Insubordinate ( Gay ) ( BxB )

Chapter Three ✓

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      I'm roused from my sleep by the ringing of a phone. I don't open my eyes, however. My eyelids feel stuck, and I'm not eager to leave the darkness yet. I roll onto my side, cradling a pillow against my face in hopes of drowning it out. It becomes silent as soon as I move. I begin to slip back into the abyss of sleep.

My phone goes off again. 

I'm jolted awake by it- violently- by how loud it had become, hammering into my ear. The loud indie-rock song I had as my ring tone blares. Dizziness overwhelms me, I grasp for my phone frantically, more hoping to silence it than to answer the person calling me. I find the device on the pillow I had been laying on; I'd rolled over on top of it. No wonder I had been so abruptly awakened. 

"Yeah?" I say answer, then correct myself with, "Ah, Yes. Hello?" I stutter out.

"Hello." The familiar voice on the other end says, a deep emphasis on the O. "This is Aaron Beckett, yes?"

I open my mouth slightly to correct him, but I stop myself, remembering. "Yeah, it is." I tell him calmly, moving to sit at the edge of my bed.  I notice that my hair is still wet as I reach up to smooth it back.

"Oh, good. I thought I may have had the wrong number." The voice laughs lightheartedly.

"Sorry," I say, confused. "But who is this, exactly?"

"Coen Shräder." He replies quickly. "We met earlier today. I gave you a business card. I'm... glad that you called. But I think both you and I should be happy that I handled the call myself before anyone else could really listen to you too much, yeah?"

I feel my face heat up. Shit. I had called the number on that card, hadn't I? Drunk. Drunker than I've been in weeks. I could swear I wasn't usually like that, but I doubt he'd believe me. "Shit." I whisper quietly. "I didn't mean- um, intend to call like that. It's-"

"I know." Coen interrupts passively. "You've got the job."

I purse my lips together, glaring at the floor. Was this to mock me? Was he mocking me? There was no way in hell I could land any job after what I'd done. No one smart would hire a man like that. 

"I what?" I say, waiting for him to go back and laugh or say that he's joking. He doesn't.

"The job." Coen repeats. "You're coming in tomorrow at eight."

"That..." I stutter. That makes no sense, I want to say.  I had no idea what had been said in the previous call. Obviously enough for him to be able to tell I wasn't sober, but also enough for him to hire me. "I... Thanks." Is all I can muster.

"Eight sharp. Address is on the card, it's easy to find." He tells me firmly. "You'll be there?"

"Yes." I say. "Alright."

"Good." Coen says. "Clean yourself up a little bit before you come in."

"Right."

"Goodbye, Mr. Beckett."

"Sure." I choke. "Bye, Mr. Sch... Schrader." 

I hear him laugh at my terribly flawed pronunciation on the other end, then he hangs up. I'm left alone in my apartment, wondering what the fuck just happened. Stupid kid, is all I can think. He must be a complete idiot to have had me hired. Although I'm not complaining, because the situation was incontrovertibly fortuitous- but it was idiotic on his behalf. The job...

What was the job, exactly? What had he hired me to do? I'd never thought to ask. I've left myself totally unprepared. Maybe I'm as stupid as he is.