Archive of Our Own ^beta

Just smile and, eventually, you’ll find your reason to smile.

It was something your mother had always told you as a child, sadness filling her eyes every time a frown dared to cross your little face. You grew up believing it was a sage piece of wisdom, but the older you got, the more it started to seem like nothing more than an unhealthy coping mechanism.

But, still, you smiled.

If nothing else, you’d come to learn that it was easier to force a smile to your lips and pretend that the whole world didn’t feel like it was going to hell around you. Especially between the hours of 8am and 5pm.

Every morning was the same; you got up, got ready, and took the subway to work. You went out of your way to be a polite and conscientious commuter, taking up as little space as possible and making sure no one but you could hear the music playing through your headphones. Sure, your polite behaviour did nothing to stop you being shoved and elbowed, nor did your example to be quiet convince any of the finance-bros to stop yelling into their phones right beside you, but at least it made you feel like you weren’t an asshole.

Even on the street, on your two block walk to the office, you were mindful; never walking too fast or cutting in front of anyone, and never slowing down and inconveniencing anyone walking behind you. 

For all intents and purposes, you were just there. You existed but you were never an obstacle or cause for annoyance. A side-character, an NPC in someone else’s story, no delusions in your mind about being the main character.

God, what a sad and boring story it would be if you were the main character.

As per your usual morning routine, you stopped off at the little independent coffee shop across the street from Anvil. The Bean Grinder - a name that had earned some ridicule from your boss when you’d admitted to going there. (‘The Bean Grinder? It sounds more like a dating app’ he’d said, grinning that ridiculous grin.) But, after a few mornings of steaming hot Americanos and fresh pastries, he’d grudgingly had to admit that he was a fan.

So, it had become the norm every weekday, first thing in the morning and, again at lunch times, if you didn’t have time to pack a lunch for yourself. And, now, six months into your job with Anvil, the baristas knew you well enough to have your order ready to go - though, today, you had to inconvenience them by asking for an extra coffee.

Coffees and pastries precariously balanced in your hands, you crossed the street, shuddering at the ice cold wind and moving as fast as you dared towards the office. Once in the foyer, you began to awkwardly fumble for your keycard, when a hand appeared, relieving you of the tray of coffees.

“Thanks Carl,” you said as you rummaged through your pockets. “How are the kids?  Did Lyra’s clarinet recital go well?”

The security guard beamed, his face lighting with a genuine warmth for you. You’d  always tried to make an effort with the people you worked with, never knowing when you might need a favour - even if that favour was just someone to hold a tray of drinks while you found your keycard.

“She did amazing. I recorded the whole thing, I’ll have to show you when you’ve got a minute.”

Smiling, you told him how much you’d like that as you finally pulled out your keycard and tapped it against the reader. You stepped through the barrier and thanked Carl as he handed you the tray of drinks, and headed for the elevator.

As you stepped onto the lift, you took a breath and let your smile falter, enjoying the briefest moment of respite before  you’d have to spend the rest of the day forcing your happy, professional demeanour. 

And, as it turned out, your brief reprieve was even briefer than expected as a hand stopped the elevator doors from sliding shut and a man stepped on.

“Good morning, Mr Castle,” you said, bright and perky as always. Exactly what was expected of you.

He bristled slightly and looked about ready to remind you that he’d prefer to be called Frank but seemed to think better of it. After six months, you assumed that he’d finally started to understand that you were more comfortable referring to him as Mr Castle.

“Mornin’,” he grumbled in his usual, gruff tone.

The elevator doors slid shut and, for a few seconds, you were left thinking that the entire ride to the top floor would be spent in silence, but then you remembered the coffees in your hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you,” you said, indicating the large takeout cup at the front of the tray. “Large Americano with an extra shot, cream, but no sugar, right?”

He looked at you with a mixture of shock and confusion that had you wondering if you’d sprouted a second head for a few seconds. Unlike Mr Russo, he didn’t have a PA and he barely even bothered the secretary who was assigned to him, so he always seemed a little taken aback whenever you did anything for him.

“You got me a coffee?” He asked, taking the coffee from you and lifting it to his nose to sniff.

“I know you and Mr Russo have a meeting scheduled first thing,” you said, shrugging, “and he won’t want to start until he’s had his morning coffee and pastry, so...”

That got a laugh from him, a rare sound that always seemed like it had sharp edges, but a laugh nonetheless, so you decided to mark it down as a win.

“Yeah, he’s never been much of a morning person.”

That was something you could agree with, but you’d quickly learned your way around the man and his moods, knowing what times and which days he was more approachable, and doing your best to keep your head down the rest of the time. It wasn’t difficult, even if Billy Russo was considered difficult by a lot of people who knew him.

“He have you fetchin’ coffee for him every day?” Mr Castle asked, though you couldn’t tell if he was just trying to make conversation or if he was genuinely curious. 

You offered up another shrug. “It’s part of the job. Besides, I stop off for coffee on my way in anyway, at least this way I get to put it on the corporate card.”

Fortunately, the stilted conversation was short lived and the elevator doors slid open. You gave him a look before glancing towards Mr Russo’s office door.

“I’ll go check if he’s ready for you,” you said, pausing only to put your bag down and to shrug out of your coat at your desk.

You took a second to smooth down your blouse and skirt, and to make sure your hair wasn’t in too much of a state from the wind, before grabbing his coffee and the bag of pastries. Your knock on his door was met with the usual grumbled ‘come in’ and, as you stepped into his office, you forced the smile back to his lips. 

Not that he saw your smile.

His back was to you, his eyes fixed out of the window, looking at the city - or maybe it was the weather that had his attention. You didn’t ask, figuring that it was really none of your business.

“Good morning, Mr Russo,” you said, heading towards his desk. “I’ve got your morning coffee and a couple of bear claws, and Mr Castle is waiting outside for your morning meeting.”

“Thank you,” he said, lingering at the window a moment longer before finally turning towards you. “Can you send Frank in and grab the files I asked you to prepare yesterday?”

“Of course, sir.”

You did as you were asked, sending Mr Castle in while you got the files from your desk. By the time you made it back into Mr Russo’s office, both men were perched on his desk, drinking their coffees and eating bear claws.

“However much he’s payin’ you, it’s not enough,” Mr Castle grinned at you, and that had the forced smile on your lips becoming something far more genuine.

It wasn’t so much that Mr Russo didn’t appreciate what you did for him - you knew that he did - it was more that he wasn’t particularly vocal about it. But you’d heard the horror stories of the PAs who’d come before you, the ones who’d quit mere weeks into working for him. At first you’d feared that it was him, that he was impossible to work for, but you’d quickly figured out that he wasn’t impossible, just... difficult. 

There was a lot of reading between the lines when it came to Billy Russo, and a lot of your time was spent trying to anticipate what he might want or need at any given time; when he was in a bad mood you’d found that food often helped, and frustration was usually mitigated by redirecting him towards smaller, easier to deal with tasks to distract him.

It wasn’t easy but you’d figured him out and, now, things ran pretty smoothly.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the files on his desk beside him. “I took the liberty of colour coding them; the green tabs are the ones most likely to want to engage Anvil’s services based on the research, orange means they could be convinced, and -”

“And what about red?” Mr Russo asked, pulling a file from the bottom of the stack.

The only file with a red tab.

“Red means it’s extremely unlikely that they would choose to offer Anvil a contract and that they’re probably not worth the money and resources that it might take to change their mind,” you explained, trying to sound as clinical as possible.

“And why do you think the Van Der Koy family wouldn’t be interested in contracting with Anvil?” He asked.

Immediately your cheeks started to heat as you tried to find the easiest (read: safest) way to explain it.

The Van Der Koy’s were old money, with dozens of high end resorts, hotels and casinos across North America. They were a literal goldmine for anyone who got to work with them. Landing a security contract with them would be worth millions of dollars, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that that was the file that Mr Russo wanted to concentrate on.

But how were you supposed to tell him that he was the reason the Van Der Koy’s would never work with Anvil?

“Well, the Van Der Koy’s have very old fashioned family values - it’s not about the money, it’s all about appearances and reputation...” you said.

“And what’s wrong with Anvil’s reputation?” Mr Russo prompted.

“It’s not Anvil...” you tried to explain, your voice turning quiet.

“Then what?” He asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

“Jesus, Bill,” Frank said through a mouthful of pastry. “She’s tryin’ to be polite.”

There was a silence for a few moments before Mr Russo finally seemed to realise what was being said.

“You’re saying that they won’t contract with Anvil because of my reputation?” He asked, and you gave the smallest of nods. “What’s wrong with my reputation?”

“Sir, I really don’t think -”

“You can’t expect her to answer that,” Frank said, speaking at the same time as you.

He looked from you to Mr Castle and back again, as if he really had no clue what you could possibly mean.

“I won’t get angry or blame you,” Mr Russo said. “I just want to know what you know.”

You didn’t want to answer, but you knew that you had to.

“Well, from what I was able to learn, it’s... it’s everything,” you said, unable to even look him in the eye as you explained. “The parties, the women - it sends a certain, uh... message...”

It felt like his gaze was burning into you as you fixed your eyes on his desk and the stack of files.

“What message?” He asked.

“She’s sayin’ the uptight, old money folks don’t like that you’re a fuck-boy who spends all his time with bimbos, Bill,” Mr Castle answered for you. “Now, could you stop makin’ her feel uncomfortable about it and let her do her damned job?”

Mr Russo’s gaze softened a fraction when he noticed your obvious discomfort, and he opted to remain silent instead of continuing with all of the questions you were certain he still had. Some part of you even dared to feel bad, almost wanting to tell him that it was okay, that he could continue to question you but that you didn’t have any answers that he might want to hear.

The truth was, while you had your opinions about his social life, when it came to his work and to his company, Billy Russo was nothing short of a consummate professional, and it felt like a shame that anyone might discount his work because of how he liked to spend his free time.

“Thank you for your input,” Billy said, finally dismissing you. “I’d like my lunch at one today, and could you forward any updates to my schedule to me?”

You gave the standard ‘yes, Mr Russo. Of course, Mr Russo’  and quickly made your exit, holding in a sigh of relief until his office door was shut behind you and you were safely back at your desk.

You opened your laptop to start your day, immediately disappointed to find that your own coffee had started to go cold while you’d been in Mr Russo’s office. It wasn’t the first time, and you were certain it wouldn’t be the last, but you’d always just found something so depressing about a lukewarm latte first thing in the morning.

At least you were fairly certain that the detailed notes you’d made on each of the files would be enough to keep him from needing to solicit your opinion again, so you should be able to get through your daily mountain of emails and adjustments to his schedule before having to think about his lunch.

And that was the best part of your job; that you could lose yourself in it. It was nice, easy for the most part, now that you’d settled into a rhythm - the only difficult part of the job was the man himself. In the past, you’d struggled with office jobs, always wanting to be everything to everyone and ending up taking on far more than you could handle. 

Not that you were a pushover - no, you didn’t like to think of yourself in those exact terms - you just liked it when everyone around you was happy and content, because god only knew you had your own problems to deal with.

But, thankfully, things were different at Anvil. The management floor was Mr Russo’s private kingdom and, most days, it was just the two of you up there. And, on good days, it was just you. And, because of that, you were separate, able to work without interruption. Oh, sure, you still spoke to people, still got to know them, like Carl in security, but you were far enough removed that no one came to you asking for help or wanting to vent their issues.

In fact, being Mr Russo’s PA made a lot of people wary about asking you for anything because they knew just how important your time was.

All in all, the only thing you really had to contend with were Mr Russo’s moods and they didn’t stress you out nearly as much as they used to. You’d even go as far as saying that, for the first time in years, you were in a job that felt secure, safe. And that was something that mattered to you far more than you’d ever dare admit out loud.

After about an hour, Mr Castle left Mr Russo’s office but, instead of heading straight for the elevator, he approached your desk, causing you to automatically sit a little straighter.

“You okay?” He asked. “Know that probably wasn’t the most comfortable for you in there.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you quickly answered,” it’s all part of the job. I just -”

About to say something completely unadvised and unprofessional, you barely managed to stop yourself. But it was too late, he fixed you with a questioning look and it was clear he was trying to fight back a smile while he decided if you’d break under interrogation.

(And, yes, you absolutely would. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d crumple like a house of cards if you were placed under extreme questioning.)

“You what?” He prompted.

The only thing keeping you from panic was the fact that he didn’t sound angry or annoyed, just curious. He’d never heard you speak out of turn before and he seemed a little excited at the prospect.

Your cheeks started to heat and you bit your lip for a second.

“I just -” you glanced nervously towards the office door, making sure it was shut before continuing, “- well, I just always assumed that he knew how people saw him. Not that it’s my place, because I don’t -”

He cut off your attempt to - what? Apologise? Put a more professional spin on things?

“He does and he doesn’t,” he said, offering a shrug. “That’s the problem with Bill; he cares about appearances but he always forgets that sometimes he has a different idea of how a rich guy should be than people like the Van Der Koy’s.”

Cryptic.

Cryptic and entirely unhelpful.

Though it fit well with what you actually know about your boss. Sure, you could usually guess when he was in a bad mood and when he wanted to be left alone, but as a person he was as much of an enigma to you as anyone. Fortunately, knowing and understanding the inner workings of Billy Russo was not necessary for you to do your  job.

“‘s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he continued, “either he’ll try to go for the VDK contract and end up wastin’ everyone’s time, or he’ll take your advice and focus on contracts he can actually get.”

You nodded, knowing it wasn’t really your place to voice an opinion on the matter. As Mr Castle said, you’d already done your part.

He gave you a nod before turning and starting towards the elevator, only to pause after a couple of steps and glance back.

“Those bear claws -”

“From The Bean Grinder across the street,” you answered the unasked question through the laugh that had managed to bubble up from seemingly nowhere.

“Thanks. Don’t let him work you too hard.”

Once he was gone, you returned to your work and spent the rest of the morning scheduling and rescheduling meetings for the coming month. Then it was time to order lunch and, because Mr Russo hadn’t stated a preference, it was up to you to decide for him. You weren’t sure of his mood since you hadn’t seen him since leaving his office hours before, so you decided to go for something safe, something he’d enjoy and that would improve his mood if he was still feeling sore about the Van Der Koy’s. 

Spaghetti carbonara and tiramisu for dessert. A tried and tested combination.

Less than twenty minutes later, you had his lunch in hand and were at his office door, knocking lightly and waiting to be called in.

He was at his desk, the files you’d prepared still in front of him, the VDK file with its prominent red tag right at the top of the pile.

“I’ve got your lunch,” you said brightly, quickly starting to unpack his lunch.

He watched you with a strange sort of curiosity he’d never shown you before, his lips pulling into a smile when he noticed the tiramisu.

“Trying to make up for something?” He asked.

Despite his playful tone and the way he was smiling at you, the question had a nervous sort of tension filling you. You shot him a questioning look but couldn’t quite form the words to respond.

“You always bring me dessert when you think I’m in a bad mood,” he continued.

There was no keeping the confused shock from your face, just like there was no taming the wild thumping of your heart. In all the time you’d been working for him, you’d never once stopped to consider that he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Did you think I didn’t notice?” He asked, sounding thoroughly amused.

You were speechless and, for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, all you could think about was how his spaghetti carbonara was starting to get cold. (And, from where you were standing it smelled far too delicious to waste.)

“I just -” you swallowed awkwardly, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat, “- well, it’s my job to make sure you’re happy isn’t it? Am - am I in trouble?”

Surely not. Surely he couldn’t punish you for going out of your way to try and make his life easier, right? Your forced happy facade almost dropped and gave way to the panic that was starting to claw beneath your ribs, but your face remained a hopefully unreadable mask.

“In trouble? God, no,” he shook his head. “I’m just - what I’m trying to say is that you’re clearly good at reading people. At reading me.”

“Oh.”

What else could you even say to any of that? Did he even want you to say anything? It wasn’t like you were doing anything manipulative or nefarious. All you were doing was keeping him happy so your job was easier.

You almost breathed a sigh of relief when his attention dropped to his food, and you started to hope you’d be able to go back to your desk to try and forget any of this weirdness had happened. But, as he lifted his fork, his eyes caught yours again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr Russo.”

“Do you agree with what Frank said earlier?” He asked before taking a bite of his spaghetti.”Do you think the women I date send the wrong sort of message?”

“Oh, uh -” 

The shocked little noises slipped out before you could stop yourself. All you could do was stare at him for a few seconds, wondering what you’d done in a past life to deserve the uncomfortable day that you were having.

“Hmm?” He prompted through a mouthful of pasta.

“I thought -” you forced a breath, “- I just assumed that you were going to ask me something... something more related to my actual job?”

Something about your obvious discomfort seemed to tickle him.

“I’d argue that if you have insight into why Anvil might potentially lose out on a massive contract that it would fall within the scope of your job,” he countered. When you didn’t answer straight away, he continued; “so should I take your silence to mean you agree with Frank?”

“No, that’s not -” you hesitated, trying to find the most professional way to answer, “- I don’t agree with everything he said.”

“No? Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair to call a woman a bimbo just because she likes to wear expensive clothes and go to parties,” you said flatly. “And it’s really not my job to have opinions on how you spend your evenings.”

“But you do think it gives the wrong impression to people like the Van Der Koy’s?”

“The Van Der Koy’s built the VDK chain on traditional values, they avoid controversy and anything that will tarnish the VDK name, it’s what they’re known for. It’s their professional reputation,” you explained, forcing an awkward shrug. “And you’re - well, you’re not subtle. You make a scene wherever you go, whether you want to or not. Half the society gossip blogs have stopped asking who you’re dating and only concern themselves with who you’re fucking.”

You could feel your cheeks burning hotter with every word. You didn’t want to have to say any of it and, honestly, it was making you feel awful, but you were starting to realise that he really didn’t understand how he was perceived. But, of course, he didn’t - he was rich and attractive, and while many people might want to write him off because of it, there were just as many who accepted and wanted that side of him.

It just seemed that this was the first time he was hearing a no that he couldn’t throw money at or change with his smart mouth.

“So, you’re saying I should settle down and clean up my act if I want to convince them to take me seriously and offer Anvil their security contract?”

You let slip an exhausted sigh, feeling like he was only hearing half of what you were saying to him. “I’m saying that it’s probably a waste of time to even try at this point. The other files I -”

“Thank you for your input, it’s been very informative,” he interrupted, not caring about the other files or potential clients now that he had VDK in his sights. “And, thank you for my lunch - I really do appreciate everything that you do for me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Quickly, you started towards the door, desperate to get out of there before he could ask your opinion on anything else. You held your breath all the way back to your desk, the burning in your lungs giving you the dreadful confirmation that all of that had really just happened and you weren’t having some bizarre, anxiety induced dream.

Fortunately, for the rest of the day, you were left alone. He had a couple of brief meetings in the afternoon that had him out of the office and, when he returned, he seemed too lost in thought to cause you any more awkwardness.

Bu, as you started to pull your coat on, getting ready to leave for the day, he all but burst out of his office like a man possessed. There was a nervous sort of energy about him that you hadn’t witnessed before, and it was more than enough to set you on edge.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Proposition? Your stomach automatically started to tie itself in knots at the word.

“What kind of proposition?” You asked cautiously, already sensing that nothing good was going to come from whatever he had to say.

“I want to take you out. On a date, just -”

“What? No - no, that’s not -” the words started to clumsily fall from your lips.

A weird panic quickly took hold of you and you couldn’t rightly say why. What had inspired it? What had suddenly changed? 

You didn’t want to be one of the women he dated, you didn’t want to be on his arm one minute and then kicked to the curb the next. What had you done to make him believe that you were worth that sort of treatment?

Not to mention the fact that it was entirely unprofessional and it would make it impossible for you to keep your job. A job that you happened to like.

“No-no-no, not like that,” he said quickly, almost sounding as panicked as you felt (and that didn’t exactly help you feel better). “Not like - I don’t mean for real.”

Oh.

Suddenly, your reaction seemed very silly and your panic was quickly replaced by confusion and an odd sense of numbness.

Of course Billy Russo didn’t want to take you - plain, boring you - on a real date.

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and shame at how easily you’d let yourself believe something so utterly ridiculous.

“Then -” you struggled to find your voice again, “- what are you suggesting?”

“To get the VDK contract I need to make the Van Der Koy’s see me differently -”

It was like being dropped into ice cold water. Though you doubted he was actively trying to insult you, you were insulted nonetheless. He wanted to use you to rehabilitate his image because, unlike the other women in his life, you wouldn’t turn heads or cause drama. You were just you, plain and safe, average and inoffensive. 

Inconsequential.

“You mean you want to lie to them? Pretend that you’ve settled down?” You asked (emphasis on the word settled) and shook your head. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.”

“I’ll pay you,” he added, almost managing to sound desperate. “Five hundred thousand for six months if Anvil gets the contract.”

Your jaw almost dropped and your heart stopped beating for a few seconds.

It was a lot of money, money that you really needed. It was almost enough to make you agree. Almost.

“Okay, just - let’s go back a couple of steps,” you said, still not sure what you felt about any of it. “You want to pay me to pretend to date you for six months just so you can win a contract?”

“Well, yeah, but it sounds sleazy when you say it like that.”

“Is there a way to explain it that doesn’t sound sleazy?”

Billy paused for a moment, clearly thinking about it. “You’re my PA, just think of it as assisting me out of office hours for overtime pay?”

That did make it sound better - not by much, and not enough to soothe your bruised ego.

“So, what? We’d pretend to date and if Anvil gets the contract we just break-up and go back to normal?” You asked, as you struggled in vain to wrap your head around the absurd idea.

“I’ll admit, there are a few things I’ve not entirely thought out, but if you -”

“No,” you said suddenly, coming to your decision. “I’m sorry Mr Russo, I can’t do that. I really don’t want to have to lie to that many people.”

He looked ready to argue, to try and convince you but that look quickly faded and he shrugged.

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. “It probably wouldn’t be enough anyway.”

Again, ouch.

“Right, well, if that’s all...” you trailed off, glancing longingly towards the elevator.

“Of course, sorry for keeping you.”

He didn’t wait for a response before disappearing into his office, closing the door behind him, and you didn’t waste any time heading to the elevator and getting out of the building as quickly as possible.

The next hour passed in something of a daze, stopping off to grab some groceries on the way home and having to listen to more loud and obnoxious finance-bros on the subway before you finally made it back to your apartment building.

Given the sort of day you were having, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that your mailbox was full of bills, but there was one in particular that caused your stomach to drop; a notice from Saint Martin’s Care Facility, informing you that their prices were going up. 

It was enough to have you reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring yourself a very large glass as you sat down and went over your finances, trying to find a way to afford your brother's care that didn’t involve having to leave your apartment for somewhere cheaper or move him to another care facility. It was the same thing year after year but, this year, the price hike seemed particularly egregious.

You spend hours going over bills, wondering if cancelling Netflix or downgrading your phone contract would help. But, of course, it wouldn’t.

Your brother’s care had been your responsibility since you turned eighteen and, little by little, you’d managed to scrape together enough to give him the life that he deserved in a place you knew that he would be well cared for. You wouldn’t let anything change that.

After your third glass of wine, you started to allow yourself to think about Mr Russo’s offer, wondering if it would really be so terrible - and, if it was terrible, would you be able to endure it long enough to get paid?

Could you really afford to turn him down when there was so much at stake?

The next day, you woke with a headache, but also with a resolute idea of what you needed to do (because it definitely was a need and not a want). Your day started the same as it always did; an uncomfortable subway ride, a stop off at The Bean Grinder, then up to Mr Russo’s office.

He was already sitting at his desk, the VDK file still on top of the stack. He barely even looked at you and you weren’t sure if it was because he was busy with something or because he felt the same level of awkwardness about yesterday as you did.

Placing his coffee down, you lingered, trying to find the words while your cheeks started to warm.

Finally, he seemed to notice you just standing there and turned his attention to you, frowning.

“Is there something you need?” He asked.

“I - I’ve reconsidered your offer,” you said, hating yourself for letting it come to this.

“Oh?”

You could tell that he wanted some sort of reason or explanation for your sudden change of heart, but you weren’t prepared to give it; your brother was none of his business. So, you simply nodded, telling him all he needed to know - that he didn’t need to know anything at all.

“That is, if the offer’s still on the table?” You added awkwardly.

“It is,” he said, his lips pulling into a wide grin. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight? You want to start tonight?”

Fuck. What had you just gotten yourself into?

It all felt like a fever dream and, by the end of it, you were left wondering just what the hell you’d agreed to.

The moment you’d accepted his offer, Mr Russo had switched into what you liked to call his planning mode, becoming hyper-focused on the task at hand, and everything that would be required to make his crazy scheme work. It felt like something straight out of a Nickelodeon show from the 90s, and you could only half keep up as he started making the arrangements.

You knew enough from experience that there was no stopping him once he started on something like this, and all you could do was stand and watch, hoping for the best.

By the time you finally managed to return to your desk, you knew that there was no way out of it and that it was far too late to change your mind.

Still, after his initial flurry of excitement, he got on with his day. To say you were relieved when he left for a meeting across town was something of an understatement - he’d be gone most of the day, leaving you with some time to wrap your head around what you were going to have to do.

But that feeling of relief was short-lived.

Not long after you’d returned from lunch the elevator doors slid open and a package was placed on your desk in front of you. While it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for Mr Russo to have more sensitive packages sent directly to his office, you quickly discovered that the package wasn’t for Mr Russo.

After some back and forth with the delivery guy, mostly confirming that it was your name on the box and that he wasn’t going to leave until you signed for it, you conceded defeat.

What happened next could only aptly be described as a staring competition with a cardboard box.

Despite it bearing your name, you didn’t want to open it just in case there was some mistake. So, you checked through your emails, making sure you hadn’t accidentally ordered something and had it shipped to the office, but there was nothing.

Then you picked up the box and gave it a gentle shake, trying to see if you could tell what it was that way.

Of course, you couldn’t.

Finally, you were left with no choice but to open it, and immediately found yourself confused by what you found.

It was a dress.

A chiffon dress in a gorgeous deep purple colour with a label that told you it was from a boutique in Brooklyn. And a quick google of that boutique’s website left you feeling queasy when you saw just how much they charged for similar dresses.

You only dared remove it from the box for a few seconds, long enough to ascertain that it was a halterneck, midi-length dress with a cinched waist in your size, and long enough to find the invoice.

The invoice solved one mystery but left you with several more unanswered questions. 

Mr Russo had bought the dress.

He’d bought you a dress for your fake date, without even asking your opinion or preference.

(Not that it wasn’t gorgeous or something that you wouldn’t have picked yourself if you had that much money to throw away on a dress, but it was the principle of the matter.)

You carefully folded it up, making sure that it was safely wrapped in the bright pink tissue paper it had arrived in before lowering it back into the box and closing it up, grabbing some tape and resealing it. You couldn’t keep it - you had your own clothes and the last thing you needed was Billy Russo dressing you up like... like you were a doll, a plaything.

You’d tell him to send it back the moment he reappeared.

At least, that had been the plan. Over the next couple of hours, your annoyance was mostly pushed aside in favour of getting through the last of your work before the weekend, and when Mr Russo finally reappeared, you weren’t given much of an opportunity to raise your grievances.

He came bustling out the elevator, barely sparing you a look but immediately noticing the box on the floor beside your desk.

“Oh, good, it’s here,” he said, already halfway into his office before you could get to his feet. 

Clearly his meeting hadn’t settled or slowed him down.

Normally, you stayed well out of his way when he got like that, when he started rushing around the place like a stressed headless chicken, but you needed to say something about the unwanted gift.

He was rummaging through his desk by the time you entered his office, clearly looking for something. 

“The dress -” you started, trying to remain calm and polite.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Had to pull some strings to get it delivered today, but it’ll be worth it,” he said, barely looking at you as he pulled a bottle of scotch from his desk - one of the older ones by the look of it, one of three bottles he kept on hand for various occasions.

“But, I don’t -” you tried again.

“Do you need me to send a driver for you tonight?” He asked as he stepped away from his desk and started back towards the door. “I’d collect you myself but something’s just come up, so I’ll have to meet you at Bianchi’s.”

“Bianchi’s?”

As in one the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in New york? That Bianchi’s.

(He was taking you to the same restaurant Ethan Hawke had been photographed at only a month ago?)

“Yeah, on Madison?” He said as he moved to grab his coat from the coat rack outside his office door and started to pull it on. “The table is booked for seven, so if I send a car -”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll take a cab.”  

“Okay, excellent, I’ll see you there at about six fifty-five.”

And, then, before you could even think to say another word, he was stepping back into the elevator, leaving you alone again.

Fuck.

He left you feeling worse than you had before, with more questions and worries to contend with.

Of course, it was impossible to get any work done after that; all you could think about was the dress and Bianchi’s, and how you had never before stopped to think about how you and Billy Russo lived in two very different worlds. How were you going to fit into his world for six months? How could you fake it for that long?

But, you also had time to remember why you were doing it and what you were going to get at the end of it all, and that would have to be enough to get you through it. 

Besides, it was one fake date - you could keep the tags for the dress and he could take it back after you’d worn it. And, maybe it would all go terribly, maybe he’d realise how out of place you were in his world and he’d reconsider the whole silly idea. There were so many ways that things could play out and, as nervous as you were, some part of you couldn’t help but feel a little excited.

People like you didn’t get to eat at places like Bianchi’s, and you loved Italian food.

You snuck out ten minutes early and took a taxi home, knowing that you didn’t have much time to get ready and not wanting to carry such an expensive dress on the subway.

The moment you were through your front door, the panic set in.

First you found yourself rummaging through your wardrobe, desperate to find a pair of shoes that might work with the dress. You settled on a pair of strappy heels you wore to a wedding a few years ago, they pinched your feet but they were all you had. Then you threw yourself in the shower, struggled to do your hair, and finally did your make-up.

When you pulled the dress on, you didn’t know how to feel. It was beautiful but you didn’t feel beautiful wearing it. You stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, trying to pull your stomach in even further than your spanx already was, and smoothing the front of the dress down, hoping to find a way to conceal your obvious curves.

The dress would probably look amazing on one of the beautiful, leggy, thin women Billy usually surrounded himself with. You just looked like a poor imitation.

Deep breath, you told yourself. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real.

Six months. That’s all it was. 

Six months of playing pretend, of laughing at Mr Russo’s jokes, and convincing everyone that you were a loving, respectable couple.

You could do it.

(For your brother’s sake, you had to do it.)

He was already waiting when you arrived and quickly moved to greet you as you climbed out of the taxi. You felt your cheeks heat as he looked at you, and your stomach knotted uncomfortably; was the make-up too much? Did the cheap shoes you’d picked look terrible with the dress?

For a second you felt your usual, forced smile start to waver, but you managed to keep yourself from losing control of it, wanting to appear as calm and collected as possible.

Before you realised it was happening, he had your hand in his and he was slowly leading you towards the door, but he stopped just shy and looked at you again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

It was as if he could sense your nerves and he was offering you one final chance to escape, and some part of you desperately wanted to take it.

“No, I just...” you started and trailed off, for a few seconds, “well, we didn’t exactly get any time to plan this out.”

You were going into the situation blind and you were sure what was expected of you or what you were supposed to do if anyone asked you any questions.

Hell, you hadn’t even been given the chance to make sure he understood that sex was entirely off the table. (Not that you really thought Billy was interested in anything like that from you.)

“I know,” Billy said with a sigh, “but we should be able to talk over dinner, I asked for one of the quieter tables in the back.” His hand gave yours a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, it’s just dinner. We just need to be seen together - everything else can come after. And, you should know that they do amazing tiramisu here.”

That had your smile warming and turning into something far more genuine.

“Tiramisu? Are you trying to make up for something, Mr Russo,” you joked, echoing his words from the day before.

He let out a laugh, seeming amused that you’d remembered.

“It’s Billy,” he said quietly, smiling at you in a way you weren’t sure you’d seen before. “You have to call me Billy from now on.”

“Oh, yes, Mr - I mean Billy.”

And that was going to take a lot of getting used to.

“Come on,” he said, finally reaching for the door and holding it open for you, “our table should be ready now.”

As you stepped into Bianchi’s, you found yourself trailing half a step behind Billy, immediately feeling out of place, like someone was going to ask you to leave and offer you directions to the nearest Burger King. But, with Billy in front of you, you were rendered almost invisible to the staff who all seemed to know him by name.

Still, you managed to keep a smile on your lips as you were slowly led towards the back of the restaurant to a candle lit table that, for reasons you didn’t want to think about, reminded you of that one scene from Lady and the Tramp.

Once you were both sitting at the table, you found yourself wanting to look anywhere but at Billy. It felt weird to look at him in the gentle flickering light of the candles, the soft glow adding a warmth and depth to his features and making his dark eyes seem all the darker. But you immediately regretted allowing your gaze to wander.

You noticed the looks from other diners straight away, though you told yourself that it was Billy they were not so subtly glancing at - he drew attention wherever he went and, well, he looked extra sharp tonight in his charcoal suit and light blue shirt. 

Looking down, you wondered what you must look like sitting across from him. Ridiculous, probably. 

“You okay?” He asked, his voice cutting through your spiralling thoughts.

“Yeah,” you answered automatically, forcing your gaze back to him, “yeah, just feeling a little out of place.”

Billy shot you a questioning look, but didn’t comment on it. Instead his eyes dropped to the menu in front of him.

“Do you prefer red or white?” He asked after a few seconds.

You stared at him blankly, before realising he was talking about wine. “Oh, white.”

Finally, your attention turned to the menu but found that you couldn’t focus on it. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that this wasn’t you; you didn’t get flustered over silly little things.

So what if people thought you didn’t belong there with him? 

(It’s not real. It’s not real.)

By the time the waiter appeared, you still hadn’t decided what you wanted, so you decided to defer to his judgement and, if nothing else, it seemed to ingratiate you to the waiter.

“So,” Billy finally said, once your wine had been poured and the pair of you had been left alone to wait for your food. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” you answered, reaching for your glass and taking a slow sip, hoping to calm your nerves.

“Just nice?”

“It’s a restaurant, I can’t exactly make a judgement until I’ve actually tried the food,” you  told him, managing to affect a playful enough tone. “The wine’s nice though.”

“I mean, is it nice enough that you think you’re going to be able to stomach six months of this?”

It was difficult to discern if he was talking about the restaurant or his own presence, so instead of answering straight away, you took another drink.

“Why? Is this what you do every night?” You asked jokingly, despite already knowing the answer.

More often than not, you were the one tasked with finding him reservations and responding to invitations on his behalf. Put kindly, Billy Russo had a very active social life, and that was exactly what you were supposed to be helping him change.

After a moment of silence you continued; “it’s fine. Just as long as you don’t expect me to be at your beck and call every single night.”

“What days are you available to be at my beck and call?” He asked, grinning at the ridiculousness of the question. 

“Any day except Wednesdays and Sundays.”

You leaned forward a little, wanting to to seem to anyone who looked that you were having some intimate conversation and not planning out the finer details of your fake relationship.

“I’m usually busy on Thursday evenings,” Billy offered.

It was strange that neither of you asked what the other did, but Billy didn’t pry so you didn’t either. If it was ever something you needed to share with him, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“I’ll check your schedule on Monday,” you offered, comforted at the thought of being able to slip back into your role as PA instead of fake date.

“There’s a charity event in a couple of weeks - there’s going to be representatives from VDK there, so I’ll need you for that.”

“Yes, Mr - yes, Billy.”

You feel your cheeks heat as the corner of his lip pulled upwards and, for a moment, he looked ready to make some awful joke, but before he could get the words out, he was interrupted.

“Ah! William!” 

It was a loud, booming voice, and it caused your eyes to shoot upwards and towards the kitchen doors. There were two waiters, carrying what seemed to be yours and Billy’s food, and a large, grinning man dressed in chef’s clothes.

“Marco,” Billy said, getting to his feet and throwing an arm around the chef.

You remained seated, frozen, feeling utterly out of the loop and out of place in Billy’s world. 

The two men started to talk while plates were placed down on the table in front of you - far more than you’d actually ordered but, from what you could gather from their conversation, the chef had prepared extra just for Billy.

You were left ignored until the waiters disappeared.

“William, you always bring the most beautiful women to my restaurant,” Marco said, moving to your side and taking your hand in his and pressing a light kiss to your knuckles.

Your cheeks instantly started to heat and you found yourself entirely lost for words.

Billy introduced you and you sat there silently, your stomach knotting as he referred to you as his girlfriend, earning a fond laugh from Marco. But, still, you kept a smile on your lips.

“You have exquisite taste,” Marco said.

The rest of their brief conversation became white noise as you fought against all the unsettling and uncomfortable thoughts that started to fill your head again. But it was hard not to feel a certain way, to not feel like everyone who knew him, everyone who saw you together, would be comparing you to the women who’d come before - the women he’d actually wanted.

It was a feeling you weren’t used to, a feeling you didn’t even understand. You blended into the background, you were a side character, you weren’t the love interest or the woman that people called pretty. You were just... you.

And, in a way, it made you angry. You hated that he was putting you in a position to be compared to the other women to begin with.

“Are you okay?” Billy asked as he finally sat back down.

“You've -” you hesitated, taking a moment to really consider whether you wanted to ask the question, “- brought other women here?”

“Of course,” Billy answered, oblivious to how that was making you feel.

You looked down at your plate and considered just leaving it at that, but you didn't want to. Six months of this would be unbearable. You needed to say something, if only to protect your own sanity. If you were going to do this, if you were going to help him, you couldn’t just let him carry on as normal.

“I'd suggest if you want people to believe that this,” you waved your hand in the empty space between you, “is real, then you shouldn't just treat me like one of your one night stands.”

He looked at you, completely confused, not sure what you were trying to get at.

“This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in New York -”

“Exactly, and I'm sure that fact is a real pantie-dropper, but that's not the message you need to convey if you want to sell this.”

“So, what? I'm supposed to take you to Pizza Hut?”

You rolled your eyes and resisted the urge to slump back in your seat. “If you want people to believe it, then it shouldn't matter where we are, just that we're enjoying each other’s company.”

Billy continued to stare at you blankly and you found yourself wondering if he'd ever had a real, meaningful relationship before.

“If you treat me like them, everyone is going to assume that I mean as much to you as they did,” you said, trying one last time.

“Why are you assuming that they meant nothing?”

He had you there. It wasn't a fair assumption to make, not really. All you knew about him and his life away from work was what you picked up through gossip that you only ever half paid attention to. Maybe they had meant something to him, maybe he wasn't the one always ending things. Maybe he was genuinely clueless.

“I'm sorry, you're right, I don't really know anything about you outside of work,” you conceded. “But that doesn't change the fact that you need to alter people's perception of you, and bringing someone like me to a restaurant like this isn't going to cut it.”

"Someone like you? What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, starting to sound exasperated.

For a moment you looked at him, betraying that awkward flicker of hurt that you felt for reasons you didn't entirely understand. Then you looked down at yourself, at the expensive dress he had chosen for you, paired with your own cheap heels and jewellery; you felt fucking ridiculous, like a kid playing dress up in one of your mother's dresses.

“I mean, I'm not the sort of woman you can put in a dress like this and bring to a place like this, Billy,” you said, only to earn an even more confused look from him. “Look at me, I - I clearly don't belong here, people are looking at me thinking I'm either after your money or I'm someone you need to fuck to get a contract.”

The irony of the second option wasn't lost on you.

“What?” He asked, still not getting it.

You sighed. “If you bring me to places you've brought other women, all anyone is going to do is compare me to them. They're going to want to know why you downgraded from runway models and wealthy heiresses to... to me.”

Billy's lips parted instantly, and you knew he was about to say the very first thing to come to mind, but then he surprised you by saying nothing. You weren't sure if his silent agreement made it better or worse — you didn't want him lying to you, trying to compare you to other women, but at the same time, his silence just seemed to confirm all your worst feelings about yourself.

“Okay,” he said finally, “how about, from now on, you decide where we go?”

There was something in his voice that you didn't want to think too hard about, an uncomfortable resignation. Billy Russo was a man who liked to be in control, a man who didn't like being told what to do but, in this situation, he was allowing himself to trust you.

You both started to eat, making little comments about the food and, every so often, you’d catch Billy looking at you, like he was trying to somehow figure you out. By the time you finished eating and dessert was on the way, you felt like you needed to break the silence.

“Do you like movies?” You asked.

“Depends,” Billy answered, confused by the sudden question. “Why?” 

“There’s a horror movie festival in Queens in a couple of weeks, they’re going to be showing loads of the old classics...”

It was meant as a suggestion, an invitation, but it went right over Billy’s head.

“Oh,” was all he offered.

You sighed. “I meant we could go. Together. If you want...”

“Like a date?” He asked, and you nodded. “Isn’t that a little childish?” 

For a moment you forced yourself to bite your tongue, offended on more levels that you could really hope to verbalise.

“I happen to like old horror movies, and if you want anyone to believe this is real -”

“Right,” he conceded. “Okay, fine, I guess we could do that.”

Then, again, you slipped back into that awkward silence through dessert. 

Still, you kept smiling, all the while thinking about how it was going to be a really long six months.

Once the bill was paid and you were ready to leave, you found Billy taking your hand in his again, holding you a little tighter than he had before as he led you out of the restaurant and into the cold night air. You were about ready to pull away from him, to get yourself a taxi when his hand gave a gentle tug on yours.

You turned to face him, confused, and you found yourself getting lost in his dark eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he muttered softly.

In the time it took for the words to register and for you to come to terms with the fact that he was the one saying them, Billy’s lips were on yours. It started softly, a testing peck before pulling back an inch or two, then it became something else entirely.

His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you against him. Your own arms ended up around him - though you couldn't rightly say if it was to pull him closer or to keep yourself from falling over. At some point your eyes drifted shut and you allowed him to part the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Fuck, if this is how he kisses, it's no wonder he's got so many women falling over themselves to be with him, you thought. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the treacherous organ knocking against your ribs with each desperate thump. You were pressed so close to him, you wondered if he could feel it. It stoked a fire in your belly, something you knew you shouldn't be feeling, that you couldn't stop or control. You almost dared to want more, for the kiss to become some wild and untameable thing. 

When the kiss finally broke and your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted by the sight of his smile, and it did little to quell the awkward feeling of wanting that had started to grow inside you. His hand tenderly cupped your cheek and his thumb caressed your lower lip and - fuck, you had to wonder if he was deliberately trying to drive you insane.

Your breath hitched, and, for a moment - a really fucking stupid moment - you almost let yourself wonder if it had been real.

“That should sell it,” he muttered softly before pressing one more gentle kiss to your lips.

Right. 

It wasn't real. It was all just an act. A really convincing act. 

Still, he lingered, one hand pressed to the small of your back while the thumb of the other traced your lips.

“Right,” you said just as softly, unable to tear your eyes from his. 

Neither of you moved for a second more until Billy finally pulled away and took your hand in his again. 

Your heart continued to pound in your chest as he led you away from the restaurant and towards his car, not stopping to even ask or offer you a lift home, and you found yourself idly wondering if his driver had been sitting out there waiting the whole time you'd been eating. He sprang out of the car the moment he saw you and Billy approaching and quickly opened the door for you. 

Billy held your hand, helping you into the car like a gentleman — and, honestly, you really couldn't get over seeing that side of him. Then he moved around to the other side of the car where the door was being held open for him.

You’d been in his car before, but never like this, never for anything other than work. (Though, you grimly had to concede that this was like work in a very fucked up way.)

You didn’t even have to give the driver your address; with one word from Billy you were on your way. As the car started to move, you found yourself looking out the window at the streets of New York, all the bright lights and bustle of people going about their evenings. It had been an overwhelming evening to say the least, so you barely even noticed when Billy took your hand in his again.

It was for the driver’s benefit, you assumed. Everyone was going to have to buy the fact that you were dating, including all the people you came across in your day to day lives. And it quickly occurred to you that you still hadn’t really discussed much of anything about the arrangement - you’d been so preoccupied with your own awkward feelings that you’d spent half of the meal in silence, instead of figuring things out.

“So,” Billy said - and you were really starting to hate the way that he did that, “what did you think of Bianchi’s?”

Your attention turned back to him, though you quickly found your gaze dropping to your hand in his.

“You were right,” you said, forcing your smile again, “the tiramisu was amazing.”

A laugh seemed to spill out of him unbidden and, for a moment, he looked as surprised by it as you were. It sounded so real, so genuine and, suddenly, you found yourself wondering something odd; was he just like you? Did he fake his way through the day in the hopes that it would make things easier for him?

Of course, you didn’t ask. It was far too personal and gave too much away, but it felt like, for the briefest of seconds, you’d finally seen something real, something you hadn’t even realised existed.

Your smile softened and you sank back in your seat, allowing your fingers to tighten around his just a fraction.

“What’s your favourite movie?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, a little surprised that he was finally making an effort. “I guess it changes? I like a lot of movies.”

“Well, what’s your favourite right now?”

“Probably the first Omen movie?”

“Isn’t that movie older than I am?” Billy joked.

Strangely, it was the first time you’d even thought about his age - though, now that you had, it would no doubt add another weird level to the way you were thinking about your fake relationship.

“There are lots of movies that are older than you, Billy,” you said. “Besides, I like the classics.”

“I’ve never been called a classic before.”

The comment had you laughing unexpectedly and Billy quickly joined in. What a sight you must have looked to the poor driver, the pair of you giggling uncontrollably at such a terrible line.

“That’s awful,” you finally managed to say, awkwardly trying to wipe the tears from your eyes without smudging mascara all over your cheeks. “I didn’t know you made such terrible jokes.”

“I’m a man of hidden depths,” Billy answered.

“What about you? What’s your favourite movie?” You asked, wanting to keep the conversation going now you’d finally managed to escape from the awkwardness.

“I don’t know. I’ve always preferred reading.”

“Really?” You asked. You didn’t mean to sound shocked, but it wasn’t something you’d expected. “Well, what’s your favourite book then?”

“The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?” He repeated, almost laughing again. “What’s ‘huh’ mean?”

“Nothing, it’s just -” you felt your cheeks heating again, “- I don’t know, I just never pictured you enjoying something with such a downer ending?”

“You’ve read it?”

You nodded. “And I’ve seen at least two of the movie adaptations.”

“Okay, well, what’s your favourite book?”

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” you answered without hesitation.

“Huh,” Billy said, obviously fighting to keep a smile from his lips.

“What?” You asked, contending with a smile of your own.

“Oh, nothing...”

You opened your mouth, ready to demand an answer when the car came to a stop and you realised that you were outside your building.

Clearing your throat, you reluctantly pulled your hand away from Billy’s and watched as the driver rounded the car to let you out. You moved slowly, taking extra care not to snag the dress or do anything that might ruin it, still intent on returning it to Billy.

You didn’t notice Billy move as you got out of the car, but, by the time you were standing on the sidewalk, he was at your side. His hand found yours again and you shot him a confused look.

“I’ll walk you in,” he said. A statement, not a question or an offer.

“It’s fine, I -”

“It’s not fine. Your building doesn’t even have a doorman.”

If you didn’t know any better you might have thought he was worried, but the show was probably all for the driver. Still, you really didn’t want Billy to see your apartment.

“Most normal apartment buildings don’t, Billy,” you said, rolling your eyes before lowering your voice.” Besides, I don’t think anyone is watching.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m walking you in.”

And, with that, he started towards the door to your building, leaving you no choice but to fall into step beside him. 

