by Mac Flynn
"Humanity. Dignity," he snapped back.
"You're going to have to earn that from the strangers you meet, not expect them to greet you with open arms and chocolate."
"I don't like chocolate," he told me.
I threw my arms up in frustration. "Fine, expect everyone to greet you with open arms filled with torches and pitchforks, but don't blame anybody but yourself. You're the one keeping yourself shut up in this musty old house, and when you die alone and bitter you're going to be just as musty and old."
Benson plopped back down in the chair and sullenly glared at me. "So everything is my fault?" he bit back.
I frowned back. "No, just all of the decisions you make in your life, including shutting yourself in here," I replied.
He sighed and all the fight went out with the air. His shoulders slumped and he ran his hand through his hair. "What did you say your major was?"
"Geology."
Benson scoffed. "Perhaps you should go into psychology."
I wrinkled my nose. "No, it'd be too tempting for everyone else."
He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"They'd want to study me for their cases in abnormal psychology," I joked.
That cracked a smile on his stoic face. "But think how much science is missing from your not taking psychology."
"Science may be missing something, but I know I'm not. I'll take rocks any day over being a lab rat or working with one," I countered. "Now back onto the subject that's most important, which is your mental health."
Benson gave me a pensive, careful glance. "You seem to have a strange fixation with my mental well-being. Why?"
I shrugged. "New life goal."
That surprised him. "To help me?"
"To help you help yourself, and I've only got a week to do it," I replied.
He raised both eyebrows. "So you're staying?"
I shrugged. "Why not?"
"My outburst didn't startle you?" he wondered.
I rolled my eyes, walked over to him and leaned an elbow on his shoulder. "If you think that's scary you should see when a trucker fights a trucker. That's a whole lot of testosterone duking it out in a tiny diner, and other people usually get mad at their meals being spilled and join in."
He smirked. "Sounds exciting."
"Yeah, until you have to beat them off the counter with a tray and clean up the mess afterward," I pointed out. "But enough talking, let's go for a walk."
"I'd rather not."
"Come on, we have a few hours before work." I grabbed his hand and gave a playful tug on his arm. He glared up at me and I performed my best puppy-dog look. Fortunately it didn't scare him; he actually smiled.
"Fine, but not for long. I have my weights to do after the walk."
CHAPTER 6
Preparing my boss for his walk reminded me of getting a kid ready to go outside and play in the snow. There was always that time where they were all ready to go and needed to go the bathroom. That wasn't quite the case here; instead there was a heavy knock on the door as we were walking downstairs. Benson turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "Are you expecting anyone?"
My jaw dropped open and I gestured around us. "Does this look like my home?"
"It would be if you agreed to stay for the week," he countered. The visitor knocked against the door, this time with their fist.
"Better answer that before they knock down the whole place," I quipped.
Benson strode to the door and opened it to find a small bespectacled man on the doorstep who looked to be the age of dirt. He had a cane in one hand and he wore a clean suit that matched is skin; both were wrinkled. My employer's face dropped faster than a cannonball out a window. "Mr. Carlyle," Benson greeted the man.
Carlyle pushed past him with all the speed of a turtle, along with the grace. "I heard you lost your girl again. What was wrong with this one?"
Benson rolled his eyes. "She didn't suit me, sir, and I've found a better replacement."
The old man noticed me and pointed the end of his stick at me. "Is this her?" Carlyle asked in a tone that showed he didn't think much of me. I didn't think much of him, and neither did my boss.
"It is," Benson replied through clenched teeth.
"Couldn't you have found someone older than eighteen? Are you sure she's even legally allowed to be employed?" he spat out.
Benson stepped in front of Carlyle and glared at the old man. "Sir, I appreciate your kindness in seeing me, but I assure you I have this matter under control."
"Nonsense, boy. Your father left you in my care for a reason, and I won't let up on my duty," Carlyle countered. "And that duty means making sure you're around the right sort of people." Judging from his few acquaintances that list must have been pretty short.
