Androgynous Love

Ghosted

Over the next week, Tatum barely saw his new boss.

"I'm being ghosted I'm sure of it," Tatum thought.

Andrew Pearce was like a ghost in the enormous house, always where he was not, and yet Tatum felt his presence everywhere. Perhaps it was the struggle to sleep without dreaming of seeing far too much of his hard, lean body that first morning or the aura of raw masculinity that seemed to permeate this house.

He slept late each day and spent hours in the gym and on the roof—probably swimming in the pool—but he never missed a meal. Tatum had stopped himself from blurting out all the questions queuing up in his head whenever Mr Pearce appeared at mealtimes, in order to keep to the no-talk Pearce rule. But alongside the back-off vibes which emanated from him, Tatum could still sense the wounded animal, not yet willing to engage. And Tatum was far too aware of the sensual yearning that clouded his senses whenever Mr Pearce was near.

A thousand dollars had dropped into his account at 8:00 a.m. the day after he didn't get fired, with a text from Mr Down that had simply said "Hang in there, kid—you're doing great."

By the end of Tatum's first week, though, he had figured out it wasn't just the astonishing bonus, his new rent-free luxury pad downstairs or even the beyond-generous salary that made him so determined not to get fired.

Andrew Pearce fascinated him on so many levels—all of which seemed to tug at a place deep inside him...the same place which had been so determined to rescue all those broken wild things as a kid. Or that's what he tried to tell himself while busy ignoring the ripple of awareness every time Mr Pearce appeared. And Tatum's avid—and completely inappropriate—fascination with his lean, scarred body, which he was powerless to control.

After the first few days, he no longer bolted his food like a hungry wolf, but he could see the feral light in those pure blue eyes whenever he placed another one of his mum's signature dishes in front of him. After every meal, he grunted his thanks, then disappeared again, and he'd been grateful at first because he really did not want to get caught staring at his pecks again.

But this evening, he was determined to push back against the no-chat rule.

After all, Mr Down had asked him to become Andrew's friend. And how could he do that if he never spoke to him?

That evening...

Tatum cleared his throat as he tucked into the Chicken a-la king.

"Mr Pearce, is there anything else I might be doing here? To earn my vast salary."

The familiar frown formed. "How much am I paying you?"

He didn't know? Seriously?

Ah, wonderful, Tatum! Now he'll know he's overpaying you. Why didn't you keep your big mouth shut?

One enquiring eyebrow arched, waiting for Tatum's reply.

"Five thousand dollars a month," he managed. "Plus the use of the downstairs bedroom."

"Five grand?" He seemed surprised. "That's all?"

All? Five grand a month was an exorbitant fee for a glorified cook.

"So, Jonathan's become a tight-ass in his old age," he murmured, but the quirk in his sensual lips had Tatum's pulse rate accelerating. he'd never seen Mr Pearce smile. It did extraordinary things to his face, making his harsh, masculine beauty even more compelling.

"I also got a $1000 bonus after my first day," he added, not wanting to get Mr Down into any trouble.

"What was the bonus for?" he asked, and Tatum wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Again.