Once inside, there was no missing the way he looked around the place, judging it. Judging you. The only small mercy to be found in the situation was the fact that the elevator was working and not plastered in the usual Out of Order signs. 

You tried to leave Billy at the elevator and, again, he refused. He followed you in, watching as you punched the button for the fourth floor. And, by that point, the situation seemed so surreal to you, that you didn't even think twice about the fact that your hand was still in his.

His hand stayed in yours all the way up to the fourth floor and to your door.

Or maybe it was your hand in his.

Honestly, there was no telling which of you was holding on, and it didn’t even cross your mind to wonder about it until you stopped outside your door. Billy stayed next to you, looking at you expectantly and you realised that he actually wanted to go into your apartment.

Your discomfort grew as he remained silent, not even offering an explanation as to what he wanted or why he was still there.

“What are you going to do? Check my apartment for monsters?” You asked, exasperated, finally untangling your hand from his so you could find your keeps and unlock the door.

He didn’t answer, he just fixed you with an unimpressed look, almost as if he thought you should know what he wanted. Once the lock clicked, you hesitated, hoping he’d take the hint. But, of course, he didn’t. 

You rolled your eyes and pushed the door open, allowing him to follow you into your apartment. As soon as you were inside, the door was shut and the latch was slid into place. 

A relieved sigh slipped from your lips as you finally kicked off your uncomfortable shoes, but any relief you felt was short-lived when you looked at the looming figure of Billy Russo in your apartment.

“So... am I supposed to offer you a drink?” You asked, barely managing to hold back the awkward frustration that was building inside of you.

“Coffee would be great,” Billy answered.

If his attention had been on you, he might have caught the flicker of annoyance on your face as you huffed and headed towards the kitchen, but he was too busy glancing around your sparse apartment.

While it might not have been the nicest apartment, and you’d done little to make it more homely in the six months that you’d been there, it wasn’t some awful shithole. It had potential - you just needed to find the time, money, and inclination to do something with it. It was mid at worst, and a work in progress at best. But it was safe and warm, and had more than enough space for you.

Most importantly, you were happy with it - it was the best that you could afford.

So, you didn’t even stop to think about why Billy was looking around the place as if you’d dragged him into a hovel, nor did you question the silence.

It was a little strange though. You knew that he hadn’t always been filthy rich. In fact, it was well known that he’d grown up with nothing and he’d built himself up. It was all pretty inspirational stuff. So, it made no sense for him to find your apartment offensive.

You tried to ignore it, putting a fresh filter in the coffee machine before starting it up, doing everything and anything you could not to look at him.

“I thought -” he started but stopped himself.

“What?” You prompted, biting back a sigh as you grabbed a couple of mugs.

“I thought I paid you better than... this.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your -”

“It is my business if you’re hiding something that’s going to make me look bad,” he interrupted.

There was no sharpness in his voice, no accusation, but you still didn’t like it. It wasn’t his business. You weren’t some under-performing asset and you weren’t about to let him treat you like one.

You all but slammed the mug in your hand onto the counter, losing what little composure you had left. It was a wonder that the mug didn’t break, but you didn’t stop to think about that.

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight,” you started. The sudden and uncharacteristic sharpness in your voice clearly caught him off-guard because he damn near winced. “You dragged me into this and now I’m on the hook if things go wrong. But my money and how I live is my business, not yours. I like this apartment. I like living here. And that’s all there is to it.”

There was no missing the way his eyes widened as you spoke - while you had more than enough experience with his moods and temper, he’d never seen yours. But it was about time. If you were going to spend six months at his side, you were going to do it as yourself and not as the docile PA who did everything she could to keep him happy.

You were a human being and he needed to understand that.

You forced yourself to turn from him to grab the coffee pot, pouring two mugs;  black coffee for him and adding cream to your own.

“You like living in an apartment that has hardly any furniture?” He asked after a few seconds of silence, a hint of playfulness in his tone as if he was trying to lighten the mood.

You considered calling him out, telling him that he could just turn an awkward situation of his creation into a joke to get out of it, but it had been a long day and you were exhausted.

You just wanted him to drink his coffee and leave.

“I have a job that doesn’t exactly give me a lot of time to go furniture shopping,” you said, earning a forced smile from Billy. “Unless you want me to do it from my desk, instead of making sure you get your lunch on time.”

If he wanted to say anything else on the matter, he kept it to himself, but you were sure you saw a brief moment of understanding finally pass over his face. You were good at your job, you knew he knew at least that much, but clearly he’d never stopped to think about just how much it took for you to be that good.

With little more than a nod of your head, you directed him to the threadbare sofa that sat in front of the TV - a TV that was currently standing on a stack of old cookery books. 

If Billy had an opinion on it, he chose to keep it to himself.

He sat on one end of the sofa, you sat on the other, a single solitary seat between you, but it might as well have been miles with how things suddenly felt between the pair of you.

“So,” he said, leaving that one little word to hang in the air between you, as if he expected you to know what to do with it. When you shrugged, he clarified; “don’t you think we ought to talk about tonight?”

“I hope you’re not intending to give me a performance review.”

You were joking, but only just.

Billy almost laughed but shook his head. “No it’s just - well, at dinner you obviously had some notes about what I was doing wrong, so I figure we should at least try to get on the same page.”

Immediately you found yourself wondering if it was you or Billy that would be expected to try.

“Okay,” you said but chose not to expand on it, instead waiting to see where he wanted the conversation to go.

You caught him staring at his mug for a second, and you wondered if his usual confidence had started to abandon him after your outburst in the kitchen, or if he was just as tired as you were.

“Okay,” he said, mirroring your comment and the pause that followed, seeming to hope you’d jump in. When you didn’t, he continued; “I suppose we should start with the kiss.”

Just the mention of it had your heart fluttering, the memory of the moment filling your mind. It had been so gentle, so tender, and just the thought of it had you nervously running your tongue over your lower lip and heat licking across your cheeks.

“What about it?” You asked, lifting your mug and taking a slow sip, hoping to hide the sudden worry that had started to fill you.

(Had there been something wrong with the kiss? Had you done something wrong? Had you  kissed him wrong? Was he going to tell you that he’d hated it?)

“Was it - was it okay?” He asked. “I mean - we didn’t discuss it beforehand, and I know I should have asked permission or given you a little more warning.”

Oh.

He seemed genuinely uncomfortable at the thought that he might have forced you to do something you weren’t comfortable with and that was... odd and unexpected. And, in a weird way, it was incredibly sweet.

“It was fine,” you answered quickly, cheeks burning hotter with every awkward word, “more than fine. I mean - unexpected, sure, but if we’re going to sell this, then I guess we’ll have to kiss sometimes...”

“Right,” he agreed with an audible sigh of relief, “and it’s not like it really means anything.”

“Right.”

It didn’t mean anything.

Nothing.

Not a damned thing.

(So why was the memory causing your heart to pound?)

In retrospect, you were willing to chalk the butterflies in your stomach up to shock. He’d taken you by surprise with the kiss. And, sure, you were willing to admit that you’d always harboured a vague curiosity about your boss and what it would be like to be kissed by him - though it had always been an obviously silly, unprofessional thought that you’d never had any intention of acting on before tonight.

Even you weren’t so ridiculous that you couldn’t admit that Billy was an attractive man, and his looks were only one of countless reasons why so many women seemed desperate to be at his side.

“What I said,” you started awkwardly, needing to say it before you lost the nerve, “when I assumed that your other relationships had been meaningless, I - I shouldn’t’ve said that. It wasn’t fair.”

Billy nodded, silently accepting the apology.

“I’m sorry if I was... dismissive when you suggested going to that movie festival,” he said, glancing away from you. “The truth is a lot of my dates are usually very one-note; it’s dinner or a gala or some exclusive club. I don’t really...”

He trailed off into an awkward sigh, and you were left trying to read between the lines. Fortunately, you knew enough about him to put two and two together. It had always been your assumption that he used the women he was with, that he got what he wanted then kicked them to the curb, but you were starting to realise that he was probably used just as much.

Billy Russo opened a lot of doors, and to aspiring models, actresses, and socialites - well, you could see why they’d want to be seen on his arm, and how they could use him to step up a couple of rungs on the social ladder.

And, for reasons you didn’t want to consider, that made you feel sad.

“Don’t you ever just go out and do things for fun?” You asked, not really thinking too much about the question.

“Fun?” He repeated, seeming confused by the concept. “Was tonight not fun?”

Then, again, he was looking at you like you were from another planet and he had no idea how to even begin to understand you. And you - you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, even though you were sure it didn’t help the situation.

“Billy, I like Italian food as much as the next person, and I’ll never say no to the chance to have some tiramisu, but going to a restaurant isn’t exactly fun,” you told him and instantly regretted it as the corner of his lips started to tug downwards. “Not that I didn’t have fun with you but - c’mon, we probably had more fun in the car than we did at the restaurant.”

“That was fun for you? Just... talking to me?”

Again there was that pang of something, that uncomfortable squeeze beneath your ribs of - what? Pity?

“Of course it was,” you answered before your own paranoia decided to rear its ugly head again. “Did you not -”

“No - I mean, yeah, I enjoyed it. I just -” he seemed to struggle for a few seconds, “- I don’t know, guess I’m just not used to people wanting that from me.”

You took a breath, biting back all the little things you wanted to say, reassurances that you wanted to give that somehow felt too personal to offer your boss. Perhaps, instead, you could show him. Even if it was all pretend, it didn’t mean that you couldn’t have fun and enjoy each other’s company, right? 

“Then maybe that’s where we should start?” You offered. “We can try new things, have some fun, and do things differently to how you normally do them? If that doesn’t convince VDK that you’re a changed man, nothing will.”

Billy took a second to consider the offer before nodding. “Okay. We can start with that movie festival.”

“Great,” you said with a smile, immediately reaching for your phone.

He watched you as your focus completely shifted from him to your phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Booking tickets,” you explained, still tapping away on your phone. “And I’ll have to make sure that your schedule is completely clear.”

“Oh, shouldn’t I do -” he started and then abruptly stopped, letting out an awkward laugh.

You looked up from your phone, fixing him with a questioning look before it dawned on you.

“Did you just realise that you usually rely on me to book these sorts of things for you?” You asked, fighting back a smirk.

How many times had he told someone that he’d do something with one breath, only to ask you to do it for him with the next? It was ridiculous in a funny sort of way just how much you did to ensure that his life ran smoothly. In fact, you were a little shocked that he’d been able to book the restaurant tonight without your help.

“Right. Guess I should pay you overtime if you’re going to be doing all this extra work for me for the next six months,” Billy said, laughing.

“To be fair, you’re not exactly the most demanding boss I’ve ever had.” You barely even looked up from your phone as you spoke.

“No?”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “At least, not anymore.”

If Billy wanted to know what you meant by that, he didn’t ask, instead he lifted his mug and took a long, slow drink.

“You’re good at reading me,” he offered, “good at anticipating what I want before I even ask. Good with other people too - never seen anyone render Frank speechless with a coffee and a bear claw before.”

An unseemly snort of laughter escaped you, the kind of sound that would only be described as piggish, and you felt your cheeks grow hotter as you desperately tried to ignore the amused look Billy shot you. 

“Okay the, uh - the tickets are booked,” you said, keeping your eyes on your phone for a few seconds more.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, fifty dollars, I got VIP tickets so we don’t have to queue for any of the screenings,” you explained, wondering if you should have asked before ordering the more expensive tickets.

“Fifty dollars for two VIP tickets?” He asked, sounding almost amused at the low cost.

“No, I mean, yours cost fifty, I -”

“You’re not paying for your own ticket,” Billy told you firmly, already pulling out his own phone, no doubt to transfer the money to you.

You wanted to argue because he’d just spent god only knew how much at Bianchi’s, but you knew that tone of voice and you knew he was not going to take no for an answer. And, honestly, again, it was late and you were getting tired.

“Fine, but I’m paying for the popcorn,” you countered.

It was Billy’s turn to roll his eyes but, surprisingly, he didn’t argue. In fact, he seemed to find it funny. And, again, you found yourself wondering what his real dates were like and if they expected him to pay for everything. Maybe that was why they wanted him in the first place, so he’d pay for everything.

Even though he was your boss and you were, eventually at least, going to be paid for pretending to date him, it just seemed sleazy to take advantage of him like that.

Case and point, the dress.

You drained the last of your coffee and looked down at yourself.

“While you’re here, you might as well wait while I change out of this dress. I kept the tags so you should be able to take it back and -”

“Take it back?” He said, confused again.

“Yeah, so you can get it refunded.”

“Why would I -”

You didn’t even let him finish the question before letting out a heavy sigh. “Because it’s expensive. Too expensive. And it’s not like I’ll wear it again.”

He looked ready to respond immediately but then some thought seemed to strike, causing an uncomfortable look to spread across his face.

“You don’t like it.” Statement not a question. He sounded disappointed, almost like a little kid finding out that their dad never really liked the novelty ties they brought them every single Christmas.

“It’s not that, it’s -” 

“I thought you liked that colour,” he continued, ignoring your protests. “You have a sweater in that shade, and it really brings out the colour of your eyes...”

Whatever you might have wanted to say died on your lips. You hadn’t worn the sweater in question in well over a month, and it seemed unthinkable to you that he’d actually remembered it, thought about it even, when he was picking the dress. (And you actively avoided even thinking about the eye comment.)

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said as your eyes dropped to look at the dress again. “It’s a beautiful dress, it’s just... too much? I look ridiculous prancing around in a dress that cost so much.”

“You don’t want it because it’s too expensive?” He asked, barely holding back a laugh. “I think you’re the first person to ever complain that a gift cost too much.”

Billy didn’t seem to realise that that statement said just as much about him and his life as it did you and yours. It made you remember the way he’d called you out for assuming all of his past relationships had been meaningless; had he been trying to buy their affection, or did he only manage to find women who wanted him for his money?

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be different from the others,” you tried to explain. “And, anyway, I don’t want people thinking I’m some gold digger or that you’re my... my sugar daddy.”

A sudden gasp of laughter escaped Billy, shaking his body so violently that he almost spilled what was left of his coffee.

“Christ, please don’t call me that again.”

You had to laugh as well, if only to relieve the tension in your body.

“I guess it’s good to know that you’re not into that,” you said, smirking at him. “I don’t think I could keep a straight face if you were.”

“No, that’s the one thing you don’t have to worry about,” he said.

And there was something in his words, some hidden meaning you couldn’t quite grasp, a warning even, but you didn’t dare ask what he was trying to tell you. It didn’t matter. Nothing was ever going to happen between you.

Without warning, Billy drained the last of his coffee and got to his feet.

“I want you to keep the dress,” he told you, “even if you decide to sell it. Though, I’d prefer that you didn’t, I think you look lovely in it.”

Suddenly, your lungs refused to draw breath and all you could do was stare at him, wondering if he was playing some cruel trick, or if he was just telling you he thought you looked lovely because that was just what was expected of him. 

Either way, it took you a few seconds to realise that he was leaving and get to your feet to follow after, watching as he placed his coffee mug by the sink before heading towards the door.

“I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

“Yes, Mr - Billy,” you said, your eyes following his hand as he unlatched the door.

He turned back to look at you as he started to open the door. “And, for the record, what you said earlier, about people seeing you as a downgrade to the women I usually date, I think you’re wrong.”

He didn’t expand on the comment or give you a chance to ask before slipping out of your apartment and, finally, leaving you alone.

As you laid in bed that night, the dress carefully folded and placed back into the box along with all the tags, you found yourself thinking about him and the bizarre evening you’d spent together.

You’d seen a side to him that you’d never seen before, and allowed him to see far more of yourself than you were usually comfortable with, but it was his laugh that you couldn’t get out of your head. You’d heard him laugh, seen him smile, countless times, but never like he had tonight in those strange little moments that seemed to catch him off-guard.

Of course, you didn’t think it was you per se that had brought out that side of him but, rather, the honesty of the situation. It was clear he was used to dates being performative,  transactional almost, the women he was seeing taking whatever they wanted from him while he got - what? Sex, probably.

You pushed that thought away, knowing it would only complicate things to dwell on it.

Tonight had just been the first night, and you still had six months to go.

Closing your eyes, you drifted off with the hopes that things could only get easier.

Your weekend went the way that you weekends often did. Saturday was spent making sure you had everything that you’d need for the following week, which included a couple of hours spent trying to find a better pair of shoes for the next time Billy decided he wanted to take you to dinner. And Sunday was spent the way your Sundays normally were; visiting your brother.

But your trip to Saint Martin’s was cut a little shorter than usual, Seb was tired and managed to fall asleep as you were reading to him, and  you’d never had the heart to wake him when he was sleeping. 

You spoke with the people responsible for his care, assuring them that the fee increase would not be a problem  and, then, you went on your way. 

On your way home you decided to stop to treat yourself to a new book and the rest of the weekend was lost to the pages of Stephen King’s The Institute.

Come Monday morning something was off. 

Your commute went as normal but, when you stepped into The Bean Grinder to grab your usual coffees and a bear claw for Billy, you were met with strange smiles. As you left, you stopped to check yourself and make sure you hadn’t left the apartment in your pyjamas or had messed up your make-up, but you looked normal, average.

You decided that it must just be them, something going on in the coffee shop that you didn’t need to know about.

As you stepped into Anvil, there were more little glances from people waiting by the elevator as you headed to the security barrier.

“Morning Carl,” you said, working extra hard to force your smile and sound happy. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he answered, thankfully sounding like his usual self. “Got that video of Lyra’s recital if you want to see?”

Something normal, something that wasn’t weird.

“Definitely,” you answered without hesitation, placing your coffee and food on the security desk as he headed towards you, phone in hand.

He hit play and you stepped a little closer to look at the screen. There was a little girl, only eight years old, dressed in a frilly red dress, playing Amazing Grace on clarinet. You watched with a smile almost as wide as Carl’s, amazed at how talented the little girl was.

You were so caught up in the video, that you didn’t realise someone was behind you until you felt a hand on the small of your back.

Somehow you managed to bite back a squeal of shock, as your head whipped around to see Billy. Carl also had a similar response and started to pull back his phone.

“What are you watching?” Billy asked.

His tone was friendly, but it was obvious that Carl felt caught out by Mr Russo’s sudden appearance, like he was about to get in trouble.

“Carl was showing me his daughter’s clarinet recital,” you explained, “she’s really good.”

You flashed Carl a reassuring smile, refusing to believe even for a second that he was going to get in trouble. He wouldn’t. You wouldn’t let him.

“Oh, okay,” was all Billy said. “Are you heading up now?”

“Yeah,” you said, again smiling at Carl and offering him a slight but reassuring nod. “I’ll see you later Carl.”

With that you grabbed the coffees and bear claw from the desk and started to follow Billy towards the elevator. About halfway there, he relieved you of the coffees, earning a smile from you.

“Are you always so friendly with everyone?” He asked as the elevator door slid shut.

“I guess?” You answered, shrugging. “Carl’s always been really nice to me. The other week he let me borrow his umbrella when I had to go out to get lunch.”

Billy didn’t say anything - you doubted that he cared, but you wanted to make sure he understood that Carl was a good employee and, more than that, someone you liked. In fact, he remained silent for the rest of the short trip up to the top floor of the building.

The elevator gave a ding and Billy let you step out first, though you quickly stopped in your tracks when you found Mr Castle leaning against your desk. You looked from him to Billy and back again, a mild look of shock on your face as you tried to figure out if you’d forgotten to schedule a meeting.

“What are you doing up here this early on a Monday, Frankie?” Billy asked, grinning at his friend.

“Just thought I’d come see if you had any of those bear claws goin’ spare,” Castle answered, looking directly at you.

“Oh, I didn’t know that you’d -” you looked down at the paper bag in your hand, “- I can run back across and -”

“Relax, I’m kiddin’” Mr Castle interrupted before you could get too flustered. “Just, do me a favour, blink twice if Bill here is blackmailin’ you.”

You did blink, but it was more than twice.

“What?” You asked, not getting the joke.

Billy clearly understood what Frank was getting at because he let out a forced sigh.

“Fucking hell, Frankie, leave her alone,” Billy said, not bothering to hold back his annoyance.

He turned to look at you for a moment, letting you take your coffee from the tray, and hand him the paper bag with his breakfast. Then he nodded towards his office and Frank Castle followed him inside.

It wasn’t until you sat at your desk and opened your laptop that your strange morning finally started to make sense to you.

You’d set up the google alert for professional reasons, wanting to make sure that nothing libellous or damaging to Anvil was posted about Billy. More often than not, whenever it pinged it was just photos of him and whichever woman happened to be on his arm, stories about him, stories about him at clubs or galas. Or restaurants.

Your heart stopped and you felt sick when you clicked the alert and saw photos of you and Billy at Bianchi’s; holding hands, eating dinner... kissing.

New York’s most eligible bachelor, Billy Russo, takes unknown to Bianchi’s. 

Even if you’d wanted to read the article you couldn’t have. You couldn’t focus your eyes, couldn’t - anything. Closing your laptop, you tugged at the top button of your blouse, feeling like you were being choked by your own collar.

That was why everyone was being weird with you. They thought - fuck, what did they think?

You couldn’t decide what was worse, that they thought you were just someone he was fucking before he moved on to the next, or that you were sleeping with Billy to advance your career.

Somehow, you managed to stand from your desk and make your way to the small bathroom, locking yourself in while you forced yourself through some breathing exercises to try and push the panic away.

Realistically, you knew that you should have expected it - all of Billy’s dates ended up with unwanted publicity in the gossip blogs and the society sections, after all - but seeing those photos of yourself, in that dress, tangled up in Billy Russo’s arms had you feeling more insecure about yourself than you had in years.

The only saving grace was the fact that they hadn’t known your name to publish, though you were sure that wouldn’t last.

It took ten minutes for you to calm down and compose yourself, but the sick feeling in your gut lingered long after you returned to your desk and tried to start your day again, minimising the window that had your photo on.

Frank Castle sauntered out of Billy’s office about twenty minutes later. He gave you a look, a smile that you didn’t understand but he didn’t speak until he was in the elevator and the doors were closing.

“No accountin' for taste, I guess.”

And, with that you felt some part of you break.

Before you could stop to consider what you were doing, your laptop was under your arm and you were walking into Billy’s office. He seemed a little shocked at you just barging in, but didn’t say anything. Approaching his desk, you opened your laptop and put it down in front of him, maximising the gossip blog window again.

You wanted to say something; look at that, someone was photographing us, someone was invading our privacy. Instead, you said nothing, allowing Billy a moment to scan the pictures and the story about his date with an unknown woman.

He didn’t seem shocked, he didn’t even seem to care.

Until he saw your face.

“I...” whatever he wanted to say seemed to die on his lips. Billy took a breath before continuing. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to it now that I didn’t stop to think how you’d feel about it.”

“No one believes it,” you said, quietly, feeling like it was all you could manage. “It won’t work, even Mr Castle -”

“Frank? What did Frank say?” Billy asked, a sharpness slipping into his voice as he got to his feet. For a moment you wondered if he was about to hunt Frank Castle down.

“That there’s no accounting for taste and - and he’s right, Billy. No one will believe that you’d want -” your voice threatened to break.

Before you could finish, you found yourself pulled against him, his arms tight around your body as he held you.

“No - no, that’s not what he meant,” he said, trying to reassure you. “He doesn’t understand why you’d want to be with me, not the other way around.”

Oh.

Closing your eyes tight, you melted against his chest, letting him hold you for a few sweet moments.

Billy pulled back, his hands framing your face, forcing you to look at him, and you found an unexpected look of concern. You barely even noticed the way one of his thumbs was tenderly stroking your cheek because you were too busy getting lost in his eyes.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said. “If it’s going to make you uncomfortable or upset you, I can find another way to get the VDK contract.”

Right. The VDK contract. That was what all of this was for.

You managed to shake your head.

“No, I can -” there was an audible break in your voice and you forced yourself to take a step back, out of his hold. “Sorry. I just - it took me by surprise. I never - I guess I never stopped to think that this is how it would have to be.”

Billy gave an understanding nod, seeming to think on it a moment before offering; “if you want to take the day -”

“No. No, I can’t do that,” you quickly said. “People are already going to assume that I’m getting special treatment from you, and I don’t want to add fuel to the fire.”

“Alright, fine,” Billy relented but you could tell he wasn’t entirely happy about it. “But I’m taking you out for lunch today, okay?”

“Maybe we  -”

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he told you. “Anyway, I think it’s about time I got the coffees and pastries for a change.”

All you could do was nod. It felt like your throat was closing up, and your lungs were starting to strain again. You nodded again as you gathered up your laptop and left Billy’s office and, as you were closing the door behind him, he told you to be ready for lunch at midday.

As you sat back down at your desk, you found yourself wondering just how you were going to survive six months of this. Of course you knew that you’d have to be seen with him again but you’d never really stopped to think about how what you were doing outside of Anvil would bleed into your work life. Honestly, you hadn’t had time to consider much of anything, everything was happening so fast.

You tried desperately to lose yourself in your work over the next few hours, but you kept finding your eyes on the clock, counting down the minutes until he was going to appear from his office to take you for lunch.

True to his word, Billy appeared from his office at exactly midday.

For a few seconds, you forced yourself to keep your attention focused on your laptop and the invoice you were trying to finish, but Billy didn’t seem to want to wait. Without any sort of warning, he moved towards your desk and closed your laptop, barely giving you time to pull back your hands.

“Mr Russo, I was -” you started to complain, eyes fixed on the hand that was still holding your laptop shut.

“I said lunch at midday. It’s twelve-o-one now,” he said, almost managing to sound playful.

“You can’t be serious, I need to -”

You stopped yourself when you realised he was holding out his hand to you, expecting you to take it so he could lead you to lunch. And, for reasons far beyond your understanding, you did. It didn’t even cross your mind that you could refuse him as he helped you to your feet and held your coat as you slipped it on.

You didn’t even really think about the way his hand found the small of your back and he moved you both towards the elevator.

When you dared to look at him, you found the strangest little smile on his lips. The whole thing felt surreal, almost so much so that you had to wonder if you’d fallen asleep at your desk.

But, if you were sleeping, your surreal dream quickly became a nightmare as the elevator paused on the fifth floor and Jenny, one of Anvil’s analysts (not to mention the biggest gossip in the building) stepped on. She flashed you a smile before her attention completely shifted to Billy.

“Good afternoon, Mr Russo,” she greeted cheerfully. And, of course she was cheerful - Billy’s hand was still on your back, giving her plenty to talk about once she stepped off on the third floor.

Billy returned her greeting, seemingly oblivious to what the smirk on her lips meant and how she probably felt like she was already bursting to tell someone what she’d just witnessed.

She was there for less than fifteen seconds, but it was more than long enough. The damage was done and, soon enough, everyone who hadn’t seen the photos on the gossip blog would know that there was something going on between you and Billy.

You slumped a little and let out a sigh as she stepped off the elevator, but Billy said nothing; either because he didn’t know or didn’t care about her reputation.

(Or, maybe, he was glad - gossip around the office would certainly help sell the lie.)

When you stepped out into the foyer with him, you forced a smile, giving Carl a little wave as you passed the security desk while Billy remained stuck to your side.

The moment you were outside, his hand dropped from your back and you felt his fingers brush against yours. Instinctively, you pulled your hand away, feeling your whole face start to warm. Looking at him, you expected to see annoyance but, instead there was something else, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

He waited a beat before asking; “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “Sorry, I’m just... still getting used to the idea of doing this at work.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of genuine regret in his voice. “I’m sorry it’s all so much, so fast. If we had more time...”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what more time would really change. It would still all result in the same thing; your co-workers looking at you like you didn’t deserve your job and believing that you were getting special treatment. At least this way, you supposed, the band-aid had been ripped off and the likelihood of it getting any worse was slim.

Instead of trying to placate him with some lie about it all being fine, you reached for his hand and took it in your own before leading him across the street and into The Bean Grinder.

He fell into step behind you, looking around the little coffee shop that he’d never bothered to set foot in before. You came to a stop in front of the refrigerators, browsing the food selection before settling on a panini. Billy followed your lead and grabbed something for himself. Then he watched with a thinly veiled curiosity while you made small talk with the barista preparing your drinks and heating your food.

Everyone in there knew who Billy was, even if he’d never darkened their door before and, if the looks you’d gotten that morning were anything to go by, they all knew who he was to you. (Who he was pretending to be to you.)

Soon enough you were sitting by the window, Billy sat opposite. You both fell into a strange sort of quiet, one that wasn’t quite  uncomfortable but that left you feeling like something should be said. 

But it wasn’t you that chose to break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?” He said.  You didn’t answer save for the slightest of nods, but it was all Billy needed to continue. “What is it about all of this that makes you so uncomfortable?”

You thought for a few seconds before letting out a sigh. “It’s not that I’m uncomfortable, I just don’t like other people being in my business.”

Billy gave a knowing hum as he lifted his panini and took a bite, his eyes remained fixed on you.

“I get it,” he said a few seconds later, “I guess I should’ve anticipated this.”

This? What did this mean? Was he already reconsidering the whole arrangement? 

For the few short moments he allowed you to spiral, you found yourself panicking. Surely things would be worse if he dropped you now; people would think you were like the other women he’d dated, or they’d assume that he'd only wanted you out of boredom, or worse pity. You wouldn’t be able to stay at Anvil, it would be too embarrassing, it would -

“I know you like to keep to yourself a lot,” Billy continued, not seeming to notice your discomfort. “I’m sorry, I should have at least tried to prepare you for what this is like.”

You waited a moment, waiting for him to drop the bombshell and tell you that he’d changed his mind. But it never came. 

“I just don’t know how you can stand them always wanting to know every little thing about you,” you finally said.

Billy shrugged. “I went from no one caring, to some people caring too much.” He paused to take another bite from his panini, prompting you to do the same. “At least we can try to control the narrative this way.”

You nodded and allowed another silence to fall while you both ate. Bily didn’t speak again until he saw you wrapping your fingers around your coffee mug, trying to warm them.

“Cold?”

“My hands are always cold,” you said.

You both returned your attentions to your respective lunches and you wondered if you should be doing more, trying to make conversation. Usually when you came into the little coffee shop for lunch, you were alone and you’d spend the whole hour reading or listening to a podcast on your phone and, while his company didn’t feel intrusive, you weren’t sure what to do with it.

“Do you like to run?” He asked, brushing crumbs from his lips.

“Only if I’m trying to get away from a bear.”

One of those strange laughs escaped him, the kind that seemed too real for what this was, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“Why?”

“I like to run through Central Park in the morning, I thought maybe you’d like to join me,” Billy offered. You know, like you were saying - doing fun things together,” he explained.

You didn’t need to stop and wonder if people would be paying attention to things like that. You knew for a fact that they did. Only a couple of months ago, your google alert had pinged with a very sweaty looking photo of him and some story about how he kept in shape since leaving the Marines - though, really, the article had been more focused on the fact that he still had a smoking hot body years after leaving the Marines.

“And that’s... fun for you? You asked after a beat, an almost teasing tone filling your voice. “Getting up early and running in the freezing cold?”

Billy smiled. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say half of the fun was stopping at the waffle truck on the other side of the park.”

The promise of waffles had you perking up.

“I guess we can try,” you offered, deciding it was only fair when you were dragging him to a movie festival you were certain he wouldn’t enjoy. “I haven’t really run anywhere since high school though...” 

You were already embarrassed, knowing that you’d look ridiculous trying to run with him. It wasn’t something you’d ever really thought about before, but just from looking at him, you knew Billy was in far better shape than you’d ever been.

But, at the same time, you tried to think of it as an opportunity. For years you’d been telling yourself that you should try to be a bit more active, even if it was just walking sometimes instead of always taking the subway. You’d just never really done more because the prospect of going to the gym or going to a yoga class on your own always felt a little daunting.

“We don’t have to run,” Billy said, somehow reading your mind, “we can just walk around the park.”

And that was how you ended up in Central Park at seven in the morning, shivering under your thick hoodie and wool hat. Billy was already there waiting for you, wearing a pair of fitted joggers that really accentuated his -

Okay. No. That was a thought you really didn’t want to think.

He smiled and, before you knew it, you were in his arms and he was  kissing you and... well, you weren’t sure it was something you were ever going to get used to. After only a couple of days, he was already going all in on the performance. It probably should have unsettled you just how easy it seemed to be for him, how he managed to turn on the charm and pretend like you were the most important person in the world to him.

But you chose not to think about it.

(Thinking about it meant wondering if he was a sociopath and that wouldn’t help you pay for your brother’s care.)

“Ready?”  He asked.

“Sure. I think?” 

You weren’t ready. Not even a little bit. All you could think about was how you were going to manage ten meters and then be so out of breath that you’d faint, or you’d clumsily manage to fall over your own feet and end up face-planting in front of him.

“Don’t look so nervous,” he said, going through the effort of fighting back a smirk, but he didn’t give you time to answer back before starting to move, “c’mon.”

He went slowly, more of a walk than a jog and you fell into step beside him.

“How far to the waffle truck?” You asked after about five minutes, smiling at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“We’ll get there sooner if you want to pick up the pace a little?”

You were feeling warmed up enough to go a little faster, though what you ended up doing was still barely a jog, but it felt - not nice, but bearable in a way you hadn’t expected. There was a familiar ache in your lungs, but you tried to ignore it. You knew your body well enough to know your limits in that regard.

Fifteen minutes was all you managed at the faster pace before you started to slow, sucking in deep and awkward breaths as Billy fell in beside you.

“Sorry,” you managed before awkwardly having to cover your mouth to cough, the cold air exacerbating the sudden ache in your lungs. 

Billy came to a complete standstill, his hand finding your shoulder as you tried to suppress a coughing fit. He bowed his head a little, trying to catch your gaze while you very obviously tried to look anywhere but at him, until his hand moved to your cold but clammy cheek.

“Are you okay?” He asked, seeming more concerned than you thought he really had any right to be.

You nodded and tried to force a smile. “Fine. Sorry... told you it’s been a long time since -”

Another series of awkward coughs cut you off, leaving you gasping to catch your breath, while Billy awkwardly led you to a nearby bench and sat you down, crouching in front of you. Fortunately your face already felt like it was burning, so your embarrassment was slightly easier to ignore.

“Sorry,” you offered again.

“Don’t apologise. Why are you apologising?”

You didn’t expect to see concern on his face, or feel the warmth of his hand on your thigh bleeding through your leggings. 

Once your breathing settled a little and you were certain you wouldn’t start coughing again, you gave him a sheepish sort of look.

“I’m -”

“I told you, don’t apologise.”

“But I -” 

Just one look from him was enough to stop you from finishing the statement.

“Are you okay?” He asked this time slightly more firmly, his his hand still lightly gripping your thigh, and his eyes - fuck, his dark eyes were fixed on yours.

You managed a nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

For a few long, uncomfortable seconds he continued to look at you as if he didn’t believe you, but he seemed to decide against asking what might be wrong.

“Want to go get some waffles and a coffee?” He asked and, again, you nodded. “C’mon then.”

Billy slowly, reluctantly, stood back up and offered you his hand, and you took it without really thinking. 

You got to your feet and tried to ignore the sudden tension in his body, the way he was looking at you like he was worried he might have to catch you if you fell. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you’d overdone it a little, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to explain it to him, didn’t want to have to tell him more about yourself than was strictly necessary.

With your hand in his, the pair of you walked the rest of the way across the park to the waffle truck. You could tell from the little looks Billy was giving you that he wanted to ask if you were alright,  but you were glad when he didn’t.

Instead, what he did say when the pair of you were finally standing at a table with hot  waffles and coffee was; “we don’t have to do this again if you don’t want.”

And, again, you felt that awkward feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“No,” you protested, perhaps a little too quickly. “I want to. I just... I think I overestimated myself. Maybe we could just try walking next time? I mean... if that’s okay? I don’t want to ruin your exercise routine or anything.”

The moment you realised you were babbling, you stopped yourself and quickly took a bite of waffle, pointedly trying to ignore the way Billy was smiling at you.

You wondered if he knew he was doing it, if it was all part of the act, or if that was just how he was with everyone and you’d only just allowed yourself to notice.. Already you were starting to understand how he charmed so many women, there was just something about him, something magnetic.

If you hadn’t been a party to the lie, you couldn’t help but think how easily you might have fallen for his charms.

“We can walk,” he said without a second thought. “I don’t think six months of walking is going to destroy my figure.

You decided not to comment on that. In fact, you were still very much making a point of not thinking about his figure at all.

It got easier. Not just the morning not-runs, but being around him, spending time with him - though you still struggled every time you saw your picture pop up on some gossip blog.

You fell into a rhythm with him, your lives slotting together in the strangest of ways; lunches together whenever he was in the office for it, walking through the park every other morning, and he even managed to convince you to let him take you out to dinner a couple more times.

You’d talk about books and movies, the news, and other little things that didn’t affect your lives in any meaningful way. But, every now and then, one of you would open up and let slip something real without seeming to mean to. It was how you’d found out that he’d grown up in foster care, and how he learned that you’d mostly been raised by your aunt.

In less than two weeks, he’d gone from being your boss to being someone who, under any other circumstances, you would have considered a friend. And, if you hadn’t known any better, you might have convinced yourself that you really were in a relationship with him.

And the pair of you had managed to convince everyone else.

By the time the horror movie festival rolled around, you were so comfortable with his presence that you were almost looking forward to spending the whole day with him, even if that day would be spent in a movie theatre, making him watch movies you were sure he wouldn’t enjoy.

Shivering, you looked at your watch before checking your phone. 

The first movie was due to start in fifteen minutes and he still wasn’t there. For a horrible moment you dared to think he was going to stand you up, that he’d had enough of you and the ridiculous scheme.

The thought hurt even though you knew that there was nothing between you, but the more you thought about it, the more you thought about what would happen after everything, the harder it became to deny that you’d miss him. 

Even if he was only showing you some small part of himself, you liked that piece. You liked his silly jokes and how utterly clueless he seemed sometimes, and you loved sitting with him and just listening to him talk about books. You enjoyed being around him and you hoped that he felt the same way about you.

So, when his driver pulled up outside the theatre, you breathed an audible sigh of relief, replacing the anxious look on your face with a smile as you moved to greet him.

Billy met you halfway, smiling that smile as he wrapped an arm around you and kissed you. And that was something you were getting used to too; how tactile he was and how he always seemed more at ease when he was touching you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he pulled back, leaving one arm around you while the other arm lifted to present you with a bag. “I stopped off to get you something.”

For a few seconds all you could do was stare at the fancy looking boutique bag in his hand (from the same boutique the dress had come from) before frowning at him.

“You got me a present?”

He didn’t answer, just shook the bag, waiting for you to take it.

So you did.

Cautiously, you peered inside, pulling aside the tissue paper before pulling out a pair of fleece-lined leather gloves. Your first thought was about how much they probably cost, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sweetness of the gesture. It had been almost two weeks since you’d made the comment about your hands always being cold, and he’d seemingly remembered.

Your cheeks warmed at the gesture and you found yourself lost for words.

“Are you going to try them on?” He asked.

You did, immediately noticing how he’d made sure to remove the tags and hadn’t left the receipt in the bag. They were perfect - the perfect fit, the softest lining, and the light grey colour complimented your coat. (You were starting to think that Billy had missed his calling as a stylist.)

Still; “you shouldn’t have.”

Again there was that flicker of confusion and discomfort on his face, like he wasn’t capable of understanding that you didn’t need or want him to shower you with expensive things.

“But they’re lovely,” you quickly added. “Thank you, Billy.”

You reached for him, lightly grasping the lapel of his coat as you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Despite yourself, you lingered for a moment, pressed against his side.

“C’mon, or we’ll miss the first movie,” you finally said, reaching for his hand and tugging him inside the little theatre. 

As you queued for popcorn, you explained that you’d taken the liberty of planning the day, choosing the four movies that you were going to watch; The Omen, Pet Sematary (the original version), Dog Soldiers, and the 1988 remake of The Blob. Billy had no objections and didn’t even ask why you’d selected those movies.

He just followed your lead, not-so-sneakily reaching into your popcorn bucket as you pulled him towards the first screening.

Throughout The Omen, you snuck glances at him, finding yourself amused by how much attention he was giving the movie. You wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that you’d told him it was one of your favourites, or if it was just because he was genuinely enjoying it. His attacks on your popcorn bucket became more brazen and it wasn’t long before he was taking handfuls every time he reached across, but you didn’t mind.

Neither of you spoke until the credits started to roll.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Well, there’s two sequels,” you answered, barely holding back a laugh at the look on his face.

“Great, now I’m going to have to watch them too,” he grumbled.

The next movie, the original version of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, was a more amusing affair, both of you desperately trying to stifle your laughter at the very dated special effects and the very obvious use of a doll as a stand-in for the demonic toddler in some scenes.

Every so often, Billy would nudge you with his elbow, smirking at something that had you rolling your eyes and trying to not burst into fits of giggles. But, as silly as it was, you both enjoyed it.

During the brief break between screenings you both got coffee and you got another bucket of popcorn - you offered to get one for Billy too, but he told you that he’d much rather steal yours. You didn’t even argue. You were just happy that he seemed to be having fun.

The next movie seemed to catch Billy’s attention a little more and it didn’t take much for you to think you knew why; Dog Soldiers was about a squad of British soldiers trying to survive a  night in the woods with werewolves.

You thought - though maybe in all honesty you completely imagined it - that you saw him flinch when the gory violence started. And it wasn’t until that moment that you realised you hadn’t considered Billy’s past when you chose to see that particular movie. You’d never really discussed his time in the Marines and you had no idea how it might have affected him, but it was something you should have considered before dragging him to watch a movie where soldiers were getting torn apart.

Without thinking too much about it, you reached across and took his hand in your, linking your fingers through his. Billy didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look away from the screen, he just gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as if he thought the gesture was for your comfort and not his.

As the movie came to an end, neither of you said anything about it and, as the 1988 remake of The Blob started to play, you were glad that he didn’t let go.

While you’d enjoyed the other three movies, there was something about The Blob that unsettled you, made you feel queasy even. Just the sight of people being smothered and devoured by the gelatinous monster had you shifting in your seat, your fingers tightening around his hand.

You didn’t want to think about why the movie made you feel that way, but you quickly started averting your gaze every time you thought someone was about to get Blob’d.

Your discomfort hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Billy had the good grace to wait until the credits were rolling before saying anything about it.

He gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, making a point of keeping your hand in his.

“You’re fine with blood and gore but The Blob made you squirm?” He asked, obviously amused by the thought.

“It just looked so... gooey and gross,” you tried to explain, knowing that you couldn’t really put your actual feelings into words.

Just thinking about it had you visibly cringing. Billy almost laughed but thought better of it, realising just how uncomfortable you’d been. Instead, he shook his head and reached into the popcorn bucket with his free hand only to find it empty.

“Well, you clearly weren’t so grossed out that you couldn’t eat all the popcorn,” he joked, smiling softly, trying to cheer you up.

And it helped. You weren’t the sort of person to let a movie affect you for more than a few minutes; like all the other things that bothered you, The Blob was forced to the back of your mind and your attention was redirected to Billy.

“I’ll buy you another bucket for on the way home,” you retorted as you got to your feet and started to pull your coat on.

Billy followed suit and it wasn’t long before the pair of you were stepping out into the cold evening air. The fresh air was nice after so long inside, but the chill had you pressing into Billy’s side.

“So, what did you think?” You asked.

“I liked the one with the werewolves,” he said.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if that one was a little...” you trailed off, not wanting to say it.

“What?” Billy prompted, wrapping his arm around you when he noticed you were shivering.

“Y’know, the military stuff. I wasn’t sure if you’d...”

You felt silly, and you could feel your cheeks warming. His arm tightened around you, and you heard him let out a  slow exhale that almost sounded like a ‘huh’, finally understanding why you’d taken his hand during the film.

“No, it was fine,” he said after a beat, “I’m not - I mean, things like that don’t tend to get to me.”

“Oh, okay,” you said. “I just - I should’ve asked, I didn’t think -”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, still smiling softly. “You don’t need to look after me.”

You hadn’t even realised that was what you were doing but, when faced with the very obvious truth of the matter, it was impossible to deny it. You were trying to look after him. It was just what you did, you looked after the people you cared about.

And you did care about Billy. You weren’t sure how or why, but he was a friend now.

He continued talking, but you found your attention drawn elsewhere to something else - someone else. Across the street there was a camera pointed at the pair of you. It served as a sudden reminder that this wasn’t real and whatever you felt about Billy probably wasn’t reciprocated.

No matter how much fun you thought you were having together, he was only really there because he wanted the VDK contract.

You needed to remind yourself not to get used to any of it because, at the end of your six months, he’d probably want to go back to his normal life - a life that had no space in it for you.

You let out a soft sigh and it didn’t go unnoticed.

His gaze soon followed yours and he let out a sigh of his own.

“Sorry,” he muttered before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

The gesture might have felt sweeter if you hadn’t been questioning his motivations; was he doing it for you, or for the camera?

“It’s fine,” you answered, suddenly feeling despondent, “I knew what I was getting into.”

Again, his arm gave you a squeeze and he started to lead you towards the car.

“I had a lot of fun today,” he said, opening the car door for you and saving his driver the job.

You wanted to believe him, but for a few wonderful hours, you’d allowed yourself to almost forget about the reality of your situation. Even if he had enjoyed it, you doubted he had any intention of ever doing it again.

“Maybe we could watch the other Omen movies together some time?” He said as he got into the car beside you.

“Sure.”

Once you started, it was easy to spiral, to wonder if he was performing as much for you as everyone else

It shouldn’t have mattered to you. Like you’d told him only a couple of minutes previous, you’d known what you were getting into. But, still, it was depressing to think that it was all fake, that every smile and soft word was a lie.

“You okay?” He asked over the hum of the car engine.

“Yeah, just tired,” you shrugged, “it’s been a long day.”

Billy didn’t press you for more than that, allowing silence to fall until the car came to a stop outside your building.

You didn’t even try to argue as Billy got out of the car with you and took your hand. Every time he brought you home, he insisted on walking you in and, now, for reasons beyond your control, all you could think about was that he was only doing it so his driver thought the two of you were going upstairs to fuck.

And you hated it. You hated how one silly little thought had suddenly turned everything on its head and was making you tear apart every little moment that you spent with him.

He didn’t speak again until you were both in your apartment, and you were automatically moving towards the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee for both of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

It was clear from his tone that he knew there was something going on with you, but he hadn’t managed to put it together.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but could tell straight away that he didn’t buy it. “It’s stupid, I’m being stupid.”

You didn’t expect him to move behind you as you turned away, or for him to place a hand on your hip to turn you back towards him. Your back pressed against the kitchen counter as you looked at him, trying to decipher his expression.

“Tell me,” he said.

For a moment you almost imagined that you saw his eyes dropping to your lips, but why would he even think about kissing you when there was no one around to see it? (More to the point, why were you even wasting time thinking about it?)

You sighed, taking a moment to consider your words, and a moment more to ignore just how close he was standing.

“How much of it is real?” You dared to ask, feeling like an idiot the moment the words left your lips.

Billy’s confusion was palpable.

“How much of -” he shook his head. “I don’t understand. This is -”

“No, I know what this is,” you were quick to tell him. “I mean... you, when we’re together. I just...” You trailed off into a sigh and remained quiet for a few seconds. “Sometimes when I’m with you I can’t tell if you’re lying to me.”

Your cheeks started to warm and you had to force yourself to hold his gaze.

“I don’t understand,” he said again.

“I just... I don’t want you to lie to me or feel like you need to perform for me,” you explained, but the confusion remained clear on his face. “Like when you said you had fun today, I don’t even know if -”

“I did have fun today,” Billy interrupted. “I - I like spending time with you.”

“Oh.”

That one little sound was all you could manage and, for an indeterminate amount of time, you didn’t move. And neither did Billy. His hand was still on your hip, and his eyes were fixed on yours.

Then, again, you thought you saw his eyes drop to your lips.

It wasn’t until the coffee pot behind you started to sputter that Billy pulled away, taking a step back and heading to the fridge to grab some milk for your coffee. You turned away and grabbed a couple of mugs, and it was as if the strange moment had never happened.

You were on autopilot, finishing making the drink while Billy put the milk back in the fridge, then the pair of you headed to the sofa, like you always did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

No, you really didn’t want to talk about it, but you knew that you should. It had only been two weeks, what you’d managed to achieve so far was only the groundwork, and you couldn’t spend the next five months questioning his every motivation without driving yourself insane.

You blew lightly on your coffee, lost in thought for a few moments, trying to put all of your ridiculous feelings into words.

“I guess I just don’t want you to lie to me,” you said.

“Lie about what?”

“Spending time with me,” you answered, fixing your eyes on your drink. “I get that we don’t exactly like the same sorts of things, but I don’t want you to lie to me about it. It makes me feel shitty thinking that you might not really be enjoying yourself. I know it’s all pretend, but if you hate it, I’d rather know...”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” he said without hesitation. “I told you, I like spending time with you, even if our relationship isn’t real. But, going forward, just so we’re clear; I won’t lie to you. And, I hope you won’t lie to me, especially not when it’s just me and you.”

“So you want to watch the other Omen movies some time?”

Billy laughed, and you finally felt yourself relax. “I have to. I want to know what happens next.”

You gave a laugh of your own before drifting back into silence. You hadn’t been lying when you’d said that you were tired. As much as you loved movies, watching four back-to-back really took it out of you.

“We’ve got the gala on Friday,” he said when his mug was half empty. “Do you think you’re ready for it?”

You’d been trying not to think about it at all.

It was going to be an extravagant affair, with titans of industry from all over New York raising money for charity. You’d never been to anything like it and you were already certain that you were going to stick out like a sore thumb, but there were bound to be members of the Van Der Koy family there, and you needed to help convince them that Billy was a changed man.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answered.

You weren’t ready.

Not even a little bit.

The days leading up to the gala had been spent in hushed conversations and receiving back to back text messages from Billy about everything from whether you needed him to buy you a new dress (absolutely not) to getting your stories straight about your relationship. 

You’d both decided that it was best to tell people that things between you had just happened and that there had been no instigator. That way he wouldn’t be seen as a predatory boss and you wouldn’t be seen as a career climbing opportunist. You would tell people that things had just clicked, that you’d bonded over a shared love of reading and that you enjoyed each other's company.

As far as the story went, you’d been together for around five weeks - that way you had an excuse not to know every single little detail about each other.

Billy had seemingly planned for every eventuality and that, in and of itself, was weird because you were usually the one doing all the planning. But you were going to be entering his world, and he had a far better idea of the rules than you did, so it stood to reason that you should follow his lead.

But there was one condition that your insides twisting awkwardly and had you wanting to call the whole thing off; Billy wanted you to stay at his place after the gala.

In separate rooms, he’d been quick to explain - he had a guest room and it was very nice, apparently. But the pair of you were going to garner a lot of attention and he wasn’t sure how it would play out if people found out that he’d gone home alone afterwards.

“And besides,” he’d told you, “people won’t believe that it’s a serious relationship if we never spend the night together.”

He was right. You knew that he was right.

But that didn’t help settle the awkward roiling feeling in your stomach, the feeling like the whole thing was a big mistake.

You spent hours getting ready but, the moment your phone buzzed with a message, telling you that he was waiting outside, you felt like there was a million and one things you still needed to do; your hair wasn’t perfect, your make-up was too much, your eyeshadow too dark, the dress made you look too curvy, your shoes -

Your phone buzzed again, forcing you to push all of your insecurities aside. It would have to do. (You would have to do.)

Forcing a smile to your lips, you grabbed your overnight bag and headed outside to meet him.

And there he was, dressed in a dark suit that hugged his frame perfectly, a black bow tie around his neck, his hair slicked back; the epitome of perfection.

Billy Russo always looked good, but tonight the sight of him stole your breath.

That should have been enough of a reminder to you that none of it was real, that it could never be real, but the way he looked at you had you doubting it for a split-second.

“Wow, you look...” he shook his head, lost for words.

You looked down at yourself, not sure what it was he was seeing because it certainly wasn’t what you’d seen when you’d looked at yourself in the mirror. It would have been a lie to say that you hadn’t been thinking of him when you’d picked the dress, choosing something in a similar shade to the dress he’d bought you, remembering the comment he’d made about your eyes. 

He took your overnight bag from your hand and handed it to the driver, uttering something about how it would be taken to the penthouse for you but you barely paid any attention. You were too caught up in the way he was looking at you as if he didn’t dare blink.

His hand found yours and you followed, letting him lead you towards the limo that you’d barely even noticed. Billy helped you in and closed the door behind you before heading around to the other side of the car, giving you five seconds to remember that you needed to breathe.

Billy got into the car and, somehow, he suddenly had a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Two dozen white roses. Your whole body froze as he held them towards you.

“For me?” 

In retrospect, it was a very stupid question, and it was no wonder that Billy burst into laughter.

“Of course they’re for you,” he said.

Still it took another second or two for you to take the flowers, eyes widening a fraction as you stared at them, lifting them to your face and inhaling their scent.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Billy said.

And that was enough to throw a bucket of water over whatever had been starting to smoulder inside you. He was thanking you for doing this, for going along with his scheme, reminding you that none of it was real.

Nerves had you sitting silently for the short drive to the VDK Manhattan Hotel where the gala was being hosted; a grand hotel on the corner of Central Park. There were paparazzi lining the streets, snapping shots of anyone and everyone who was someone in New York society. 

Billy reached across, placing his hand on your thigh and giving a reassuring squeeze.

The next few minutes were something of a blur; your flowers were left abandoned in the limo (the driver would take them to Billy’s apartment with your things), and Billy took you by the hand as he helped you out of the limo. Then you found yourself standing in front of what felt like a sea of cameras, flashguns blinding you with every photograph snapped. 

Billy stood beside you, his arm slipping around your waist while you automatically forced a smile to your lips and tried not to think about how you’d probably end up looking in those photos.

All in all, it was a good thing that Billy was more than used to this world, because you’d felt lost the moment you left the car.

You took the elevator up to the fortieth floor to the hotel's ballroom and soon found yourself in the most lavish looking party you’d ever seen. Billy slowed for a moment, letting you take it all in.

“Quite something, right?” He said, giving you a playful nudge with his elbow.

“Yeah,” was all you managed, your throat suddenly feeling dry.

“C’mon, let’s go find our table and get a drink.”

It wasn’t long before you found yourself at a table, a glass of champagne in hand, waiting for food to be served. Beside Billy were two empty seats meant for Mr Castle and his date but, according to Billy, Frank tended to turn up to these things late because he hated the fuss - and, honestly, you could understand why.

The rest of the table was made up for people Billy seemed to have a passing acquaintance with, mostly from other security firms from all over New York state that you knew by name alone, but none could be considered direct competitors of Anvil. Still, you made polite conversation with them. At least, Billy made conversation and you interjected when you had something intelligent to say.

Once you’d eaten and a few speeches were made (nothing of note, just the usual drone of rich people talking about how they were supporting charity and how they all needed to do more) people started to drift towards the dancefloor and the bar.

You decided to drift towards the bathroom, leaving Billy deep in conversation with a couple who ran a private airfield who seemed very interested in what they could offer a company like Anvil.

Ducking into a bathroom stall, you let out a sigh of relief. You did what was necessary but then decided to linger, taking a few minutes to check your phone and build up the nerve to head out again.

You heard people enter the bathroom, but you thought nothing of it until you heard them speak.

“Did Billy seriously bring his secretary tonight?” Someone said, barely holding back a giggle. You didn’t hear an answer, but someone must have confirmed it. “Did you see her dress? It looks off the rack. He didn’t even buy her anything nice to wear.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to waste money on a quick fuck?” Another voice suggested.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s already paying this one to work for him,” the first voice answered.

“Do you think she gets paid extra to fuck him, or is that just in her contract?”

You were just about to burst out of the stall and - well, you weren’t sure exactly what you were going to do, but you had some scathing words in mind and your hands were balled into tight fists.

It shouldn’t have upset you, shouldn’t have made you feel less-than, because you knew that those stuck-up bitches wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in your life. They’d probably been gifted everything they had on a silver platter from day one, they’d never worked for anything in their lives. But, regardless, it did hurt. It hurt that people thought you’d never be good enough for a man like Billy.

Another stall opened before you had the chance to move.

“It might shock you, but not every young woman will spread her legs for money, Corrine,” the voice sounded older, more mature, but there was a sharp disdainful edge to it. “Perhaps one day you’ll learn to have a little dignity instead of getting on your back of any man who flashes a black credit card your way.”

There were murmurs, but no one answered back.

And, after a couple of seconds, you heard the sound of expensive heels on tile.

“Are you okay?” The older voice sounded again, and you knew she was talking to you because you could see her shadow beneath the stall door.

You were silent. If you spoke your voice would betray you, and you didn’t want that. Instead, you opened the door and stepped out, shocked to find that Catherine Van Der Koy, the matriarch of the Van Der Koy family, had been the one defending your honour. 

“I’ve been called worse by better,” you said, managing a shrug, hoping to appear indifferent.

“Corinne Fuller is just upset that William has never looked twice at her,” she said, approaching the sink and washing her hands. You followed suit. “That young man is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not stupid.”

You didn’t want to ask what things she believed Billy to be, though you already had a fair idea of what she thought. Still, you were glad that she acknowledged his intellect and hadn’t left you needing to defend him.

“No, he’s not,” you agreed.

“Though I will admit, like Corrine, I was a little surprised to see you on his arm tonight,” she said, drying her hands on a paper towel.

Again, you followed suit.

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” you answered flatly.

If your tone bothered her, it didn’t show on her face. In fact, she almost looked amused.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the rumours and gossip that have been circulating about the two of you, but - well, when you get to my age, you learn to ignore anything you can’t see with your own two eyes,” she continued.

“Well, here I am,” you said with a defiant flourish of your hands as you discarded the paper towel.

It was a stupid move and you knew it wouldn’t help Billy’s cause to be combative with a member of the Van Der Koy family, but - but you’d never been the sort to let anyone talk down to you.

“Here you are,” she repeated with a smile. Then, she shocked you further by offering you her arm. “Accompany me to the bar?”

It was an offer but it sounded far more like a command. You supposed that when a person was as rich and powerful as Catherine Van Der Koy, most of what they said sounded like a command because no one ever dared refuse them. And, not wanting to be impolite, you took her arm.

“It’s always so nice to have a fresh face, these events get so tedious when there’s no one new to talk to and you’re left with the Corrine Fuller’s of the world,” she said as she led you out of the bathroom and towards the bar. Your eyes caught Billy’s across the room and he gave you a questioning look. Catherine caught the exchange. “Don’t worry, I’m sure William can survive without you for five minutes.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” you muttered before you had a chance to check yourself.

Catherine started to laugh.

“I know it often feels that way. My first husband was the same - though he wasn’t nearly quite as handsome as your William.”

(Your William. The words had butterflies filling your stomach.)

At the bar, a single wave of her hand was all it took to grab the bartender's attention - though you supposed that was one of the perks of owning the whole hotel. She ordered two champagnes, not bothering to ask what you wanted, then she returned her attention completely back to you.

“Let me get a measure of you,” she said as she stepped back and looked you up and down. “Tell me about yourself.”

Again, it sounded like a command.

“What would you like to know?” You asked.

“Where you’re from, who your family are.”

Oh, so nothing important then, you thought sarcastically.

You reached for a champagne flute the moment the bartender finished filling it, and took a slow drink.

“I was born in Chicago, but I came to New York to live with my aunt in Huntington when I was six, after my mother died,” you said with an almost clinical detachment. “I don’t really have any family now, aside from my brother - my aunt passed away a couple of years ago.”

Catherine Van Der Koy nodded solemnly.

“And you work for Anvil.”

Statement, not question. Just like everyone else, she knew who and what you were to Billy when you weren’t on his arm.

“Yes. I started almost seven months ago,” you said, refusing to give her what she actually wanted without her outright asking for it.

“And that’s how you met William.”

There it was, completely predictable.

“I think it’s already a well known fact that I’m his PA,” you said. “And I’m fairly certain I know what everyone here thinks about it.”

“Oh?” She prompted with one little syllable.

You didn’t hold back. “They think I’m sleeping with Billy for his money or to advance my career, or they think he’s using me because I’m his employee and I can’t refuse him. But that’s not the case. We keep our professional and personal lives separate.”

Again, she nodded before falling silent, clearly considering her next words carefully.

“You seem like a nice young lady, so you’ll have to excuse me for being frank,” she said, giving you a second for whatever silent excuse you wanted to spare her. “I’m sure you’re already aware of William’s reputation.”

Her pause was pointed, demanding a response.

“I am,” you answered with a nonchalance she didn’t expect. “A lot more aware than most.”

“I see. I only say this because a woman in your... position should take care. You might find yourself losing more than your relationship should he continue to live up to his reputation.”

You remained quiet for a moment, weighing up her words and knowing that, under normal circumstances, she’d be right; if your relationship fell apart, your position at Anvil would become untenable and your connection to him might stop you from finding other work in the city.

She was giving you a friendly warning.

“I know,” you said finally, “I know what people say about him and what they think about him, but there’s more to him than that, and I know he’d never do anything to hurt me.”

“He’s a very lucky man to have someone so ready to defend him.”

You couldn’t tell if she was being serious or if she was mocking you - because, of course, in her eyes you were just the silly love-struck PA who’d managed to fall for your boss.

“I think we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if he’d had someone to defend him sooner,” you said as gently as you could manage, despite the annoyance you felt at her words. “I think it’s easy for people to judge him and only see the worst because that’s all he lets most people see. He doesn’t trust many people with his sweet and sensitive side.”

“But he trusts you?”

She seemed genuinely curious, though you couldn’t tell if she actually believed you. But, that was the thing, wasn’t it? You weren’t lying. You’d seen Billy’s awkward and sweet side - it was what had made your time with him bearable and had helped you realise that there was far more to him than he let anyone see.

“I hope so,” you answered. “But, more than that, he treats me well and I enjoy being around him. He’s funny and thoughtful and - and he’s more than I ever thought I deserved. And, honestly, I’m more worried about what he’d lose if our relationship ended.”

“And what’s that?” She asked, leaning forward as if you were about to spill the deepest, darkest secret of all.

“Someone who actually sees him as a person and not just his money. Someone who wants him for him.”

You weren’t sure where any of it had come from but, even though your relationship with him was fake, there was truth in your words. Over the last couple of weeks, you’d seen Billy smile more than you had in six months of working for him.

“I hope he understands how lucky he is.”

“Me too.”

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” she said, smiling as she glanced over your shoulder. “It seems William’s patience is running thin, but I’m sure our paths will cross again before the end of the night.”

Turning, your eyes found Billy and you started to move towards him. With a tilt of his head, he motioned towards the dance floor and you met him there.

“What did she want?” Billy asked, wrapping his arms about your waist and pulling you close.

“To warn me about you.”

“Oh.”

That single syllable came out pained, disappointed and resigned, like he expected it. Like he accepted it. And, for reasons far beyond you, it made you angry.

“I told her she was wrong,” you said firmly, tilting your head back so you could look at him. “I told her that you were sweet and sensitive, and that I was lucky to have you.”

His arm tightened around you, just a fraction, a movement so minor that it would have been imperceivable if you hadn’t felt so aware of everything Billy Russo at that moment.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” You asked softly. “How people see you, what they think of you?”

He looked away and, really, it was all the answer that you needed.

“Half of this business is reputation,” he said, his shoulder awkwardly hitching upwards. “One way or another, people always find a way to look down their noses at me.”

It was a feeling you understood, albeit for very different, very personal reasons.

Without thinking, you cupped his cheek and looked him in the eye. And, before you realised you were doing it, you were leaning in and kissing him softly, while you continued to sway in time with the music.

You weren’t sure what made you want to kiss him or why kissing him seemed so simple now, it just felt like the right thing to do, either to settle Billy or to show anyone watching that he wasn’t the man they thought he was.

“Thank you,” he muttered, the words little more than an exhale as the kiss broke.

You didn’t want to ask why he was thanking you, so you returned your head to his shoulder and continued to dance with him.

“So, what do you think?” He asked after a couple of songs had passed. You lifted your head to shoot him a confused look and he clarified; “about my world.”

“Well, the people are judgemental and bitchy, but the canopies are nice,” you answered, forcing a smile and hoping to hide your continued discomfort.

“Who’s been bitchy?” He asked, an unexpected sharpness in his tone.

You shook your head only for Billy to take your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes searched your face and you worried that he’d be able to see right through you.

“It’s nothing I wasn’t expecting,” you said, but still Billy stared at you, silently demanding more. “Just people talking behind my back about my job and my dress, and -”

“I think your dress looks lovely,” he interrupted. “I like you in this colour.”

You shrugged, but there was no ignoring the way your cheeks heated at the compliment. “It’s just a cheap, store bought dress.”

Billy shook his head. “No, you were right the other week; you don’t need some expensive dress to show your worth,” he said. Then one of his rare, gentle smiles graced his lips. “This is the first time I’ve been to one of these things and not felt...”

You watched him struggle with a thinly veiled curiosity as he trailed off, searching for the words.

“What?” you prompted as gently as you could.

“I don’t know. Every time I come to one of these things I’m with someone who has... expectations and I feel trapped. But with you, I -”

Your heart stopped, desperate for him to finish the thought.

“There you are, Bill.”

The meaty hand of Frank Castle landed on Billy’s shoulder, stopping Billy from continuing. (Bastard.)

Billy pulled away from you and turned to clap his hand on Frank’s shoulder.

He gave you a nod of greeting, to which you replied with a curt; “Mr Castle.”

“Nah. No. None of that shit. Outta the office you’ve gotta call me Frank,” he said adamantly, earning a snicker from Billy.

“Okay, fine, Frank,” you conceded awkwardly.

“You’ve met Karen, right?” Billy asked, drawing your attention to the stunning redhead standing beside Frank.

“Uh, yeah, the Anvil Christmas party,” you said, not sounding confident she’d remember you.

“That’s right,” Karen said, smiling at you. “You helped me get wine off my dress before it stained.

Oh, so she did remember. It shouldn’t have been strange, after all you’d spent fifteen minutes with her in the bathroom, helping her with her dress, but you weren’t used to being noticed or remembered.

Billy’s arm wrapped around your middle and he pulled you towards him. “Me and Frankie need to go talk to a couple of people, you okay if I leave you with Karen?”

You waved him off, telling him that you’d be fine and, once the men were gone, you and Karen decided to head to the bar. 

Normally you didn’t drink too much, but the constant nerves were starting to get to you. Every little look you got left you wondering just what people were thinking about you, and you needed something to take the edge off.

“Okay, you need to tell me your secret,” Karen said.

You almost choked on your champagne, mind reeling, wondering if Karen had figured out yours and Billy’s lies. 

“What?” 

“Your secret,” she said again. “How you got Billy to finally settle down. I mean, listen, I love Billy like a brother but I was beginning to think he was going to spend the rest of his life fucking his way through every woman above the age of consent in the tri-state area.”

“Oh.” And, for a few, very long seconds, oh was all you had. “I - I don’t know.”

“Frank said you took him to a movie festival?” Karen said and you nodded. “You actually got Billy Russo to go somewhere and sit still for more than an hour?”

She laughed but, unlike everyone else who you’d heard talking about Billy, there was nothing nasty in it. She wasn’t mocking him or making fun of you. No, if anything, she actually sounded fond of Billy, and that made you like her.

“We had a long discussion about what we both wanted from our relationship; we do things like this for Billy, and we do things like movie festivals for me.”

Not entirely true but nowhere near a lie either. You were quickly learning that  that was where you felt most comfortable; not outright lying but still saying just the right thing to sell your fake relationship. 

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” she said. “He seems really happy lately.”

Happy because he still thought he was going to manage to get the VDK contract. Happy because he thought his scheme was working.

(Not happy because of you, right?)

You didn’t say anything, only nodded before lifting your glass and taking a long drink.

“Shit,” Karen suddenly muttered, her eyes fixing on someone across the room. “I’ve just seen someone I need to speak to, do you mind if I -”

“No, it’s fine,” you told her without hesitation and out of nothing but the desire to be polite.

You’d be fine on your own.

Standing by the bar, wearing your store bought dress, surrounded by people who thought you didn’t belong there...

Draining your glass, you quickly ordered another, even though you could already feel the slight buzz of intoxication. You made yourself small against the bar, not making eye contact with anyone, just trying to blend in.

It became easier when someone approached the podium and silenced the crowd. All eyes fixed on the stage as the man started to speak, explaining how much money had been raised so far and which companies had made what donations to the various charities on offer.

Two of them stuck out to you; Anvil had donated to a charity group that ran foster homes in the city, and VDK had donated massively to Saint Martin’s.

“He does like to drone on,” a voice behind you startled you and you turned to find Catherine Van Der Koy, “don’t tell me William has abandoned you.”

“No, he and his business partner just needed to go and speak with someone.”

Catherine shook her head, smiling at you. “Never let a man conduct business when there’s dancing to be done.”

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for more dancing before the night is over,” you told her, flashing a smile of your own.

“Yes, I suppose you’ve got the rest of your lives for dancing,” she conceded. Your confusion must have been evident because she clarified; “I’ll wager it won’t be long before he puts a ring on your finger.”

“Oh, I -” you immediately started to disagree but were silenced by a wave of her hand.

“When you reach my age, you can just tell these things. And when a man looks at a woman the way William looks at you..." she shrugged.

You took a drink, hoping to cool the burning sensation that threatened to engulf your whole body.

(How had Billy been looking at you?)

You shook your head and decided to change the subject. “VDK donated a lot to Saint Martin’s.”

“We did. My mother, god rest her soul, spent the last few years of her life in Saint Martin’s.”

You nodded, torn between telling her about Seb and your own ties to Saint Martin’s because, regardless of how everything else turned out, it meant a lot that VDK was donating to the facility.

Your lips parted, about to speak when you felt an arm around you.

“There you are, little dove,” Billy muttered softly, pressing his lips to your temple.

Oh. Little dove. That was new.

You hadn’t discussed pet names and, as a rule, you didn’t like them. A short relationship when you were younger with a guy who liked to call you sweetcakes (vomit) had put you off them entirely, but hearing little dove from Billy’s lips had a warmth spreading through your chest.

Instantly you found yourself leaning into him, wrapping your arm around his waist, your fingers clutching at his jacket.

“William,” Catherine Van Der Koy greeted politely, barely keeping her amusement in check.

“Ms Van Der Koy,” he returned the greeting.

“Your lovely young lady was just keeping me company.”

Billy looked at you and smiled, and - okay, maybe you’d had a bit too much to drink because the sight of that smile had butterflies filling your stomach.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he said.

For a few seconds, you hesitated, not wanting to continue in front of Billy but, still, wanting to say what you’d been about to say before he’d appeared.

“I just wanted to thank you - or, your family, I guess,” you said to Catherine. “My brother is a resident at Saint Martin’s, so your donation means a lot.”

Billy stiffened beside you and his arm tightened around you, though he managed to keep his expression neutral and unsurprised.

“Oh, I see,” Catherine said. “Has he been there long?”

It was better than her asking why he was there or what was wrong with him, you supposed.

“Two years, give or take,” you answered, feeling Billy’s arm pull tighter still. “Before that he was at a facility in Huntington. But, after my aunt passed, I wanted him closer to me.”

Catherine Van Der Koy gave a knowing nod. “WelI I’m glad my family’s money can do some good.” She paused and gave Billy an appraising look. “And I see Anvil is continuing its good work too.”

Billy shrugged awkwardly and, for the first time ever, it seemed like he almost didn’t want the attention.

“Modesty doesn’t suit you, William,” she said in jest.

“I just believe every kid in New York deserves the chance at ending up with a life like this,” he said with another shrug before glancing back towards the dance floor. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to steal her away for another dance.”

Catherine smirked at you. “Of course, don’t let me keep you from enjoying yourselves.”

Billy’s arm dropped and his hand found yours. You gave Catherine one last smile before letting Billy lead you back to the dance floor.

His hand sat low on your back as he pulled you close, below the small of your back but not quite low enough to be indecent in polite society. He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it. Your arms were around his shoulders, hands clasped, trying to resist the urge to run your fingers through the hair at the scruff of his neck.

Judging from the way he was looking at you, Billy wanted to say something and you had a fair idea of what that something was.

“What?” You asked.

“You never told me about your brother.”

There was no accusation or anger, in fact, he sounded almost... sad.

“I...” you started and stopped, struggling to find the words. “It’s not really something that I talk about.”

“Saint Martin’s is expensive, is that why...”

He stopped himself, remembering the way you’d snapped at him after your first date, and how you’d told him that your finances were none of his business. But, the cat was out of the bag now, and you didn’t want Billy feeling bad about something that had nothing to do with him.

“Yeah,” you said, pressing closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder.

“And that’s why you agreed to do... this?”

“Yeah. They’re putting up the prices next month and I - I don’t want to put Seb through another move. He likes Saint Martin’s.”

“You could’ve - I mean, I would’ve...” he struggled. “If I’d known...”

“I know,” you told him softly. “It was never about me not trusting you, it’s just... he’s my responsibility. And I’m fine with that. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he gets what he needs.”

"And if I hadn't had this idea, would you have left Anvil to find a better job?"

You stilled, though you kept your arms around his shoulders and remained pressed against him. There was something in his eyes, some discomfort that you had obviously caused, and that had never been your intention.

He didn't say it, but when you read between the lines, you found yourself wondering if he was asking if you'd have left him.

"No," you said, even though it wasn't strictly true. "I like working at Anvil, and it isn't like anywhere is going to pay me as well as you do. Besides, it's taken me almost six months to learn how to read you, I don't want to have to go through all of that with a new boss."

You smiled at him, holding back a laugh at your silly little joke. Billy didn't laugh but, before you could ask him what the look on his face meant, his hand was on your cheek and he was kissing you again, slow and gentle, almost longingly. And it felt -

It almost felt real.

You kissed back, losing yourself to him and the moment. Later you’d blame the five glasses of champagne but, right then and there, there was nothing more you wanted than to be in his arms, kissing him and being kissed like you really meant something to each other.

It felt like you lost the rest of the night to that one kiss, because the next thing you knew, he was leading you out of the ballroom and into the elevator. His lips found yours again, despite two other couples heading down to the ground floor with you, and it wasn’t until you were outside, in the cold night air that you started to return to your senses.

You were about to go home with Billy Russo. You’d both been drinking and, suddenly, he didn’t seem to want to keep his hands off you (and you didn’t seem to want him to keep his hands off you). But you couldn’t let anything happen, you couldn’t let yourself become another one of the women that he used and got bored of.

He texted his driver to bring the car around but, before he got there, you heard Catherine Van Der Koy calling your name.

You turned to find her approaching the pair of you.

“I’m glad I caught you before you left,” she said. “I want you both to come and have dinner with me and my family next week.”

“Oh, I -”

“We’d love to,” Billy said.

“Excellent, my assistant will be in touch on monday.”

And, just like that, she was gone.

Billy pulled you against him and held you tight, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, muttering, “shit, this might actually work.”

You should have been happy but, instead, you suddenly felt like a gaping hole was growing inside of you, threatening to swallow you whole, and you didn’t know why...

It wasn’t real.

But, just how much of it wasn’t real was what concerned you.

Billy kept his arm around you, holding you like you were really his, like he actually wanted you in his arms, but all the while he was smiling the same self-satisfied smile he always had whenever things went his way. He was getting what he wanted, a private meeting with VDK, a chance to trick them into thinking that he’d changed.

When it had just been the two of you, out in public, playing at being a couple, it hadn’t seemed real, but now you were lying to people’s faces, you were cheating and deceiving. And you already felt awful about it.

Billy, on the other hand...

“I can’t believe this might actually work,” he said again.

For a second you allowed yourself to wonder if he’d doubted it and, if so, why had he never brought it up.

There were a thousand awkward questions playing on repeat in your head, things you didn’t want to ask because, lies aside, you’d had a mostly enjoyable night with him. So, you stayed silent, your smile turning a little more forced, watching and waiting as a queue of limos slowly trickled along the street.

A figure appeared behind Billy, causing him to turn, his grin getting wider. You peered around him and realised it was Frank. Karen was with him and flashed you a smile.

“Sorry for abandoning you earlier, there was someone I needed to talk to,” Karen apologised. “A senator’s been giving me the run-around for weeks.”

You waved off the apology. 

“You two lovebirds want a ride home?” Billy asked.

Frank looked at Karen and then shrugged. “Sure.”

And that was how you came to be in the back of the limo with them with Billy’s arm draped around you, pulling you into his side and holding you tight. Clearly it was for Frank and Karen’s benefit - though, for the life of you, you didn’t understand why he hadn’t just told Frank the truth about your arrangement.

“You should come have a drink with us before you head home,” Billy said, still grinning that grin that only you seemed to understand. 

“Nah, we uh -” Frank started, pausing a second to smirk at you, “- we wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

The comment earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from Karen, and you felt your cheeks start to burn and your stomach lurch at the implication; he thought you and Billy were heading home to fuck.

“Come on, Frankie, just one drink,” Billy said, oblivious to your discomfort. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Asked Frank.

“We’ve got a dinner with VDK next week.” Billy answered.

“How’d you swing that?” Frank seemed legitimately shocked and, for a second, you genuinely believed that he was going to put two and two together and figure out what was going on.

Billy shifted so he could look at you, and your cheeks burned so hot you felt like you might burst into flames. “Someone got talking to Catherine Van Der Koy.”

Karen inhaled sharply. “Well you must have done something right, Catherine Van Der Koy isn’t exactly known for being friendly.”

“She, uh, just didn’t appreciate the way someone was talking about me,” you said, shrugging and trying to ignore the way Billy’s attention was suddenly entirely on.

“You didn’t tell me that,” he said, and you found that you could barely maintain eye contact. “Who was it?”

“It’s fine, I -” the look on his face told you that he wasn’t going to let you brush it off. You sighed. “I don’t know, Corrine someone. And she didn’t say it to me, she was just talking about me in the bathroom.”

“Fucking Corrine,” Billy grumbled, his head shaking. “What did she say?”

“It  doesn’t matter.”

You didn’t want to have the conversation in front of an audience (or at all, if you were being completely honest), but Billy didn’t seem to care about that.

“It does, it -”

“It doesn’t. I’m a grown woman, I can handle someone making a bitchy comment about me.”

The tone of your voice was enough to stop him from continuing and, unfortunately, enough to make the last couple of minutes of the drive to Billy’s building more than a little uncomfortable for everyone in the limo. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the feelings that started to swell inside of you when you finally saw where he lived.

You were reminded of the first time he’d taken you home, the remark he’d made about your building not having a doorman. His building had a doorman and security. (Which, of course it did - everyone who lived there was probably as rich as he was.)

Frank and Karen had decided to come up for drinks with you - probably because the awkwardness you’d caused had been more than enough to kill the idea that you and Billy were racing home to do anything romantic. And, fortunately, they were too involved in conversation with Billy - something about last thanksgiving? You weren’t sure, you weren’t listening - to notice the way your eyes widened at the sight of his apartment.

His penthouse apartment.

Just the large open plan area that held the kitchen, dining area, and den was at least twice the size of your apartment. (No wonder he’d looked down his nose at it.) There was a high ceiling and windows that went from the floor all the way up, giving an amazing view of the city.

The shock was enough to make you forget your annoyance, and the sight of the roses - your roses - in a vase on the large dining table reminded you of how he’d managed to make you feel when he’d gifted them to you.

You would have hesitated to look around the place if it hadn’t been for Billy’s hand on your back, ushering you towards the large, wrap around sofa, barely giving you time to take everything in. One thing you did notice was how cold the place seemed. Like his office at Anvil, there were very few trinkets or photos around. Everything was dark sleek wood and metal, and exposed brickwork.

It was nice, but it felt so empty.

You took a seat, along with Karen and Frank, while Billy went to fetch a bottle of wine.

“So, no one told me how you and Billy got together...” Karen said, trailing off and expecting you to tell the tale.

You hadn’t even thought to ask what he’d told Frank and if it was the same story you’d been telling everyone else.

“I guess we just sort of clicked?” You said. “When you spend so many hours working with someone, you get to know them, and then it just... happened.”

“I’ve spent hours working with Bill,” Frank said, grinning, “can’t say that it’s ever made me want to kiss him.”

“Lie all you want, Frankie, but I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Billy smirked as he returned, handing out glasses before filling them.

For the most part, you were content to sit back, kicking off your shoes, and sinking into the sofa at Billy’s side. You made conversation when addressed, but you were tired; it was late and all you really wanted to do was curl up in bed. Your own bed. But that wasn’t possible.

Instead you sat and listened, letting your eyes subtly sweep around his apartment, wondering silly little things, like how long he’d live there and if he’d always lived alone. And, when Karen excused herself to use the bathroom, your eyes followed her, learning where the bathroom was by watching rather than having to ask Billy.

After she returned, you waited a few minutes before excusing yourself and heading to the bathroom. 

It was as dark and sleek as the rest of the penthouse, leaving you wondering if it had been that way when Billy moved in, or if he’d paid an interior designer.

You took your time, daring to check your phone, and seeing that there were already pictures from the gala circulating online; luckily a lot of the larger socialite gossip blogs were focused on the far more important people in attendance but, still, a few photos of you and Billy slipped through. There was one in particular while you were dancing, Billy was looking at you like you were the only other person in the world and you were staring right back.

The caption read; it must be love.

They were still talking when you returned, and you had half a mind to make some excuse, to tell them you wanted to head to bed. But you couldn't do that either, not unless you wanted to go crawl into Billy’s bed and wait for them to leave.

You felt awful, like a fraud and a liar - and you’d never considered yourself particularly good at lying in the past, but that photo, the way you’d been looking at Billy, showed you were nothing short of an expert.

And you didn’t want to think what it said about Billy. These were his friends that he was lying to with such confidence and ease, and it didn’t even seem to bother him.

A sound that was half-gasp, half-squeal escaped you as you tried to pass Billy to return to your seat, only to find his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“Billy -” you started to protest but stopped as he pressed his face against your neck, his lips ghosting your skin as he smiled.

Your cheeks started to heat again, and you found you could barely look at Frank and Karen as the pair smirked at you while Billy nuzzled at your neck.

For a few seconds you were frozen. At some point your hands had gripped his arms - probably when he’d wrapped them around you - so you started to tighten your grip, digging your nails into him through his shirt. You weren’t trying to hurt him or break skin, but you applied enough pressure to convey your discomfort.

When he pulled back from your neck, you were almost certain you heard him sigh.

But, even though his arms loosened their hold on you, he didn’t let go, leaving you trapped on his lap.

You thought over your options, wanting to pull away and put an end to it but, seconds later, you found you didn’t have to.

Karen cleared her throat and made a show of draining her glass before tapping Frank on the arm.

“It’s getting late and I need to stop by the office in the morning,” she said.

“On a Saturday?” Frank asked, seemingly oblivious to why Karen wanted to leave. 

“Yes,” she answered, leaving her hand on his arm.

A look passed between the pair and, finally, Frank understood. She wanted to leave to give you and Billy some privacy.

Only the kind of privacy you needed, wasn’t the same sort of privacy that Karen believed you wanted. No, you needed to get Billy alone so you could finally set some boundaries before things escalated further.

You used Karen standing as an excuse to pull away from Billy, feeling a hint of reluctance, his hold on you remaining a second longer than necessary. But soon enough, you were all on your feet and the evening was finally coming to an end.

While Billy walked them towards the elevator, you said your goodbyes and busied yourself by collecting the empty wine glasses. You headed to the kitchen, set on washing the glasses so Billy wouldn’t get the idea of trying to make you have another drink with him. 

It wasn’t long before you heard the elevator doors slide shut, leaving you alone with Billy. 

He said something about not having to wash up, but you remained at the sink, rinsing the glasses and wiping them clean. You didn’t turn, didn’t ask him to repeat himself. Instead you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the conversation you needed to have with him, barely noticing him getting closer until he was standing right behind you.

“What?” He finally asked.

“What, what?” You countered, knowing what he was asking but still not sure how you wanted to address it.

“What’s wrong?”

You let out a sigh as you finished rinsing a glass.

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me,” he said and, like he had done in your apartment only a couple of nights ago, he placed his hands on your hips and turned you towards him. “What’s wrong?”

He was close - as close as he’d been to you while you’d been dancing only a few hours before but, now, it felt like too much. It all felt like too much.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” you blurted out.

The moments the words had left your lips, you felt like an idiot. Your eyes immediately dropped and your whole face burned with embarrassment.

The silence only lasted three seconds, but it felt like three lifetimes and, in that time, you didn’t dare blink or even draw breath. You were stuck, frozen in front of him, vaguely aware of the warmth of his hand bleeding through your dress at your hip, and you could feel his dark eyes fixed on you.

“What?” He asked.

You moved, quickly pushing past him and pulling away. Billy called after you as you left the kitchen, but you didn’t stop until you reached the sofa, and only stopped then to grab your shoes and purse.

“Just - can you just stop and talk to me?” He asked, following after you. “What brought this on?”

Glancing towards the elevator, you knew that you should just leave, despite the arrangement to stay the night. He stopped a few feet away from you, giving you space, but not nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell Frank the truth?” You asked, feeling neither brave nor sober enough to explain all the strange and conflicting thoughts that the night had stirred in you.

“Because he has a terrible poker face and he would’ve said it was a stupid idea. Is - is that what you’re worried about? Frank Castle thinking we’re having sex right now?” He asked, amused by the thought.

And, of course he was amused. It was fucking ridiculous. It was all an act and he’d just been playing the part. But he slipped in and out of the lie so easily that you were left wondering if he was a sociopath who was incapable of considering the weight of what you were both doing.

“It’s not that, it’s -” you let out a frustrated huff, “- how is this so easy for you?”

“How is what easy for me?”

Could he really be that obtuse? Did he really not understand what you were trying to ask him?

“All of it. Lying to everyone, lying to your friends, all the... the...”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words and ask how it was so easy for him to touch you the way he had, to hold you, kiss you. There were only two answers he could give and you didn’t want to hear him admit to either of them. Either it was easy because it meant nothing to him and you were there to serve a purpose as little more than a puppet in his schemes, or it was easy because he enjoyed it and figured he might as well have some no-strings-attached fun with you.

But that was the problem; you couldn’t do no-strings-attached. You didn’t want to, especially not with a man like Billy, a man who you knew would burn you if you let yourself get too close.

“The what?” He sounded exasperated.

“Kissing me, touching me -”

“I thought you were okay with that.” He said, discomfort tugging at his features.

“I am but not - not like...” you let out another frustrated sigh. “It feels like you’re doing it just because you can and not because you want to make things look real between us. I’m not an object to be played with, Billy. I’m not here for your pleasure.”

The look on his face told you that you might as well have slapped him.

“No, you’re just here for the money.”

The sudden cold detachment in his voice felt like a knife between your ribs and left you feeling a mixture of shame and regret - not for what you’d said, but for letting Billy know why you were really doing this. By telling him about your brother, about Saint Martin’s, you’d given him leverage, something he could use against you and weaponise to make you feel even worse about what you were doing.

You were still and silent for a few seconds, your face the picture of calm despite feeling like you were crumbling from the inside out.

“Where’s my bag?” You asked after taking a long, deep breath.

Again, you couldn’t help but think about how ridiculous it was; you’d been playing his doting girlfriend in front of his friends for the last hour, and you didn’t even know your way around his stupid, oversized apartment to find the spare room and your bag.

“Why?” 

“Because I want to get changed and go home,” you said flatly.

Billy took a step forward, his expression shifting again, almost seeming worried.

“No,” he said. “You don’t have to - you agreed to stay the night.”

He seemed at a momentary loss, as if he didn’t understand why you suddenly didn’t want to be around him. (Or, maybe he was just concerned because he was worried about his plan falling apart.)

“Look, I -” he started again, daring to take another step towards you, “- I’m sorry. I got carried away. I don’t see you as an object. That never crossed my mind.”

Of course it hadn’t.

Of course Billy Russo didn’t want you, even if it was just for sex.

You stayed silent, not knowing what else you could possibly say. As stupid as it has been to blurt it out, you had needed him to know that you were uncomfortable. And, now he did.

“I’m a... tactile guy. When I’m with someone, I guess I can get a little handsy. But I - I shouldn’t’ve -” he took an uncomfortable breath. “I just let myself get a little too comfortable with you. But I never wanted to make you feel like I wanted more from this agreement than you’re prepared to give.”

It occurred to you, very belatedly, that you used to be better at reading him. These last few weeks of getting to know him, enjoying being around him, had dulled your senses and you hadn’t been paying close attention to his moods. Now that you saw Billy as a real and fully actualised person instead of just the boss that you needed to keep happy for nine hours a day.

Ultimately, you couldn’t even tell if he meant what he was saying, or if he was just saying it because he thought it was what you wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Please just... just stay the night. It’s late and I don’t want to send you home alone after you’ve been drinking.”

The concern was unexpected, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been after all the times he’d insisted on walking you up to your apartment (though, some part of you still wanted to believe that that had simply been to make his driver think you were having sex). 

“Please,” he said again, his voice turning softer, “Just stay the night and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You let out the breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding and looked at Billy for a second. He seemed genuinely remorseful, more than that, he looked tired. 

And you were tired too.

“Okay,” you finally relented.

Billy managed something that was almost a smile, before giving a wave of his hand and asking you to follow him. He showed you to a spare room that was just as devoid of personal touches as the rest of the penthouse, but the bed was huge and the sheets were clean, so you weren’t going to complain.

Before he left you for the night, he told you that you could use the main bathroom - you assumed that he probably had a private en-suite somewhere - and that you could help yourself if there was anything else you needed. 

Once he’d left you, you waited, listening intently to the sounds of him moving around until, somewhere, you heard a shower running. You would have loved a hot shower - you could probably have one if you wanted, but it just felt weird in someone else’s home. It almost made you wish that you’d held your ground and headed home for the night.

Slipping out of the bedroom, you quickly made your way to the bathroom, cleaning the make-up from your face and brushing your teeth before changing into your pyjamas. It all took less than half the time it would have taken you at home, but you were desperate to return to the perceived safety of the spare room.

You placed your bag against the closed door - not because you were worried about Billy trying to come into your room while you slept but because...

Honestly, you couldn’t say.

You’d always had a hard time sleeping in new places, feeling paranoid at every strange sound.

Before you headed to bed, you pulled a ragged and worn stuffed bear from your bag and clutched it to your chest. You felt silly for bringing it, but you knew you wouldn’t sleep without it.

Finally, you slipped into the bed, beneath the covers that must have had a thread count in the millions for how soft they felt, and you turned off the lamp.

Sleep found you with surprising ease, but it didn’t last.

Two hours was all you got before you were wrenched awake by an all too familiar nightmare.

Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, you pulled the bear to your chest again, forcing yourself to take a series of slow, steady breaths. And, once you were certain it was under control, you rolled over, fixing your gaze out of the window and on the twinkling lights of the city.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before you decided to get up, needing a glass of water (and, silently, you cursed yourself for not having thought about bringing a glass to bed with you).

With only the light of your phone and the moonlight spilling in through the windows, you quietly crept through the penthouse, your thick, fuzzy socks softening your footsteps on the wooden floor. 

Every little sound had you pausing, feeling like a naughty child about to be chastised for getting out of bed in the middle of the night, but you made it to the kitchen without incident.

You used one of the wine glasses you’d cleaned to get a drink of water, not wanting to risk rummaging through Billy’s cupboards. When you’d had a drink, you refilled the glass and slowly started to tiptoe back towards your room with it.

But a sound stopped you, an awkward gasp from the direction of the master bedroom. Billy’s bedroom. Without thinking, you moved closer to his door, realising that he’d left it slightly ajar - living alone, he probably wasn’t used to having to close doors.

You heard another noise as you got closer, another sharp inhale and your stomach nodded. Was he having a nightmare? Was he in pain?

You stopped at his door, peering through the gap. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the gloom enough to make out Billy, sitting up against the headboard, his chest bare and his hand -

Oh.

While the movement was obscured by the sheet, it was very obvious what he was doing. He was touching himself with slow, steady strokes, letting out barely restrained gasps and grunts.

You knew that you should stop watching and go back to your room, but you were frozen, transfixed. The only part of you that seemed able to move were your thighs, clenching together at the sight of him pleasuring himself.

Slow and steady, his hand shifting up and down beneath the sheet, and the longer you stood and watched, the more your eyes adjusted to the low light, letting you make out the lines of muscles on his chest and the way that he was biting his lower lip. 

Your thighs rubbed together.

It felt dirty and wrong, but there was no denying the arousal that was starting to build inside of you. 

Every quiet hitch of his breath had your heart beating faster, a dangerous longing building inside of you - not because it was him, you rationalised, but because it had been so long since you’d been with a man.

One hand gripped your phone tighter, while the other still held your glass, stopping you from giving in to the urge to slip a hand into your pyjama bottoms. Your thighs continued to press and rub together, stoking the heat between your legs and causing arousal to pool in your stomach.

After a couple of minutes his hand began to move faster and his breathing became more ragged. You held your breath, knowing he was close and not wanting to miss a single second. 

At the last second, you watched him reach for a tissue, and over the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, you almost thought you heard him mutter your name.

(No - no, you were imagining things. There was no way that Billy Russo had just jerked off to thoughts of you.)

Shame and disgust at yourself quickly took over and you made your way back to your room, barely breathing until you were hidden beneath the thick, heavy quilt again.

Try as you might over the next hour, sleep wouldn’t come.

You couldn’t get the thought of him out of your head and, every time you started to think about it again, your thighs would squeeze together with desperate need and that hot feeling of arousal would start to fill the lower half of your body.

Exhausted frustration eventually got the better of you and you allowed a hand to slip into  your pyjama bottoms and between your legs.

Again, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t him that was getting you all hot and bothered, it was more the situation, the act. But that didn’t keep your thoughts from returning to him over and over as your fingers got bolder, slowly circling your clit.

You didn’t want to think about why you were already so wet, so needy. But, even as you touched yourself and felt your arousal coiling tighter in your stomach, you found no relief. Desperation had you reaching for your phone and opening the gossip site you’d been looking at earlier, and finding the photograph of you and Billy dancing, him looking at you as if you meant something, as if you really mattered to him.

Zooming in on his face, your fingers moved with a renewed vigour, your clit throbbing and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. You came undone staring at his dark eyes and smile, thinking about the man sleeping in the room next to yours.

Then, at some point, consumed by an awkward and embarrassing feeling of bliss, you managed to drift off again, this time sleeping until your alarm sounded.

The scent of pancakes and coffee pulled you out of bed and had you padding sleepily towards the bedroom door to glance out into the living area of the penthouse.

Billy was sitting at the table, wearing his running gear, looking like he’d just gotten back. (A sudden and strange pang of hurt ran through you at the thought that he’d gone without you, that he hadn’t even bothered to ask if you wanted to join him.) 

You lingered for a second too long and Billy noticed you.

“I got breakfast,” he said, smiling at you, completely unaware of what you’d witnessed in the early hours of the morning.

“Oh, I -” you looked down at yourself, at your blue, flannel pyjamas and big fluffy socks.

“C’mon, it’s getting cold.”

You moved slowly, almost cautiously, but Billy didn’t notice. The moment you started to walk towards the table, his attention fixed on his phone. You wondered if he’d seen any of the photos from last night, and that thought had your cheeks starting to warm, remembering how you’d come while staring at his picture.

He didn’t look up again until you sat down, opposite him.

“Help yourself, the coffee should still be hot,” he nodded towards the half-full French press, “or there’s juice if you prefer.”

You reached for the coffee, filling the mug that he’d put out for you before topping it off with cream and sugar. Billy watched but didn’t say anything, and he continued watching as you took a plate and a couple of pancakes from the stack. Then you helped yourself to some bacon and syrup.

“You made all of this?” You asked, not sure you could handle sitting in complete silence for however long it took you to finish eating.

Billy laughed, shaking his head. “No, there’s a diner a couple of blocks away...”

“So, you don’t cook?”

It was strange the sorts of things that you didn’t consider about a person until you really got to know them. You supposed that a man of Billy’s wealth didn’t need to know how to cook, but he hadn’t always been rich. But for you, being able to cook, being able to feed yourself was a matter of survival and it wasn’t something that you’d ever just been able to throw money at.

“I can cook a few things but...” he trailed off and gave a telling smirk.

You turned your attention to your breakfast and started to eat, while Billy continued to scroll from what looked like emails on his phone. He let you eat without interruption, occasionally sparing you a glance as he lifted his mug and drank his coffee. He waited until you pushed your plate away and sat back before speaking again.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

Your heart stopped and, for a moment, you thought he was talking about jerking off.

But, no - that would be ridiculous.

“You were right, my behaviour last night was -”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted. “I shouldn’t’ve jumped to conclusions about your intentions without talking to you about it. I think maybe we both just had a little bit too much to drink and things got awkward.”

Billy nodded, seeming to lose himself in thought for a few moments before continuing; “you were right. What you said about me, I mean. I do find it easy to lie about what’s going on. You make it easy for me to lie.”

You made it easier? What did that even mean?

You didn’t dare ask.

“I know you think I’m clueless about how people see me - and, in some regards, maybe I am - but I’m good at controlling narratives. I have to be,” he explained, though his explanation didn’t exactly make things clearer to you. “So, it is easy for me to lie, but I should have taken a minute to understand that you’re not the same as me. So, I’m sorry.”

You took a second, letting his words sink in. There were questions you wanted to ask, things you wanted to understand but, ultimately, you just settled for accepting the apology.

“Okay,” you said, hesitating a second before adding, “and I’m sorry for the way I - well, what I said, I shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a... a creep.”

That got a laugh from Billy.

“I think in future we should both have a little less champagne,” he said.

You smiled and nodded your agreement, wrapping your hands around your coffee mug.

Once the air had been cleared between you, you found that you were in no real rush to get home, though there was still the lingering embarrassment over what you’d witnessed in the middle of the night.

After your coffee was finished, Billy left you to go shower and you returned to the spare room, grabbing your wash stuff and heading to the bathroom to get washed and dressed. And then, of course, Billy insisted on taking you home.

It was the first time he’d driven you himself and, as you crossed the city on the way to your apartment, he apologised that he wouldn’t be able to walk you in.

“I know you said you’re busy on Sundays but -” Billy started before awkwardly hesitating, as if he was reconsidering whatever he wanted to say, “- if you’re free tomorrow evening, I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked to take you out for dinner, so you weren’t sure why the offer felt so different this time, but the fact that you didn’t instantly respond had him quickly clarifying; “so we can prepare for dinner with Catherine Van Der Koy next week.”

“Oh,” you said softly, fixing your gaze on the city streets beyond the windscreen. “Sure. I’m free tomorrow evening, any time after seven.”

“Okay, great,” Billy said, barely holding in a sigh of relief. “I’ll call you later with the details.”

Less than a minute later, he pulled up outside your apartment building and, for reasons entirely unknown to yourself, you leaned across to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before scrambling out of the car, with your bag in one hand and your roses in the other. You didn’t even dare look back over your shoulder at him as you made your way into your building and towards the elevator, planning to have the world's hottest shower the moment you got into your apartment.

You’d felt a strange sort of giddiness after Billy had dropped you off at home, though you couldn’t rightly say why. Exhaustion, hangover, or maybe it was the thought of having dinner with him on Sunday. Whatever it was, you looked forward to it, from the moment he called on Saturday evening, to the very moment you were standing outside the restaurant he’d picked.

When he’d told you that you didn’t have to dress up for dinner, you were a little surprised but you didn’t question it. You were just glad you could just wear your normal, comfortable clothes. But it wasn’t until you saw the little Thai restaurant that you understood why.

It was a quiet little place, practically a hole in the wall joint, so small you doubted it even had twenty tables. Strange. Not the sort of place you expected Billy to take you, the kind of place where you’d be seen together. Instead there was an authenticity to the restaurant that had your mouth watering when the scent of food greeted you at the door.

Billy stood and gave you a wave as you stepped inside and, immediately, your thoughts were confirmed; it was small, cosy, almost... romantic.

Despite the strangeness of the last few days, you felt your lips instantly pull into a smile at the sight of him. Like you, he was dressed casually, wearing black jeans and a red sweater. He looked...

Normal. 

(He looked... good.)

Billy moved around the table to pull out your seat for you, before helping you shrug off your coat. Your cheeks heated at the gesture - not because Billy wasn’t always incredibly polite and respectful while you were out in public together, but because he didn’t have to be. There was no one watching, no one around to witness the gesture or the way he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek before you sat. 

No one cared if he was being the perfect gentleman and there was no one to run to the gossip blogs if he didn’t behave in a chivalrous way. He was just doing it because that was who he was. At least, that was who he was when he was with you.

You got comfy in your seat while he returned to his, and you let your gaze wander around the little restaurant, taking in the potted plants and décor, and all of the other couples that sat quietly enjoying their meals.

Part of you wondered if he’d chosen to take you there because he knew how uncomfortable you got in the bigger, fancier places that he was used to. Or had his decisions been more pragmatic? It was private enough that the pair of you could talk and scheme without anyone overhearing or caring.

It was the perfect place to plan for your dinner with the Van Der Koy’s.

Not long after the pair of you were both seated, a bottle of wine was brought to the table and two glasses were poured.

White wine, you thought to yourself. He always ordered the white, ever since that first night at Bianchi’s.

You’d never thought to ask him what wine he preferred...

Lifting the menu, you were shocked to find reasonable prices listed, the sort of prices that even you could afford. (You even made a little mental note of the website listed on the menu - if the food was as nice as it smelled, you’d definitely add it to your take-out rotation.)

Something about the whole situation had you smiling across the table at him, watching as the flickering candle light caused shadows to dance across his face. It conjured memories of the other night, watching him in his bed and -

“What?”

Billy’s voice pulled you out of the thought before it got out of control. You shook your head and held back a laugh.

“Nothing, it’s just... well, this doesn’t exactly seem like one of your usual places,” you answered.

“No?”

The look on his face had your smile widening and you didn’t understand why.

“I mean... does this place even have a Michelin star?” You asked, very obviously teasing him.

Billy laughed, smiling in a way that reached right up to his eyes and causing the slightest crinkle on his nose. And you felt - fuck, it felt good being able to make him laugh like that. Every time he did, it felt like you were getting a glimpse of something precious, something that few others had seen.

You didn’t know what it meant that he was so willingly sharing it with you. You didn’t even dare want to think about it, or the rational voice in the back of your mind that was reminding you that none of it was real. (It was easy for him to lie. You made it easy - wasn’t that what he’d told you?)

“Maybe not a Michelin star, but they make the best Pad Thai,” he answered.

So, he’d definitely eaten there before, probably more than once if he felt confident enough to say that.

“That’s good to know,” you said, putting the menu down, your mind made up. You’d trust his judgement.

Your attention returned to him. He seemed... different, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. Maybe it was the change of clothes and the setting, knowing that you wouldn’t have an audience. But that didn’t explain the strange nervousness that seemed to wash over him whenever his eyes caught yours.

“How was your day?” He asked, putting his own menu down and reaching for his wine glass.

That one little question had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. You could tell from the way he was looking at you that he genuinely wanted to know, that he wasn’t just asking to fill the silence or put on a show. It was just you and him, and he was choosing to show an interest in your life.

Still, you hesitated a beat before answering.

“It was okay,” you said, considering your next words for a second more. “I spent a couple of hours with my brother at Saint Martin’s.”

There was a flash of surprise on his face but he quickly got it under control. You didn’t think too much about it. In fact, it was understandable. You didn’t volunteer information about your brother as a rule so, of course, it surprised him.

You knew that Billy had questions, at least a hundred things he wanted to ask and know.

But he kept them all to himself.

Instead, he asked; “did you have a nice time with him?”

You smiled softly, conveying your gratitude, wanting him to know you appreciated him not trying to pry information out of you about your brother’s condition.

“I did. We got to sit out in the garden and watch the birds together for a couple of hours.”

Billy smiled another smile that reached his eyes, and it had you paying far too much attention to his face, to the way it held a boyish charm but also a hint of masculine maturity, an almost dangerous darkness that lingered just beneath the surface.

You weren’t an idiot, it had never eluded you why so many women were willing to throw themselves at Billy Russo despite his well-documented reputation as a serial womanizer. He was a handsome guy, beautiful even - you’d realised it the moment you’d first laid eyes on him, but you’d also very quickly come to realise that Billy knew it too.

But when you looked at Billy, you saw more than the lean and athletic body, the perfect hair, or the attractive face. You saw the warmth that was so often hidden away, the spark that he seemed almost scared of sharing but that sometimes managed to shine through when he was with you.

Beneath the table, you realised that your thighs were clenched and you couldn’t help but feel incredibly silly. All the thoughts and feelings that were slowly starting to bubble up inside of you were ridiculous. This thing between you, it was fake, and you knew that the best you could hope for at the end of it was to at least be his friend.

And, honestly, you thought that would be enough. You wanted to be his friend, wanted to keep him in your life after the whole thing was over.

“That sounds nice,” Billy said.

You nodded. It had been nice. It was alway nice when you got to have a good visit with Seb.

“What about you?” You returned his question before taking a sip of wine. “What did you get up to today?”

Another strange look flickered across his features, something you hadn’t seen before and, once it had passed, you found yourself questioning if you’d even really seen it at all.

“Not much,” he answered, shrugging. “I spent a couple of hours with a friend.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” you said without thinking. 

But when you did start to think about it a second later, you found it strange. Billy knew a lot of people, but you didn’t think that there were many that he called friend beyond Frank and maybe Karen.

Then the unsettling paranoia started to quickly take hold. Maybe it wasn’t a friend at all, maybe it was another woman. Maybe that was why Billy seemed strange, more relaxed but somehow still nervous; maybe he’d spent his afternoon in someone else's bed.

“Did you... do anything?” You asked, suddenly feeling almost desperate for more information. “Or did you just hang out?”

If the question struck him as odd, Billy didn’t let it show, he simply took another drink and then answered; “we just hung out.”

The unsettled feeling started to grow in your gut and you couldn’t rightly say why. 

You weren’t jealous. You couldn’t be jealous. Billy wasn’t yours and, besides, had you really expected him to forgo sex for six months - or however long it took for you to help him get the VDK contract?

Yes.

No. That wouldn’t have been fair. You had to assume that Billy was... well, a very sexually active person, if all the different women he took out were anything to go by. 

Still, it unsettled you for more pragmatic reasons; everything would fall apart if he was caught ‘cheating’ on you. And, if things fell apart, you’d be the sad little PA that Billy Russo cheated on. You’d be a laughing stock.

But you couldn’t say any of that to him, not when you didn’t know for certain. (For all you knew, Billy and his friend hadn’t done anything other than have a coffee together, and you were just blowing things out of proportion.)

Before you could even think about speaking again or asking any more silly questions, the waiter arrived and you both placed your orders. It gave you time to recalibrate, to force aside the silly and fanciful feelings. Whatever you might or might not feel for Billy - and whatever he might or might not feel for you - ultimately, your relationship was fake.

“You still with me?”

You gave a hum in response, eyes snapping back to Billy. “Sorry, what? I was miles away.”

Billy smiled. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“So,” you said, taking a breath, deciding to address the elephant in the room, “the VDK dinner...”

He looked blank for a second, almost as if he’d forgotten that that was the reason he’d asked you to dinner.

“Right,” he said but let the word hang between you for a few seconds. You watched he licked his lips before continuing. “Are you okay with it? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Was he talking about Friday night and the discomfort you’d clumsily tried to explain to him after Frank and Karen had left.

“It’s just a dinner party,” you answered without really answering the question.

Billy seemed to hesitate, like he was reluctant to continue that line of conversation but he obviously felt like he had to.

“I just don’t want things to get awkward again,” he said. “I think we work better when we’re on the same page and you trust me...”

It was the last part that had you practically squirming in your seat. He looked almost pained by the thought that you might not trust him, and - it wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust him, was it? It was more the uncertainty you sometimes felt when you couldn’t figure out when he was lying. And it was the way you couldn’t always trust yourself and what you felt in the moments when his hands were on you.

“I do trust you,” you were quick to answer. “The other night, I was... I was worried because, even though we’ve been doing this for a few weeks now, we never really set boundaries, and I know that you’re -”

You stopped abruptly, realising what you were about to say and how it would sound to him. But it was too late, you’d piqued his interest.

“I’m what?” He asked.

You shook your head, barely able to look at him as heat licked across your face.

“What?” He prompted again. “Just tell me, I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

“You spend all your time with so many women, so obviously you... y’know...”

How had your life come to this? How were you trying to have a serious conversation with your boss about the many, many women he’d fucked?

You weren’t sure what response you were expecting from Billy, but he surprised you with a laugh - not the kind that made you feel light and happy, but the kind that left you feeling empty and cold.

“I like sex, if that’s what you’re trying to get at,” he said flatly and unapologetically.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you tried desperately to not let the extent of your discomfort show.

“Sorry,” you said.

“What are you sorry for?” He asked. “You’re right, we didn’t set boundaries and I can see how, with my reputation, that might have made you nervous.”

“No, I -” you clumsily tried to explain, “- I mean... I was nervous. But I shouldn’t have been. I know you wouldn’t - I mean, not with me...”

Because that was what made it so ridiculous. You weren’t some heiress or some runway model, and there was nothing you could offer a man like Billy Russo. You had nothing that he wanted. You were nothing that he wanted.

He opened his mouth, about to speak, but you cut him off.

“It was just a blip - I was being dumb,” you said, forcing a smile to your lips. “But I’ll be fine for dinner with VDK, now that we’re both sure where we stand.”

His lips stayed parted for a few seconds as if he was going to say something but, instead, he just nodded and reached for his glass.

You did the same, taking a big enough gulp to drain the glass.

Fortunately, before you could say anything else embarrassing, your food was brought out and gave you the perfect opportunity to go silent for a few minutes, allowing the tension to slowly melt away. But you knew you couldn’t sit in silence for the whole meal. It wasn’t fair on Billy and, as you’d come to realise, he liked to talk, liked the attention that conversation offered him. 

“You were right, this is amazing.” You smiled up at him, wanting him to know that you really were enjoying it.

“Told you,” he said, smiling right back at you.

“How did you even find this place?”

“Karen used to work near here, she started bringing Frank and...” he trailed off into a  shrug, letting you fill in the rest.

He’d brought you to somewhere he shared with his friends. You weren’t sure why, but it made you happy and, before you knew it, you were picturing the three of them sitting at one of the tables, talking and laughing.

“Do you -” you started to ask then stopped yourself. Billy fixed you with a look, silently telling you to continue. “Sorry, I was going to ask if you usually invite a date along when you hang out with them, or if you just third-wheel.”

Billy smiled between mouthfuls. “You’re very curious about my dating history tonight.”

The heat instantly returned to your face and started to spread down your neck and over your chest.. You did your best to remain calm and not let him see just how much you were struggling. 

“I think I should be prepared if anyone from VDK asks,” you said. Lied, really. You hadn’t been thinking about VDK at all. No, your only thoughts had been on the man opposite you and wanting to know more about him.

“Oh,” he said, and you dared to wonder if he was disappointed. “I suppose you’re right. We should know about any skeletons in each other's closets.”

You nodded, filled with dread at the thought of being asked questions about your own dating history, but it was only fair.

“To answer your question; no, I don’t usually bring dates when I hang out with Frank and Karen,” he said easily, obviously not caring what you might think of it.

“Why not?” Again, it slipped from you before you had the chance to stop it.

Billy continued to smile and simply shrugged. “There’s never really been any point. The women that I date aren’t around long enough, so it’d be a waste of time letting anyone get to know them.”

There was an awkward pang of something in your stomach. He spoke about them like they were nothing, like they didn’t matter, and that hardly seemed fair. It conflicted with what he’d told you - at least, what you’d assumed - during your first date. He’d suggested that some of them had meant something to him.

“Just ask,” he said. You shot him a questioning look. “I can always tell when you’re thinking about something; you get a faraway look in your eyes.”

The heat that had spread from your cheeks enveloped your whole chest and you were certain you were about to burst into flames. You had so many questions that you weren’t even sure where to start, so you opted for the most obvious.

“Why?” You asked. “Why live like that? Don’t you want to... I don’t know, settle down? Fall in love?”

A laugh slipped from his lips and instead of directly answering he asked you; “is it really that easy?”

He was teasing you, mocking you even, and the heat continued to fill your body. You knew he wasn’t saying it to be mean but that, to him at least, it must have seemed like nothing more than a fanciful notion.

“I don’t know,” you answered, forcing yourself to take a breath. “But I think it would be a shame not to try...”

The smile on his lips softened a fraction - or, maybe it was just a trick of the candlelight. He took a moment before speaking again, taking his time to consider his words.

“I did try,” he confessed, and suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked from the restaurant.

“What - what happened?” You dared to ask, not sure he’d even be willing to share the story with you.

Billy sighed. “I fell in love - at least, I thought it was love. But, it turned out that she didn’t trust me. She thought I was capable of awful things and, after that, it became harder for me to trust anyone.”

It was barely even half of a story, and you were desperate to ask about the missing details, wanting him to fill in all the blanks, but you didn’t ask. It wouldn’t have been fair to. He’d told you all that he seemed to be comfortable with.

“So, you don’t trust anyone?” You asked. “You don’t let anyone get close?”

You didn’t expect Billy to smile at you.

“No, I trust plenty of people...”

“You just don’t trust them with your heart,” you said, filling in the blanks.

He nodded and you decided to leave it at that.

“What about you?” He asked. “How are you single?”

It wouldn’t occur to you until much later that he asked how and not why.

You shrugged. “It’s been... difficult over the last few years.”

“Because of your brother?”

“No,” you were quick to answer. “Because none of the guys I’ve dated have understood that Seb is my responsibility. I love my brother and I can’t be with someone who only sees him as a burden.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Billy said softly, almost reassuringly.

Again, you shook your head. “I’m lucky to have him.”

You doubted that you’d ever tell Billy why but you wanted him to understand at least that much. Seb meant the world to you and you’d never be able to repay your brother for all he’d done for you and, more than that, you wanted Billy to know that Seb would always come first.

Billy kept his questions to himself and, instead, continued; “so there's no jealous ex’s I should be worried about?”

That brought the smile back to your lips.

“Why? Scared you’re going to get your ass kicked?” You joked.

“Why?” Billy countered. “Do you usually date tough guys?”

“Oh, the toughest,” you retorted, barely keeping yourself from bursting into laughter.

And, just like that,  things were back to some weird sort of normal between the two of you. You’d reached a new sort of understanding of each other and, while you both still had questions about the other, you’d said more than enough.

You both return your attention to your food, giving the delicious meal the attention that it rightly deserved (and, already, you were thinking about what you’d try when you inevitably ordered takeout from them). And, after finishing your main course, you both opted for dessert; you ordered some mango sticky rice, while Billy had a pineapple fritter.

As his dessert was placed in front of him, you dared to lift your phone to snap a picture of him. Billy’s grin widened and you felt a warmth spark in the pit of your stomach again. You looked at the picture of him for a moment, before setting it as your lock screen, explaining to Billy that it would make things more believable.

By the time you’d finished, you were slumped back in your chair, feeling like you were bursting at the seams.

Billy, likewise, sat back in his seat, cradling his wine glass. At some point you’d ended up with a second bottle and you each still had a full glass before it was finished.

“Thank you,” you said without prompt or cause. “This was really nice.”

His smile was short-lived.

“I, uh -” he started then hesitated, the nervousness that you’d noticed at the start of the night seeming to creep back in, “- I should tell you that I had an ulterior motive for asking you out tonight.”

Your heart began to pound wildly in your chest, your mind started to race, not knowing what his ulterior motive could possibly be. A dozen or so ridiculous thoughts started screaming in your head, each more worrying than the last.

“An ulterior motive?” You repeated, somehow managing to keep your voice from trembling. (you could probably thank the wine for that.)

He took a breath and his eyes dropped to the table between you as if he thought he might find the words he needed among the empty dishes. While he did, you took a slow drink to try and steady your nerves and steel yourself for whatever he might say.

“Okay,” he started again, blowing out his cheeks a little, “I know this is going to sound crazy, so I don’t want you to answer straight away, but I think you should move in with me.”

You almost choked on your wine.

Of all the things he could have said, all the things you were worried he might say, that was not one of them.

“What?”

Surely you’d misheard - Billy Russo couldn’t possibly be asking you to move in with him.

“I know, I know it sounds insane, but I think it could help,” he explained. “I know you like your apartment but... with me you wouldn’t have to pay rent, so you wouldn’t have to worry about money as much.”

Your heart continued to race a mile a minute.

Billy Russo, your boss, the man you were faking being in a relationship with was asking you to move in with him.

“I don’t -” you weren’t even sure what you were going to say, so you were almost glad when Billy interrupted.

“Don’t answer now, just think about it,” he told you.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to think about anything else,” you said, barely reining in your confusion.

While he wasn’t wrong - living rent free for a few months would take a lot of financial pressure off you, and Billy’s penthouse was definitely big enough for two - you still barely even knew each other beyond the surface level things that you’d dared to share. There was so much more to you, and to him, and you didn’t know if it would cause difficulties.

“I know that it seems like a major thing, but since it’s not real, it should be pretty simple,” Billy said.

Right. It wasn’t real, and you’d shared apartments before. Admittedly, you’d hated sharing apartments before, but Billy didn’t seem like the sort of person to drink all the milk and not replace it.

You remained silent, still reeling from the offer.

“Sorry,” he continued, “I didn’t want to just spring it on you like that. I had it all planned out, what I wanted to say... I just thought that it would be a good idea since I’ve got all that space and, honestly, I don’t usually even spend much time at home, and -”

Without thinking, you found yourself reaching across the table and covering his hand with yours, cutting him off.  

“It’s okay,” you said, finally finding your voice again. “I get why you offered it’s just... it’s a lot, Billy. I’d need to really think about it first.”

Your thumb tenderly brushed over his knuckles, and you watched as the tension started to slowly drain from him. You didn’t want him to feel bad about the offer, especially when you could tell that it was coming from a good place, and that he was trying to help you (even if he was also trying to help himself by making the lie more believable).

“Okay,” he said and followed it with another few seconds of silence while you kept your hand on his. “Are you doing anything else tonight?”

It was almost nine, so there wasn’t much of the night remaining, but you got that feeling that, even though the meal was over, he didn’t want the evening to end.

Or, maybe that was just wishful thinking. He probably just didn’t want to go home yet . The more you got to know him, you started to realise that Billy wasn’t really the sort to enjoy being sat at home on his own.

You shrugged. “Probably not. Why?”

“They have The Omen movies on Disney plus.”

You smiled at the offer that was hidden in the statement.

“I have work in the morning,” you reminded him. “And so do you.”

“Well, as the boss, I don’t mind if you’re late,” he answered, smirking that ridiculous smirk again.

“I’ve told you, I can’t have any preferential treatment. It’s bad enough knowing that everyone at work is whispering behind my back.” As you spoke, you watched the corners of his lips droop a little. “But, if you want a coffee...”

His smile brightened again.

The check was paid and his driver was called and, in the light night time traffic, it only took fifteen minutes to get from the restaurant back to your apartment. And it only took five minutes more before you were sitting together on your sofa, each of you holding a hot mug of coffee making small talk about the meal and how you’d both enjoyed the evening.

You made plans to watch the second and third Omen movies with him the next weekend, as long as nothing else came up. He didn’t bring up his offer again, instead he left you to think about it, leaving you to imagine what it might be like if you could spend every night sitting on his sofa and sharing a hot drink with him.

It was a surprisingly pleasant thought.

He lingered for over an hour - though the conversation was so easy between the pair of you that you hardly noticed any time had passed at all.

When it finally came time for him to leave, you followed him to the door as he pulled his coat back on but, instead of leaving, he paused, his attention on you.

“I really like you in that colour,” he said.

Your cheeks warmed as you looked down at yourself, at the sweater you thought he hadn’t noticed, the one in that rich purple he claimed brought out the colour of your eyes. You weren’t even sure why you’d chosen to wear it, but seeing him looking at you, his dark eyes seeming to glint playfully, it had your heart pounding in your chest.

“Thank you,” you said softly, little more than a whisper.

Then he reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek as your breath caught.

“What are you -” you started but stopped the second you noticed him leaning towards you.

“Practice,” he offered softly, an excuse for what was going to happen, “we should get used to this.”

Rationally, you knew it was ridiculous. You’d kissed him more than enough times to be used to it. Maybe he was still concerned about the other night and your reaction when he’d pulled you onto his lap, maybe he needed you to reassure him that you wouldn’t panic the next time he kissed you in public.

Rationally, you knew a lot of things.

But you weren’t feeling rational, not when you had his dark eyes burning into yours and his thumb gently tracing your lower lip.

It certainly wasn’t any sort of rationality that had you nodding and wrapping your arm around his waist as he stepped closer.

Your heart pounded and rattled against your ribs as he closed the distance and kissed you. His tongue parted the seam of your lips with no resistance, and you could still taste the wine on his tongue. But it wasn’t the wine that left you feeling intoxicated. It was Billy.

You barely noticed when he moved you, pressing you back against the wall. You let him crowd you and hold you there with the weight of his body, leaving no space between you. But, still, your arm pulled him closer.

There was something almost frenzied to it, something inside of you that wanted and wanted and wanted. Everything was Billy, every fibre of your being was singing for him, desperate for any and all attention you could get. His hands felt hot through your clothes and he grabbed your waist, your hips, simultaneously pushing you back and pulling you close.

It was insanity. Just pure insanity. 

A moan escaped you, spilling from your lips and into his, the sound muffled by his tongue, but it was enough to bring him to his senses.

He pulled back a fraction, his forehead pressed to yours as you both caught your breath. You wanted more but didn’t dare ask for it - you didn’t know how to ask for it.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed and you found yourself wanting to sink your teeth in, wanting to grip him and hold him in any way that you could. 

But, still, you didn’t move.

“I should,” he said softly, his breath hot against your face, “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Again, you found yourself nodding. Then, before you knew it, Billy had pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and had stepped through the door, leaving you alone, slouched back against the wall with legs that felt like jello.

Later that night, after a long, cold shower, you found yourself in bed thinking of the kiss. You couldn’t sleep because every time you tried to close your eyes you saw his eyes burning into yours, and every time you moved your thighs would shift and you’d be reminded of the way you’d wanted more.

Eventually you found yourself staring at the picture you’d taken of him, your vibrator pressed against your clit. It felt wrong but, at the same time, it felt right. No one had ever made you feel the way he did when he looked at you. And when you came, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning out his name.

Come Monday morning, it was as if nothing had happened.

You were already at your desk when Billy arrived, he hadn’t offered to pick you up because he’d had a meeting first thing on the other side of the city, so you’d been sitting working diligently for over an hour before the elevator dinged, signaling his arrival. Your cheeks instantly started to heat at the sight of him, his own cheeks pinkened by the cold, and his dark eyes burning with all of their usual intensity.

“Good morning,” he said, shrugging off his coat.

You waited with bated breath, expecting - what, you weren’t entirely sure. Something. Some acknowledgement of the way he’d kissed you, or maybe an explanation of why he’d left so abruptly. Instead, there was nothing.

“Did VDK email yet?” He asked.

All you could do was stare at him as a couple of seconds ticked by.

Had you imagined it? Were you misremembering it?

No. No. He’d never kissed you like that before, never pressed you against a wall as if he wanted to devour you whole.

(He didn’t want to acknowledge it. It had meant nothing to him.)

“Yes,” you finally found your voice. “They want to do it on Thursday, but I - I didn’t accept yet because I know you’re usually busy on Thursday evenings...” 

Billy ran his teeth over his lower lip, giving it more consideration than you expected. You hadn’t thought to ask what it was he did on Thursday evenings but, now, you found yourself wondering. What could it possibly be that had him hesitating to agree to the very thing he’d been after for weeks?

“Tell them we’ll be there,” he eventually said.

At some point, he’d come to linger behind you, looking at the email you’d pulled up on your laptop, watching as you diligently started to type up a response.

“Do you have something to wear?” He asked as you hit send.

You glanced up, over your shoulder at him, discomfort clear on your face. You didn’t want him to rush off and buy you another obscenely expensive dress.

“I’ll find something, don’t worry,” you answered.

“If you need to, I can -”

“Billy, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” he relented, leaving it at that.

But, still, he lingered by your desk almost expectantly.

(Did he want you to bring up this kiss? Could you bring it up without dying of embarrassment? No. No, if Billy wanted to talk about it, then he had to be the one to bring it up.)

“Did you have breakfast?” Is what you decided to ask, blurring the line between the part of you that was still his PA and the part of you that now genuinely seemed to worry that he might not have eaten anything that morning.

“No, just piss-awful coffee at the meeting,” he shrugged.

You bit back the comment that you wanted to make, reminding yourself that he was a fully grown man who was more than capable of looking after himself.

“Okay, I’ll go get you a pastry and a coffee,” you told him.

Billy barely moved as you slid back your seat and stood, and you found yourself standing directly in front of him with little space between you. His jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on yours, but you refused to ask why, refused to ask what he expected from you. 

If he wanted to talk about the kiss, he’d need to be the one to start. Simple as that.

When you said nothing, he stepped back and turned, not giving you another glance as he slipped into his office.

Okay, so that was how things were going to be. You shook your head and headed for the elevator, forgoing grabbing your coat and wasting time bundling up - you were only running across the street, how bad could it be?

Bad, as it turned out. 

And it only got worse from there.

Carl gave you a look as you headed for the doors, but you didn’t realise what the look was for until you stepped out into the bitter cold wind. It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, but it would take far too long to go back upstairs to grab your coat. 

Wrapping your arms across your chest, you hurried across the street to The Bean Grinder, your thin blouse and skirt doing little to ward off the cold. 

You were shivering as you stood in line and, for one in your life, found yourself glad to be stuck behind so many undecided customers, basking in the warmth of the coffee shop for as long as possible. 

The wind was biting on your face as you struggled to hurry back to the Anvil building, Billy’s coffee in one hand and a bag containing a bearclaw in the other. You tried your best to ignore it and pretend like the cold wasn’t causing your lungs to ache in your chest - it was only across the street, you’d be fine, you told yourself.

And you were.

You were fine, but your bad luck still wasn’t over.

“What’s going on?” You asked Carl when you noticed a few people standing around by the elevator.

“Elevator maintenance check,” he explained. “We did send out an email about it last week -”

“Shit, I completely forgot,” you said, letting out an awkward groan.

It wasn’t like you to forget - in fact, you were all but certain you’d even written it on your desk calendar so you wouldn’t forget. But you’d been so eager to get out of the office and away from - from whatever that had been with Billy, that you hadn’t even thought about it.

Carl gave you a sympathetic look. “It’s probably going to take at least another twenty minutes. I can call upstairs, let Mr Russo know that you’re -”

“No,” you interrupted. “It’s fine. I’ll take the stairs.”

“Are you sure?” He asked before hesitating. “You’re already looking a little out of breath.”

“I’m fine. Really. It’s just the cold,” you answered, shrugging it off and saying a hasty goodbye as you headed towards the stairwell, trying not to curse under your breath until you were up at least one floor.

It certainly helped you warm up, but climbing up to the seventh floor caused the ache in your lungs to intensify and, by the time you got back to the office, you were more than a little winded.

Billy’s eyes were fixed on his laptop as you entered his office and he didn’t look up as you approached his desk. It wasn’t until you placed his drink and the paper bag containing the bearclaw down that his eyes finally lifted and confusion filled his face.

You didn’t understand why he was staring until he spoke. 

“Are you okay?”

You realised that you were wheezing and, in an act of utter stupidity, you tried to even out your breathing by forcing a deep breath, and that just made things worse. You pressed a hand to your mouth and tried to stifle a cough.

“I-I’m fine,” you managed, holding back a cough. “Just a-a little out of breath.”

He moved before you could even blink, standing and taking hold of your arms, guiding you into his chair. The leather was warm and soft, and you wanted nothing more than to sink back into it but you couldn’t, not when Billy crouched in front of you and took your face in his hands.

His eyes searched yours, though you had no idea what he was looking for.

Billy didn’t speak, nor did he ask you to try to. He just stayed with you, his thumb tenderly brushing your cheek as your breathing slowly levelled out.

He held your gaze and you found that, even though you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. You didn’t know what was going on behind those dark eyes, what thoughts were running through his head, but you felt seen, exposed.

Your hand somehow ended up on his, holding it against your cheek like some part of you was scared he’d pull away again, that he’d leave you reeling just like he had the night before.

It didn’t take long for your breathing to settle and your chest to stop aching.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

What’s wrong and not are you okay. It was the second time he’d seen you like this and Billy wasn’t an idiot, he’d obviously realised that there was some underlying cause you weren’t telling him about.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” you lied. “I forgot to put my coat on when I went across the street, and I had to use the stairs because they’re doing a maintenance check on the elevator -”

“You should have waited for them to finish. It only takes them like twenty minutes.”

There was a firmness in his voice that you didn’t expect, that you didn’t appreciate. 

“Your coffee would’ve gotten cold,” you answered back, trying to contain your own annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy muttered, pulling away from you and standing. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away from you for a moment. “Do you think I care about hot coffee when you’re wheezing up a lung in my office?”

You didn’t have an answer for that. Honestly, you had no idea what Billy cared about.

“You skipped breakfast,” you said, not entirely sure why that was what bothered you.

His lips parted but, whatever he’d been wanting to say never came. He looked... confused, like he couldn’t understand why you even cared that he hadn’t eaten. But, he didn’t ask why, and you were glad because you didn’t have an answer.

“Go get your things,” he said after an uncomfortable pause.

“What? Why?” You asked.

“Because I’m taking you home.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you protested, getting to your feet. “I don’t want any preferential treatment or -”

“I can’t work if I’m worrying about you,” Billy snapped.

And - 

You were left so stunned that you didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t reconcile what he was saying and how he was acting with what you thought you knew about him, about your ‘relationship’. In no scenario could you imagine Billy actually worrying about you so, of course, you didn’t know what to say.

“I -” you tried.

“Please, just... don’t fight me on this?”

All you could do was stare, rendered speechless by the pleading look on his face. You didn’t want to leave work early and you certainly didn’t need to, but seeing Billy looking almost distressed by it all left you feeling like you couldn’t refuse.

You took a moment to consider him, to consider everything you knew about him, both as your boss and as a person. Only a few weeks ago, you’d have known exactly how to temper his mood and get the day back on track, but this was something new, something different. You didn’t understand this.

“The elevator’s still out of order,” was all you could think to say.

But, still, you moved, making your way out of his office to collect your things. You dropped your laptop into your bag, deciding that you’d carry on your work from home - with or without his permission. As you pulled on your coat, you heard him on the phone, calling down to the lobby to ask if the elevator was working again.

You perched on the edge of your desk as you waited, silently cursing yourself for letting all of this happen. You should’ve worn your coat, should’ve waited for the elevator - or at least remembered that it was being checked before offering to go for coffee.

Billy’s phone rang and, a few seconds later, he was striding out of his office, pulling on his coat. 

He told you to follow and you did, letting him usher you into the now-running again elevator with a hand on your back. Neither of you spoke or even seemed to know what to say as the elevator descended.

All you could think about was whether he’d eaten his bearclaw.

As the doors opened, you just... followed. You moved on autopilot, not sure what else you were supposed to do. The car was already waiting and you were quickly bundled inside. And, still, you remained silent.

The quiet was enough to have your paranoia rearing its ugly head; he thought you couldn’t look after yourself, that you were burdensome. 

Neither of you spoke until you were in your apartment, completely alone.

“You’re mad at me,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

You watched him as he moved through your apartment like he owned it, heading into the kitchen and grabbing two mugs to make coffee.

“I’m not mad,” you answered, shrugging off your coat and following him into the kitchen. “I just don’t need you to look after me.”

It didn’t even occur to you that you were echoing something he’d said to you only a week before.

“When was the last time you let anyone look after you?”

It wasn’t a jab at you, he wasn’t accusing you of anything, but there was some hidden depth to the question. He was genuinely asking, though from the tone of his voice, he already seemed to know the answer. An answer that you refused to give him. 

Never. 

Never in your adult life had you allowed someone to look after you.

And you weren’t about to start now, especially not with your boss, the man who was paying you to fake being in a relationship with him.

You let out a sigh and turned away from him, heading towards the sofa. It wasn’t long before he joined you, sitting beside you, a hot mug of coffee in each hand. He handed you yours without a word and you didn’t even dare to think about how he’d not only come to learn exactly how you took your coffee, but where everything was in your kitchen so he could make it.

While you slowly sipped your drink, you both remained silent, neither sure what to say to the other.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Frank Castle’s secretary, and you let out a soft sigh.

“Mr Castle would like to see you before this afternoon’s meeting,” you said, not looking up from your phone.

Then it was Billy’s turn to sigh, and that sigh said more than words ever could. You knew he didn’t want you working, that he’d brought you home specifically to stop you, but you couldn’t because, without you, his day didn’t run smoothly.

He finished his coffee and got to his feet.

“Please at least try to get some rest,” he said, resigned to the fact that you were going to continue working regardless of what he said. “And if you’re not feeling well tomorrow -”

“I told you, I’m -”

“If you’re not feeling well tomorrow,” he repeated, “call in sick.”

“Fine.”

You both already knew that you wouldn’t but it wasn’t worth the argument.

He insisted that you stayed where you were as he let himself out and you were glad, not sure you could handle a repeat performance of last night's kiss by the door.

The next day you were back at your desk before Billy even got to the office, his coffee and pastry, a pain au chocolat today, waiting for him on his desk. He slowed as he walked past you to his office but he didn’t say anything other than a brusque good morning to you.

Fortunately, over the next few days he warmed to you again, seeming to want to pretend that it had never happened. And, while it wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with it, you were more than happy to just slip back into things, deciding to ignore everything from the kiss onwards.

You didn’t spend much time with each other out of work, though that was through no fault of Billy’s. It seemed like every day, something would come up that demanded his attention, keeping him at his desk late into the night and, when you offered to stay late to help him, he’d send you home in his car.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, you weren’t sure if Billy would be in any fit state for the VDK dinner, but there he was, waiting next to his car by the curb as you stepped outside.

As he had the night of the gala, Billy asked that you pack a bag and spend the night at his apartment and, despite everything, you were more than happy to after waking up that morning to find that the heating in your apartment wasn’t working.

His eyes widened as you approached, taking in the sight of you and what you were wearing. The dress that he’d bought you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t speak at all until you were both in the car and the driver had started the engine.

“I thought you didn’t like that dress,” he said.

“I never said that. I said it was too expensive.”

He was silent for a few seconds before; “I’m glad you kept it, you look amazing.”

You smiled at him, finally taking a moment to appreciate how good he looked, his charcoal suit immaculately hugging his figure and not a dark hair out of place. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it, but you found yourself considering how handsome he was as he glanced out the window, but he was only beautiful when he looked at you and smiled in return.

Soon, and for the second time in less than a week, you found yourself outside the VDK Manhattan Hotel. Fortunately, this time there was no fanfare as you approached the doors, no red carpet or lines of photographers but, just like the night of the gala, you entered with Billy’s hand in yours.

You were met by a member of the hotel staff and taken in the elevator up to the penthouse.

Your hand gripped Billy’s as you stepped out into the most lavish looking hotel suite that you’d ever seen - which, admittedly, wasn't saying a lot as you couldn’t remember ever seeing the inside of a hotel suite before, let alone a penthouse suite. It even put Billy’s apartment to shame, but you weren’t given time to really appreciate it.

“There you are, just in time,” Catherine Van Der Koy, said as she approached you, “we were just about to have some drinks before dinner.”

You and Billy both greeted her before you found yourselves being separated.

“William, I believe you’re acquainted with my son-in-law and grandson?” She said, motioning to a group of men sitting on the sofa drinking what looked to be scotch. Billy nodded. “Good, go and have a drink while we catch up.”

He started to move but, for a moment, you were reluctant to let go of his hand. You didn’t want him to leave your side, and you felt his hand squeeze yours in silent apology just before his fingers slipped away. 

“Don’t worry,” Catherine said as you watched him go, “they’ve all promised to be on their best behaviour tonight.”

That did nothing to settle your nerves, even though you knew that Billy was more than capable of handling himself. Knowing how some of these people saw him, you didn’t want to leave Billy to face them alone, but Catherine took your arm and led you into the suite’s large dining room where a group of mostly women sat drinking and chatting.

“Have you ever stayed in one of our hotels before?” Catherine asked.

“No,” you answered, feeling your cheeks start to warm, “they’re a little out of my price range.”

“Not any more, I’ll bet,” said an unfamiliar voice.

A young woman stepped in front of you. She had a smirk on her lips and you couldn’t decide if she was joking or if there was something more pointed to the comment. 

“This is my granddaughter Leah,” Catherine said.

You introduced yourself but, clearly, it wasn’t necessary. Leah Van Der Koy knew all about you. She had an almost nasal way of speaking that made every comment sound like it was a thinly veiled barb, but you quickly realised that it was just the way she spoke.

Catherine remained silent as Leah brought up things she’d seen on the gossip blogs about you and Billy, pointing out how cute the pair of you had looked together leaving the movie festival you’d attended a couple of weeks ago.

“Leah is in charge of VDK’s social media,” Catherine explained. “She likes to keep her finger on the pulse.”

On the pulse of what exactly, you didn’t dare ask.

“You have no idea how many people are losing their minds over you right now,” Leah told you. “Do you have TikTok or Insta?”

You shook your head, not sure why she wanted to know or why anyone would be losing their minds over you.

“You should get on it,” Leah continued. “With all the attention you’re getting right now, you could make a killing as an influencer.”

It took every ounce of composure you had not to cringe at the thought. Just the idea made you feel ill - you didn’t like the attention and you certainly didn’t want to attract more of it.

“Give me your phone?” She asked and, for reasons you couldn’t even begin to understand, you did. She tapped the screen a few times before handing it back to you. “I put my number in there, let me know if you ever need any social media advice.”

“Leah dear, stop harassing your grandmother’s guest.”

Another woman appeared behind Leah and just one look at her told you that she was Leah’s mother, Catherine’s daughter. They all had the same high cheekbones and delicate noses.

“This is my daughter Faye,” Catherine offered.

Again, you introduced yourself.

“I love your dress,” Faye said. “It looks like a Sophie Harrington piece.”

“Oh, uh -” you stumbled over your words, looking down at yourself as you tried to remember the name of the boutique Billy’ had bought it from, “- I think that was where it came from?” 

“Faye has always had an eye for fashion and design,” Catherine explained with a noticeable degree of pride in her voice. “She’s in charge of a lot of the interior design of our hotels.” She then paused and upon noticing your discomfort, waved away her daughter and granddaughter. “Let’s get a drink.”

You nodded as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

The dining room had its own bar and bartender - you didn’t dare ask if he came included in the nightly price of the room, as you already felt like you were embarrassing yourself enough.

“You look positively terrified.”

Her words pulled you back to the moment and the heat across your cheeks intensified.

“Sorry. I’m just -” again you awkwardly swallowed again, “- I’m not really used to... all this.” 

“What part of it is bothering you?” She asked, curious and thankfully not offended.

“Big dinner parties with people I don’t know, people who already know me even though I’ve never met them, people knowing more about my dress than I do -”

“Take a breath,” she interrupted.

You realised belatedly that you’d probably sounded like you were panicking or freaking out, and forced yourself to take a slow breath.

“I shouldn’t have worn this dress,” you muttered a moment later.

“Why not?”

“Because Billy bought it for me.” There was no point in lying, everyone there probably knew that there was no way you could have afforded to buy it for yourself.

“What difference does that make?”

“It’s too expensive,” you answered. “Everyone will think I just want Billy’s money.”

Catherine studied you for a moment and then handed you a wine glass. You’d been so lost in your own awkwardness that you hadn’t even realised she’d asked the bartender for a drink for you.

“Does he buy you a lot of things?” She asked.

“No,” you quickly answered. “And I didn’t even want him to buy this. I told him to take it back, but he wouldn’t. I only wore it tonight because he’s had a rough week and I thought it might cheer him up.”

You hadn’t told Billy that was the reason you’d chosen to wear it. Hell, you’d barely even admitted it to yourself. But it had been a difficult week and you’d thought your discomfort would be worth it just to see him smile.

“Did it?” She asked before clarifying. “Cheer him up?”

“I - I hope so,” you said, finding your eyes drifting towards the door, wondering how Billy was getting on.

“It’s not easy - loving someone who gives so much of themselves to their work.”

Your gaze dropped and you bit your lip, a tidal wave of embarrassment washing over you. You were embarrassed by the lie, by how the dishonesty made you feel. That was all. That  was what the feeling in your stomach was, and that was why your heart seemed to stutter. It wasn’t that you loved him or that you were in love with him.

No.

While there might have been some feelings of fondness, closeness even, what you felt wasn’t love. And whatever Billy felt for you...

“Oh dear,” Catherine said, pulling you back to the moment, “has he not said the words yet? You mustn’t let that discourage you, men like William speak with actions before words.”

Actions.

Actions like pressing you against a wall and kissing you like his life depended on it?

“Come and sit,” she instructed and, again, you followed her, joining the rest of the group sitting around the table.

You made small talk with the group but, mostly, you were happy to just fade into the background, mostly ignored. After about forty minutes, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom but, instead of returning to the dining room straight away, you found yourself exploring the suite and ending up on the balcony.

It looked out over Central Park - though the low light made it hard to anything beyond the lit paths that weaved through the park, you imagined that the view was stunning during the day.

You hadn’t meant to linger, but the cold night air was a relief and the city noises were calming after the constant chatter and laughter inside.

You didn’t hear someone else step out onto the balcony, you hadn’t even noticed that there was a door besides the one you’d used, but you recognised his voice immediately. 

“Little dove,” he muttered softly, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Turning, you watched as Billy approached you.

“What are you doing out here alone?” He asked.

“I -” you started to answer but faltered when he placed a warm hand on your bare arm, “- I just needed to get some air.”

“You’re cold.” Statement, not question. And before you could answer, he’d taken off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. 

Part of you wanted to protest, wanted to worry about him getting cold, but his jacket was so soft, so warm, and it smelled like his cologne, and once it was draped around you, you didn’t want to give it back.

Despite his jacket, you shivered, and Billy stepped closer, heat radiating from his body.

“How’s it going?” He asked softly, leaning closer as if he was worried you’d be overheard,  even though you were completely alone.

“Good, I think...” you answered just as softly, barely noticing that your eyes were fixed on his chest.

“What’s wrong?”

You wanted to hate how easily he could see through you, how he’d gotten better at understanding you in the weeks that you’d spent together, but you couldn’t. You’d wanted him to see you as a person and, now, he did.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I don’t feel like I belong in your world,” you confessed softly. “It’s exhausting.”

“I don’t feel like I belong either,” Billy offered.

Still, you couldn’t look him in the eye, knowing that you’d melt the moment that you did. You felt ridiculous for letting what Catherine had said get to you, but now you were overthinking every little thing he did, wondering if -

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

He didn’t love you. He wasn’t in love with you.

And you didn’t love him.

None of it was real - he’d told you himself, he found it easy to lie, and that was all it was. A lie. A fiction.

But, when you felt fingers beneath your chin, urging you to look up, you did. And when your eyes met his - yeah, as you’d feared, butterflies took flight in your stomach and your breath caught. The darkness of the night turned his eyes even darker but, still, they seemed to spark and burn when he looked at you.

“You belong here with me,” he said.

Before you could speak, the space between you disappeared. You weren’t sure which of you moved first, but his lips were soon on yours.

It was soft and slow, his tongue coaxing your lips apart so you could sink into a deeper kiss. You could taste the scotch he’d been drinking, and you were sure he could taste your wine. It was the excuse that you’d use for all of this - you’d both been drinking on empty stomachs.

And, besides, it was all for show. (Even though no one was watching, it was all for show.)

You pulled him closer, letting his body pin you against the balcony’s ledge. Even if it was just for show, there was nothing to say you couldn’t enjoy it, nothing to silence that voice in your head that demanded more, more, more.

It felt like a slow descent into madness, the kiss turning more heated the longer it continued, and you lost yourself to the fantasy, to the idea that you could belong with Billy.

You gripped him tight as you were lifted and placed on the ledge, the cold metal railing at your back as Billy stepped between your legs.

He’d never been so close before but, somehow, it wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel more of his body against your, you wanted to feel his skin beneath your hands, his -

A soft noise escaped you into the kiss as his hand started to blaze a trail up your thigh, slowing only a fraction before dipping beneath the hem of your dress. Your cheeks heated, and some small part of you knew that you should pull away, tell him to stop, but it was easily drowned out and overruled by the part of you that wanted.

His hand continued upwards and your heart raced faster. You knew what he’d find if his fingers reached your panties. The lace was already starting to soak with your arousal, and you should have been embarrassed at how wet you were just from one little kiss.

Billy nipped at your lip, drawing another noise from you, something a little louder and a lot more desperate, before plunging his tongue back into the warmth of your mouth.

Want me, every fibre of your being screamed against your better judgement, leaving you feeling so needy and desperate for something that wasn’t even real. You held him tighter, pulled him closer, your tongue greedy against his. You parted your legs a little wider, making room for his hand as his fingers finally reached the edge of your panties.

The first brush of his fingertips through the wet lace had your back arching, pushing yourself into his touch, his body, into everything that was Billy Russo.

Then came a sound, a voice, that had both Billy’s hand and lips pulling away from you.

Faye Van Der Koy telling you both that dinner was about to be served.

The weight of everything that had just happened hit you like a ton of bricks. You turned your head, looking away from Billy as shame filled your whole body. He tensed and pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said.

Sorry.

... what was he sorry for?

(For getting carried away, for doing exactly what you’d told him he couldn’t do, for treating you like an object for his pleasure. He was sorry because it wasn’t real and now you’d have to face the consequences.)

You held your breath when you felt his hands on your hips, lifting you down from the ledge, and when you looked at him again, you found that he looked almost as lost as you felt.

“I -” he started.

“We should go inside.”

Whatever he wanted to say, you were certain that you didn’t want to hear it.

Billy hesitated for a beat before nodding, clumsily taking your hand in his and leading you back inside.

Catherine Van Der Koy gave you a telling smirk as you and Billy took your seats at the table and, as the food was served, you felt like everyone at the table was staring at you. You didn’t realise your entire body was tensed until you felt Billy’s hand on your thigh beneath the table, offering a gentle but reassuring squeeze.

The conversation jumped around over dinner and you were happy to just silently observe it while you ate. They talked about business, politics, and the social scene. You paid attention, filing away everything that you thought might be important, and only speaking when a question was directly posed to you.

For someone who’d told you that he didn’t belong there, Billy had an infinitely easier time inserting himself into the conversation. Unlike you, he had limitless reserves of confidence.

Once dinner was over and fresh drinks were served, Billy’s arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. 

It was all for show, but you were so exhausted by everything that you were more than happy to rest your head against his shoulder, hoping that the night would soon be over.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Billy shifted to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You okay, little dove?” He asked.

The pet name had your heart skipping a beat and you sank closer.

“Fine, just tired,” you answered.

“Do you want to go soon?” His voice was soft and full of a sort of caring that always caught you off-guard.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t want to ruin the evening,” you said.

“Nonsense,” Catherine interjected. You hadn’t even realised she’d been listening. “I take it you’re both working in the morning.”

“We are,” Billy answered.

“But you’re the boss, why not just give yourself the day off?” Leah asked from the other side of the table.

“I would,” he said, implying that he wasn’t the one that had an issue with it. 

“I’ve told you,” you said directly at Billy despite the fact that most of the table was listening, “I like to keep our professional and personal lives separate. Besides, Anvil would crumble if I took a day off.”

It was a gross overstatement and you found yourself grinning at Billy and - and then he let out one of those laughs and pressed his lips to your forehead again.

“She’s right,” he conceded, “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”

There was truth in his words, but you didn’t want to think too much about why.

After a few more minutes, the two of you were on your feet, the Van Der Koy’s wishing you both goodnight with promises being thrown out about more dinners and social events in future. Catherine escorted you both to the lift, waiting with you, and putting the full weight of her scrutiny on Billy.

“William, when you propose to this girl, do make sure that it’s somewhere romantic. She deserves it,” Catherine said, smirking as Billy’s face paled at the suggestion.

But any shock he felt was short lived and he quickly rebounded with; “first I need to convince her to move in with me.”

Suddenly it was Catherine’s turn to look shocked, her attention quickly turning back to you as your cheeks heated. 

Thankfully the elevator arrived before you had to try and think of a way to explain it to her. You were quickly ushered inside and Catherine promised to be in touch to see you both soon. 

When the doors slid shut, you let out a sigh of relief.

“I think that went well,” Billy muttered, letting out an exhausted sigh of his own.

By the time you arrived back at Billy’s penthouse, it was as if nothing had happened on that balcony. Neither of you spoke about it, instead making small talk about how nice the food had been and how you’d both enjoyed the evening. 

Billy kept his hands off you, seeming uninterested in continuing what you’d been doing before Faye Van Der Koy’s interruption and, similarly, you didn’t reach for him.

Compartmentalisation. 

That was what you were doing; taking the events on the balcony and filing them away with every other time that he’d kissed you or touched you. It was the only way you’d keep from going insane.

You bid him goodnight, declining his offer of coffee. You were tired and it had been a very long day, and Billy was more than happy to let you slink off to bed.

Breakfast was waiting for you in the morning. And it was for you, you realised. While he ate with you, you knew it wasn’t his normal routine - it was why you got him a pastry and coffee every morning at the office, not because Billy couldn’t look after himself, but because he chose not to.

It made you a little angry, the way he didn’t seem to care about himself sometimes, but what bothered you more was why you cared so much. It wasn’t just your arrangement, you realised, you’d cared long before that had started.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have time or money, and judging from the way he sat opposite you, eating waffles, it wasn't a lack of appetite. 

But you didn’t ask. In fact, you barely spoke over breakfast, claiming that you were still tired when asked, even though you’d had a rare, full night of sleep.

At Anvil, you hardly saw him. His schedule was full for most of the day, first meeting with the head of Anvil’s mission analytics department, then overseeing a recruitment event to find new operators.

But, come the end of the day, he was waiting to take you home.

You’d stopped trying to argue against it, knowing that nothing you said or did was going to stop him from having his driver take you home, or discourage him from following you up to your apartment, even though all you wanted to do was throw yourself into the hottest shower imaginable.

“Why is it so cold in here?” He asked.

Great, clearly the heating still wasn’t working. 

As you closed the door behind Billy you noticed an envelope on the floor, your name scrawled across it and, on opening it you found a letting from the building manager, letting you know that there was an issue with the boiler and the heat would be off for at least a few more days until the correct parts could be found.

“Boiler’s broken,” you said, sighing.

“When’s it going to be fixed?” He asked, following you further into your apartment instead of heading to the kitchen to make coffee as per your usual routine.

“Whenever they can get the parts,” you answered, trying not to sound as annoyed and exhausted as you actually were. “But, given how old the building is, who knows...”

“You can’t stay here.”

You should have expected it but it still came as an uncomfortable shock.

“It’s fine, I’ve got an electric blanket and -” you said, starting to protest before he could make the offer that you already knew was coming.

“And you’re going to end up getting sick.”

He was right. Worse, you knew that he was right.

“It’ll only be a couple of days,” you said, still trying to get out of what he hadn’t even suggested yet.

“Exactly. You can spend the weekend at the penthouse and, then, hopefully it’ll be fixed by Monday.”

It was common sense, really. And you didn’t want to spend your entire weekend buried beneath a layer of blankets, trying to stay warm. But, on the other hand, you didn’t exactly want to spend a whole weekend with Billy while you were trying to forget the way his hand had felt between your legs.

“Fine,” you relented, sighing again.

And that was that. 

Billy waited while you packed a bag and the pair of you then returned to his penthouse. He couldn’t help but joke about it as you settled into his spare room again and he brought you some clean towels.

“I knew I’d get you to move in sooner or later.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Careful, or I might start thinking you sabotaged my building’s boiler.”

That got a laugh from him and was enough to have you thinking that, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad.

He offered to take you out for dinner but, instead, the pair of you ended up eating take out pizza in front of the TV, finally watching the second Omen movie together. You both laughed and made little jokes about the creepy kid in the movie, and it occurred to you just how different Billy was when it was just the two of you and he didn’t have to perform.

You’d noticed it before, but in his own home, it was easier to spot; he was relaxed, happy even. It was as if he was a different person altogether and that person was the one you wanted to be around, the one you wanted to keep as a friend after everything with VDK was done.

Over the weekend, you both got on with your lives; you going to visit Seb, and Billy doing whatever it was he did whenever he wasn’t at work. Then, in the evenings, you’d eat together and hang out. 

It was all so simple, so easy, that come Monday morning, when he told you that you could stay a little longer, you agreed to a one week trial of living with him. 

You were shocked at just how easy it was. Despite knowing Billy to be a particular person when he was at work, you found that he didn’t seem to mind having you in his space - though, some of that might have been owing to the fact you made a concerted effort not to make a mess or get in the way.

And you had to admit that life in the penthouse was more comfortable than it was in your little apartment. There were no noisy neighbours slamming doors in the night, no cold draughts, or mornings without hot water.

Billy took you out for Thai food again on Monday and you quickly realised, despite his allusions to being able to cook some things, Billy always either ate out or ordered in. And, even though you complained, he didn’t once allow you to pay or even just cover your own food.

On Wednesday you were left alone while Billy went out with Frank and Karen. 

He invited you to join them - almost begged, honestly - but you didn’t want to get in the way or make him feel like he had to put on a performance in front of his friends.

That was how you found yourself finally exploring the penthouse, from the office that was filled with bookshelves and a massive music collection on CD and vinyl, to his bedroom.

You felt awful, but you just couldn’t stop yourself from slowly walking around his massive bed and into his en-suite bathroom, your jaw dropping at the marble countertops and the large clawfoot bathtub. 

Then you slipped into his walk-in wardrobe and your eyes rolled. No one needed that many suits. You ran your hands over the jackets, feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingers before lifting a sleeve to your nose. It smelled like Billy, that deeply masculine scent that caused butterflies in your stomach and told you that you should get out of there.

By the time he came home, you were sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee and reading as if you hadn’t spent most of the evening snooping. And Billy was none the wiser.

Everything was fine between you until Thursday rolled around.

Not long after dinner, Billy excused himself, telling you not to wait up and to enjoy your evening alone. 

You threw yourself in the shower the moment he was gone and put on your pyjamas, planning on spending the whole night watching trashy TV. But before you could even sign into Netflix, your phone buzzed and your entire evening derailed.

A cold feeling of dread washed over you as you opened the message. It was from Leah Van Der Koy - she must have sent herself your number when she’d had your phone.

I shouldn’t be showing you this but I thought you deserved to know.

Attached was a video file.

It was some kind of surveillance recording. 

It showed a dark alleyway between two buildings. The footage was dark and a little blurred, but you could make out Billy, knocking on a door and then disappearing from view. Then, about twenty seconds later, a tall blonde woman did the same.

You mind raced. Where was Billy? What was he doing?

It was clear from the tone of Leah’s message that she thought Billy was cheating on you, and that VDK had someone following him, waiting for him to fuck up.

You felt ill knowing that she was probably right, that he’d probably gone for some clandestine hook-up with someone. Hell, it was probably why he kept kissing you, kept touching you. It wasn’t because he felt anything for you, he was just horny and, because you wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he’d gone to get it elsewhere.

Automatically and without thought, you replied to Leah;

Thanks Leah but it’s nothing to worry about.

Once the message was sent, you tried to call Billy but got no answer. Then you texted him, and there was still no response. 

After a minute or two of waiting, you watched the video again.

You could just about make out a storefront in the bottom right of the frame, and you quickly googled it before double checking against street view, confirming the address.

Before you knew it, you were changing out of your pyjamas and pulling on your coat.

Whatever was going on, whatever Billy was doing, you weren’t going to let him destroy your reputation over it.

The doorman of Billy’s building hailed a taxi and, before you could stop to think about how monumentally stupid you were probably being, you were on your way to the address you’d found. Would the VDK investigator still be lurking in the shadows? Would you showing up at the address be enough to convince them that, whatever Billy was doing, it was with your consent?

Your heart was racing by the time the taxi pulled up and, as you climbed out onto the sidewalk, your legs felt like jello beneath you.

You almost changed your mind and got right back into the taxi, as you thought about what you might find. But you couldn’t. You needed to know what was going on so you could protect yourself from it.

But it wasn’t worry about yourself and your reputation that was turning your stomach upside down and had your heart aching in your chest. No, it was the thought of seeing him with another woman, someone giving him what you couldn’t. It was the thought of catching him with the kind of woman he wanted, someone who was nothing like you.

It took every ounce of will you possessed not to look around for the surveillance and give away that you knew they were there.

Taking a deep breath, you headed into the alleyway, towards the door he’d disappeared through. You damn near jumped out of your skin at how quickly the door was opened once you knocked.

“Yeah?” The guy was huge, easily twice your size, and every inch of exposed skin was covered in tattoos, some artful and others...

Your cheeks heated and you forced yourself not to stare at the naked woman drawn on his neck.

“I-I’m looking for someone,” you said, your voice coming out meeker than you wanted.

“They’re not here,” he answered and started to close the door.

“Billy Russo,” you said but the door kept closing. “Please, there’s someone across the street who filmed him coming in here. I need to warn him, otherwise it’s going to cause a lot of trouble.”

The door stopped, halfway closed. You pulled your phone from your pocket and showed him the video.

“He’s being watched and, if I don’t warn him, it’s going to cause problems for both of us.” You pulled back your phone, showing him the lock screen and the picture you’d taken of Billy. “Please, I don’t want to cause any trouble, I just - my whole life is on the line here. I just want to warn him.”

His expression softened a fraction, in a way that was almost imperceivable.

“You cause any trouble I’ll throw you out on your ass. I don’t care who’s watching, understand?”

“Yes, thank you - thank you so much,” you answered, stepping inside as he moved aside to let you in.

You regretted it instantly the moment you saw the dark corridor. It was like something from a horror movie and caused your stomach to churn with worry. What was Billy doing in a place like this?

Somewhere, there was music playing, the low throbbing beat making you wonder if there was a hidden nightclub somewhere in the building. 

“Up the stairs on the left, third door,” the big guy told you, lazily waving you towards the stairwell. “Remember what I said about causing trouble.”

You nodded nervously, realising that he wasn’t going to show you the way. (Of course he wasn’t. He wanted no part in whatever was about to happen.)

Slowly, cautiously, you made your way upstairs. The music got louder, so loud that you could feel it vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. It seemed like you were heading towards it but, when you reached the door, it wasn’t music that met your ears but a different sound all together.

You hesitated, frozen, your hand raised to knock when you heard it.

It was a sharp sound, a sound immediately recognisable as a slap but then...

Then came a high pitched moan.

You faltered, the sickening feeling in your stomach intensifying. You didn’t know what was going on behind the door. You didn’t want to. But you couldn’t leave. If you stormed out and the person surveilling Billy saw, it would only confirm whatever they thought about him and you.

Forcing yourself to move, you pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.

And your heart immediately stopped.

“Billy?” His name spilled from your lips, confused and upset, not understanding what you were seeing.

There he was, sitting on a couch with a half-naked woman draped over his lap, his hand resting on her ass over her panties, looking like he’d just been...

His gaze met yours as you desperately tried to blink back the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“What the fuck?” The woman on his lap moved the moment she noticed you, getting to her feet and covering herself with her discarded dress. She looked at Billy and shook her head, obviously upset. “I am not into threesomes.”

She almost knocked you over as she pushed past you to leave.

Billy’s mouth hung open, like he wanted to say something, wanted to explain to her that he didn’t know why you were there, but it was too late. She was gone, leaving you alone with him.

You blinked again, hating that you felt upset, betrayed. Billy wasn’t yours and this shouldn’t have bothered you, but it did. It hurt.

It made your whole fucking chest ache.

Against your better judgement you stepped further into the room, allowing the door to fall shut behind you.

“What -” he started, more lost and uncertain than you’d ever seen him. He wasn’t angry, you realised. He was embarrassed. Ashamed.

You tried to answer but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know what to say or where to start, or if there was even anything you could say in this situation. So you handed him your phone, with the message and video on screen.

Once he had your phone, you stepped back again, trying to put some space between you,

Billy visibly paled as he watched the video and, now, you could understand why; if it ever got out that this was how he liked to spend his time, he would be ruined.

By the time he lowered your phone, he looked broken, like his life was falling to pieces around him. Normally you might have felt some slither of sympathy for him, but you had your own pain to contend with.

The silence dragged on, becoming so unbearable that you had to speak.

“So you get off on hurting women?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure where the question came from and you hated the sharpness of your voice, but it was enough to make him look at you again.

“What? No - no, that’s not -” he let out a frustrated breath, raking his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t hurting her. That’s not what this is.”

“Then what?” You dared to ask, tone still cutting. “Explain it to me. Make it make sense. Tell me how you hitting some woman isn’t as bad as it looks.”

He let out a joyless huff of laughter, shaking his head, looking defeated. “Why? Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind about it.”

“Because I’m connected to you and if all of this falls apart, I’m the one who’ll suffer,” you said, struggling to keep from raising your voice. “This will destroy my reputation. I won’t be able to get another job in New York and - and you know what will happen if I can’t work.”

Discomfort flickered across his face as your words sank in. Clearly he hadn’t even considered you when he’d decided to come here tonight.

His usually pristine appearance was left undone when he ran his fingers through his hair again. You’d never seen him look so dishevelled.

“It’s not about hurting anyone,” he said, taking a slow breath, and you wondered if his heart was pounding as fast as yours. “It’s about trust... control...”

“Control?” You repeated like it was a dirty word. 

Control definitely didn’t make it sound any better.

Billy sighed and, even though it was the last thing you wanted to think about, you couldn’t help but notice how exhausted he looked.

“It’s a power fantasy; some people like to give up control and be completely vulnerable,” he explained with the slightest shrug. “And some people want to be trusted, for someone to give up control to them...”

For reasons you didn’t understand, you thought back to what he’d told you about his ex, about how she didn’t trust him. Was this why?

“How does hurting them make them trust you?” You asked

“I told you -”

“Well, it sounded like it hurt.”

Though, after a moment of consideration, you remembered the way she’d moaned, and heat exploded across your cheeks again.

“It doesn’t have to hurt,” Billy continued half-hearted, already resigned to the fact that you’d never understand, “but some people enjoy it more if it does.”

“Do you enjoy it more if it hurts?”

You weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer, you didn’t want to fall deeper into the rabbit hole, but you might never have the chance to ask again.

“No, not really. I don’t need it to involve pain or even physical contact if they don’t want it,” he said, shrugging. “She wanted to be spanked.” 

“If you’re not... spanking them, then what?”

You didn’t expect Billy to laugh, or for him to finally stand and take a few steps towards you. 

Your eyes dropped and you realised that his shirt was hanging open, leaving the hard lines of his abs exposed, his defined chest littered with scars and -

You forced your gaze to his eyes again, just in time for him to return your phone.

“There are a lot of ways to exert control over someone, it just depends what they’re into,” he said, and your stomach lurched as your fingers brushed against his and you took back your phone. “It’s all negotiated beforehand, so everyone gets what they want.”

“And that was what she wanted from you?” You asked, sounding more lost than ever.

“Of course, I’d never force -”

“But you paid her to -”

“No,” he quickly corrected. “No one gets paid. No one works here.”

Silence fell again as you tried to make sense of it all. Why would someone like Billy need... this. 

Pieces of the puzzle slowly started to fall into place; the way he’d behave when things didn’t go his way, how frustrated he got when you wouldn’t let him look after you, how upset he’d sounded when you’d tried to refuse to go home when he thought you were ill. He needed to feel in control.

But you’d never agreed to be controlled by him. You’d never agreed to be part of whatever this was.

“You’re that desperate to feel like you’re in control?”

He sighed, buttoning his shirt. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re always in control of every little thing,” he said, frustration shining through. “You plan everything out, you’re always on time, you know every little thing that’s going on - hell, you practically run my life five days a week. Everything in your life is perfectly controlled.”

You felt seen, but not in a good way. He made you sound like a control freak, like you were anal. And, okay, maybe you were, but you had to be. You weren’t just in charge of your own life, you had Seb to think about. 

But just because you were in control, didn’t mean that you liked it.

Billy stared at you in that way that he did, the way that made you feel like he was looking right through you. Only, this time, you didn’t think he liked what he saw.

“You’re right though,” he conceded, “I should have expected VDK to hire someone to watch me and I should’ve realised how this would reflect on you.”

And, just like that, you almost felt bad for him. The regret on his face caused the ache in your chest to worsen. As angry as you were at him, you couldn’t stand to see him looking so defeated.

“I’ll tell Leah that we were here together,” you offered, though the thought left you feeling flustered.

“No, I can’t ask you to -”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” you said, watching as he pulled his jacket on. “Besides, it looks better for both of us, instead of them thinking that you’re a cheat and a deviant weirdo...”

“...right,” he muttered, and you almost winced when you realised what you’d said. Then, he added a quiet; “thank you.”

He made it sound like you were offering far more than you actually were, but you didn’t want to think about it. In fact you just wanted to forget the whole thing had ever happened.

“Are you -” he started, then stopped, considering his next words, “- are you coming home with me?”

You were a little surprised that he was giving you a choice rather than just assuming that you were.

“I understand if you don’t want to,” he continued when you didn’t immediately answer. “I can take you back to your apartment...”

Maybe it would be for the best but if you went back tonight, after this, anyone watching might get the wrong impression. (Or the right impression, really.) But, as weird as you found it all, it wasn’t like Billy had tried to involve you in his... needs, nor had he suggested that he wanted to.

In fact, once your heartbeat started to settle and the initial shock wore off, you realised that it was none of your business. He wasn’t hurting anyone - at least, no one who hadn’t specifically asked for it - and...

And he wasn’t yours.

You didn’t get to feel betrayed or upset because you’d found him with another woman. What you had with Billy wasn’t real.

“I’ll come home with you,” you finally answered.

Billy didn’t say anything, but you thought you saw a flicker of relief on his face as he waved you towards the door. He muttered something about a back exit and you followed him, falling into step beside him. 

As you made it outside and headed towards his car, you felt his fingers brush against yours as they had done so many times before, but he didn’t try to take your hand in his. Glancing down, you caught his fingers flexing before curling into a loose fist at his side.

He was scared to touch you.

Or maybe he thought that you didn’t want to be touched by him anymore. 

You weren’t even sure what you wanted, but you hated how broken he looked as you got into his car, and how quiet he was all the way back to the penthouse. You barely recognised the man at your side as you made your way back into his penthouse.

Needing something to do, you went to make coffee. It had become so normal for the pair of you to sit together over a hot drink now. Whether you were in your apartment or Billy’s penthouse, you always seemed to end up on the sofa, nursing a hot drink.

“I’m sorry,” Billy said, finally breaking the silence as he perched on the end of the sofa, his eyes fixed on his mug. “It was selfish to not consider the consequences for you if this falls apart. I should’ve warned you, should’ve -”

“It’s none of my business,” you interrupted, not wanting to think about it any more than you already had.

“I made it your business when I asked you to do this.”

“Billy, your sex life is -”

“It’s not about sex.”

That came as a surprise.

“So you don’t screw them when you’re done... doing whatever it is you do?” You asked, incredulous, and Billy responded with a resigned sigh. “So, that’s a yes then?”

“I’ve told you before, I enjoy sex,” he shrugged. “But, if you must know, I haven’t had sex in weeks...”

Weeks? Since before your arrangement started?

The thought shouldn’t have made you feel better but, somehow, it did.

“So you’ve been going to a sex club and not having sex?”

Billy let out a frustrated sound and got to his feet. You thought he might walk out but, instead, he walked towards the window, putting his back to you as he looked out over the city.

“What do you want me to say? I’m no saint. You knew my reputation before you agreed to this,” his voice turned sharper, frustrated and tired. “No, I haven’t fucked anyone recently, but I’ve - Christ, this isn’t even real. I don’t know why I’m trying to defend myself to you.”

Right. It wasn’t real. It never had been.

It never would be.

“Then don’t,” you said softly. “Like I said, it’s none of my business.

“I just - I want things to be alright between us,” he said. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. I... I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”

There was something strange and broken about the comment, something that gave away far too much. He might not care about you, but clearly he cared what you thought, and that wasn’t nothing.

“Why?” You dared to ask. “This doesn’t mean anything so why care if I’m angry?”

He turned back, his dark eyes searching your face, looking for something, some flicker of understanding.

“This might not be real but you’re in my life now. I like having you in my life. I -” he paused, struggling for a moment, “- I thought that you knew that.”

Oh. You hadn’t expected that.

Silence lingered and Billy’s discomfort only seemed to grow more palpable as the seconds ticked by.

Were you angry with him? Yes.

Did you have any right to be? Only tangentially.

Yes, he’d put you in a situation that could blow up in your face, but did you really have the right to get angry about what he got up to with other consenting adults behind closed doors?

Your stomach twisted itself into knots and you knew what you wanted to say was selfish - yes, you were angry with him. Angry because he’d managed to hurt you. Angry because he’d managed to make you feel something for him and he didn’t even seem to realise it.

You were nothing to him but you still felt betrayed, lied to, cheated on, as if the man you’d come to know was nothing but a fiction. You were angry because you cared. Even if it wasn’t real, you cared.

(But could you really claim to care if you weren’t willing to accept him?)

“I’m not angry,” you finally said, releasing the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “It’s just... it’s a lot...”

That didn’t seem to settle Billy like you’d hoped.

He sighed. “You think I’m some degenerate who -”

“No,” you interrupted, hating his broken tone, “I just don’t understand. I don’t get why you’d want that sort of control over anyone.”

Billy hesitated, shifting his weight as he considered his next words.

“You know I grew up in foster care,” he started, and you nodded. “I guess that’s when it started. Not the... sexual side of it, but the need for control. There was no stability, and I had no choice in what happened to me. I was moved around, sent from group home to group home, kept until I wasn’t wanted anymore...”

Your fingers tightened around your mug. He’d spoken in passing about his childhood but this was the first time he’d told you what it was actually like.

“I joined the Marines when I was eighteen because I had nowhere else to go,” he continued. “I signed away years of my life, following orders, going wherever I was sent. No choice, no control. By the time I got out, I felt like I was suffocating because of the things that I’d seen, the things that I’d done...”

You hadn’t dared ask about his time as a Marine and, now, you were sure you never wanted to.

“And now...” he trailed off into an exhausted sigh. “Now I have money, my own company, but... there’s still so many things that are out of my control...”

That was true, you supposed, but you’d never thought once that those things might affect him so deeply. Of course, you’d seen him when missions had gone wrong, when operators had lost their lives, but you’d never considered the toll it took on him.

“So you look for control with people who are willing to give it to you?” You asked.

Billy nodded.

Finally, it made some sort of sense to you; he’d spent his life feeling out of control and now looked for it wherever he could find it.

“When I’m in control nothing can hurt me...” he confessed in little more than a mutter, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to hear it.

Something broke inside of you, the deeper meaning completely gutting you.

Hurt.

Someone had hurt him. Someone had taken away his control.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask, not when it felt so private, so painful for him.

When his dark eyes found yours again, he offered another shrug.

“I know it seems strange to you, but -” he let the word hang for a moment, “- I’ll stop. While you’re with me, while we’re doing this, I’ll stay away from the club and other women. I’ll make sure this looks as real as it needs to and I won’t do anything to risk your reputation.”

You nodded your agreement, even though some part of you wondered if it was right or fair to stop him from living his life.

“So -” he started to ask, cautiously stepping back towards the sofa, “- are we okay?”

You knew what you wanted to say, but there was one last nagging doubt in the back of your mind.

“The other night, on the balcony, is that why you...”

What little colour remained on his cheeks immediately drained at the unfinished question, leaving him looking positively ill. It was the first time you’d dared to bring it up and it was clear that he hadn’t been expecting it.

But, given all the new information you had, you needed to know what the moment had meant to him.

“No, I -” he shook his head, “- I’d never... not like that, not with you...”

Never.

Not with you.

You should have been relieved, instead, for reasons beyond your understanding, you felt rejected.

“Then why?” You asked.

“I was happy and I guess I got carried away. You kissed me and I thought...” his gaze dropped and his head shook again. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just got caught up in the moment. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. And I would never do anything without your consent.”

You had kissed him?

You let out a slow exhale, trying to remember the exact moment and how you’d felt.

You’d wanted it, wanted him.

You couldn’t blame him for what had happened on the balcony because you’d been a very willing participant. 

“Okay.” It was all you could think to say after everything. It was too much and you needed time to wrap your head around it. Slowly, you got to your feet. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I’ll text Leah and make sure she knows that they got it wrong.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching as you headed for your room.

It took about twenty minutes to come up with a message for Leah (and whichever other Van Der Koy’s had been involved) striking a tone between friendly but also somewhat offended that your privacy had been invaded in such a way.

Then, for the rest of the night, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling, itching to reach for your phone again to research what Billy had told you, to try and understand him and the desires that seemed so strange and alien to you. You played his words over and over in your mind until, finally, you fell asleep.

A familiar scent greeted you when you woke; pancakes, bacon, coffee. For a few wonderful moments you were able to forget the awkward events of the night before, your stomach growling and your mind set on nothing but food.

But it quickly came flooding back.

You wanted to roll over and go back to sleep - or anything really, that would allow you to avoid Billy for just a little longer - but you had to get ready for work and, if you skipped breakfast, you’d only be spiting yourself. And, as always, the food smelled too good to ignore.

With a sigh you got out of bed and padded towards the door.

He noticed you almost immediately, his eyes catching on yours for a few seconds before dropping to the table. Your stomach gave an awkward grumble as you shuffled towards the table.

You offered a muttered ‘good morning’ and he responded in kind.

A second later you both reached for the coffee, your fingers clumsily meeting and pulling away just as quickly.

Your eyes met his again and breath caught in your throat. Dark circles lined his blood shot eyes, his face paler than usual and, as he looked at you, you noticed him struggling to focus.

While you’d seen him tired before, you’d never seen him look quite so exhausted. 

“Did you get any sleep last night?” You asked, though you were pretty sure you knew the answer.

“A couple of hours,” he answered with a shrug. He must have been able to tell that you didn’t believe him because he quickly added; “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

You didn’t expect his response to be quite so visceral. 

He filled his mug without another word and stood from the table.

“Billy -” you said, trying to get him to stop but he just kept on going, disappearing into his room. 

Part of you wanted to go after him, to apologise or - you didn’t even know what. You hadn’t meant to hurt him or upset him but, after last night, you didn’t want to just accept whatever he said without question. And, if you were to be entirely honest with yourself, you were worried that you were part of the reason he hadn’t slept.

As upset as you’d felt, in the cold light of day you understood that his sex life and what he chose to do with consenting partners was none of your business.

Your stomach gave another grumble and you decided to eat, giving Billy some time to cool off before you tried to talk to him again.

As you chewed your pancakes you tried to imagine how he must be feeling. Exposed, probably. He was probably concerned about how much VDK knew and how long they’d been following him. He’d probably been up all night worrying that his whole life was about to fall apart around him.

He probably felt completely out of control.

And that was the thought that got you, the thought that almost broke you.

He’d lost the one thing that he wanted.

Finishing breakfast, you went about your morning routine, showering and getting dressed. Then, you packed some of your things. After everything that had happened, you wanted some space, and you thought that maybe Billy could benefit from it too. 

You didn’t see him again until it was time to leave for work.

He looked - well, he still looked bad, but one he was dressed in one of his dark suits and his hair had been slicked back, he looked presentable. No one would notice if they didn’t look too closely.

His eyebrows rose when he saw the bag in your hand and his jaw tightened.

He didn’t ask, but you felt compelled to explain as you both stepped into the elevator.

“I’m going to go back to my apartment tonight,” you said. “I think we both need a little bit of space.”

All you got from him was a non-committal hum.

He didn’t speak, didn’t ask why, didn’t say anything at all, not as you stepped off the elevator, and not as you got into the back of his car.

And you didn’t speak either. Despite the tense silence around you both that you were sure his driver picked up on, you remained silent. You fixed your eyes out of the window just so you didn’t have to look at him, letting whatever this was play out.

You’d hoped that he’d break, that he’d say something, but he didn’t.

The car pulled up outside Anvil and he got out, lingering on the sidewalk, waiting for you.

You took a moment, straightening your skirt with one hand and adjusting your hold on your bag with the other. Then, despite your uncertainty and discomfort, you reached for his hand.

Billy tensed and surprise flashed across his face but, a split-second later, his fingers tightly closed around your hand. You let go only momentarily to pass through security but then, for the rest of the way up to his office, you kept hold of him. And he kept hold of you.

His lips parted as the elevator approached the seventh floor, looking like he finally wanted to say something but, before he could, the doors slid open and revealed Frank Castle waiting by your desk.

He wasn’t expected - there was no meeting scheduled and you’d heard nothing from his secretary to say he was coming - but there he was. 

“Frankie,” Billy said in greeting, reluctantly letting his hand slip away from yours.

“Mornin’,” Frank greeted both of you, grinning like he’d caught you doing more than just holding hands. His eyes flitted from Billy to you. “No bearclaws today?”

“No, sorry. We already had breakfast,” you answered.

Frank let out a laugh and shook his head. “That’s good ‘cause I’ve gotta steal Bill away for a couple of hours.”

You looked at Billy, not liking that his schedule was suddenly being hijacked. “You’ve got an investor meeting at one.” 

Before Billy could answer, Frank’s hand was on his shoulder, playfully shoving him towards the elevator.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure loverboy makes it to all his meetings,” Frank said, leaving you no room to argue. “Oh, and Karen says you should come with us next time we go for drinks.”

Your eyes caught Billy’s one last time, wanting to say something, wanting to ask for just one minute alone so he could say whatever it was he had wanted to say before you were ambushed by Frank. But it was too late, the doors closed and they were gone.

You wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t long before you were settled at your desk, doing your day to day tasks, headphones in and enjoying having some time alone. Work-wise it was an easy day; replying to emails, forwarding invoices, and setting up Billy’s schedule for the next week. You didn’t even have to go get lunch for him - he texted you at midday, telling you that he was having lunch with Frank and wouldn’t be back until the end of the day.

And that was...

It was fine, you supposed. Maybe space was what he needed, what you both needed.

Just before 2pm an email arrived from VDK inviting you - just you and not Billy - to dinner with Catherine Van Der Koy.

Your stomach practically dropped through the floor, certain that you knew why she wanted to see you. You were tempted to decline the offer, to lie and say that you were busy but, if there was any way that could salvage things between Anvil and VDK, you had to try. So, you agreed.

The rest of the day was spent under a cloud of dread, trying to rehearse what you’d say to Catherine. 

You thought that maybe you’d ask Billy for his insight, for what he might want you to say and how he’d prefer you to explain it. But the moment you saw him, waiting by the car to drop you off at your apartment, you knew you couldn’t tell him.

He looked worse than he had that morning, and you didn’t want to risk causing him another night of upset and worry.

Still, he managed a smile when he saw you and that gave you hope that you could both put the all awkwardness of the last twenty-four hours behind you. And, when you reached him, he pulled you into a hug.

“Sorry for being a dick this morning,” he said softly.

“You weren't,” you muttered in response, lingering in the hug for a few moments before pulling back and offering him a smile.

He opened the car door for you and, once you were both inside, he let out a tired sigh.

“Do you still want to go back to your apartment?” He asked as the driver started the engine.

There was something in his voice, some slight hope that you might have changed your mind and you hated to dash it, but you knew that you had to.

“Yeah,” you said, though a moment later you added, “just for the weekend.”

Surprise flashed across his face and he very noticeably tried to keep his smile from growing too wide, too enthusiastic. 

“You’ll come back on Monday?” His excitement was as barely contained as his smile.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was contingent on a few things and that it still wouldn’t be a permanent thing. So, instead, you just nodded and let him take what little pleasure he could from the moment.

As usual, he followed you up to your apartment and the pair of you drank coffee while he told you about his day and you gave him a rough idea of his schedule for the following week.

Before he left you, he asked if you wanted to get dinner. You lied and told him you’d agreed to see a friend but that you could perhaps arrange something for Saturday. Billy seemed disappointed, but almost managed to hide it, so you didn’t comment on it.

In the hours that followed, you considered and then reconsidered cancelling your dinner with Catherine Van Der Koy. You continued to debate it right up until the moment you were walking into a private area of one of the VDK Manhattan’s exclusive restaurants. 

She rose to greet you with a smile and took your hand in hers for a moment before allowing you to sit and shrug off your jacket.

“I’m glad you could make it at such short notice,” she said.

There was something unsettling about the way she looked at you, giving away exactly why you were there. She knew that you knew, and it was as if she was waiting for you to be the one to address the elephant in the room.

And the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her.

“I didn’t feel like I had much choice,” you said.

Her lips twitched and she almost smiled at your defiance.

Before she could speak, a server appeared first placing down bowls of soup for both of you, then filling your wine glasses. Catherine didn’t say a word until you were alone again.

“So you understand why I asked you here tonight?” She asked, finally cutting to the point.

“Not entirely,” you answered, forgoing any of your usual warmth towards her. “I would hope that it’s to apologise to me.”

It was a dangerous game to play, being adversarial with her, and you knew that if you pushed back too much you could ruin things completely. But you felt betrayed by Catherine and the thought of anyone spying on Billy was utterly vile to you. You’d had a small taste of it with the gossip bloggers snapping photos of you whenever you went anywhere with Billy, but you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt about his darkest secret being uncovered in such a way.

“Apologise?” Catherine repeated the word like she didn’t even know its meaning.

“Yes, apologise,” you quickly answered. “You had no right to have Billy followed.”

The look on her face said it all; she hadn’t expected any sort of pushback.

“I know it probably seems underhanded,  but in business -”

“Billy’s not in business with you,” you interrupted.

“Please don’t insult my intelligence. I know that Anvil has wanted a contract with VDK for years.”

You sat a little straighter, staring at her across the table.

“So have most of the private security firms in the state. It still doesn’t give you the right to have him - to have us - followed.”

“If William wants -”

“No, let me make this clear; Billy hasn’t asked you for anything and neither have I. All we’ve ever done is graciously accept your hospitality,” you said, struggling to keep your voice from rising. “You don’t get to act like this was your due diligence because he was pushing you for a contract.”

“I can see you feel very strongly about this.”

And, you realised, she was right. You did feel strongly about it. Once you’d had time to cool off and think about it, to think what it meant for Billy, for something so personal and private to be exposed without his permission, it pissed you off. The only saving grace was the fact that they had no way of knowing what he was doing in the club.

But, more than that, as you’d told Billy, it didn’t just affect him anymore.

“You’re right, I do. Because it’s not just Billy’s privacy you were invading, it’s mine,” you answered, still trying to keep your annoyance in check. “And what me and my boyfriend choose to get up to behind closed doors, no matter how it might offend your sensibilities, is none of your business.”

Well, that was it. Now, no matter what happened, you were part of it, tied to Billy’s fate however this happened to play out.

“Is that what William told you to say?”

“No. Billy doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Why not?”

If she thought she was going to catch you in some ‘gotcha’ moment for lying to Billy, she was going to be disappointed. 

“Because he would have told me not to bother, but I can’t sit back and say nothing,” you told her. “Billy doesn’t care what people think about him because he still sees himself as the little boy who grew up in foster care, and he knows more than enough people look down their noses at him because of where he came from. But I do care what people think because I’m fortunate enough to actually know him.”

There was no lie to it, even if the ferocity of the thought managed to catch you off guard. 

You cared about Billy. Despite everything you’d recently learned about him, you cared. 

“And what would you do in my position right now?” Catherine asked, her attention completely fixed on you.

You offered up a shrug and a sigh, sinking back in your seat a little.

“I don’t know,” you said. “All I know is that if you want to judge Billy, you should at least spend the time to get to know him. And if you want to judge Anvil - well, you know where to find our offices.”

A moment later you were getting to your feet, the soup and wine in front of you left completely ignored.

When Catherine gave you a questioning look, you explained; “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Nonsense, why don’t you sit down and -”

“I turned down dinner with Billy to come here tonight,” you told her as you shrugged on your jacket, “because I was planning on lying to you, pretending that you had the wrong idea about last night, but what would be the point? If you don’t accept Billy, then you don’t accept me - and that’s fine. There’s plenty of people who don’t. We don’t have to justify ourselves to you.”

“I see.”

You couldn’t tell if she was shocked or amused by the outburst but it didn’t matter.

“Thank you for the offer of dinner, I’m sorry I can’t stay,” you found yourself saying a moment later as you turned to leave, ever the people-pleaser, even when you were annoyed. “The soup smells lovely.”

You left quickly, not daring to look back. You didn’t even think about what you’d said until you were safely in the back of a taxi and, then, the weight of it hit you like a ton of bricks. Before you knew you were doing it, you’d given the driver Billy’s address and, soon enough, you were outside his building.

His doorman told you that he was in and, since you still had a key, you took the elevator up to the penthouse. You weren’t sure why you’d decided to just show up instead of calling him, but you felt like you’d potentially fucked things up, and maybe he wouldnt be as angry if you apologised face to face.

The lights were on but Billy was nowhere to be seen. Stepping further into the penthouse you noticed the takeout containers on the table and a half-drunk glass of wine and, as you stepped a little closer you were hit by the smell of Chinese food, causing your empty stomach to rumble.

“Billy?” 

The call was met by silence for a few seconds before you heard the padding of bare feet on the wood floors.

He emerged from his bedroom and - 

Fuck.

He was wearing nothing but a towel, hung low around his waist and barely long enough to reach his knees. His torso was exposed and still damp from the shower, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from roving over every exposed inch of him from his chest to the taut lines of his abs. You took a mental note of every scar and every mark on his skin, each one raising a new question in your mind.

Down, down, down to his stomach and the thin trail of dark hair that ran from just beneath his navel down to -

Your eyes snapped up to find his as your face started to burn with embarrassment.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, confused.

No, you wanted to tell him. You were pretty sure that nothing was going to be okay again now that you knew what he looked like beneath his clothes.

“I, uh -” you said, struggling to remember why you were even there, “- I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

Billy showed no obvious signs of shame or modesty as he stood there, half-naked, his chest glistening as rivulets of water still slowly slid down his body.

“It’s, uh -” you tried not to sound flustered and kept your eyes fixed on his to keep them from... wandering, “- do you want to put some clothes on? I-I can wait...”

He looked down at himself and then looked at you as if he didn’t see a problem with what he was wearing (or, rather, not wearing). Then, he simply shrugged and retreated back into his bedroom.

While he was gone, you decided to head towards the table and started to clear it, too full of nervous energy to stay still. Your stomach gave another grumble when you saw just how much food Billy had left.

“You don’t have to do that.”

You almost jumped at his voice. When you turned you found that, thankfully, he’d put on a loose fitting hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You gave a shrug but stopped what you were doing, watching as he made his way to the coffee maker and switched it on.

“Did you eat?” He asked, grabbing a couple of mugs. “I thought you were going for dinner with your friend.”

“No, I - that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” you said before letting out a slow exhale. “I went to dinner with Catherine Van Der Koy - or, I guess, I went but I didn’t have dinner. I  left. But I... I think I fucked up.”

Billy looked concerned, but you couldn’t tell if that concern was over what you were saying or the fact that panic was written all over your face.

“Sit,” he instructed, and you did as you were told. “Do you want something to eat? I’ve got leftovers or I can order you something.”

You indicated the leftovers were fine - you were so hungry that you didn’t want to wait and, honestly, his half-eaten Chinese food smelled too delicious to pass up. When he placed a plate in front of you, you wasted no time starting to eat, hunger taking precedence over your panic.

Billy sat opposite you, placing down two mugs of coffee.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asked once he was comfortable.

You explained to him everything that had happened and everything you’d said.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you finished, looking down at the plate you’d managed to empty while talking.

“Why are you apologising?” He asked. You shot him a confused look. “I’m not angry - how could I be angry? You put your own reputation on the line to defend me. I should be thanking you.”

“But the VDK deal... I ruined -”

“It’s not ruined,” Billy interrupted, “the fact that they even bothered to have me followed shows that they’re interested in Anvil. We just need to carry on as we have been. If anything, what you told her might have saved things.”

You didn’t know how he could be so optimistic but you didn’t want to argue. It had been a long week and you were tired, and after finishing his sweet and sour, all you wanted to do was relax.

Billy asked you if you wanted to stay the night and, after some back and forth, you ended up agreeing. And that night, because you’d taken your things home, you ended up sleeping in one of his shirts.

You went home the next morning and your weekend ran as it usually did; Saturday was spent making sure you had everything you needed for the following week (which involved buying some spare pyjamas and toiletries to leave at Billy’s) and Sunday was spent at Saint Martin’s.

You didn’t hear anything from Catherine, but you tried not to worry.

On Monday, true to your word, you went back to Billy’s penthouse, reaching an agreement that you’d spend Monday to Friday staying with him, and you’d have the weekend at your own apartment.

And it was nice. Billy seemed to like having you around, though some part of you wondered if it was because he was lonely now that he’d given up his... hobbies.

Some time, late on Wednesday night, you were woken by your phone.

Terror gripped you. There was only one contact allowed to bypass your phone’s nightly do not disturb settings; Saint Martin’s.

Your voice betrayed your panic to the nurse on the other end of the call who quickly apologised and told you that nothing serious had happened but that Seb had woken up and refused to settle again. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

By the time the call ended, you were already out of bed and kicking off your pyjama bottoms. Less than a minute later, you were good to go, dressed in sweats and a hoodie.

You crept from your room but were shocked to find Billy still sitting on the sofa, where you’d left him hours ago, a mug in one hand and a book in the other. He noticed you almost instantly and got to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Obviously the panic was still noticeable on your face.

“I need to go to Saint Martin’s,” you said, earning a questioning look from him. “Seb’s having a bad night.”

Billy nodded and, instead of asking questions, told you; “I’ll drive you.” 

You wanted to decline, but it was late and getting a taxi would be a nightmare. If Billy drove you’d get there in half the time. So you just nodded, agreeing.

He pulled on his shoes and the pair of you took the elevator down to the parking garage. Billy didn’t say a word, even though you were certain he had a million questions. And you didn’t speak either, too tired to even pretend to want to be sociable.

The quiet stretched all the way from the penthouse to the parking lot outside of Saint Martin’s, and the only words that were shared when you got there were you telling Billy you’d get a taxi home and him telling you that he’d wait.

There wasn’t time to argue. You needed to see your brother.

You made your way inside, past the reception desk and up to the second floor, barely needing to pay attention to where you were going. A familiar nurse, Cara, flashed you an understanding smile just before you slipped into Seb’s room.

Your heart broke instantly. He was curled on his side, awkwardly sobbing and gasping for breath, and it was enough to have a tear spilling down your cheek before you could blink it back. You closed the distance in a heartbeat and wrapped your arms around him.

Seb shuffled back, letting you climb onto his bed as you’d done so many times before, his arms wrapping around your waist and clinging to you as tightly as he could. He buried his face against your hoodie and you softly started to stroke his hair.

“It’s okay,” you cooed, over and over again, “I’m here now. It’s okay. Everything’s okay, Sebby.”

Minutes passed but, eventually, he started to settle.

Despite the pain it caused in your chest to see him so upset, you were glad that it was one of his better outbursts, and he soon began to relax.

“Did you have a nightmare?” You asked once his breathing finally levelled out.

He gave a nod, and your heart broke all over again when you felt him squeeze you tighter, telling you without words that the nightmare had involved you.

“Oh, Seb,” you muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and running a hand up and down his back. “I’m okay. I promise nothing bad is going to happen. I’ll never leave you.”

In that moment there was nothing you wouldn’t have given to hear his voice, to hear him tell you that he understood, but you knew it would never happen. All you could do was let him hold you close and hold him just as tightly.

“I love you,” you told him in a quiet whisper.

After almost an hour his hold on you finally started to loosen and a little while longer before his breathing softened enough for you to know he was sleeping. You lingered for a few minutes, making sure he wouldn’t wake up again, before slowly pulling away and tucking him back in. Gently, you brushed his hair away from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then you crept out of the room.

On your way out, you thank the nurse who’d called you and told her you’d call in the morning to see how he was doing.

You managed to make it outside before the weight of everything came crashing down around you, as it so often did.

It was seeing Billy still waiting that triggered it. The relief at seeing him, at knowing you weren’t alone had you faltering a few steps away from his car, Before you knew it, your sleeve was pressed over your mouth as you started to cry. 

You didn’t hear Billy getting out of the car, didn’t notice him approaching you, until you felt his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

“Little dove,” he uttered softly, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s too much. It’s all too hard,” you confessed through your tears. “I’m so tired.”

Normally you didn’t have a witness to these moments, these little breakdowns when everything felt like it was too much. You hid your face against his jacket, hating how weak you were and how selfish you felt. You didn’t get this, you didn’t get to feel sorry for yourself. Seb needed you. You needed to be strong.

But it was hard.

It was too fucking hard.

He let you cry, but the moment you started to wheeze and take awkward breaths, he began to softly mutter; “hey, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe. That’s it.”

You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head and you felt his soft exhale through your hair. His hand was on your back, soothing you in much the same way you’d soothed your brother, and you wanted nothing more than to stay in the moment forever.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured against his chest as you finally started to calm.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he told you. His hold on you loosened and pulled back a touch, bowing his head so he could find your gaze. “Are you okay?”

All you could muster was a weak nod for him, but it was enough to make him smile and that seemed like enough. Even though you were the one falling apart, you were concerned about him, about making sure he was happy. Because that was what you did. That was all you did. You looked after everyone else.

His hand on your back directed you to the car as he pulled the door open and you immediately sank into the seat. 

Billy got in and immediately started the car. He didn’t say anything and it didn’t cross your mind that you might be going anywhere but back to the penthouse, but after about ten minutes, he parked the car in front of a diner.

“Come on,” he said softly.

He didn’t give you the chance to reply or ask what you were doing at a diner, he just got out of the car and, as you were too exhausted to argue, you followed after him.

You didn’t say anything as he led you into the diner, holding the door open for you before you followed him to a booth by the window. You were so exhausted that you didn’t even stop to think about how you looked after your outburst until you caught sight of your reflection in the window. Fortunately the diner was pretty empty and you doubted anyone would care about your red eyes.

A waitress appeared at your table, looking far too happy and awake for the time of night and, before you could tell her that you didn’t want anything, Billy had ordered two hot chocolates and an ice cream sundae.

“What are we doing here?” You finally asked once the waitress was gone. “It’s three in the morning and we have work in less than -”

“No.”

“No?”

“We’re not going to work tomorrow,” Billy said.

You sighed. “I don’t need the day off, Billy. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this on a work night.”

A look flashed across his face that you couldn’t quite decipher, he almost seemed disappointed - or was that anger? His jaw set and he let out a sigh of his own.

“Don’t fight me on this,” he said firmly before softening again. “I’m not going in, so there’s no need for you to go in either.”

As much as you might have wanted to argue, you simply didn’t have the energy.

“You should have told me,” he said after a few quiet moments. “If I'd known -”

“I’ve told you, I don’t want anyone seeing Seb as a burden to me.”

“I don’t. I don’t think that at all,” Billy was quick to tell you, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. “All I’m saying is, if I’d known, I could’ve done more to support you.”

Whatever you wanted to say died on your lips as the waitress returned, placing down your drinks and an ice cream sundae.

Billy nudged a spoon towards you. “Eat.”

You did as you were told without question and, you had to admit, despite the late hour and how exhausted you were, the sundae was delicious, and it definitely made you feel better. Billy gave you a smile as he tucked in from his side.

Neither of you spoke until the sundae was gone and you were reaching for your hot chocolate.

“Why were you still up?” You asked.

He gave a shrug. “Sometimes I don’t sleep very well.”

It was a feeling you knew all too well, but you knew better than to ask exactly what was keeping him up at night. You thought you had a reasonably good idea, but you were too tired to think much about it.

Your eyelids felt heavy when you finally left the diner, and you found it impossible to keep your eyes open once you were back in the car. You shivered a little as you curled up in your seat.

“Cold?” Billy asked, and all you could do was nod in response. 

You heard a click and, then, a few seconds later you felt the seat start to warm.

The engine started and the gentle hum had you relaxing further into the heated seat. Billy said something but you barely noticed. It felt like you were crashing, too exhausted to even try to pay attention. 

It had been a long night.

It had been an even longer few weeks.

You drifted off, lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine and the gentle motion of the car as he drove you home.

Time passed but you didn’t notice. You’d found a moment of peace and you wanted to stay in it, wanted to exist in it for as long as you could.

“We’re home,” he said softly, but you didn’t really hear him.

Some part of you registered that the car was no longer moving and that the hum of the engine had died, but you were so snug on the soft, heated leather seat. 

Billy muttered your name, but you didn’t hear it.

He got out of the car, taking great care to move quietly, not wanting to disturb you. The sound of his door opening and closing wasn’t enough to rouse you, nor was the cold gust that greeted you when your own door was opened.

You didn’t stir as he leaned across to unbuckle your seatbelt, or as he slowly lifted you out of the car.

“Billy?” You murmured softly against his neck still half-asleep, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” he muttered into your ear. “Just let me look after you.”

His words were enough to settle you.

You felt safe and warm in his arms, trusting him to take care of you.

(Wanting him to take care of you.)

He carried you into the elevator and, then, into the penthouse, taking you to your room. You remained fast asleep as he lowered you onto your bed and gently removed your sneakers before tucking you in, making sure to place your raggedy teddy bear beneath your arm.

Then he lingered, looking down at your sleeping form through the gloom, tenderly brushing your hair away from your face. A soft, content sound spilled from you and Billy smiled, unable to stop himself from leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then, finally, he left you to sleep.

In the morning he woke you with breakfast.

Not the usual way, it wasn’t spread out on the table waiting for you to get up.

No, you were roused at around 10am by a gentle tapping at your bedroom door and Billy calling your name. When you gave a groggy response, the door opened and he came into the room with a tray and, before you could even think to question it, he placed your breakfast in front of you.

Part of you thought you were still dreaming, but the smell of waffles was too rich, too real, for you to believe it.

As you sat up, Billy cautiously sat on the end of your bed, watching you.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your lips tugging into a genuine smile.

“I know, but I wanted to.” He paused for a beat, watching as you started to eat. “How are you feeling?”

It was only then that you realised you didn’t remember getting home last night and, looking down, you noticed that you were still wearing your sweatpants and hoodie. The last thing you could remember was the diner, sharing an ice cream sundae with him.

Instead of answering his question, you asked; “what happened last night?”

“You fell asleep in the car on the way home,” he said and, instantly, your cheeks started to heat. “I tried to wake you up but you were pretty out of it so I carried you.”

There was a flash of something in your mind, a hazy sort of memory; the warmth of his arms and the scent of his skin as you pressed your face against his neck. The heat across your face intensified.

“I’m sorry,” you said, mortified.

“Don’t be,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve done so much for me over the last few weeks, it was the least I could do.”

You wonder if that was all it was, if he’d only helped you because he felt like he owed you, like he saw your arrangement, your friendship, as being purely transactional.

“Well, thank you. Your help last night really means a lot to me.”

Billy’s lips parted but, for a moment, he seemed to second guess what it was he wanted to say. Then, finally; “have you been dealing with all of this on your own all this time?”

As much as you might have wanted to snap and tell him that it was none of his business, you knew that the question wasn’t from a place of judgement. You could tell just by looking at him that he was concerned, even if you didn’t understand why.

“He’s my responsibility,” you answered, avoiding the question as best you could.

“That doesn’t mean you should have to do it all alone,” Billy said, holding up his hand when you looked ready to object. “I know he’s your brother and I’m not saying he’s a burden, I’m just saying you deserve some support.”

You wondered how you looked to him in that moment, and whether it was compassion or pity you could see in his soft smile. Clearly, he’d spent enough time with you to realise that you didn’t have many friends or people in your life to help you through the difficult times.

Before you could speak, Billy continued.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to deal with it on your own. I’m here if you need someone, even if it’s just to drive you to Saint Martin’s in the middle of the night.” He got up, still smiling at you. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

And, then, he was gone, leaving you alone to eat your breakfast in bed. 

While you ate, you found your mind wandering, thinking over what he’d said and, as you sipped your coffee, you found yourself remembering what he’d said about control. Suddenly you found yourself wondering what it would be like to give up control, to rely on someone and leave yourself completely vulnerable to them

You had to admit that, last night, Billy’s presence had helped. His holding you and caring for you as you allowed yourself a moment of weakness had helped. For the first time you hadn’t felt completely alone, you hadn’t felt helpless.

And he hadn’t done it because it was all part of his scheme, something to make your fake relationship look real. He’d done it because - well, okay, you weren’t sure why exactly, but you were glad that he had. 

Just like you were glad that he decided that the pair of you should take the day off.

After finishing your breakfast, you called Saint Martin’s to check in. Seb was fine, just a little tired, but he’d eaten his breakfast and he was in the common room with one of the carers doing a jigsaw puzzle. You felt better knowing he was okay and decided to treat yourself to a long, hot shower before getting dressed.

Billy rose from the sofa as you moved to join him, flashing you a smile.

“Come on, let’s go out,” he said.

He offered you his hand and you took it without a second thought, allowing him to whisk you towards the elevator, stopping only to grab coats on the way.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“I thought we could go for a walk in the park and then find somewhere to have lunch.”

A smile grew on your lips and you looked at him in disbelief, and it didn’t take him long to notice.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing, I just never pegged you as the type to enjoy a walk in the park.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t cost anything?” You answered, barely holding back the laugh that wanted to escape you.

It wasn’t entirely fair but most things you did with Billy outside of the penthouse tended to involve him spending money. A walk in the park was something simple, something ordinary, and Billy was anything but ordinary.

He gave a hum of laughter but didn’t say anything.

It felt strange to walk anywhere with him, to turn left on the street instead of right, towards where his driver would be waiting with the car. But it was... nice.

You fished in your coat pockets to pull out the gloves Billy had bought for you and, from the corner of your eyes, you caught the way that his face lit up, like he was shocked that you still had them. 

Your hand slipped back into his and you walked beside him, alternating between looking in front of you and looking at him. 

Billy made little comments about the weather and how busy the streets were, pointing out a coffee shop that he liked and a little bar where he sometimes went for drinks with Frank and Karen. It struck you that he wasn’t just trying to fill the silence, he genuinely wanted to talk to you.

It was the first time he’d freely spoken to you since the night you’d discovered him at the club. You couldn’t tell if the shift was because of you, because you’d allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him, or because Billy had realised you weren’t always as in control as you seemed.

Ultimately, you didn’t care. It was just nice to be there with him, making silly little comments about the pigeons and the squirrels as you made your way through the park, hand in hand.

By the time you reached the fountain, both of you were hungry so you stopped for lunch.

Again, you found yourself marveling at him, amused by the sight of him eating a hotdog like a normal, every day New Yorker.

“What?” He asked, grinning as if he already knew the answer.

“You better hope no one sees you eating a hotdog, you’ll never get invited to a Michelin star restaurant again.”

He continued to grin as he ate the last bit of his hotdog, leaving behind a small blob of mustard on the corner of his lips.

“You’ve got some sauce -”

You reached for him without thinking, your hand cupping his cheek while your thumb gently wiped the sauce away. Before you could pull it back, his lips were around the tip of your thumb, his tongue tasting the mustard on your skin. And, all the while, his eyes stayed fixed on yours.

That familiar feeling returned to your stomach - a feeling you hadn’t felt since that moment on the balcony with him, a feeling that you’d thought you’d never feel again after the night you discovered him at the club. Heat licked across your face as butterflies filled your stomach, and it took a few seconds longer than it should have for you to pull back your hand.

For a few seconds more, he stared into your eyes. You bit your lip, daring to wonder if he was feeling what you were feeling. Daring to wonder if he wanted to kiss you as much as you wanted to be kissed.

But, then, movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. You glanced away just in time to catch someone pointing their phone at the pair of you.

You rolled your eyes and let out a sigh, the moment completely broken.

Billy’s gaze followed yours, then he moved, putting himself between you and the phone.

“Sorry,” he offered quietly.

“It’s fine,” you said, forcing a smile back to your lips even though it felt like the nice afternoon you’d been sharing was ruined. “I’ll never understand how you just... accept people sticking their noses into your private life.”

“It used to bother me. I used to hate all the shit they used to say and the way they’d speculate about why women were dating me...” He admitted with a sigh. “But, after a few years, I realised that nothing was going to stop them or change their minds about me, so now I just try to ignore it.”

You didn’t say anything - you didn’t want to say anything else about it. It wasn’t worth the time or the effort, and it wasn’t worth ruining your afternoon over. So, you reached for Billy’s hand and the pair of you started the slow walk back to the penthouse.

You spend the rest of the afternoon and the evening with him before heading to bed for an early night.

The next day, you both got up and returned to work, and the day passed as normal. It was as if your Thursday together had been nothing but an enjoyable little blip.

As agreed, you returned to your own apartment for the weekend and spent Saturday the way you always did. 

Until you found yourself staring up at your bedroom ceiling, thinking about Billy, thinking about everything that had happened between you over the last couple of weeks. You gave up on sleep and reached for your phone, curiosity finally getting the better of you. Part of you knew that you shouldn’t - part of you even wondered if your service provider would know what you were looking at - but you spent the better part of two hours reading up on power fantasies and everything Billy had tried to explain about his... proclivities.

You wanted to understand, wanted to know what made him who he was.

It was a rabbit hole that consumed most of your weekend, with the exception of your visit to Saint Martin’s where you stayed with your brother all afternoon.

Monday was one of the rare days that Billy didn’t come to collect you from your apartment to take you to work, leaving you to take the subway. It was easy to miss the luxury of being chauffeured around when you were being jostled and elbowed all the way to your station.

But, it meant that for the first in weeks, you got to head into The Bean Grinder to grab coffee and breakfast - because you were certain that Billy wouldn’t have bothered with breakfast without you there to share it with him.

He arrived from a meeting across town around fifteen minutes after you reached the office. 

And, he looked... tired. Again.

You followed him into his office as he shrugged off his coat, and you placed his breakfast down in front of him.

“How was your weekend?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

When he looked at you, you realised that you might as well have asked the question in an alien language for all the attention he was paying. Clearly something was distracting him.

“I asked how your weekend was,” you repeated.

“Oh, yeah... fine, I guess?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

Hours later you’d kick yourself for not pushing him and asking more. Something was definitely going on with him and, as the day drew on, you realised that you could hear him moving around his office, pacing, like he couldn’t sit still. 

And it continued after the pair of you had gone back to the penthouse, after you’d had dinner together and you were settling down for the evening in front of the TV.

His leg was bouncing, his fingers drumming on his leg.

In all the time that you’d worked for him, all the time that you’d known him, you’d never seen him fidget so much. He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin

“Billy,” you said, trying to get his attention.

He looked at you and his leg instantly stilled. His expression turned almost sheepish, embarrassed - and that was something else you’d never seen in him before.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“I’m fine, just a little stressed.”

You nodded as you thought back over the day. Nothing at Anvil had been especially taxing, even his early meeting had been more of a courtesy to finalise a contract. All he’d had were requisitions and expenses that needed his approval.

It dawned on you suddenly and had your stomach tying itself in awkward knots. It had been almost a week and a half since you’d discovered him at the club, a week and a half since he’d gotten to sate the part of him that needed to feel in control (or longer, really, since you’d interrupted him). And you were fairly certain that that was the issue.

Billy, as far as you’d been able to tell over the last few weeks, didn’t exactly have many hobbies or anything to distract him, except for dates and the occasional night out with Frank and Karen. All he had was... that. And it was clear that without his weekly visits to the club that he was starting to feel out of control.

Taking a breath, you reached for the remote and turned off the TV - you hadn’t been watching anything, you’d just been scrolling through Netflix hoping something would catch his attention.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said nervously, cautiously, “about our agreement...”

“What about it?” He asked, sitting a little straighter, finally his full attention on you.

There was a glimmer of worry on his face and you wondered if he thought you were about to tell him that it was all over.

“It’s just - well, it’s clear that you need...” you struggled to find the words and hated that you’d tried to start this conversation without giving it any real thought. “At the club, when you were...”

Billy looked at you, his head tilting in confusion, not grasping what you were trying to say.

“You just seem... I don’t know, uncomfortable since then,” you continued, thinking back to all the evening he’d spent with you, talking to you, needing your attention. “I didn’t think anything of it because I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, but you just seem on edge? Like something’s missing...”

“Oh,” he said, seeming embarrassed that you’d noticed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think -”

“No,” you interrupted, “I’m not - I mean, you don’t need to apologise. That’s what I’m trying to say. I think maybe it wasn’t fair of me to ask you to stop when you were obviously getting something from it.”

Surprise flickered across his face but it was just as quickly replaced by resignation.

“There’s nothing I can do about it. VDK probably still have someone watching me, and if I went to the club -”

“I could -” you hesitated, trying to awkwardly swallow the lump that was lodged in your throat while you tried to figure out exactly when you’d lost your mind, “- I could try to do what you need?”

He was silent for at least five seconds before he shook his head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask when it’s not something you’re into.”

“I -” you started and stopped again, your cheeks practically burning, “- I don’t know if I’m into it.”

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t know if you’re into being - what was it you called me? - a deviant weirdo?” 

The smile on his lips told you that he was teasing, that he hadn’t taken the question to heart but, still, you felt like shit for saying it, for judging him without first trying to understand him.

“I shouldn’t’ve called you that. It wasn’t fair,” you said, taking a moment and a deep breath before continuing. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking about it, and -”

“You’ve been thinking about it?”

“I... I might have googled it.”

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“I don’t know, I just - I kept thinking about what you said, about control and everyone getting what they want from it,” you explained. Billy didn’t say anything, instead giving you the time and space to continue if you wanted. “The other night, when you took care of me, I realised that you were right; I am in control all the time. But I don’t want to be. It’s exhausting and I want to just... switch off for a little while...”

“You want to be able to rely on someone else and trust that they know what’s best for you?” Billy offered as if reading your mind, the corner of his lips pulling upwards and into a soft smile.

You nodded shyly.

“But I’ve never -” you sighed, “- I’ve never been like that with anyone. I don’t even know if I can...”

“Because you’re so used to looking after other people and never having anyone look after you.”

He’d said it before, but this time you knew that he meant it, that he saw you, understood you.

“I don’t know if I’ll like it or if I’ll be any good at giving you what you need, but I’d like to try,” you offered. “You helped me the other night. I just - I want to try and do the same for you.”

Billy continued to smile at you, with that breathtaking smile that went all the way to the corners of his eye.

Your heart threatened to stop when he reached for your hand and, for a moment, you assumed he meant to start then and there, that he was going to put you over his knee and - what? You weren’t even sure what he might do. Your internet search had led you down so many rabbit holes that you couldn’t even begin to guess what else Billy might be into.

But, as scared as the uncertainty made you, there was something else, a heat in the pit of your stomach. You remembered the way he’d kissed you on the balcony and the way you’d wanted him to kiss you in the park. So, when he got to his feet, you followed after him.

Instead of leading you to the bedroom, Billy took you towards the dining table and gestured for you to sit. You did so without question. 

He went to the fridge and when he turned back and took a seat opposite you, he had two glasses of cold water. You barely noticed that your hand was trembling as you reached for the glass and took a slow drink.

“Before we do anything, I need to know that you don’t have any doubts. I need to know that you really want to do this,” he said calmly, offering you yet another chance to back out.

“I do. I mean... I want to try,” you answered. “I can’t promise more than that.”

“Okay,” he took a slow breath before continuing. “But, if we do this, I want you to know that it won’t change anything between us.”

Right. Good. You weren’t offering because you wanted your fake relationship to become real or because you thought you could convince Billy to feel the way you were starting to feel. No, you were offering because you wanted to help him, because he’d helped you and, maybe - just maybe - you’d get something from it too.

“Okay.”

Billy reached for his glass and took a drink. “So, the best place to start is finding out what you want - what you’re comfortable with...”

“What I’m comfortable with?” You repeated.

“I mean, how far do you want this to go?”

In the space of only a few minutes, you found yourself completely out of your depth. At least Billy was asking and not telling, he was trying to let you choose where anyone else in his situation might have tried to take advantage.

“I... I don’t know,” you said. “How far do you normally go?”

“It depends on my partner,” he answered with a shrug, leaving you wondering how many partners he’d had over the years. “Some don’t like to be touched, they just like follow orders, others want to be touched and -”

They wanted to fuck.

“I won’t have sex with you,” you said, knowing that you needed to draw the line somewhere.

“Okay, no sex,” he agreed so easily that you almost felt disappointed. “What about touching in general?”

“What kind of touching?” You asked, grabbing your glass and taking another long drink to cool the burning of your cheeks.

“Spanking, petting, touching that’s more... sexual in nature.”

You knew what you should say but it wasn’t what you wanted to say. Biting your lip, you remembered the first night you’d stayed at the penthouse, the way you’d touched yourself to thoughts of him, wishing it was his hand between your legs.

If it didn’t mean anything, what was the harm in letting him touch you?

“You can touch me,” you said, somehow managing to keep your voice from trembling. “But, when we’re doing... that, I don’t want you to kiss me.”

Billy let out a sound that was almost a laugh but he didn’t question you or your logic, he simply nodded. 

Kissing, you thought, would make it too real. You already struggled sometimes when he kissed you, and the line between fantasy and reality had threatened to blur far too many times.

“Okay, no kissing and no sex,” he said. “But you need to give me your word that you’ll be honest with me; if I ever do anything you don’t like or feel comfortable with, you’ll tell me to stop, understand?”

There was a serious and commanding edge to his tone, and you wondered if it was a taste of things to come. Your thighs pressed together beneath the table and a fire slowly started to smoulder in your belly.

“I understand.”

“If we do this and you don’t like it, we never have to do it again,” he continued. “I never want you to feel pressured or like you have to do this because of me. I can find other ways to cope with my needs.”

Unbidden, your mind flashed back to the night you’d watch him in his bed, lazily stroking his cock. Your cheeks grew hotter still and you found yourself already feeling embarrassingly aroused.

“Okay, just -” you took an awkward breath, hating what you needed to say, “- just don’t hurt me. I don’t want you to hurt me when you’re... you know...”

The thought alone made you feel sick. No part of you believed that Billy would hurt you, but you needed to say it regardless, just to establish boundaries. You’d see how far things could go during your internet research, and the thought of being left bloodied and bruised did not appeal to you.

Billy nodded and, over the next half hour or so, he explained how things worked. You’d come across the traffic light system in your reading, but you still let him explain it to you. Green meant go or continue, that you were happy with what was happening. Orange meant slow down or wait, and should be used if you felt suddenly overwhelmed and needed a moment to decide if you wanted to continue. And red meant stop.

He promised repeatedly that he would always listen and that, even though he would be in control, you ultimately had the power to stop him whenever you wanted.

He even made you choose a safeword, though he assured you that he wasn’t really into anything that might require it. Walnuts, you decided because you hated them and you could imagine a situation where you saying walnuts could be misconstrued as anything else.

“So...” he finally said once everything had been discussed and agreed upon. He let the word hang in the air between you for a few seconds before continuing. “Did you want to try now or -”

Again, again, he was giving you a chance to change your mind, and it was that that made you want it more. You’d never had a man in your life like Billy, someone who wanted you to make your own choices instead of pushing for what he wanted. It was then that you realised just how much you’d come to trust him since your first little disagreement after the gala when you’d thought he was trying to use you for sex, now you knew that nothing was further from the truth.

Billy wouldn’t use you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“Now,” you said, unable to stop the word coming out as an awkward squeak.

He rose from his seat slowly and you watched him round the table before holding his hand out to you. Your fingers grasped his and you realised your palms were sweating, but if Billy noticed, he didn’t let it show.

“Would you prefer to stay out here or are you comfortable coming into my bedroom?” He asked as you got to your feet.

His bedroom - you’d only been there once before, when you’d been snooping.

Did you really want to do this in his private space? But, the alternative was potentially tainting your shared space and making the rest of your time with him awkward...

“Bedroom’s fine,” you managed.

Billy gave you a soft smile. “Don’t be nervous.”

All you could do was nod, letting him lead you into his bedroom. He didn’t turn on the main light, instead he turned on the lamp on the bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking up at you.

You held his gaze and nervously licked your lips. It was real. It was going to happen.

“What - what do you want me to do?” You asked.

“I’d like to spank you - just to give you a taste of what it’s like.”

His thumb tenderly brushed back and forth over the back of your hand, soothing you as the words sank in. You let out a slow exhale and nodded, forcing a nervous smile to your lips.

“Lower your pants for me,” he said, his voice taking on that commanding tone again that had your legs feeling like jello.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling your cheeks warm again at the thought of him seeing your ridiculous and entirely unsexy panties, but then you did as you were asked, pushing your sweatpants down your legs.

You expected him to ask you to undress further but, instead, he simply patted his lap. Again, after a brief pause, you did as he wanted, putting yourself over his knee.

“Just relax,” he said, “take a deep breath.”

He pressed a hand on your ass over your panties, waiting as you took a few deep breaths and managed to relax a little. Then he swung back his hand and -

Oh.

The pain was fleeting, but it was still enough to make you gasp. And, once the initial sting dissipated, you were left with a feeling that you didn’t know what to do with. Your boss had just spanked you. You were over your boss's lap letting him spank you.

You should have been horrified but, instead you felt a strange heat licking through your core, stoking the fire in your belly.

“What colour?” He asked, running his hand over the tender spot he’d left on your ass.

“Green,” you answered automatically, not wanting to even think about it.

You didn’t want to think about anything, you just wanted to feel. You wanted him to do it again.

His hand pulled back and he struck your ass again.

“Green,” you gasped without being asked, just wanting him to continue.

You heard a noise that almost sounded like a laugh from him but you weren’t giving time to think about it. He spanked you three more times, each time a little harder than the last, as if he wanted to test your limits.

It only took a couple of minutes, but it was enough to leave you breathless and trembling on his lap, your head feeling completely empty, like you didn’t have a care in the world outside of the moment you were sharing with him.

His hand caressed you through the fabric of your panties, soothing the dull ache he’d left blooming across your skin and you quickly decided something; it was worth the momentary discomfort to feel the tender care and attention he was giving you.

“You did so good,” he said softly. “You were so good for me.”

You took a shuddered breath, letting your eyes close, basking in the attention and his compliments. 

The gentle motion of his hand continued until you felt it slip down, onto the back of your thigh, touching, caressing your bare skin. 

“What colour?” He asked softly, and you realised that he wasn’t done with you.

His fingers dared to teasingly slip between your thighs, almost reaching the edge of your panties.

“G-green,” you said.

You didn’t know what he had planned, but you didn’t want him to stop touching you, you didn’t want the moment to end.

Biting your lip, you tried to stifle a moan when his fingers moved higher, ghosting over an embarrassingly wet spot on your panties. His touch was light to begin with, letting you get used to it, letting you decide if you wanted it. And, when you didn’t ask him to stop, the movement of his fingers became more pronounced, teasing your folds through the fabric before sinking lower to find your clit.

A sudden bolt of pleasure shot up your spine, and Billy paused, waiting for confirmation that it was pleasure and not panic that had you awkwardly twisting on his lap.

“Green,” you moaned, “green... don’t stop...”

His fingers pressed against your clothed clit, completely still.

“Tell me you want it,” Billy commanded, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want it, Billy,” you answered, desperately squirming against his fingers.

“You want me to make you feel good, little dove?”

The use of his pet name for you had your thighs trembling and butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“Yes, Billy, please.”

“Then stop squirming,” he ordered. “If you don’t, I’ll have to spank you again.”

It shouldn’t have sent a thrill through your body but it did. You wondered what would happen if you disobeyed him, but you didn’t have the nerve to do it. You were too desperate for him to keep touching you.

(Maybe next time. Next time? You hadn’t even realised that you’d already decided that there would be a next time.)

You stilled for him and, after a long moment (no doubt making sure you’d do what you were told) Billy started to move his fingers again, circling your clit through your wet panties.

Finally you were starting to understand what he’d meant about you both getting what you wanted; you were obeying his commands, and he was giving you the pleasure that you craved.

It should have embarrassed you just how quickly, how easily you came for him. Your whole body trembled and shook with the intensity of it, completely overwhelmed as little gasps and moans torn from your lips.

His fingers kept going, prolonging your ecstasy until you were nothing more than a boneless mess on his lap.

Your eyes fluttered shut again and you allowed yourself to enjoy the sudden calmness, while his hand returned to soothing the long-forgotten ache he’d left on your ass.

As you slowly came back to your senses, you realised that Billy was hard - you could feel his cock pressed against his side and, thinking back, you were sure you’d been able to feel it while he’d been spanking you.

It was enough to make you wonder what was supposed to come next. You’d told him you wouldn’t have sex with him, but in your post-orgasm haze, you almost felt ready to change your mind.

He helped you onto your feet before sitting you across his lap and pulling you against him. You could still feel his cock against your thigh, but you didn't think too much about it as you contented yourself with melting into his arms. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes again.

“How was that?” He asked softly, tenderly even - which almost caused your brain to short-circuit. He’d spanked you, made you come with his fingers, and now he was talking to you like you’d just finished making love.

“That was...” you trailed off searching for the words - how could you even describe what that had been? “It was... good. I liked it.”

You pressed your face against his neck, trying to cling to the moment, not wanting to slip back into thinking and overthinking every little thing. But that was easier said than done, especially when you felt the unmissable twitch of his cock against your thigh.

“What about you?” You dared to ask.

“Hmm?” It took him a moment to get your meaning. “This was more than enough for me for now. I want to make sure you’re comfortable and know what you want before I ask for more from you.” 

More? There was more he could ask for? Your thighs squeezed together just at the thought.

“So that was... I mean... I did it right?” You asked.

Billy let out a soft laugh and you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“It was perfect. You were perfect for me, little dove.”

A strange sort of pride swelled inside of you. You wanted to be perfect for him, you decided, you wanted to give him what he wanted, if he was willing to give you moments like this.

“Can we stay like this?” You asked. “Just for a little while.”

You wanted to stay in his arms, wanted to live in the moment for as long as possible. You were sure you’d have to unpack everything that had happened sooner or later but, for now, you just wanted him to hold you.

“We can stay like this for as long as you want.”

And you did.

True to his word, nothing changed between you. In fact, it was as if nothing had happened at all. The next morning you might have chalked it all up to a strange dream if it hadn’t been for the lingering ache across your backside, and the serene and rested look on Billy’s face as you joined him for breakfast.

He made all the usual conversation, asking if you’d slept okay, what you wanted to do for dinner that night, and you had to wonder if he was deliberately ignoring the elephant in the room because he wanted you to be the one to bring it up.

You didn’t.

It was easier not to, you decide. It was easier to keep compartmentalising everything. The spanking could go on the shelf at the back of your mind along with the way he’d kissed you on the VKD balcony.

Days passed and you felt a strange sort of anticipation, waiting for the next time. Hoping for it. Every time he asked you to do something, your heart beat a little faster, and you found yourself fantasising, imagining Billy bending you over his desk and -

No. Nope. That sort of thinking was not going to help you get through the week.

He gave no indication that he was thinking about it as much as you were, and you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse. But you were both having the week from hell, so you couldn’t exactly blame him for being preoccupied. And you were preoccupied too - every day that passed without hearing from VDK made you feel worse, like you’d ruined things by confronting Catherine Van Der Koy.

Last minute tax returns and a slew of new and renewed contracts had you both working overtime all week. And, after work, he would take you out to dinner, claiming it was so you could both relax and have a few drinks without having to worry about tidying up after yourselves. He didn’t give you the chance to see if anything would happen between you again.

But that wasn’t to say you didn’t see his need for control presenting itself in other ways. In fact once you knew what to look for, it was hard to miss.

“Come on, we’re going for lunch,” he said, appearing from his office on Friday afternoon.

“I just need to finish this spreadsheet,” you answered, barely looking up from your laptop.

“You look exhausted, come on.”

He was probably right - if you looked even half as bad as you felt, then you looked terrible.

“Five more minutes,” you said, blinking as your eyes struggled to focus, “it’s got to get done.”

“I wasn’t asking, little dove.”

Before you could answer or start to complain, he reached over your shoulder and closed your laptop. A lump caught in your throat as you looked up at him, protests dying on your lips as your gaze met his, his eyes betraying the storm that was raging inside of him. 

It was a strange reminder of the first time he’d taken you for lunch, and how you hadn’t seen the gesture for what it truly was, but now it made you feel almost giddy.

His hand was offered and you took it, letting him help you to your feet before he slipped your coat onto your arms. When you turned to face him, you watched in silent surprise as he started to button it shut for you.

“It’s cold out,” he said.

It should have made you baulk - you could take care of yourself, you could do up your own damned coat - but, instead it made you feel something else. Your racing mind fell silent for a few seconds and you just allowed him to take care of you.

It was just a coat, just a silly gesture; you could give him that much without fighting.

“Don’t forget your gloves,” he added.

Without hesitation, you reached into your pockets for your gloves and pulled them on, and let him lead you towards the elevator.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, letting on a group of six men. Anvil operators. They each smiled and greeted Billy, and he did the same. As the elevator became crowded, Billy stepped behind you, his arm slipping around your waist and urging you back against him. It felt almost like a display of defensiveness, of dominance and ownership.

Again, it should’ve bothered you. And, in a way, it did. You weren’t some possession. You weren’t his. But, again, you felt a strange sort of calm come over you. With him holding you, you felt no need to force a smile or try to make friendly conversation with the men, no need to laugh at their dirty jokes or crude attempts at flirting.

Admittedly, it didn’t happen often, but you’d had more uncomfortable moments in the elevator than you cared to remember.

But not with Billy. 

With Billy you were safe.

His hand found yours as you stepped off the elevator, falling into step with him as you headed outside. Cold wind whipped around you and you pressed yourself into his side - he’d been right, it was cold out. And, you knew that if it hadn’t been for him, you probably wouldn’t have bothered buttoning your coat, and your gloves would have been left forgotten in your pockets.

It only took a minute to get across the busy street and into The Bean Grinder, but you were shivering by the time you got there. Billy turned to you and pressed a hand to your cheek, concern etched on his face, no doubt expecting you to have a coughing fit at any moment. When you didn’t he told you to go sit down while he got lunch.

You were too tired to protest and, thankfully, he knew what you liked. So you trusted him while you went and sat at your usual table by the window and shrugged off your coat. Resting your elbow on the table, you propped your head up with the palm of your hand.

At some point, you let your eyes close, resting them after hours of staring at your laptop. You didn’t open them again until the table was jostled by Billy putting the tray down. He was frowning when you looked at him and, without warning, he reached across the table to press his palm to your cheek again.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long week.”

He drew back his hand, let out a sigh, and started to move the drinks and food from the tray.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he put your panini in front of you. “I should’ve noticed you’ve been -”

“No, that’s not -” you interrupted. “- I’m not complaining, Billy. I don’t need you to notice that I’ve been doing my job.”

It was one thing to let him button your coat for you but you didn’t need him acting like you were struggling to do your job or that you couldn’t cope. Yes, it’d been a busy week and you were tired, but you’d handled busy weeks before and you would no doubt have to do so again.

There was a visible flicker of... something on his face, like he realised he was overstepping and quickly reeled it back in.

“I just don’t want you getting too stressed out,” he said.

It felt like a white flag and you were willing to let it go.

“It’s fine. As long as I get through everything today, next week we’ll be able to go back to normal,” you told him before taking a bite of your panini and letting out a soft little groan at how good it tasted. “I didn’t even realise how hungry I was.”

He gave you a look, his jaw ticking, but he held back whatever it was he wanted to say. Though, ultimately, he didn’t have to say anything. Clearly he’d known how hungry you were because the moment you’d finished your panini, he placed a slice of red velvet cake down in front of you. 

Your favourite.

But you’d never told him that, never eaten it in front of him.

“How did you -” you started to ask.

“I asked the barista.”

Finally, you actually looked at the table in front of you, realising that, not only had he brought you a slice of cake, he’d also gotten you a glass of water as well as your usual latte.

“You don’t have to look after me,” you said, but there was no malice or upset in your tone. It was just a simple statement of fact.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

Something somewhere inside you told you to fight it, to rage against it, as you had done every other time in the past that he’d tried it. But this wasn’t like those times, it didn’t feel like a push. No, it was more like a gentle nudge, an offer. And, now that you knew you could trust him, the idea of him taking care of you wasn’t quite so distasteful.

And it was just a piece of cake...

So you ate it. And you drank the glass of water once you’d finished your coffee.

(And, honestly, you felt so much better for it. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he was good at taking care of you.)

When you stood to leave, he reminded you to button your coat and put your gloves on, and you supposed you should have been grateful that he didn’t just do it for you himself in front of the whole coffee shop. Then, you steeled yourself to return to the endless spreadsheets, invoices, and emails you’d need to get through before the day was over.

Heading back into the Anvil building, Carl handed Billy an envelope that had been delivered while you’d both been out. An envelope bearing both of your names.

He didn’t open it until you were in the elevator but the moment he did, his mood changed drastically.

“What is it?” You asked when you noticed the grin on his lips.

Instead of answering, he handed you the letter - no, not a letter, an invitation - inviting you to a black tie charity auction being held by VDK.

You let out a sigh of relief, a breath you felt like you’d been holding onto for the last two weeks, your body sagging into his side.

Billy looked at you, confused. “I thought you’d be happy?”

“I am, I just -” your cheeks warmed and you felt ridiculous, “- I thought I’d fucked everything up and we wouldn’t hear from VDK again.”

The elevator doors slid open and you both stepped out but, before you could move to your desk, his hand caught your wrist pulling you back to face him.

“Have you been worrying about that all this time?” There was concern in his voice and a hint of irritation. You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know...” you said, your gaze dropping. “I thought I’d ruined it and, I guess, I wanted to keep it from you as long as possible because I didn’t want you to be disappointed. Or... I don’t know... I thought that you’d blame me, and I didn’t want it to be all my fault just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut in front of -”

You fell silent as his hands framed your face, forcing you to look back up. He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. Your cheeks started to grow even hotter at the realisation that you’d been babbling, finally letting go of all the worry you’d been holding onto over the last two weeks.

“I never would’ve blamed you for that,” he said so firmly that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I could never be upset because of what you said to her, and you should never -”

He stopped the second someone cleared their throat behind you.

“I can come back if you’re busy.”

Frank Castle.

You slowly extracted yourself from Billy’s arms and went to go and hang your coat up, your cheeks burning hotter when you felt Frank’s gaze on you.

“What d’you need, Frankie?” Billy asked, stepping towards his friend.

“Just need to run some last minute numbers by you if you’ve got time,” Frank said.

“Sure thing, I’ll be through in a second.”

Frank nodded and disappeared back into Billy’s office to wait.

Billy caught your wrist again as you crossed the room towards your desk.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he told you softly, “we’re going to finish talking about it later, before we celebrate.”

Celebrate? Oh, right, the invitation.

You nodded, then asked; “do you want me to RSVP to the invitation?”

He pulled the invitation from his pocket and looked at it before shaking his head. “No, we’ll do that on Monday. I don’t want Catherine Van Der Koy to think she can upset you and you’ll just come running when she calls for you again.”

He didn’t bother to explain what he meant by that before disappearing into his office.

Then you were left to return to your work - though you found it infinitely harder to focus on your spreadsheet now that you also had to worry about attending another big event on Billy’s arm. 

Black tie meant you’d need a new dress, and you already knew that Billy would probably want to pay, which would definitely lead to an argument. And then you found yourself worrying about what you would say to Catherine when you saw her again. And Leah - fuck, did the whole Van Der Koy family know about the surveillance video?

After about half an hour, Frank left Billy’s office. Instead of heading to the elevator he stopped by your desk, offering you a friendly smile.

“Sorry for interrupting earlier,” he said.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you quickly answered, managing a smile of your own.

“You coming out with us tonight? I meant it when I said Karen’s really been wanting to see you again.”

Tonight?

Billy had said something about celebrating, but he hadn’t said anything about Frank and Karen. And it was a Friday - you usually went back to your own apartment on Fridays for the weekend.

(Not to mention that Billy already knew how uncomfortable you found lying to his friends and constantly feeling like you might accidentally say the wrong thing.)

“I don’t know,” you answered, giving a non-committal sort of shrug, “I don’t think so. It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he said with a shrug of his own. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

You thanked him and watched him go, and found yourself with yet another distracting thought to contend with as you struggled through the rest of the day. But, somehow, you managed to get through what you needed to do.

It hit five but Billy was still in his office. Rather than disturbing him, you folded your arms on your desk and rested your head, trying to work through all of the new problems the day had thrown at you. 

You’d go and look for a new dress tomorrow - hopefully before Billy even thought about trying to buy one for you. (And you already knew that was going to be awful. You hated dress shopping.)

When you were confronted by the Van Der Koys at the auction, you’d stay strong. If they wanted to say anything about what they thought they knew about you and Billy, they’d have to bring it up, because you weren’t going to act meek and apologetic.

As for tonight -

Billy’s office door opened before you had the chance to think about it. He shot you a questioning look as you got to your feet and started to grab your things. When you turned back, he was already holding your coat ready for you to slip into.

Once it was on, you turned towards him, now wanting him to fasten the buttons for you, wanting just one little moment where you didn’t have to deal with every little thing. The corner of his lips ticked upwards at the gesture, but he said nothing as he buttoned your coat for you.

“Gloves,” he said as he ushered you towards the elevator with that familiar hand on your back.

You slipped your gloves on and leaned against his side as the elevator started to move. Billy let out a slow exhale, clearly as glad as you were that the working week was over.

Neither of you said much of anything on the way home and, again, you let your tired eyes close for a few sweet minutes on the car ride. Then, again, you found yourself pressed to Billy’s side, his arm around you as you took the elevator up to the penthouse.

He waved you over to the sofa once you were inside and had removed your coat and shoes, and you went gladly, getting yourself comfortable while he made coffee.

A few minutes later, he was sitting beside you, both of you nursing your mugs.

“I wouldn’t’ve blamed you,” he said, before clarifying. “If we hadn’t heard from Catherine Van Der Koy again, I wouldn’t’ve blamed you. You know that, right?”

Right?

“But it would have been my fault for walking out of dinner with her and speaking to her like -”

“No. You did nothing wrong,” he said firmly.

“But, I -”

“No,” he said again, this time with more force.

“Then why do you sound so upset?” 

You weren’t sure what possessed you to ask the question, but there was no ignoring his clipped tone, the way he seemed almost annoyed by the situation.

“Because you should have told me that you’ve been worrying about it for two weeks. I could never be angry about what you said to Catherine Van Der Koy to protect me,” he said. “I’m pissed off because you shouldn’t have been making yourself feel bad because of it.”

You took an uncomfortable breath, suddenly aware that your heart was pounding awkwardly in your chest.

“What would you have done if VDK wanted nothing to do with you again because of me?” You asked.

Billy sighed. “It wouldn’t have been because of you. I was the one they recorded going into a sex club, not you.”

“But what would you have done? If there was no chance of a contract with VDK then you wouldn’t need me anymore, and -”

“I wouldn’t need you anymore?” He repeated and shook his head. “I’ve told you; you’re in my life now. I like having you in my life. I wouldn’t just kick you to the curb. We’re - we’re friends, right?”

“Right...”

You felt a strange sort of relief at the thought even though you’d never had a friendship quite as strange as the one you had with Billy. But it settled something inside of you to know that, even though you had your arrangement and some aspects of what you were doing were fake, he’d still want you around if it all fell apart.

“Do you feel better now you’ve got that off your chest?” He asked. You nodded and Billy smiled. “We could’ve had this conversation two weeks ago and saved you from all this worry.”

He was right, though you felt far too embarrassed to admit it. You were just used to dealing with things on your own, and it was one thing to let Billy take care of you physically but it was quite another to trust him to care for you emotionally.

Sinking back on the sofa, you focused on your coffee and, now that the air between you had been cleared, Billy could relax too. And he did, for all of ten minutes before his phone buzzed.

“Did you tell Frank you weren’t coming out with us tonight?” He asked.

“Yeah?” You answered, feeling as confused as he looked. “It’s Friday night...”

“... so?”

“So, I thought we were going to have dinner and then I was going to go back to my place for the weekend.”

“I said we were going to celebrate tonight,” he said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“I thought you meant just the two of us and -”

“Why does it matter if Frank and Karen are with us?” He asked.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, not even sure where to start, but the moment you started to talk, it all just seemed to come out.

“Because Mr Castle is my boss too, and he’s your best friend. If I say the wrong thing I could fuck everything up, and I don’t want to ruin your relationship with him,” you said, barely stopping to take a breath, letting out all the silly neurotic thoughts that had been festering inside you for weeks. “And Karen’s a journalist - a journalist, Billy - she knows how to spot lies and she’s... she’s...”

“What?” He prompted as the words lodged in your throat.

“She’s talented and smart and... she’s so pretty. And I... I’m just a PA. I don’t fit in in your world, Billy. I don’t belong. I’ll just be in the way.”

You remembered the balcony as you repeated the sentiment to him again; you didn’t belong in his world and it felt like everyone but Billy could see that. You were a background character at best, never meant for the spotlight, and you were scared that if people looked too closely at you, they’d see through the lies and find nothing but broken pieces.

Billy took a slow breath, trying to calm himself before responding, but his dark eyes flickered with every emotion he was trying to suppress. He reached for you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly, possessively.

“You’re never in the way,” he said firmly, his gaze burning into yours. “And you do belong in my world. You belong with me, and I want you with me tonight.”

His voice took on that commanding tone again and, that alone, was almost enough to make you back down and agree to anything he wanted. But it wasn’t that simple, the mess of thoughts in your head weren’t so easily pushed away.

“I - I don’t want to make things awkward...” you said. 

The fight drained from your voice as you stared into his eyes and suddenly saw nothing but calm control, and the part of you that was panicking and overthinking started to grow still and quiet.

Billy got to his feet and, before you knew it, you were standing too. He kept a tight hold of your hand, making sure you understood that he was there, that he had you. His other hand cupped your cheek.

“What -” you started to ask but stopped because you already knew the answer.

“You’re overthinking it. Let me help you switch off for a little while.”

Switch off - yes, those were the words you’d used, what you’d told him you wanted. And, now, after a week from hell, you wanted it more than ever.

A slight nod was all he needed before he started to lead you to his bedroom. 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you followed after him, not stopping until you were at the foot of his bed and his attention was on you again.

“Take off your skirt,” he asked, and you obeyed without hesitation. Reaching behind you, you lowered the zip and let it fall down your legs. Billy smiled, pride on his face. “From now on, I expect you to do that without being asked.”

You nodded as his eyes travelled down your body to your exposed thighs and legs.

“Do you want to leave your blouse on?” He asked, his voice soft - not a command, a choice. You bit your lip and he immediately sensed your nervousness. “It’s okay, you can leave it on.”

He tugged on your hand, moving you closer to the bed.

“I want you to get on the bed on your hands and knees, facing away from me,” he ordered, voice instantly shifting back to that dominant tone, switching seamlessly between the Billy who gave you choices and comfort, and the Billy who wanted to exert his control over you.

Your heart continued to race as you clumsily climbed onto the bed in what felt like the least sexy display of all time. It took every ounce of effort you could muster to keep your arms and legs from shaking beneath you.

“Do you remember how this works? What you need to say if you want to stop?” He asked, and you told him that you did. “Good, because this time is going to be a little... different.”

“Different?”

You weren’t sure if the thrill that ran through you was worry or anticipation.

“Yes. This time I’m going to punish you,” he answered.

That did nothing to help you figure out all of your conflicting emotions. 

“You’re going to... punish me?”

“Yes. You should have told me how you were feeling about the VDK situation, and you should have talked to me before assuming that I wouldn’t want you to come out with us tonight,” he explained, keeping his voice commanding but measured. “From now on, I expect you to talk to me before you make decisions or upset yourself over things that affect us both. And if I find out that you haven’t, that you’ve been keeping things like this to yourself again, then I’ll punish you. Understand?”

Despite what he was saying and the rules he was imposing, you knew he was still giving you a choice. You could say no. But, really, was he asking for anything that you wouldn’t ask for in return? He just wanted you to talk to him, to be honest with him, and that shouldn’t have been difficult.

“I-I understand,” you said, consenting to what was about to happen.

“Good,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Now, you’re going to count out loud as I spank you and, if you’re good, I’ll reward you when we’re done.”

The mention of a reward was enough to have a strange, static-like buzz slowly filling your mind as you remembered the peace and calm you’d felt in his arms the last time he rewarded you. 

(Yes, you were definitely willing to take a little punishment if it meant getting to feel like that again.)

The first spank landed suddenly, the sharp sound filling the room and drawing a gasp from you. It wasn’t hard, just enough to cause a momentary sting of discomfort that quickly faded to a bearable ache.

“Count,” he reminded you.

“One,” you said, voice trembling. You bit down on your lip and waited for the next.

Number two came a couple of seconds later, managing to land exactly where the first had. Another gasp spilled from you but you quickly counted the smack.

Three hit the same spot again, causing a warm throb to develop beneath your skin, remaining even as the initial sting faded.

“Three,” you whined, then a second later, “f-four.”

Five didn’t come, instead Billy asked; “what colour?”

“Green,” you answered without hesitation, wanting him to continue so you could be rewarded. A moan carelessly spilled from your lips when he spanked you again. “Five.”

Six, seven, eight and nine followed in a daze, each punctuated by a gasped moan before you called out their number. You didn’t understand how or why, but each strike of his hand on your backside left you craving more, slipping further and further into the static in your mind, unable to focus on anything but Billy and what he was doing to your body.

While spanks one through nine had been measured, each enough to sting for a few seconds before subsiding, ten was different. Ten landed hard enough to cause an ache that spread up your back and down your thighs. Your whole body trembled with the intensity of it.

“Ten!” You cried out as your head drooped forwards.

The ache lingered, the throbbing heat beneath your skin almost burning now. But, once the initial shock was gone, you sank back into the static.

“We’re done now,” he said softly. “You did so well for me.”

You continued to tremble, each second feeling more like an hour the longer he kept his hands off you. It wasn’t long before you were squirming, desperate for his touch. And that was exactly what Billy was waiting for.

“Stay like that,” he ordered. “Keep your head down and don’t move.”

You stilled as much as you could, your arms and legs still trembling uncontrollably. 

The mattress dipped a little as Billy leaned on it and you felt hot breath ghost over the back of one thigh while his fingers trailed up the other. He reached the hem of your panties and hooked them with his fingers.

“What colour?” He asked, his breath still caressing your thigh.

“Green,” you answered, not knowing what he was planning but wanting to find out.

“Good.” There was relief in his voice again, like he didn’t know what he’d do if you asked him to stop.

A soft breath escaped you as he slowly started to tug your panties - your incredibly wet panties - down your thighs. He gave you ample chance to change your mind, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t. Couldn’t. A molten heat was already pooling in your belly, filling you with a desire you didn’t dare name.

The cool air of the room against your arousal slicked skin had you tingling, sensitive before he’d even laid a finger on you. And when he did touch you a whine tore from your lips, his finger slipping between your folds, running though your arousal. The suddenness of the whine was enough to make Billy still.

“Green,” you said - you begged - without needing to be asked.

His finger started to move again, pressing against your slit with a teasing pressure before slowly sinking inside you. It was only one finger but it was enough to have you moaning.

“Don’t come until I say you can, okay?” He said in that strong, commanding voice - which, on its own, was almost enough to push you over the edge. “This is still part of your punishment.”

“O-okay.” You barely got the word out before his finger started to move.

You bit your lip again, trying to stifle the needy sounds that wanted to escape you, but it was impossible. Soon enough you were moaning with every measured thrust of his finger. And judging from the sounds of heavy breathing behind you, Billy had no complaints.

When he slid a second finger inside you, you completely gave up on any and all notions of keeping your eager moans to yourself.

“You’re so wet for me,” he muttered as his fingers continued to pump into you, his wrist twisting every now and then as he learned you from the inside out. “You like this don’t you?”

“Yes!” 

Alarm bells should have been ringing in your head but, instead, there was nothing but static. You should have been worried that your boss was fingering you and muttering about how wet you were and how much you wanted his touch, but your head was empty and the only things you cared about were the pleasure he was stoking inside of you and the throbbing ache on your backside.

Your breathing turned shallow, and you felt yourself tense and clench around his fingers, getting closer and closer to a sweet oblivion. 

Then his fingers pulled out, leaving you unfulfilled and desperate.

“No -” you whined, finding the sudden emptiness unbearable.

“Stop squirming,” he ordered. “Trust me.”

You hadn’t even realised that you’d started to squirm, but you stilled the moment he told you, trusting him to make it better. Trusting him to take good care of you.

Again, you felt his warm breath on the back of your thigh and then, without warning -

“Oh my god,” you gasped as he pressed his lips to you, his tongue brazenly parting your folds and running through your arousal.

He began to devour you, every greedy swipe of his tongue making you keen and tremble. His hand pressed against your ass, gripping the tender flesh with his still-wet fingers and causing the ache to intensify and for the pain to become indistinguishable from the pleasure.

You didn’t even realise that breathless pleas were spilling from your lips, begging him not to stop, pleading for more, telling him how good it felt.

His hot, wet mouth drove you towards the brink of insanity, alternating between focusing his attention on your clit, circling and sucking the throbbing nub, and dipping the tip of his tongue into your dripping slit. You tensed and trembled, clenching around nothing as you tried to fight against the inevitable tidal wave.

It was overwhelming; you’d never felt so wet, so desperate. No one had ever made you feel this way before. It was all you needed, all you wanted. It was the only thought left in your mind, and there was nothing but surrender to Billy and his tongue. 

You were so lost in the haze of pleasure that you barely remembered his order - you weren’t supposed to come until he said you could. But you couldn’t hold it back much longer.

“Billy -” you gasped, “- I can’t... I need to -”

You were silenced by a moan stealing from your lips. And if Billy heard your pleas, he didn’t show it. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, his eager tongue wiping away the last of your sanity as the shaking of your legs grew more intense. 

“Please, Billy!” You cried out again.

“Come for me,” he groaned against your pussy, barely even pulling his tongue back as he did. And they were just about the hottest three words you’d ever heard.

Your body reacted almost instantly, like a spring coiled too tight finally being released. 

You spilled forwards, the force of your orgasm causing your arms to buckle beneath you. Billy’s mouth followed you, his lips not leaving your trembling flesh until you started to whine and beg for him to stop, too sensitive to take anymore. 

Before he pulled away completely, you felt his teeth scrape over your backside, over the aching, throbbing mark he’d left. For a moment you thought he was going to sink his teeth in and bite you, and you were almost disappointed when he didn’t.

He crawled up the bed and pulled your boneless body against his chest, holding you as you continued to shake with aftershocks.

You didn’t even notice that there were tears rolling down your cheeks until Billy gently wiped them away. He’d left you completely overwhelmed and overstimulated, your body still sparking with pleasure while your head was blissfully empty.

He shushed you and tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead. All you could think to do was press closer to him, resting your head on his chest, wrapping your arm around his waist and clinging to him like he was the only stable thing in the world.

“That’s it, little dove. Just let me take care of you,” he muttered, still so commanding, so dominant. “You needed that, didn’t you?”

You managed to nod as Billy continued to wipe away your tears, and the hazy static overcame you. You couldn’t remember your mind ever feeling so silent, so utterly at peace. Your eyes closed and you found yourself listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“You took your punishment so well,” he told you softly, his warm breath on your ear lulling you deeper into the haze. “I know you won’t let me down like that again.”

No, you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Just giving in to me, letting me take control of everything?” He continued to mutter, telling you how good you were and how you didn’t have to worry about anything anymore; he was there, he had you, he wouldn’t let you go, he’d take care of everything.

Your eyes stayed shut and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but it felt like hours before you slowly started to come back to yourself.

Lifting your head, bleary eyes struggled to focus on him, on his face, on his smile. You wanted to say... something, but the words weren’t there. You were still feeling too dazed and empty-headed to think about what you’d even wanted to say to him.

But you didn’t have to say anything because Billy was still in control.

“In a minute you’re going to go have a shower, and then you’re going to get ready to come out with me, okay?”

It was framed as a question but he’d already made it pretty clear that you didn’t have a reason to say no.

You nodded without hesitation.

“And you’re going to try to have fun tonight and unwind, aren’t you?”

Again there was only one correct answer and the words spilled from your lips automatically; “yes, Billy.”

As if to reward you, he pressed his lips to your forehead. 

“We’re going to celebrate, and you’re going to behave for me, aren’t you?”

You weren’t sure what behaving entailed, and the way he said it caused your heart to stutter. But if behaving meant getting to feel a fraction of what he’d just made you feel, then you wanted to.

(And if misbehaving meant more punishment... well, you weren’t entirely opposed to that, either.)

“Yes, Billy.”

His smile widened, genuinely happy that you weren’t fighting him anymore.

“Okay, go have your shower.”

He loosened his hold on you, and you climbed off the bed and onto shaking legs. But before you could take the first step away from him, his hand caught yours, pulling you back to face him again.

“One more rule, little dove,” he said, voice demanding again. “No touching yourself. Only I get to make you come from now on.”

Not a question.

A demand.

An order. 

The rational part of you that was starting to wake up again wanted to say that he was being ridiculous but, now that you’d experienced how he could make you feel, the thought of touching yourself just seemed pointless.

Again, you nodded and offered your agreement.

He let go of your hand and you didn’t even think about stopping to collect your skirt and panties before staggering out of the room. You didn’t know it then, but you’d never see those panties again.

Your head fell back as you stepped under the hot water, your eyes shut as you desperately tried to cling to the calm feeling of serenity that was slowly slipping away from you.

You just wanted to exist in the static haze that Billy had created, to wrap yourself up in it like a blanket. You didn’t want to think or worry, and you didn’t have to, not when Billy was in control.

Lines were blurring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care - what did it matter when he could make you feel so calm and carefree? Besides, it wasn’t like he was asking much of you, just a night out with Frank and Karen, and for you to submit to his control by behaving yourself. 

If that was the price for feeling so good, then you’d happily pay it.

You didn’t linger in the shower too long, despite how good the warm water felt on your aching backside. You dried your hair and wrapped a towel around your waist, not wanting to keep Billy waiting too long.

He was sitting on the sofa, his eyes immediately finding you the second you left the bathroom. He’d showered and changed too, and he looked good in his black jeans and dark blue sweater. Your legs trembled as he licked his lips and you idly wondered if he was remembering what you tasted like.

“What should I wear tonight?” You asked.

Nothing too fancy if what he was wearing was anything to go by.

Billy’s smile widened, obviously happy that you were asking his opinion. “We’re just going for Thai food and then to a bar, so something comfortable. But, preferably something that shows your legs.”

Not an order, just a request.

The way he grinned at you had you biting back a laugh and rolling your eyes as you headed towards the spare room.

Fortunately you’d brought several dresses to the penthouse in case you needed them, so it only took you a few minutes to settle on something; a black chiffon dress with blue and silver butterflies around the skirt. You’d bought it because it was on sale (like most things you bought for yourself) but you hadn’t had the chance to wear it yet.

But there was one problem with the dress that caused you to spiral.

The neckline was a little loose, and the only way to deal with it was by wearing a push-up bra and - well, you began to worry that Billy was going to think it was all for him, that you were trying to get something more from him.

The thought didn’t occur until you were dressed, staring at yourself in the mirror as you put the finishing touches to your make-up.

What was he going to think when he saw you?

Were you behaving like the women who’d come before you - all pretty dresses and no substance?

And, just like that, the calm he’d cultivated inside of you was gone, and you didn’t want to go out anymore.

Why did you even care about any of it? When had you allowed yourself to care about such silly, frivolous things? It was just a dress. A dress that you liked - what did it matter what Billy thought about it?

When had forcing a smile and pretending not to care what other people thought stopped working?

It was him. It was because of him. You’d let him in, let him actually see you, let him know that there was a real person with real insecurities beneath your carefully constructed facade.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts and you wrapped your arms around yourself before calling him in.

“Are you almost ready, Frank and Karen are -” he stopped the moment he noticed your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

Billy slowly cleared the room and stopped directly in front of you, close enough to reach for you but enough not to crowd you.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I don’t know,” you admitted just as softly, struggling to hold his gaze.

“You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?” He asked sensitively, delicately, no demand in his voice.

“I don’t know,” you repeated.

“Come here.” A moment later his arm was around you, guiding you to the bed, and sitting down beside you. He didn’t say anything, he just sat beside you, his arm around your shoulder, waiting for you to find the words.

You took a few slow breaths as you tried to sort through it all in your mind enough to put it into words.

“I just feel... nervous,” you said quietly. “I never used to feel like this or... I guess I was just better at hiding it and pretending it wasn’t there. But now...”

“But now, you feel seen,” he said, managing to fill in the blanks. You nodded. “You’ve spent so long hiding your feelings and closing yourself off that letting me see even a little bit of you has made you feel vulnerable?”

Again, you nodded.

How did he know? How did he understand so easily, unless...

Unless he’d been through it too.

(Who had seen him? Who had made him feel vulnerable? And why weren’t they still with him?)

His arm tightened around you and, without thought, you rested your head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you were struck by just how sweet and tender he could be sometimes, as if he was an entirely different person to the one who craved control.

“It’s silly,” you said, wanting to downplay it. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“No, you’re not. It’s never easy to let yourself be vulnerable with someone,” he said. “But I promise you’re safe with me, that I’ll never take advantage of that vulnerability - and I’ll never let anyone else either. I meant it when I told you we were friends, and I protect my friends.”

Little by little, the awkward knot of nerves inside of you started to loosen again. You weren’t sure how or when or why it had happened, but you did trust him. You knew he’d never hurt you.

“Thank you,” you said in little more than a whisper.

Billy held you for a moment more before pulling back to look at you, his eyes slipping down to your chest before taking in the rest of you. “You look nice. Are you ready?”

He didn’t ask if you still wanted to go, but it was clear from the way he was looking at you that you could have told him you didn’t want to go anymore and he would have accepted it. And, for a moment, you were sorely tempted to.

But something from earlier stuck in your mind; he’d said that he wanted you there with him.

You took a deep breath, then; “yeah, I’m ready.”

Billy stood and offered you his hand, helping you to your feet. You grabbed your phone and purse, and let Billy lead you out of the room and to the elevator, where he helped you with your coat and reminded you to put your gloves on before you left the penthouse.

“They both already like you, you know,” Billy said as you stepped out into the cold evening air. “Frank and Karen, I mean.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“They know that I like you, and that’s enough.”

You didn’t ask what that meant and, instead, let the conversation change as you got into the car. You sat and listened to him telling you how hungry he was and what he was going to eat, and you felt a strange sort of fondness swell inside of you. You didn’t have a name for it - didn’t have a name for anything you felt towards him - but you knew you liked him too.

It wasn’t long before you were dropped off outside the little Thai place you’d enjoyed so much the last time Billy had taken you there. You smiled as you walked towards the door together, hand in hand.

Frank and Karen were already seated in a little booth towards the back of the restaurant, and both grinned the moment they saw you and Billy.

“See you changed your mind then,” Frank said.

You shrugged off your coat and slid into the booth.

“I twisted her arm,” Billy answered for you as he sat beside you.

His hand found your thigh beneath the table and offered a reassuring squeeze. Between that and the ache he’d left on your backside, it quickly became difficult to even think about being nervous. All you could think about was him, and you soon realised that was the point.

Billy ordered a bottle of wine while you looked at the menu, deciding what you wanted. You spoke when spoken to, but were mostly content to let Billy and his friends talk. The wine was another welcome distraction, though you tried to pace yourself, not wanting to drink too much before eating.

When the food was brought out, there was a lull in conversation, and you dared to ask how Frank and Karen had met but the moment he gave Karen a look, you regretted it.

“I was investigating a story,” Karen said after taking a slow breath. “A video was leaked showing... some classified military material, and it led to someone’s death. I interviewed Frank and, about five minutes in, I could tell he wasn’t involved so I left him alone. I didn’t see him again until after he and Billy started Anvil, but then we got talking and... well, the rest is history.”

The moment you felt Billy’s grip tighten on your thigh, you knew there was more to the story and that he was somehow involved, but you didn’t ask. Maybe you’d ask Billy later, but you didn’t want to say anything that might ruin the evening, so your attention returned to your dumplings and noodle soup.

About halfway through your meal, Billy nudged you, indicating that you should help yourself to his spring rolls, and you did without thinking.

When you looked up again, you caught Karen smirking at you. Your cheeks instantly started to warm at the attention, wondering what she was thinking when she looked at you and Billy. You didn’t ask, you just tried to keep your eyes down until you finished eating.

When you sat back and pushed your empty bowl away, Billy leaned towards you and pressed a kiss to your cheek before his lips drifted to your ear.

“What do you want for dessert?” He asked in a low whisper that almost made it seem like he was offering something other than food.

You ran your teeth over your bottom lip before answering. “Mango sticky rice.”

You didn’t understand the smile that he gave you, but it had your thighs squeezing together, momentarily trapping his fingers until you realised you were doing it.

While you waited for dessert, he topped off your wine glass and - honestly, you had no idea how much you’d had because he kept refilling your glass before you could empty it.

Dessert came and went, and you found yourself pressed against his side with his arm around your shoulders. You slowly sipped the last of your wine, more interested in listening than participating in the conversation - Frank was telling some story about Billy drunkenly passing out on his front lawn and not waking up until the sprinklers drenched him the next morning.

You laughed along and, little by little, you didn’t feel quite so out of place.

When the wine was gone and the check was paid, you found yourself walking next to Billy, his hand holding yours as you walked the two blocks to the bar that the group often drank at.

“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Billy said, flashing one of those gentle smiles that almost made you forget that none of it was real.

“It’s nice,” you agreed, though your cheek immediately felt hot when Karen glanced over her shoulder at the two of you.

“Karen likes you,” he said, catching the look.

“She thinks I make you happy. Like I’m some kind of Billy Russo whisperer.”

He let out a laugh. “I don’t know, maybe she’s on to something.

You rolled your eyes and nudged him with your elbow, not wanting to think about how the opposite was true, that he was the one with power over you.

He let silence linger for a few seconds before he spoke again. “I am happy. With you. With... this.”

This.

The nebulous, undefinable and ever-changing thing between you.

The arrangement. The lie.

It should have been enough to snap you back to reality or at least make you realise how utterly insane the last week had been but, instead, you were just glad he was happy because you were happy  too. Even if it wasn’t real, even if you were just playing pretend, being with him, holding his hand in your and seeing him smile like that made you happy. 

Did it even matter what this was when you were both so happy?

No.

“What?” He asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You shot him a questioning look. “You were a million miles away. What were you thinking about?”

You felt butterflies in your stomach - he’d gotten so good at that, at noticing when you were lost in thought.

“Just that I’m happy too,” you confessed.

His expression changed, suddenly turning serious, and you felt breath catch in your throat as you waited for him to speak but -

“Come on, Billy! It’s your round,” Karen called.

Music filled the air around you as she pushed open the door to the bar and held it open, waiting for you both. He shook his head, forcing away whatever thought had been in his head and pulled you into the bar.

He pulled you into his side, wrapping an arm around you as your gaze wandered. It was a small place with a band on stage and a packed dance floor and, towards the back there were a couple of pool tables. At the bar, Billy pulled you closer, causing your sore backside to press against his thigh and you tensed.

“You okay?” Billy asked, his lips against your ear, ensuring only you could hear him.

You nodded and allowed him to hold you until you were handed your drinks. Plural. In one had you had a glass of wine and in the other was a shot.

Karen raised her shot glass. “To good friends.”

You all raised your glass and knocked back the shot, and - ugh, tequila. Your face contorted at the burning sensation in your throat. Billy laughed as he took the empty shot glass from you and put it down on the bar.

“Not a tequila drinker?” He asked. 

You shook your head.  

By the end of the night whether or not you were a tequila drinker would no longer matter.

Not long after, you moved towards the pool tables. Billy and Frank wanted a game, so you and Karen sat on the sidelines, drinking and talking. Every time Billy sank a ball, he’d glance your way, but you didn’t notice until Karen pointed it out.

“Oh my god,” she said through her laughter, “look at him, he’s showing off for you.”

Your eyes followed hers to Billy and found him smiling at you while Frank grumbled and called him a cheat.

“I’m glad you decided to come tonight,” Karen continued once your attention returned to her. “Billy said you felt nervous about coming out with us last time...”

Your expression turned sheepish and your cheeks heated; you hadn’t realised that he’d told them that.

“Not nervous, just... I know he doesn’t usually bring dates when he hangs out with you two, and I didn’t want to make things weird,” you said, barely able to hold her gaze. “He doesn’t have many close friends, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

From the look she gave you, you couldn’t tell if you’d just said the most profound thing she’d ever heard, or the absolute dumbest. 

“I think the fact that you care that much about him is exactly why you do belong here,” she said. “I meant it when I said I’ve never seen him this happy.”

“I don’t know if that’s because of me,” you said automatically, not stopping to consider what she was saying. “Things have been going well for Anvil lately, it’s probably -”

“Bullshit,” she interrupted. “Just look at him - that’s not because things are going well at work.”

You followed a wave of her hand back to Billy, watching as he grinned and laughed with Frank like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Were you really responsible for that?

(No. No. It was because he was getting closer to the biggest payday of his life. You were just... helping.)

As you shifted your attention back to her, you felt a dull ache across your backside again, a tangible reminder of what had been happening between you and Billy recently. Maybe that was why he was so happy tonight and, if that was the case, you supposed you could claim responsibility for that.

“Come on, let’s go get another round,” Karen said, draining her glass and getting to her feet.

You looked at your glass and quickly finished your drink before letting her drag you back towards the bar. Before you could say anything, she ordered another round and more tequila shots for both of you.

“Seriously, I haven’t seen Billy like this since his last real relationship,” Karen continued, seeming more comfortable now that you were out of earshot of the boys. “Has he told you about her?”

You shook your head. “Just that he thought he loved her but she didn’t trust him.”

“She...” Karen took a breath, deciding how much to tell you, “... she thought he was involved with some pretty awful things and nearly destroyed his life trying to prove it.”

“But why would she -” you weren’t even sure you wanted to ask. If it was something you should know, surely Billy would tell you himself.

“She works for Homeland Security,” Karen answered the unasked question.

Your stomach threatened to turn itself inside out, right then and there. Homeland Security meant that it was something serious. 

“But Billy didn’t do anything, right?” You asked, hating the flicker of uncertainty that you felt.

“No, he didn’t,” Karen said, quick to reassure you. “The worst part was that she wanted him back when she realised she was wrong. I never thought -”

She was interrupted by the bartender and you waited patiently while she paid, playing her words over in your head.

“You never thought what?” You asked.

“That I’d see him happy like this again, willing to let someone into his life,” she said as she handed you a shot glass. “I get that you feel like you might get in the way but I promise you, me and Frank are so glad you’re in Billy’s life.”

“Thank you.”

Karen clinked her glass against yours before downing the shot. A moment later you followed suit, again pulling a face as the tequila burned in your throat. And, as you placed the empty shot glass down to reach for your fresh glass of wine, you realised that you were definitely starting to feel a buzz from the alcohol.

Billy and Frank had finished their game by the time you made it back to them with the fresh round of drinks. Frank was complaining, calling Billy a cheat, and you - you were just glad that you were there, glad you could be part of it. You sat next to him and, soon enough, his hand was back on your thigh.

The evening wore on, you had more to drink, reaching the point where the tequila stopped burning quite so much, and that was when Billy handed you a glass of water.

“I think you’ve had enough alcohol now, little dove,” he told you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “No more drinking, okay?”

Something tickled in the back of your mind when his hand cupped your cheek, a momentary buzz of static. Alcohol had softened his dark eyes but you could still see the spark in them, the desire to dominate and control. 

You nodded your agreement and downed half of the water that he’d given you.

You weren’t sure why he wanted you to stop drinking - whether he was worried that you’d embarrass him or let something slip - but you were willing to stop if it made him happy.

But Karen, unfortunately, had other plans for you.

Karen pulled you away from Billy to dance with her, stopping off at the bar for more shots on the way, and then breaking for more shots after a few songs. And you didn’t tell her no. You were enjoying yourself too much and you didn’t want to risk the friendship that was forming by declining the drinks she was buying.

You were having fun. You felt good. Happy.

Your body moved in time with the music, the alcohol loosening you up enough that you didn’t even think about the way your hips were swaying or the grin on your lips. It had been years since you’d had so much fun..

Suddenly an arm wound around your waist and you were pulled back against Billy. Karen laughed and rolled her eyes at him but continued to dance. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get my attention,” he muttered into your ear, his hot breath sending a shudder down your spine and causing a swarm of butterflies to fill your stomach.

You’d been drinking.

But then, so had he.

And that was more than enough to rationalise turning in his arms and smiling up at him.

“Is it working?” You asked, wrapping your own arms around him and pressing yourself impossible close.

Karen said something, but your attention was fixed on Billy, thinking the same thought over and over again; real or not, he made you happy.

“Did you have more to drink when I told you not to?” He asked.

You could have blamed Karen but, instead, your smile widened and you offered a playful, “maybe...”

“I thought you agreed you were going to behave yourself tonight,” he said, his voice seamlessly shifting to that low, commanding tone.

His hand slipped down your back and it didn’t stop until it was palming your backside through your dress, the heel of his palm pressing into the delicious, lingering ache he’d created hours ago. Your back arched a little and you pressed into him, not trying to escape the touch but wanting more of him, wanting to feel him all over your body.

Alcohol and a sudden surge of desperate arousal had you acting on the strange feeling inside of you. Your hand hooked around the back of his neck and you pulled his lips to yours, kissing him. Passionately. The suddenness of it caught Billy off-guard for a second, but it didn’t take long for him to take control of the kiss, his tongue eagerly slipping between your lips.

His fingers squeezed your ass and a while slipped from your mouth and into his.

The lines between you continued to blur. It wasn’t outright breaking the rules; you’d said you wouldn’t kiss him while he was playing his games of control, not that he couldn’t kiss you while he was reminding you of them.

You didn’t want to think about it beyond that, not when he was holding you close and kissing you deeply. All you wanted was to feel good. And if there was one thing Billy Russo knew, it was how to make you feel good.

When the kiss finally broke, you pulled back and found yourself smiling at him, a laugh bubbling up from nowhere, much to Billy’s confusion.

“What’s so funny?” He asked.

“You.”

Billy blinked. “Me? Why?”

“Because you’re...” you struggled to find an appropriate word, “... you’re cute.”

“Cute?” He repeated, sounding deeply offended, which just made you laugh more. “You think I’m cute?”

“Mhmm.”

“Why am I cute?” He asked, unable to stop the corner of his lips curling upwards.

“Because you like to act all serious and dominant, but you always look after me when you don’t have to,” you told him, still smiling. “And you’re always nice to me.”

“It’s easy to be nice to you, little dove.”

Hearing his sweet pet name for you had your smile widening while your fingers absentmindedly played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “And because you call me that.” 

“I call you that because you are my little dove,” he said in that tone.

You kissed him again, too overwhelmed to think about anything beyond your primal urge to press your lips to his.

It might not have been real, and he might not have been yours, but you were starting to think that there was no harm in pretending and letting yourself enjoy the lie while it lasted.

“Have I told you how nice you look tonight?” He asked.

Again you found yourself laughing, though there was something a little more self-deprecating behind it. “It’s because I’m wearing a push-up bra.”

Billy laughed and shook his head but decided not to argue with you.

He held you for what felt like hours, both of you moving in time with the music. Billy smiled at you and, every time your gaze met his, you felt your heart start to race all over again. But eventually, it had to come to an end.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get you home.” 

You found Karen and Frank by the pool tables, and grabbed your coat but you didn’t pull it on until you were outside. You reached for Billy, running your hands down the lapels of his coat and pulled it closed around him, then you wrapped him up in your arms.

“What are you doing?”  He asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Making sure you’re warm,” you said. “You take care of me, I want to take care of you.

An unexpected tension filled his body.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said.

“I know, but I want to. You deserve it.”

Whatever Billy might have wanted to say in response was cut off by Frank and the strange moment was forgotten as you all bundled into a taxi.

You sat sandwiched between Billy and Karen, your head resting on Billy’s shoulder all the way back to the penthouse, while Karen giggled and apologised to Billy for all the shots of tequila she’d bought for you.

Frank and Karen came up to the penthouse with you for coffee, but the first thing you did was disappear into the bathroom where you must have spent twenty minutes, first peeing and then getting distracted removing your make-up.

You re-emerged just in time to hear Billy telling Frank that they should stay the night in the spare room. Frank, after glancing at Karen fast asleep on the sofa, quickly agreed. You didn’t think what that meant until a few minutes later when Frank lifted Karen and carried her into the spare room.

Your room.

Billy took your hand and, before you knew it, you were in his bedroom.

“Where am I going to sleep?” You asked.

“In here, with me,” he said so simply, so matter-of-factly. “You’ve had a lot to drink and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You’ve been drinking too,” you said, trying not to pout.

“Tell you what, I’ll keep an eye on you and you can keep an eye on me,” he said.

Then he gave you one of those smiles, the kind that reached the corners of his eyes and caused his nose to crinkle, and butterflies filled your stomach once more. His hand ran up and down your arm and his touch left your skin tingling.

“I don’t have my pyjamas.” You said, looking down at yourself and hating the thought of trying to sleep in your underwear, especially the bra that had become more uncomfortable as the night had gone on.

He moved away to grab a tee shirt from his bed and handed it to you before ushering you into the en-suite. 

You quickly stripped down to your panties, leaving your clothes in a heap on the floor, and pulled the shirt on. You realised that it had been worn straight away - not dirty but it definitely smelled of Billy, and it had heat sparking between your thighs. A feeling that increased exponentially as you stepped from the bathroom to see that Billy had stripped down to his boxers.

His eyes raked over you, his look almost predatory. If you’d been more sober, you might have wondered if he’d given you that shirt for a reason.

“Drink this,” he said, handing you a bottle of water.

You did as instructed while he moved to his side of the bed and got in. He watched as you almost drank the entire bottle before abandoning it on the bedside table and climbing under the covers. Facing away from him, you curled up on your side and closed your eyes.

“Goodnight, little dove,” he muttered as he switched off the lights.

You tried to sleep but something felt wrong, uncomfortable. The lingering buzz of intoxication was still there, making it hard for you to focus, but the longer you remained away, the harder it was to ignore your situation.

You were in bed with Billy.

Even though the bed was huge, you squirmed and shifted closer to the edge.

“What’s wrong?” Billy asked in a low whisper, still wide awake despite the hour that you’d been in bed.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.” He moved closer and you felt his hand on your waist, urging you to turn towards him.

You rolled over and, in the gloom, could just about make out his face though, in the dark, his eyes seemed almost completely black.

“What’s wrong?” He asked - no, not asked, demanded.

A bolt out arousal tore down your spine unbidden and your thighs clenched.

His hand moved to your hip, not just resting but holding you, his fingers gripping through the fabric of your shirt.

“Can’t get comfortable,” you told him. “I usually sleep on the other side of the bed...”

It was ridiculous, but you’d spent your life sleeping on the left side of the bed, and it was the only thing you could think of to explain why you were still awake.

“Should’ve told me,” he said, shifting even closer. “We can swap.”

He lifted the covers a little, his intentions clear; he wanted you to climb over him. And, in your still somewhat drunken state, you were happy to.

You got to your hands and knees to climb over him but only made it about half way before you tumbled - or, maybe Billy pulled you down, you weren’t sure - and you ended up half sprawled on top of him.

A quiet giggle stole from your lips as you braced yourself with hands on his bare chest and tried to lift yourself. His arms wrapped around you, holding you in place and, instead of trying to pull away, you shifted closer and -

Oh.

As you moved, you realised that his thigh had ended up between yours, and the friction it created when you moved was enough to have you keening and eagerly shifting your hips again.

Billy let out a low groan when he realised what you were doing, and his hands found your hips.

“Let me help you relax, little dove,” he muttered, quiet but dominant.

You gave a hum of agreement, biting down on your lip as he started to guide your movements, setting a slow and deliberate pace. He pressed his thigh against you as you moved. You kept your hands pressed against his chest, enjoying finally being able to touch him.

“That’s it,” he said softly, “nice and slow. You’re being so good for me.”

For a few minutes you were happy to be good for him but, soon enough, you could feel yourself starting to soak through your panties and your body thrummed with need. Your hips started to shift a little faster, desperate for more, only for Billy to pull back his thigh and use his grip on your hips to stop you.

“Billy...” you whined.

“What’s wrong, little dove?” He asked. Through the gloom you could see he was smirking. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter. “I told you that you needed to behave yourself tonight, didn’t I?”

Oh no, was he not going to let you come?

“Didn’t I?” He repeated, demanding an answer.

“Yes, Billy.”

“So behave yourself.”

He waited a few seconds before pressing his thigh against you again and started to lead your movements at that same slow and frustrating pace. And, every time you pushed for more, he’d pull back and stop for a few seconds.

“Fuck, I can feel how wet you are,” he groaned. “So needy... soaking my leg...”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as the soaked fabric of your panties clung to your sensitive skin, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.

You weren’t sure how long had passed - it felt like hours, hours of him denying you what you needed, hours of him rocking you against him. Your thighs started to tremble and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

The tremors quickly got worse, every fibre of your being silently begging for the release that he was denying you. You wanted to be good for him, you wanted to hear his gentle praise, and reap the rewards, but you knew you couldn’t last much longer.

Your fingers curled, nails digging into his chest, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Please,” you gasped. “I’ll be good.”

He continued as if you hadn’t even spoken.

“Please, Billy,” you tried again, pleading with him. “I’ll be so good. I’ll behave from now on.”

He carried on for a few more seconds, and they felt like the longest seconds of your life. Then he released your hips.

You moved at a frenzied pace, grinding against him until you started to fall apart. As moan escaped you, Billy’s hand cupped your chin, his fingers slipping between your lips and pressing against your tongue in an effort to stifle the sound. You were too lost in your pleasure to notice or care as your lips closed around his fingers and started to suck.

As the last jolts of pleasure coursed through your body, you collapsed onto his chest, feeling weak and boneless, like every ounce of pleasure had been drawn from your body. Aftershocks racked your body, and you barely noticed you were still sucking his fingers, while his other hand traced soothing patterns on your back, helping settle you after your intense orgasm.

“See how good I can make you feel when you do as I say?” He whispered into your ear.

You murmured ‘yes, Billy’ around his fingers, unable to even contemplate disagreeing with him. Your head was empty and your body was exhausted. You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel embarrassed when he tugged your wet panties down and helped you lazily wiggle out of them.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” He said.

You nodded, already half asleep in his arms, your face pressed against his warm bare chest.

“In the morning we’re going to have a long talk about your behaviour, little dove,” he added, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Mhmm,” you hummed around his fingers, quickly losing your battle with sleep.

The room was spinning.

Your fingers gripped the sheets as your eyes struggled to focus and you tried to remember where you were - not in your apartment, and not in the spare room. 

Billy’s bed. 

Heat flushed over your whole body as it all came flooding back to you; the giggly way you’d climbed on top of him, the desperate way you’d ridden his thigh, and how hard you’d come when he’d let you. You remembered the warmth of his bare chest as you curled up in his arms, and how you’d fallen asleep with his fingers in your mouth.

Even compared to everything that had happened between you recently, it was a lot. 

There was a bottle of water waiting for you on the bedside table, cold and still perspiring like it hadn’t been there long. You didn’t stop to think about it, about how Billy was constantly taking care of you, you just gulped down almost the whole bottle before coming up for air.

It wasn’t the worst hangover you’d ever had, and it didn’t feel like you were going to puke your guts up if you moved, but your head ached and, despite the sound sleep you’d gotten in his arms, you still felt exhausted enough to go back to sleep.

But you could hear sounds of conversation and the smell of pancakes wafted through from the kitchen.

You got out of bed onto unsteady legs before remembering that you weren’t wearing panties, and the shirt you’d slept in was nowhere near long enough to cover your decency. You vaguely remembered Billy slipping your panties off before you fell asleep, but you couldn’t find them anywhere. And, when you checked the bathroom, you realised that your clothes from the night before had been moved.

All you could find were the boxers that Billy had worn to bed, casually discarded on the floor. If you didn’t know any better you might have assumed that they were left there for you, but you were too exhausted and hungry to even think about it. And, since you didn’t want to have to rummage through his drawers to find something clean to wear, you pulled them on.

“Someone had fun last night.”

You were barely two steps out of Billy’s room when Karen noticed you, and your heart skipped several beats when you saw the way she was looking at you, grinning from ear to ear.

Your face burned with embarrassment. Had she heard you and Billy last night? Had she heard the way you’d moaned, and the commanding way he spoke to you? Had she heard you come for him?

All you managed was a weak smile as you stepped into the kitchen and went to grab yourself a bowl and some cereal, needing more than just pancakes to soak up the tequila still in your stomach. 

Billy was by the coffee maker one second, then he was behind you, all but pinning you against the kitchen counter.

You trembled when you felt his lips against your ear, expecting -

Fuck, after yesterday, you weren’t sure what to expect. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he nibbled your ear then bent you over the counter and spanked you in front of Karen.

Instead, what you got was a soft whisper; “are you okay?”

You relaxed against him, leaning back and letting his arm snake around your waist.

“Tired,” you muttered.

“Just tired?”

“And my head hurts,” you confessed.

“I told you to stop drinking,” he said sympathetically.

Oh, was that why? Not because he’d been wanting to control you or because he was worried you might say the wrong thing. He just hadn’t wanted you to suffer through a hangover.

You sighed and pressed your hand against his over your stomach, enjoying the little moment of comfort, despite the voice in your head reminding you that it wasn’t real.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. And he wasn’t your lover. Hell, you weren’t even friends with benefits, since you weren’t fucking.

So what did that even make you? Orgasm buddies?

(God, you needed to stop thinking.)

Taking a breath, you turned in his arms and rested your forehead on his shoulder. 

“It’s Karen’s fault,” you said, loud enough for her to hear, “she kept giving me tequila.”

“She’s a bad influence,” Billy agreed.

Karen gave a scoff from behind him and, a moment later, you were all laughing.

Billy pressed a soft but lingering kiss to your forehead before quietly whispering in your ear; “when Frank and Karen leave, we’re going to discuss your behaviour last night.”

A bolt of arousal tore down your spine headed directly to your core, but before you could even think to respond or ask if you were in trouble, Billy pulled away and ushered you towards the table.

“Sit down, I’ll get you something for your headache,” he said, and you did as you were told, sitting opposite Karen who was still smirking at you.

Beneath the table your thighs pressed together and you were suddenly very mindful of the fact you were wearing Billy’s boxers as you did your best not to tremble.

You ignored Karen for as long as possible, focusing on pouring your cereal and grabbing some pancakes from the stack in the middle of the table. But you could feel her eyes on you, and knew she was daring you to look up to face her judgement.

“What?” You finally asked.

“Oh, nothing. Billy just seems extra happy today...”

“He must’ve gotten plenty of sleep,” you answered, quickly dropping your gaze back to your cereal and starting to eat.

“Yeah, someone must’ve really tired him out,” she said, snorting with laughter.

Your face burned hotter and you were visibly relieved the second Billy reappeared and sat beside you. He placed a couple of painkillers in front of you and poured you a glass of juice, which you took without hesitation. Billy kissed your forehead again, as if rewarding good behaviour. 

“What are you smirking at?” Billy asked Karen.

You choose not to look up and focused on eating.

“Nothing, just never knew you were such an attentive boyfriend,” she answered back.

“No? You jealous or something?” Billy retorted playfully.

“Jealous of what?” Frank’s voice came from nowhere.

You looked up and watched him move from the bathroom towards the table, stopping behind Karen and reaching for a mug of coffee. You started on your pancakes, determined to stay out of it.

“Karen was just saying she wished she had a more attentive boyfriend,” Billy joked, then grunted as Karen kicked him under the table. “I see why you like this one, Frankie, she plays rough.”

Frank rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Karen. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, let me just go grab my things,” she said, quickly getting to her feet and disappearing into the spare room.

“You two have fun last night?” Frank asked as he sipped his coffee.

The question was aimed at both of you, but you knew he was asking you specifically. You were reminded that Billy had told them how nervous and uncomfortable you’d been about the idea of spending a night out with them.

“Yeah, I had a really nice time,” you said, managing to smile despite your exhaustion and embarrassment. “We should do it again some time.”

“Yeah, we should,” Frank agreed.

He shot Billy a strange look that you didn’t understand but didn’t dare ask about.

Karen reappeared just as Frank was done with his coffee and, after a quick farewell, the pair of them left. Billy walked them to the elevator while you finished your breakfast and, by the time he came back, you were at the sink about to start washing up.

“Leave that,” he told you.

Without warning, he pulled you towards him, spinning the pair of you and walking you backwards until you felt the table behind you. He pressed closer still, forcing you up onto the edge of the table. His hands pushed your legs apart and he stood between them, ensuring that there was no space between you.

Your heart started to race and your breath caught when you noticed him looking down. The shirt you were wearing had ridden up, revealing his boxers.

“Billy -”

“You didn’t behave yourself last night.”

The shift from the gentle Billy who’d brought you painkillers to the dominant man who was standing before you might have given you whiplash if you weren’t already starting to get used to it, starting to want it even.

It wasn’t what you’d thought you were agreeing to when you’d offered to help him with his control issues, you’d never thought that it would be a constant thing, but some unspeakable part of you was enjoying it all far too much to bring it up. All it had taken was six little words and, already, arousal was pooling between your thighs.

(You were getting wet in his boxers, a thought that almost caused your brain to short circuit.)

“Karen kept buying me shots,” you said, trying to explain yourself.

“Karen isn’t responsible for you, I am.”

Responsible?

Where had that come from? And why did it make static start to softly buzz in your head?

“I -”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are going to be ‘I’m sorry, Billy, I won’t misbehave again’, I’d think long and hard before speaking,” he said, letting the words hang in the air, seeing if you’d respond to them. You were too stunned (and, awkwardly, turned on) to say anything. His tone softened when he spoke again. “I didn’t want you to have to go dress shopping with a hangover.”

“Dress shopping?”

“You’ll need something for the auction, and -”

“But I was going to -”

He silenced you with just a look and - fuck, seriously, what was wrong with you this morning? It took every ounce of control you possessed not to squirm and press closer to him.

But you didn’t have to, Billy seemed to notice your want, your need.

“I want to buy you a dress,” he said.

You were instantly distracted from the seriousness in his tone by his hand on your thigh and how it slowly started to creep upwards.

“I don’t need -” the words died on your lips as his hand slipped beneath the boxer shorts and between your spread legs.

“I don’t care if you need me to. I want to buy you something nice to wear.”

While his tone was firm and commanding, his touch was feather light, his fingers softly teasing your folds, the ghost of a touch that had you throbbing with desire.

It was almost too easy to surrender to it, to be good for him and agree with his every whim but, instead, you shook your head, trying to stay focused on the conversation.

“I don’t want people thinking I’m only after your money or that I’m using you to get nice things,” you protested, trying to ignore how aroused his gentle touches were making you.

He shook his head. “You’ve not seen any of the gossip blogs lately, have you?”

You tried to swallow, your throat suddenly feeling dry.

You’d started ignoring the alerts that you’d set up to track mentions of Billy - you couldn’t stand the speculation and theories about the pair of you, the endless comments about the starry-eyed PA who’d soon be used up and spat out by her wealthy boss. At first the way that they saw you had made you feel ill, but the closer you got to Billy, it hurt more to read what they thought about him.

You shook your head.

“No one thinks you want my money, little dove.”

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t tell you what they were actually saying about you. And, as his fingers started to tease your clit, you found that you didn’t have the strength to ask.

“If it bothers you so much, I’ll give you a raise or an early Christmas bonus - either way, you’re coming home with a new dress today,” he continued.

“You can’t -”

The protest died on your lips as his finger slipped inside of you. There was no slow and gentle build up, no teasing, instead he started to fuck you with it in a way that had you gripping his shoulders. A second finger soon joined the first and, instead of continuing the argument, you found yourself moaning.

Was this what he was going to do every time you disagreed with him now?

“You can’t just -” you panted and whined, “- every time I -”

“I can,” he said, bending his fingers inside of you, “and I will. Every single time, until you realise that I know best.”

It was no use. Static started to fill your head and you gave yourself over to him.

He muttered about how wet you were, and cooed about how much you clearly needed this, and it just made you want it more. You were coming to love the way he spoke to you in these moments, the way he took complete control.

Your eyes closed and your head dropped back, your body clenching and squeezing around his fingers. You could feel an orgasm building, anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach, and helping push you further into the haze and silencing your protest, until -

Everything stopped.

You blinked at Billy, struggling to understand why you suddenly felt so empty and unfulfilled. Your hips bucked against nothing and the moment you opened your mouth to ask why, you felt his fingers against your tongue, wet and tasting of your desperation.

A soft whine spilled from you as you sucked his fingers and, when your hips tried to buck again, his other hand pressed on your thigh, holding you in place.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he softly chided against your ear, “you’ll come when I let you, little dove. But first you’re going to go get ready and let me take you dress shopping.”

He let his fingers slip from your lips so you could respond.

“But, Billy, I need -”

“You need to come?” He finished the thought for you. You nodded. “You should’ve thought about that before misbehaving and arguing with me, shouldn’t you?”

He smiled as he helped you off the table and then gently shooed you in the direction of the bathroom with a playful pat on your ass, watching as you started to move on unsteady legs.

“And remember,” he called after you, “no touching yourself.”

Of course, you did as you were told. Not because you thought Billy would know if you finished what he’d started, but because it would have felt like a betrayal. And, honestly, no orgasm that you could give yourself would match the one you’d receive the next time he touched you.

Whatever game he was playing by denying you, you were just as invested in it as he was.

Ten minutes later, you stepped from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with his borrowed clothes gripped tight in your hand. He grinned from his spot at the kitchen sink, taking in every inch of exposed skin as you stepped closer.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to move towards him - hope, perhaps. Hoping he’d finish what he’d started. Or maybe some part of you was hoping for more. 

“These are yours,” you said, offering the balled up clothes.

Billy reached towards but instead of taking the boxers and shirt, his hand gripped yours.

“You keep them,” he said, “they look better on you.”

His tongue swiped across his lips and your heart started to pound. The hammering intensified as he leaned closer and you nervously sucked your lower lip. He was going to kiss you, his eyes dropping to your mouth.

You leaned into his touch as he cupped your cheek, not caring if it came across as desperate. You were desperate. You were needy and aroused, longing to feel his fingers or tongue between your thighs. Thirty seconds in his presence again, and you already needed another shower.

The expected kiss never came.

Instead you felt his thumb, gently pulling your lower lip from between your teeth.

“Don’t do that,” he said, quiet but warning. He stared for a couple of seconds before letting go, and you saw his chest shudder as he took a step back. “Go get dressed.”

You didn’t need to be told twice and quickly retreated to the spare room, already forcing the moment to the back of your mind as you pulled on a simple pair of jeans and a blouse.

Your phone buzzed as you left your room; a message from Karen said how she thought you’d want the photos she took last night. You started to swipe through them, smiling to yourself as you rejoined Billy.

“What are you smiling at?” Billy asked as he held up your coat.

“Karen sent some pictures from last night,” you said, holding up your phone and letting him see a picture of the pair of you, staring into each other's eyes on the dancefloor. 

“That’s cute,”

“Cute?” You repeated as you turned to him, not even thinking about how he automatically moved to fasten your coat for you. Cute was an odd choice of word.

Billy laughed and shook his head. “Don’t you remember? Last night we had a very in-depth conversation about how cute you find me.”

Oh no... a hazy memory came flooding back; the way you’d giggled and stared longingly into his eyes, your fingers playing with his hair as you explained all the ways you found him cute. Suffice to say, you were mortified as he led you into the elevator.

His hand took yours and you could see him smirking from the corner of your eye. Try as you might, you couldn’t think of anything clever to say to conceal your embarrassment. You were still exhausted and, honestly, you were still trying to forget about the unfulfilled throb between your legs.

You were just glad that he let you wallow in your embarrassment without pressing you for comment, allowing you to stay silent as you both got in the car. Once your seat belt was fastened and his driver had started the engine, Billy reached for you, placing a hand on your thigh and, without much thought, you covered his hand with your own.

Fifteen minutes later you found yourself standing outside a little boutique that looked... entirely out of your price range. Your eyes went wide as you noticed the window display and your stomach tied itself in knots; it was the most beautiful wedding dress you’d ever seen.

Billy’s hand took yours and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t worry, little dove. I don’t think we’ll need to take things that far.”

Right.

But that didn’t stop you from continuing to stare at the dress as he led you into the store. 

You were immediately greeted by two women, one older, with striking green eyes, and a younger woman who had the most perfect winged eyeliner you’d ever seen. Both made you feel incredibly insecure for the strangest reasons.

“Billy,” said the older woman, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheeks.

“Sophie,” Billy replied.

Your heart stuttered at the exchange. Sophie... Sophie Harrington? That was the name Faye Van Der Koy had mentioned when she’d seen the other dress Billy had bought for you.

Clearly Billy knew her well, and -

You realised they were both staring at you expectantly, like you’d missed something. Instead of asking what, you just smiled and hoped for the best and, moments later, you found yourself led downstairs to a large fitting room area.

“I put together this collection for you,” Sophie explained, resting a hand on a rail that was filled with dresses, “but if you have any thoughts on styles, colours or cuts, let me know and I’ll see what else I have.”

You nodded, intimidated by the sheer number of dresses.

“Do you want me to send some champagne down?” She asked

Your stomach turned at the thought of alcohol.

“No thanks, we had more than enough to drink last night,” Billy answered, smiling his perfect smile at her. 

As she excused herself she ran a hand along Billy’s back, touching him in such a familiar way it made your heart ache.

You quickly turned to the dresses and tried to ignore the feeling.

“What do you think?” Billy asked once Sophie was gone.

All you could manage was a half-hearted hum.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. You shook your head, eyes fixed on the dresses, not turning to face him until his hand gripped your hips and he forced you to turn. “What’s wrong?”

“You and Sophie seem close,” you said.

You hated yourself for saying it and for the spite you allowed to slip into your tone. You didn’t get to feel jealous. What you and Billy had wasn’t real and he wasn’t yours.

“Me and Sophie?” He asked, sounding amused and not angry like you’d expected. In fact he grinned at you. “Are you jealous?”

“No, that’s not -” you forced yourself to take a breath, “- I just don’t want to be paraded around in front of women that you’ve fucked.”

He stayed silent for a few seconds, deciding the best way to respond - though from the look on his face you could tell he was dying to make a joke.

“I’ve never fucked Sophie,” he said and, quickly, your cheeks started to burn with the realisation that you’d fucked up. “We made out at a party when we were both fourteen, but that’s about it.”

“Fourteen?”

It wasn’t often that Billy offered any information on his childhood, so you quickly focused on that part. 

“We lived with the same foster family for a couple of months,” Billy explained. “We lost touch, but we ran into each other again a couple of years ago. And, now, I help her out by getting her designs seen all across New York.”

“Oh...”

What were you supposed to say to that? You were there because he was helping an old friend, not because he wanted to show you off in front of someone he used to fuck. Your gaze dropped, ashamed of yourself.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he said.

“You do?” You asked, almost certain that he didn’t.

“I have a reputation,” he said, shrugging. “You’ve helped me realise that sometimes people see me a certain way - that sometimes you see me a certain way.”

You looked up, staring into his eyes as you shook your head. “I’m sorry, I -”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“But there is,” you protested. “I don’t want to see you like that. I think you’re more than that, Billy. I know you’re more than your reputation.”

“It’s okay,” he said again, shaking his head, shrugging the whole thing off. But, before you could try again, he took a step back. “Why don’t you try some of these on?”

You didn’t want to force the conversation, not when Billy obviously didn’t want to continue. You’d try again later when you had a better idea of what you wanted to say to him and how you could explain jumping to conclusions so easily.

Grabbing the first dress, you disappeared behind the curtain. It was pale blue with cap sleeves and a squared neck and, while it looked nice on the hanger, once you had it on, you realised it looked like something from a Disney movie.

You opened the curtain and stepped out, finding Billy sat on a sofa, scrolling on his phone. When he looked up, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“No?”

“Absolutely not,” Billy said, struggling not to laugh. “I don’t want you turning into a pumpkin at midnight.”

The next dress was the opposite of the first; deep red, figure hugging, and the slit in the skirt ran so high that you could see your underwear. It wasn’t you, and Billy agreed - though he made it clear he liked being able to see that much leg.

That was how the next hour went; you tried on dresses and Billy gave his opinion.

Some you agreed on instantly, others you disagreed on. And there were some that you both liked, but that weren’t really right for the auction. But there were none you loved until you reached into the middle of the rail.

It was a gorgeous petrol blue that shimmered beneath the lights with a lace panelled corset in the same colour. The slit on the skirt reached mid-thigh and had a beautiful ruffle detail, showing leg but not too much. Once you had it on, you hardly recognised yourself.

You stared at your reflection, lifting on your tiptoes, and turning this way and that. You almost didn’t want to show him in case he didn’t like it. But, the longer you looked, the more you noticed little things, like the curve of your hips and waist, despite the cut of dress doing a wonderful job at softening and shaping.

Billy said... something, but you weren’t listening.

Without looking away from the mirror, you stuck your hand between the curtains and waved.

A moment later he stepped in and you heard his breath catch.

“That one,” he said, definitively. Adamantly.

You continued to stare at your reflection, running your hands over your hips and breathing in.

“This one?” You repeated.

“You don’t like it?” 

He stepped behind you, and you caught the predatory look in his reflection, the way he was devouring you with his eyes. It made your legs tremble and brought back the unfulfilled throb between your legs.

“I-I don’t know,” you answered.

His hands slipped down your sides, over your waist and hips, caressing your curves. His dark eyes watched yours in the mirror, filled with dark promises as he pulled you back against him.

Heat licked across your cheeks and you bit your lower lip.

Billy's chest shuddered with a ragged breath, and you felt his cock twitch.

His hand moved and, before you knew it, his thumb had pulled your lip from between your teeth and had started to tenderly brush over it.

“You’ve got no idea what it does to me when you get nervous,” he confessed in a low whisper.

Something good or something bad? You didn’t know how to ask. Instead, you brazenly captured his thumb between your lips and gently sucked it.

His cock twitched again, and you realised just how much power you had over him. As slowly and as sensually as you could manage, you started to swirl your tongue around his thumb. You didn’t just feel another twitch from his cock but, rather, a more continuous pressure as he started to grow hard.

It made you more bold, licking and sucking, wishing you had the nerve to turn and drop to your knees in front of him, imagining what it would be like to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth. But you didn’t have the nerve, so this would have to do.

Your heart stuttered as he started to kiss your neck, teeth lightly scraping over skin and leaving you desperate for more. You wanted to be marked, branded, to bear the signs of his eager affections for the world to see.

All the while his gaze held yours, and you watched as you managed to reduce the usually dominant and commanding Billy Russo to a puddle of need. 

You started to see yourself differently - so what if you had curves? You’d still managed to wreck New York’s most eligible bachelor with just your lips and tongue.

Was this what Billy felt like when he was in control - powerful and desirable? It wouldn’t last, of course. You knew Billy’s dominant nature would rear its head sooner or later. And you were looking forward to it, looking forward to him wresting control from you.

You gasped as Billy lips trailed along your shoulder and started to suck, quickly creating an aching mark on your skin. You were getting carried away and knew you should stop him, but you didn’t want to. Again, you felt teeth on your skin, this time pressing with more force and - oh, fuck, if he didn’t stop, if you didn’t stop, you were going to beg him to fuck you right there.

Your heart was already pounding with anticipation. You wanted him to push you against the wall and take what he wanted. The thrill of getting caught, of Sophie or the poor sales assistant walking in and catching him inside of you had your thighs clenching.

Billy’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer, making sure you could feel his cock pressed against your back. He was telling you without words that he was thinking about fucking too.

His hand moved down your body and you moaned softly around his thumb and, by the time his hand reached the slit in the dress, you felt like your heart was about to explode. His knee pressed between yours, forcing your legs apart so his hand could slip between your thighs.

And, just like that, you weren’t in control anymore.

A ghost of a touch through your wet panties was all it took.

Your teeth gripped his thumb, but Billy didn’t seem to mind the discomfort. In fact, he pressed his lips back to the mark he’d created on your shoulder and let out a noise that almost sounded like a growl.

His fingers slipped beneath your panties and delved between your folds, running through your arousal from slit to clit.

You pressed back, wanting to feel his touch on every inch of his body as his fingers teased your clit and his tongue soothed the mark on your shoulder. And, all the while, you continued to suck his thumb.

“You’re so wet, little dove,” he muttered against your skin. “So needy... maybe I should deny you more often...”

It shouldn’t have turned you on - you didn’t want to be denied by him, not when he made each and every orgasm feel life-altering - but the thought of being at his mercy, of only experiencing pleasure at his whim did something to you. You didn’t even notice how easily you’d started to slip into the hazy static, how your head had emptied of any thought but him.

His lips moved to your ear, nipping the lobe and letting you hear every ragged breath he took. You could feel his chest shuddering behind you and you finally understood that, even though he was in control, Billy felt just as desperate as you.

You whined and bit down on his thumb again as two fingers slid inside of you with no resistance and he pressed the heel of his palm against your clit. Your eyes met his in the mirror and the need you saw there was enough to make your knees weak.

He moved his fingers slowly - too slowly for your liking - and your hips started to move, trying to grind yourself against his hand.

“Behave,” he grunted in your ear.

He was holding back, you realised, and you didn’t want that. You wanted all of him. You wanted the darkest and most desperate parts, wanted to fulfil the desires that haunted his every waking moment.

(How had you gotten in so deep? When did you start to crave these things?)

You held his gaze and continued to squirm despite his warning, your intentions clear; do your worst.

His thumb slipped from your lips, and his hand slowly slipped to your shoulder, across your clavicle and - your breath caught as it came to rest on your throat. The safeword he’d made you choose flashed through your mind, but you pushed it away as he gave a testing squeeze.

You could stop him if you wanted to.

But you didn’t want to.

That one little squeeze was enough to have you stilling, to have you submitting to him.

His hand remained on your throat, pressed in place but not squeezing, a threat of force rather than a display. Enough to keep you still and at his mercy as his fingers worked in and out of the wet heat of your body.

“Fuck, I love it when you give in to me,” he groaned, moving his fingers a little faster. “You’re getting this dress for the auction, and I’m going to touch you like this while we’re there...”

The promise had you clenching around his finger, betraying your need, and pushing you deeper into the static.

“Are you going to come, little dove?” He muttered against your ear. “Are you going to come all over my fingers wearing this pretty dress?”

You barely managed to nod as you head fell back against his shoulder, biting your lip again as you fought back a moan. You were so close, just a few more skillful pumps of his fingers and -

“How are you getting on? Do you need any help with anything?”

A voice from outside had Billy pulling away, his hand falling from your neck and his fingers slipping from the warm clutch of your body.

He had the nerve to look at you like he was about to burst into laughter and you scowled at him, annoyed at being left unsatisfied again.

“I’ll take this one,” you said decidedly, struggling to stop your voice from trembling.

Billy tamped down his smirk as he opened the curtains to let the sales assistant see which dress you’d chosen.

“She’ll need shoes and a purse too,” he said.

You told her your shoe size and, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she vanished upstairs again.

Billy sat on the sofa again, seemingly indifferent to the desperate feeling of emptiness he’d created inside of you. Your toes curled and you pulled your arms across your chest as you tried to ignore the feeling. If he wanted you to squirm and beg for him now, he was going to be disappointed.

He crossed his legs, trying to hide the erection that was still straining in his pants.

You turned back to the mirror, mourning the loss of his reflection behind you and the warmth of his body against yours. You lifted a hand to your throat, fingers gentle ghosting over the place that he’d held you, glad to see he hadn’t left a mark. The same couldn’t be said for your shoulder that now bore a bruise and an imprint of teeth.

You took a slow breath then asked; “do you really like this dress?”

“Little dove,” he said, the two words betraying his frustration, “you got me hard, what do you think?”

You didn’t have time to respond before the sales assistant returned with five shoe boxes and several purses. She left them on the sofa by Billy while you remained half-concealed by the curtain, not wanting her to see the mark your fake-boyfriend had left on your shoulder.

A mark that Billy didn’t even realise he’d caused until you stepped out to grab some shoes.

He was on his feet in a flash, gripping your arm and holding you in place as he stared at the mark. “Shit, I’m sorry, I never meant to -”

It was jarring how upset he was.

“It’s okay,” you said, placing a hand on his waist, hoping to settle him.

“I got carried away, I shouldn’t’ve -”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He was panicking, upset because he felt like he’d lost control. He’d lost the one thing he craved because he’d gotten too caught up in the moment, and it scared him.

It was a cold and sobering moment, seeing him suddenly so uncertain of himself, and all you could think to do was wrap your arms around him.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said.

His choice of words weren’t lost on you; you’d specifically asked him not to hurt you back when you’d started this and, now, he felt like he’d broken his word.

“You didn’t,” you said, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “If I hadn’t been enjoying it, I would’ve told you to stop.”

“Would you?”

His tone surprised you. It sounded like he didn’t believe you.

“Of course I would,” you answered, not bothering to hide the offence you felt. “I might be new to... this, Billy, but when have you ever known me to not tell you when you’ve crossed a line?”

He relaxed in your arms and let out a soft sigh, reassured by your words.

“I’m just glad you did it somewhere that’s easy to cover,” you continued. “Now, help me find some shoes to go with this dress.”

Billy nodded as you stepped back and the pair of you started to go through the shoes and purses until you’d settled on some strappy silver heels and a small silver purse just big enough to hold your phone.

He vanished upstairs to pay once you’d taken off the dress, leaving you to get changed and to come to terms with how strange the day had been.

After dress shopping with Billy, you came to the very obvious conclusion that you needed some space. You needed time to recalibrate and figure out just what the hell had happened, as well as needing to unpack all the thoughts and urges you’d started to feel in such a relatively short time. 

Once your dress was paid for, you had Billy take you back to the penthouse to grab your things, then you headed home.

For the first time in a while, he didn’t follow you up to your apartment - presumably because he was still a little shaken over the mark he’d left on your shoulder. As much as it killed you to walk away when he was obviously feeling vulnerable, you knew that space was best for both of you.

And, you knew that if you let him follow you to your apartment, you’d want to finish what you’d started, which would not be in anyone’s best interest.

So, you went your separate ways for the rest of the weekend, and you tried to follow your usual routine.

Sunday was spent in the garden at Saint Martin’s, Seb’s head rested on your lap while you read Lord of The Rings to him. You didn’t want to say goodbye to him, but the sunshine and fresh air eventually exhausted him. But it was nice. It was exactly what you needed to help you reset and put everything in perspective.

Your fake relationship with Billy was so you could keep having those moments with your brother. But everything else? That was for you. You were allowed to enjoy it.

You just needed to remember that it wasn’t real.

Even if you felt something for him, Billy felt nothing for you. And that was fine. You lived in different worlds and there was an insurmountable distance between you. But you could be his friend and that was more than enough.

Come Monday morning, you still felt exhausted. 

Billy had sent his driver to pick you up while he was busy across town at an impromptu meeting that threatened to throw his whole schedule out of whack. Normally, it would have bothered you - you didn’t like him making last minute changes to his schedule - but today you were so tired you were glad to be alone in the office.

It was almost lunch time when you felt it, an unexpected cramping ache in your stomach that had you rushing to the bathroom. Your worst suspicions were quickly confirmed; you’d gotten your period two days early. Wonderful.

Fortunately, one of the perks of being the only person besides Billy to use the little seventh floor bathroom was that you already had everything you needed in the cupboard beneath the sink. But, it still put you in a shitty mood.

To make matters worse, Billy was just arriving as you stepped out of the bathroom.

“Hey, how -”

You must have looked worse than you felt because Billy frowned and cut himself off.

“What’s wrong?” He asked instead.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you said with a shake of your head.

It wasn’t enough for Billy, and he watched as you made your way to your desk and sat down, your arms folded over your stomach in an attempt not to double over. You blinked and he was standing over you, fixing you with that demanding stare, wanting to know what was wrong.

“It’s fine,” you said, embarrassment quickly rising in you. “I just got my period.”

“Oh...”

He’d been spared the last one because you hadn’t been staying at the penthouse as often, but now...

“Maybe I should stay at my place this week,” you said. “I’m not going to be much fun to be around...”

Billy shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I want you with me so I can make sure you’re okay.”

It shouldn’t have taken you so off-guard, but the fact that he still wanted you to stay over, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to touch you, had those awkward butterflies filling your stomach. You’d lost count of how many times he’d told you that he liked having you around, but these moments still always managed to surprise you.

“Have you had lunch yet?” Billy asked. You shook your head. “Have you had anything to drink lately?”

There was concern written all over his face, as if you were suffering from something far more serious than just your period. But you knew it was pointless to tell him not to worry; once Billy switched into care-taking mode, there was nothing you could do to stop him.

Again, you shook your head. “I was going to finish these requisitions before going for lunch.”

“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll go with you.”

You thought nothing of it as you nodded; he’d take you across the street to The Bean Grinder, as he’d done dozens of times before. You’d have your usual toasted sandwich and coffee, and he’d probably fuss over you the whole time.

It should have worried you how nice it all sounded.

He vanished into his office and you heard him on the phone, but you were too focused on getting your work done - though the cramps and your growing headache made everything feel so much more difficult.

Still, you managed to finish everything and have your laptop closed by the time the ten minutes he’d given you had expired. Billy smiled, glad that he wasn’t going to have to fight you about going for lunch, but there was no missing his frown as you stood and let him help you pull your jacket on. 

Yeah, he was definitely worried.

You leaned on him a little as you rode the elevator down to the ground floor, feeling a little light-headed, and Billy wound an arm around you as if he was expecting you to collapse at any moment.

While you expected a quick walk across the street, you instead found yourself led to the curb and helped into his car. He barely spoke to the driver, just a muttered thank you for opening the door. Clearly, he already knew where you were going because, once you and Billy were settled, he started the engine and began to drive without instruction.

As Billy reached for your hand, you thought about what was happening - not just him taking you to lunch but the deeper, unspoken thing at play. Slowly but surely, you’d started to notice all the little ways he would take control and it put a lot of things into perspective.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when you had become the subject of his need for control but, when you looked back, you could see glimmers of it going back as long as you’d known him. It was only more apparent now because of the more sexual component to it, but he’d been gradually asserting a growing dominance over you for the last two months now, and none of it was exactly what you expected.

He always made sure you were hydrated, automatically making you a coffee when you got home, and he always made sure you ate enough, encouraging you to have dessert whenever you wanted it. And he always found ways to calm you down, whether it was talking through whatever was bothering you, or holding you in that possessive way that he did.

And now, because of all that, you weren’t even trying to argue with him about driving you away from the office in the middle of the day. No, you were content to just sit there, safe in the knowledge that, whatever this thing between you was, you were safe in his hands.

Twenty minutes later you were being helped out of the car in front of a chic looking seafood restaurant that wouldn’t have been out of place in some seaside town in Maine. He led you inside and you were both quickly taken to a sheltered patio area at the back of the restaurant with views over the Hudson. 

It was nice. Perhaps a little too nice and maybe a little excessive for a simple lunch, but you tried not to overthink it. As you sat you resigned yourself to not getting back to your desk any time soon.

You weren’t even handed a menu. Billy just rattled off an order to the waitress for both of you, and -

And that felt like a step too far.

You felt an uncomfortable stuttering in your chest, a smothering, suffocating feeling taking hold of you.

In the following seconds after the waitress left, you tried to rationalise it, but he hadn’t even ordered you the same thing and it didn’t seem like it was a set menu. It was one display of his control that you definitely weren’t happy about.

When he looked your way, he instantly noticed the discomfort on your face.

“What?” He asked. He already sounded like he knew he wasn’t going to like what you had to say, and you were sure you caught a flicker of worry flash across his face.

“You ordered for me without asking.”

His reaction was visceral and he damn-near winced when he realised what he’d done.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I -” he sighed.

Billy fell silent, looking uncertain. Out of control.

“Why would you...” you trailed off, not sure how you wanted to finish the question.

“I...” for a few seconds he let the uncomfortable syllable hang in the air, “Salmon’s full of iron and it’s good for you when you’re on your period...”

All you could do was stare, not sure if you wanted to know how a man like Billy knew that. Is that why he’d needed ten minutes in his office; to research foods that might help with your period, and find somewhere to get it?

“I’m sorry,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “I didn’t mean to cross a line, I wasn’t thinking. I wanted to try and help. I just... I want to take care of you...”

Your heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze at what was being said and how it conflicted with every thought in your head reminding you of what this was. You forced yourself to take a breath. He hadn’t been trying to control you, he’d been trying to care for you.

You glanced around the patio and realised that it was just the two of you out there and that made what you needed to say feel a little less daunting.

“I think maybe we need to reevaluate some of our boundaries,” you said softly. 

His throat bobbed and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but he mostly managed to appear calm.

“Boundaries?” He repeated.

“This is... nice and I appreciate you doing this for me but...” you sighed, “you know I don’t like preferential treatment or taking long lunches. And I would’ve at least liked to have been asked before you ordered for me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know this isn’t what you agreed to.”

“I -” you started and then almost changed your mind, “- I’m not really sure what I agreed to...”

Your words left Billy looking physically unwell, and you instantly hated yourself for it. 

“I’m -” he managed to stop himself from apologising again. 

You decided to stay silent, letting him get his thoughts in order.

Billy let out a soft sigh and slumped a little. “I forget that you’re new to all of this - not that that’s an excuse. It’s my job to make sure you’re happy and comfortable with everything that we do, and I haven’t been doing that as much as I should.”

His job? 

You weren’t sure what that even meant.

“I am happy,” you told him, “but that’s what scares me sometimes...”

“You’re... scared when you’re with me?”

The sudden worry in his voice almost broke you, and panic quickly gripped your chest.

“No - no, that’s not -” you reached across the table, taking his hand between yours and squeezing it tight, “- I don’t mean scared-scared. And I’m - I’m not scared of you. I couldn’t never be scared of you, Billy. You’re not scary. It’s just - I just... I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it, but I...”

You continued to grip his hands as the rushed, half-garbled words left your lips, terrified that he’d pull away. 

Oh, god, had you just ruined everything? Was he going to put an end to it?

(You didn’t want it to end - that was the only thing you were certain of.)

“Breathe,” he said, his eyes full of concern as he stared at you.

You slowly released the breath that you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. You felt like your face was on fire, shame and embarrassment burning through your veins. His free hand closed over yours and, suddenly, he was the one holding onto you.

“It’s okay,” he said softly and, with just those two little words, he managed to settle the panic that had started to stir inside you. “Take your time. What scares you?”

You took another slow breath and nervously glanced around, making sure it was still just the two of you.

“It -” your voice came out quite, shy even, “- it scares me how much I like it.”

“Why?” He asked gently, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Because when we... when we’re like that, it’s like a switch flips inside of me and everything goes quiet.”

Billy looked confused. “I thought that was what you wanted?

“It is,” you said, dropping your gaze to your hands and his, “but I’m scared I’ll get lost in it. There are so many things that I need to focus on and I feel... I don’t know, selfish for enjoying it too much, especially when we’re out of the penthouse. I feel like I’m ignoring my responsibilities...”

It didn’t make you feel any better to say it aloud. In fact, it made you feel worse. So much of your life had been spent trying to do what was best for Seb, and here you were shirking your responsibilities in favour of your own happiness.

“You are not selfish and you deserve to be happy,” he said firmly, gripping your hand tighter still, ensuring that your full attention was on him. “And you won’t get lost. It’s my job to make sure that you don’t. I know I should’ve explained things better but, like I said, sometimes I forget that you’re so new to this. You’re just so...”

He trailed off as if he wasn’t sure whether he should share the thought with you. And that just made you want to hear it more.

“I’m what?” 

“You’re good at it - you’re a natural.” But, still, he shook his head. “But you’re right, we need boundaries that work for both of us. I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away, it’s just... it’s been a long time since I’ve done this with someone I’m close to, instead of with strangers at the club… and I like having someone to take care of…”

You gave a nod, finally starting to understand him. You’d seen how much better he was lately, how much happier, and it was now impossible not to assume that it was because he’d had you to sate the urges that constantly itched under his skin. Instead of only having a few hours a week where he could be himself, you offered him little moments every day.

You realised too late that you’d stayed quiet for too long and Billy’s face started to visibly pale again.

“If it’s too much for you, I’d understand if you wanted to stop,” he offered, “we could go back to -”

“No,” you were quick to interrupt, terrified that he might want to change things and make them less than what they were. “It’s not too much. It’s not too much if we can talk like this.”

“Okay,” he said, almost sounding relieved. “We can do that - we can always do that. We can talk things through whenever you need to.”

“And, when it comes to things like this, I need you to ask before making decisions for me - or at least tell me that you’re going to.”

Billy nodded, though the moment of relief was short lived. “Do you want to change your order? I can -”

“No,” you shook your head and offered him a smile, “The salmon actually sounds really nice. And... you’re right, I should make an effort to eat something healthy for a change...”

Normally it wasn’t something you had to think about, it was just something that you did. You were used to cooking for yourself; throwing vegetables into your meals and snacking on fruit for dessert. But, with Billy taking you out or ordering in every night you were with him, you found yourself indulging and treating every night as if it was a special occasion.

“That’s probably my fault too,” Billy conceded, “I should have -”

“No,” you interrupted again, uncomfortable with him trying to shoulder the blame for choices you had made. “Don’t do that. You don’t need to take responsibility for every little thing.”

“I want to take care of you,” he said with a cryptic shrug, but before you could ask him to explain it, he continued. “So, does this mean you’re not mad at me?”

He gave you a soft smile, something that seemed almost timid, like he was hoping for the best but still prepared for the worst.

“No, I’m not mad at you, Billy,” you answered with a smile of your own. “I still don’t entirely understand this or you, but I know that you’re not doing any of it to hurt me.”

Again, his hand tightened around yours. “I’d never hurt you.”

And you believed him.

Your hands finally pulled from his when the food arrived. You hadn’t realised just how hungry you were until a plate of salmon, steamed vegetables and rice was placed down in front of you. It was as good as you’d expected, given that Billy always seemed to know the very best places to eat.

While it did little to help your cramping, you felt better once you’d eaten, and Billy seemed to brighten when you managed to clear your plate. You weren’t sure you’d ever really understand what was going on in that head of his or why he cared so much about looking after you, but you were starting to appreciate it, maybe even like it.

You didn’t make it back to your desk on time, but given you’d already had one difficult conversation with Billy, you decided not to mention it. In fact, you didn’t even argue with him when he decided that you should both leave early - he called it a celebration and used finally responding to VDK’s auction invitation as the excuse.

“Grab your laptop, you can work from the penthouse tomorrow,” he said as he was pulling on his jacket.

“Billy, I have my period, not the plague. I can work from the office.”

“I’m not going to be here, so you might as well work from my home office,” Billy shrugged.

You stared at him confused. “What do you mean you’re not going to be here? Your schedule tomorrow is -”

“I had to make some changes. I’ve got an appointment...”

And, just like that, you felt like the rug had been pulled out from beneath your feet.

“What appointment? And why am I only just hearing about it?” You asked, trying to contain some of your frustration. “If you’re not going to be here, I need to rearrange -”

“It’s already taken care of,” Billy said calmly, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Taken care of?” You repeated. “But it’s my job to -”

“I know - but this is a personal appointment, and I didn’t think it was fair to make you rearrange everything so I could do something unrelated to work.”

All you could do was stare at him blankly for a few seconds. You always took care of his schedule. Why had he suddenly decided to do it himself? Didn’t he trust you anymore? Or was it the meeting itself that he didn’t want you to know about?

“What personal appointment?” You asked.

“Just a doctor's appointment, I’ve got an old injury that’s been playing up. I didn’t want to make it your problem.”

You weren’t sure why you were suddenly filled with a strange feeling of dread. Probably because the thought of anything medical inevitably caused you to worry.

“A-are you okay?” You asked, hating the tremor that managed to slip into your voice.

Billy’s expression softened and, before you could blink, he pulled you into his arms. “I’m fine, I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

It was strange how that worked; the number of times you'd been told not to worry about him and that he didn't need you to take care of him. The truth was that you did worry, and you did want to take care of him, but you'd seen the way he tensed and frowned when you tried to, so you settled for wrapping your arms around him and holding him for a few moments.

True to your word, you weren’t fun to be around that night. In fact, you sat on the sofa with Billy for a couple of hours before you found yourself ushered off to bed.

The next day, you were left alone in the penthouse, set up in Billy’s home office with little to do but answer emails and make sure he’d rescheduled all of the day's meetings correctly. It was dull, but you had to admit it was nice to be able to sit around in loose fitting sweatpants and an oversized sweater instead of your usual, more professional office wear.

But the lack of things to do and being left completely alone gave you too much time to think, and you didn’t like the direction that your thoughts started to take.

What if Billy had lied about his appointment? What if it wasn’t a doctor he was seeing but another woman?

He kept telling you that what you were giving him was enough but how could it be? As far as you knew, he hadn’t had sex in weeks and surely that was taking a toll on him. He hadn’t even let you touch him, so clearly he’d been making do with his own hands and -

It was hard to stop the thoughts once they started but, somehow, you managed it.

As much as you wanted to, you didn’t ask Billy about it. Instead you had dinner with him and then had another early night.

The next day was basically rinse and repeat; you worked from home but only because Billy was across town all day, overseeing a training exercise with someone of the Anvil operators.

You felt a little better but not by much. Your periods had always been bad, five whole days of cramps, headaches and exhaustion that you just had to endure, but being at the penthouse and being with Billy seemed to help. It was nice to have someone with you, nice to not be so alone.

So, when he got home that night, you made a concerted effort to sit with him after dinner, ignoring the exhaustion that had you wanting to crawl into bed. He surprised you with a box of chocolate truffles and the pair of you sat in front of the TV watching old cooking shows, just enjoying each other's company.

“Move in with me,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen almost half an hour before.

It sounded almost like a command and it caused something to spark in the back of your mind, and you very nearly answered okay without even thinking about it.

You blinked and looked at him, lost for words. He’d asked you before, weeks ago, but this was the first time he’d brought it up since.

Billy smiled and reached towards you, lightly tapping his finger on your forehead. “You’re overthinking again.”

Which, of course, you were. The lines between you had become so blurred over the last couple of weeks that you weren’t sure if adding more confusion to the mix was such a good idea.

“This thing we’ve got going - it’s good, it’s working, for both of us,” he continued. “And, besides, you’re here most of the time anyway.”

“I know, I just - I don’t want to be in the way,” you said. “And it’s weird me being here and not contributing...”

“So you’d rather keep wasting money on an apartment you’re barely using?” He asked and, honestly, how dare he try to bring common sense into it. “You’re doing this because you need extra money for your brother, right? Imagine how much you’ll save by not paying rent. Anyway, I don’t need you to contribute. We both know how much I earn. ”

“I know, I just...” you let out a frustrated sigh, not even sure why you were trying so desperately to refuse.

Billy was right, it was a waste of money to keep your apartment and continue paying bills when you were only there a couple of nights a week. You’d save so much by permanently moving into the penthouse.

And, yeah, you’d seen Anvil’s accounts, and you had a fair idea of how much money Billy had. You staying with him was not going to bankrupt him. 

But, you quickly realised, that wasn’t the real issue.

“What happens after... after all of this?” You asked. “If you get the VDK deal, once you don’t need me anymore? I’d have nowhere to go...”

Billy shook his head and quickly took your hand in his. “No matter what happens, I won’t just kick you out. If you ever need to leave, I’ll help you find somewhere new.”

If. He said if you needed to leave, not when.

“But -”

He raised an eyebrow at you and you instantly fell silent.

“This is good for both of us,” he said, giving a gentle tug on your hand, encouraging you to move closer to him. You did as he wanted without thinking about it, abandoning the heating pad you’d had clutched to your stomach for most of the evening. “We balance each other out, little dove. We’re a good team and, even if this arrangement ends, I’ll still want you in my life and, anyway, we could always make another arrangement.”

If. He’d said it again. 

(What did that even mean? What if the arrangement never ended?)

The only thing helping you cling to your sanity was the thought that, yes, it was an arrangement. It wasn’t real. You were just helping him with his urges while you explored your own. But what was wrong with that, really? Nothing. Nothing at all. He was right, it was good and you enjoyed it.

“Let me help you get out of your head,” he said, softly patting his lap.

He didn’t give you a chance to answer or to remind him that you couldn’t do anything because of your period, he just pulled you onto his lap. Heat spread from your cheeks and down your neck as you straddled him - a position you’d never found yourself in before. Your breath caught when you realised he was willingly putting you in a position of power over him.

“Billy, I can’t -”

“I know. Just trust me.”

And you did. You did trust him.

He took hold of your hand and led it to his crotch and -

Oh. Your mouth suddenly went dry as you felt his cock twitch. Finally, he was going to let you touch him.

Instinctively your fingers wrapped around him through the fabric of his sweatpants, getting some rough idea of the size and weight of him. Your thighs trembled against his as you felt him growing harder in your grasp.

“Take it out,” he said, his voice breathy but commanding, demanding you obey.

And, of course, you did.

You reached beneath the waistband and pulled out his cock, mouth falling open at the sight of him; not fully hard but already bigger than expected, long and with the slightest curve. Perfect. Dear god, every inch of the man was perfect. You started to stroke him, feeling him pulse in your hand, and watching with rapt attention as a bead of pre-cum started to form on the tip.

Licking your lips, you ran your thumb over the plush, leaking head and dragged the fluid down his shaft, and watched as more started to leak from him.

“Eyes up here now, little dove,” he commanded.

But you struggled to tear your eyes from his cock until his hand cupped your cheek. His eyes seemed darker when you met his gaze, the only light in them were the sparks that you created every time you moved your hand.

You leaned into his touch, letting out a soft breath as his thumb brushed against your lower lip and slipped into your mouth. Your lips closed around it and you started to suck his thumb, keeping your eyes on his. The familiar haze slowly started to creep in and you quickly started to lose yourself in the moment, still slowly stroking his cock.

“That’s it,” he groaned, slipping his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it down against your tongue, “everything’s so much better when you submit to me, isn’t it?”

Submit? The word rang out in your mind.

Yes, you nodded, that was exactly what you were doing. He’d never used the word before, but there was no point denying it. You knew that you were submitting to him, just like you had every time before.

The sparking of arousal in his eyes and the staccato rhythm of his breathing held your attention so fiercely that you barely noticed the hand that was slipping beneath your pyjama top until it was on your breast, squeezing and brushing a thumb against your already achingly stiff nipple.

His touch didn’t linger for long and you almost whined in protest when his hand pulled away, but then he started to unbutton your top. Your hand almost faltered on his cock, the realisation that he’d never seen you topless before flashing through your mind, but you quickly continued when you felt his hand still. You didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt that you wanted this.

You felt the fabric of your top slip down your arms, and you pulled your hand away for the briefest second to let it fall completely.

Billy’s eyes dropped to take in the sight of your exposed chest, and he let out a low rumble, an almost animal sound from the back of his throat.

His hand found your breast again and you let out a soft moan around the thumb in your mouth.

He closed the distance between you, pressing his lips to your neck, trailing kisses down along your shoulder, stopping only momentarily to run his tongue over the fading bruise he’d left on your shoulder the last time his lips had been allowed to explore your skin. Then he sank lower.

Your back arched instinctively, offering yourself up to him, as lips and tongue traversed the swell of your breasts.

A gasp slipped out around his thumb when you felt teeth graze over your nipple before his lips closed around it and he started to suck. You felt his groan vibrate against your skin as he lapped at the taut bud with his tongue. His hand cupped your other breast and what he was doing felt nothing short of an act of worship.

Despite yourself, you started to squirm on his lap, desperately seeking any friction you could find between your bodies. Your hand dropped and you pressed closer, grinding yourself against his cock. The pad in your underwear dulled the sensation, but you could still feel enough - and it didn’t feel wrong or weird like you might have expected. No, if anything, you were too far gone to think about anything but pleasure.

It wasn’t long before he started moving beneath you, his arm winding around your back to lead your movements. 

“That’s it,” you heard him groan against your breast, “take what you need.”

Need - yes, you did need this. You needed everything that he was prepared to give you.

Fingers twisted in the back of his hair, holding him against you, never wanting him to pull away. Your need only seemed to make him bolder, sucking and nipping at tender skin. Instead of pulling back, you pressed closer, not caring if you ended up carrying another mark of his affection on your skin.

It wasn’t long before your movements turned frenzied and you started to chase down your orgasm. Instead of stopping you or holding you back, Billy encouraged it, the shift of his hips beneath you becoming more pronounced. There was something almost rough to it, the way he ground his cock against you, causing an overwhelming friction against your clit. 

If your mind hadn’t been so empty, so lost to anything but carnal pleasure, you might have wondered if this was what sex with him would feel like.

Your whole body shook at your orgasm violently washed over you. His thumb slipped from your lips, allowing your moans to escape you unhindered. Fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze, letting him watch you as you came, and letting you see his dark eyes grow brighter with every desperate sound that spilled from you as he continued to grind against you.

Then, a few seconds later his face contorted and you felt his cock jerk.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

Something warm splattered against your stomach and chest and, without thinking, you reached down to take hold of his cock again, stroking him as he pulsed and throbbed. Billy groaned and held your gaze as you felt more cum hit your exposed skin.

You didn’t look down until he was done and, when you did, your breath caught at the sight. Your stomach and breasts were covered in thick pearlescent ropes of white, and your nipples glistened with his saliva. Your whole body tingled and your mind went completely blank.

The look on Billy’s face could only be described as pride, and that made you feel proud.

“Fuck, little dove,” he said as he cupped your breast, his thumb smearing cum over your nipple. “You’re so perfect.”

Yes. That was what you wanted. You wanted to be perfect for him.

You barely noticed him lifting you and carrying you through the penthouse, too lost in the blissful haze to notice much of anything as he sat you on the counter in his bathroom and ran you a hot bath.

It was a blur as he left you momentarily to slip out of your pj bottoms and panties, and climb into the bath. When he returned he’d found you some clean pyjamas and sanitary products that you might need, as well as a big fluffy bathrobe.

For a time, he knelt beside the tub, making sure you didn’t fall asleep in the water, neither of you saying much, save for him asking if you were okay, and you telling him that you were.

Then he left again, allowing you to get out of the tub and take care of yourself without an audience.

Once you were clean, dry, and dressed in fresh pyjamas, you slipped the bathrobe on and found yourself enveloped in his scent.

You emerged from the bathroom, legs shaking like a baby deer, and Billy scooped you into his arms, carrying you back to the sofa. He set you on his lap, pressed your heating pad to your stomach and handed you a mug of hot chocolate. And, when that was gone, he started to feed you from the unfinished box of chocolate truffles.

His fingers slipped between your lips and you didn’t think twice about licking the melted chocolate from them.

You felt so content and safe in his arms that you easily slipped back into the static haze, letting him take care of you. And, somehow, it felt so much more intimate than anything else you’d done. 

“Move in with me,” he said again, only this time it wasn’t a question, it was a demand. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” you answered without hesitation.

He rewarded you by slipping another truffle between your lips; a reward for your compliance and a display of how well he’d look after you. And you wanted it. You wanted this every single night.

You stayed like that for hours, letting him hold you while you watched some cooking show or another on the TV, but your focus was elsewhere. Your focus was Billy; the possessive way his hand was still pressing the heating pad to your stomach, the little kisses he intermittently pressed to your forehead and neck, and the way his soft bathrobe smelled of him.

You were so relaxed, so happy, that you didn't even realise that your eyes were closing. You snuggled closer and felt his hold on you tighten as your face pressed against his neck.

"Billy..." you murmured sleepily against his skin.

"I'm here," he said softly, "I've got you."

He did. He had you. More than either of you had ever planned for.

As he stood, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He carried you to the spare room and deposited you in bed, lingering for a few seconds once you were tucked in to tenderly brush a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“Goodnight, little dove.”

When you’d agreed to move in with him, you hadn’t thought that he meant the very next day but, somehow, after work you found yourself boxing up your apartment. Of course, the quick change in your reality made you nervous but it also made you hopeful in an unexpected way. 

As you neatly folded your clothes, you thought about what you could do with the extra money you’d suddenly have; you’d been wanting to get Seb an iPad for a while so he could video call you whenever he wanted to see your face, and it had been suggested in the past that a tablet might help him communicate better.

And his clothes - you’d always tried so hard to make sure he had nice things, clothes, pyjamas, shoes, even though no one but the nurses and the other residents at Saint Martin’s saw them. You’d seen the way some people treated their relatives, dumping them into the first care facility they could find and just forgetting about them. You bought Seb what you could because you wanted to constantly remind him that he would never be forgotten.

Billy arranged for bigger items like your bed and sofa to be sent to storage (paid for by him, of course, because you were doing him a favour and he wouldn’t hear of you wasting money doing something he’d asked you). And, while you packed up the bedroom, he dealt with everything in the kitchen and den.

In the end, everything you had fit easily into two suitcases, a backpack, and four cardboard boxes. All of which fit neatly in his car.

When the apartment was finally empty, you stood in the doorway, looking at the space and wondering if you’d made the right decision.

You knew that you had the moment you felt Billy’s arms wrap around you and pull you back against him.

“C’mon,” he muttered softly in your ear, “let’s go home.”

Once you were back at the penthouse and all of your things had been brought up, Billy handed you a key so you wouldn’t have to rely on the building’s doorman to let you in whenever Billy wasn’t with you. You wondered if he’d had it all along or if he’d had it cut specially for you.

He insisted on helping you unpack and smirked when you suggested he only wanted to help so he could look through your panties. Having seen his walk-in wardrobe and how immaculately organised everything was, you shouldn’t have been so surprised to see the care and attention he put into hanging your clothes for you. 

You didn’t realise until much too late that there were things in the boxes that you would rather he never saw.

“What’s this?” He asked, biting back a laugh.

You turned and felt horror and embarrassment start to seep from every pore of your being when you saw what he was holding; your vibrator.

Instantly, you moved to snatch it away from him, but Billy stepped back, keeping it firmly in his grasp. You could only watch in agonising embarrassment as he turned it on and the toy buzzed to life for a few seconds. