cut him off halfway to his office.

“Don’t even bother,” Tim said, steering him away from the office and back toward the hallway. “They’re pissed. Don’t be late.”

Daniel’s feet froze up for a second, and Tim gave his arm a harsh jerk, pulling him along. “You said you’d be good,” Tim snapped, then, “Sorry, sorry,” when Daniel let his hurt show on his face. “It’s just, like I said, they’re pissed, and I worry about you.”

“I know.”

“Look . . .” Tim pushed the elevator call button and waited for the car to arrive. “Do you want me to—?”

“No.” Bad enough Tim would see the aftermath; Daniel didn’t want to put him through the main event.

“I can come down there after, if you want. Come and get you.”

The elevator dinged, and Daniel stepped inside. “I’m a big boy, Tim. I’ll be fine.”

Tim didn’t look convinced, but then the elevator door closed, and what Tim thought ceased to matter.