"I'm perfectly fine, sir, now if you'll excuse-"
"Perfectly fine?" Carlyle asked. He prodded the end of his cane into Benson's chest. I was glad to see the old man bounced back from the solid muscles. "Just look at yourself in a mirror."
"I try not to..." Benson grumbled. That explained the lack of mirrors in the place.
"What's that?" Carlyle asked as he cupped his hand against his ear.
"I said we were just going out and can't speak with you," Benson replied in a louder voice.
Carlyle waved away Benson's excuse with his empty hand. "Nonsense about going out, not when it's so sunny. Besides, we have matters to discuss and another secretary to find." He toddled off to the living room without giving Benson time to argue.
The poor man turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I can't apologize enough for his behavior," Benson told me.
I glanced over his shoulder at the living room. "You can start by telling me who he is."
"One of my father's old friends who has taken it upon himself to be my guardian," he replied.
"But I thought your uncle was your guardian."
"He is, legally, but Carlyle has made it his duty to be my guardian in duty, if not in title."
"So he's a busybody who wants to run your life?" I guessed.
"Exactly."
"What's taking you, John? I'll die at the rate you're going," Carlyle called from the living room.
Benson glanced heavenward. "If only," he whispered.
"Did you want me to come with you? I might annoy him enough he'll leave," I suggested.
A bright grin lit up his face, and he offered his arm to me. "I won't be able to find any way to thank you enough."
I took his arm and sweetly smiled at him. "What are friends for?"
Benson led me into the living room, and Carlyle wasn't happy to see both of us. He pointed that cane at me; I wished I could grab it and chuck it out the front door with him close behind. "What's she doing here? Get her out of here!"
"She has a right to hear why you object to her," Benson countered. At that moment we both heard a ring from the study. He worriedly glanced down at me, but I smiled and shook my head.
"I'll be fine," I whispered to him.
"What was that?" Carlyle cried out.
"There's a phone call I need to take. I'll be right back," Benson replied. He hurried from the room, leaving me with grumpy gramps. To show how firm I was in staying, I sat down on the couch beside the chair Carlyle inhabited.
The old man fumed, and his cane shook with the fury of a thousand jello jigglers. "Someone that young being a private secretary for a Benson? I won't stand for it!"
I tried to keep a serious face. "If it's just my age you don't like I'm getting older every day," I quipped.
Carlyle glared at me. "You're only here for the money, just like all the others he's met, aren't you?"
I straightened and scowled straight back. "I haven't seen a dime of his money." It was true; his wallet only had the large bills and some pennies.
"What lies have you told him to get on his good side, hmm? Told him a sob story no decent man like him could ignore and he took you in on his kindness?"
This man was really getting on my nerves, and I hoped tha
t Benson would return soon; he'd been gone only a few minutes that were stretching out into eons. "I don't have a sob story, just mine," I snapped back.
His withered lips curled up in a sneer, and he leaned forward so his spittle sprayed all over me; an umbrella would've been really handy right then. "I know what kind of woman you are, trying to get at his fortune, and I won't let you do it even if I have to knock some sense into John myself." I glanced at his thin frame; he didn't look like he could knock down a bowling pin.
"I think Mr. Benson's old enough to take care of himself," I countered.
"You would like that, wouldn't you? For his friends and family to leave him alone to you." Carlyle glanced over me, and I shuddered beneath those cold, heartless eyes. I'd seen eyes like those in the stingiest, meanest customers at the diner, the ones who complained about everything and reveled in your pain as you tried to please them. There was no pleasing this man. This man knew how to hurt people, he'd had a lot of practice, and now he was going to put that practice to use on me. "Your story probably involved a family. Do you have a real one?"
"That's personal information," I refused.
His sneer lengthened; he resembled a snake. "That means yes. How would you like it if I made your family very uncomfortable? Hmm?" He inched along to the edge of his chair, and I inched back away from him until he caught my wrist. His hands were as cold as his heart, and not nearly as shriveled. "Everyone has secrets, and I'm a finder of secrets. I keep them, too, but only if I have a use for keeping them."
"Don't you dare touch my family," I hissed at him.
He chuckled, tossed my arm toward me, and leaned back comfortably in his chair. "Then leave. Take whatever plans you have for John and leave this house." I hesitated; a dark cloud passed over his brow. "Leave now."
I gave him one last look of disgust before I stalked out of the room with tears in my eyes. Benson caught me in the hall. I tried to escape to the refuge of the kitchen, but he grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward him. "What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked me. I shook my head; this wasn't his fight. Unfortunately, he thought differently, and his eyes filled with rage. "What did he say to you?"
"I-it's nothing," I choked out. I didn't know whether to run for my car or fall into Benson's arms.
"Nothing my ass. What did he say?"
"He said...he said he knew what I was and he intended to harass my family if I didn't leave," I told him.
Benson's hands on my shoulders shook, and his grip tightened so much that it hurt. "He said that?" he asked me through gritted teeth. I nodded. Benson let me go and stalked into the living room.
"There you are," I heard Carlyle greet him. "I believe I just solved one of your-ah! What are you doing? Put me down!" the old man shrieked. The pair walked out into the hall, or rather Benson walked out carrying Carlyle by the armpits. The short man kicked and screamed. "Put me down right now, John! John!"
Benson stalked over to the front door, deftly handled the knob with his squirming load, and chucked Carlyle over the porch and out onto the gravel driveway. He stomped out onto the porch with me at his back. I was afraid the old demon had broken his back, but Carlyle staggered to his feet and shook his cane at both of us. "You fool! You'll be sorry you didn't listen to me!"
"And you'll be sorry you don't listen to me and don't leave right now," Benson shot back.
Carlyle didn't listen; he hobbled up to the porch steps and shook his cane at Benson. "She'll ruin you! She'll steal all your money and you'll have no one to turn to but me!"
"I always have Cecil," Benson growled as he took a threatening step forward, but not off the porch. "Now get out of here!" The old man tottered back toward his car, yelling about Benson's ruined future. Carlyle drove off, and Benson turned to me with a triumphant smile on his face. It slipped off when he saw my head clutched in one hand. He hurried up to me and wrapped his hands gently around my upper arms. "Are you all right?"
I nodded, but those damn tears wouldn't go away. They kept sliding down my face. Benson led me inside, and I was still too torn between staying and going to fight. "Perhaps a stiff drink will work," he suggested as he led me to the kitchen.
I shook my head. "I don't drink."
He chuckled. "That's rare. Did you lie to me about being a college student?"
I took his joke seriously. "No, I swear I didn't lie to you about that, or anything else."
Benson set me against the island and got out two shot glasses. "I believe you," he quietly replied. He retrieved a stiff vodka from the cupboard and poured us both a drink in the glasses. He held out a glass to me. "Now come on, take this."
I pushed the glass away and wryly smiled. "I'm the designated driver for getting me home," I reminded him.
"You don't have to go home today. You could stay the night," he suggested.
"I...I can't." It was a tempting proposition; I didn't like driving.
"Why not? Do you have your college books here?"
"In my car," I replied.
"Any pets waiting for you at your apartment?" I shook my head. "Then why?"
I shrugged. "It's just that this isn't going to last, so I shouldn't get used to any of it."
His eyes took on a hurt expression, and his voice was quiet. "Not even me?" he wondered.
I sighed. "That isn't a fair question," I argued.
Benson set the glass down and turned me so I faced him. He raised his hand and brushed a finger against my tear-soaked cheek. "It's the only question I want an answer to." I blushed under the intensity of those blue eyes and turned away, but he clasped my chin and pulled me back. I felt myself drowning in those pools of shimmering blue, and I didn't struggle to escape. "Can't we last longer than a week?"
"I-I don't know," I stuttered out. All I knew were those beautiful eyes, and his lips coming closer to mine. He brushed his nose softly against mine and inhaled my scent. His feral action sent a shiver down my spine, and heat up from between my legs.
He shuddered. "I want you, my little Angel," he whispered. He lips slid down my cheek and when they reached mine he pushed them together. His kiss was hot and demanding; he desperately wanted me. His hands slipped behind me and pulled our bodies against one another, and unconsciously I ground my hips into his. He grunted and meshed our lips harder together. My treasonous tongue slipped out and licked his lips. He opened his mouth and our tongues dueled with his being the victor. I groaned, and the sound vibrated through both our bodies.
I didn't want this to end, but I needed air. I pushed us apart and gasped; air rushed back into my lungs, but I still felt lightheaded. That was from the heat built up inside me, the hormones that demanded I listen to the aching need between my legs and give into his commanding eyes. I couldn't; not then. I put my hands against his chest and pushed him away. "W-we can't," I breathed out. My voice sounded far more sultry than I intended.
Benson's face fell; the light dimmed in those wonderful eyes. I felt like I'd extinguished a shining star. "Why? Is it me?" He held up his pale hands between us. "Is it this?"
I smiled, placed my hands on top of his, and pushed them down. "You have perfectly nice fingers-" and I had no doubt they could work magic on my body, "-but it's us. It's what we are to each other."
He was confused. "And that is?"
"Employee and employer," I reminded him. "This type of relationship is-well, it's just not healthy for that setup. You know what I mean?"
Benson didn't look like he cared, but he sighed and nodded. "I see what you mean."
He turned his face away, but I smiled and gently guided it back to face me. "But if it's any consolation, you're one hell of a kisser."
Benson wryly smiled at me. "Can't you believe in love at first sight?"
I smiled. "Yeah, in Disney films and romance books, but not in my life." I noticed the time was almost four. "It looks like you need to be getting back to work, anyway, and I've got some homework to do at my apartment." I brushed past him, but he gently caught my arm. I turned to find myse
lf staring into those beautiful sky-blue eyes.
"You'll come back, won't you?" He sounded so scared that I'd leave him and never come back, like a small boy being left by his mother for the first time.
I grinned and pinched his cheek. "Of course, silly. This is only day one."
And what a day it had been.
CHAPTER 7
I drove back to my apartment with my thoughts so filled with that kiss that I nearly had a jaywalker plastered against my windshield, which would have been bad because I didn't have any wiper fluid in my car. I shuffled into my home, greeted the cockroaches, and unpacked my books. That's when I found my phone, and realized I'd left it in the car the entire time I was at Benson's house.
I flipped it open and found five voice-mails in my inbox, all from my mother. I listened to them, each one more frantic than the next until she was threatening to murder me herself unless I called back. With those warnings I hesitantly called back. It barely got through the first ring before Mom picked it up. "Where the hell have you been!" she screeched in my ear.
I winced. "Working," I blandly replied.
Hell hath no fury like a mother worried. "That's no excuse for not answering my calls! Where the hell was your phone?"
"Um, in the car," I weakly explained to her.
There was an exasperated sigh so large I felt it through the phone receiver. "I thought you told me you always kept it with you."
"Well, it was with me in spirit," I joked.
She didn't laugh. "You keep that phone with you for as long as you're working for this strange man. You hear me?"
My hand that gripped the phone tightened. "I'm just fine, Mom. It's not like he's going to rape me." A little voice in my head hoped for ravishing, but I taped duct tape over its mouth to silence it.
"Don't even joke about that!" she yelled. "How much do you even know about this employer? What is he making you do?"
Her accusatory tone riled me, especially after how Benson stood up for me in dealing with Carlyle. "I'll have you know he's been a perfect gentleman, and he's agreed to pay me the entire time I'm working for him," I shot back.
That dampened her flames, but hot coals still lingered. "You just keep your eyes on him. These rich men think they can do anything they like because they have a fleet of lawyers to cover their asses."
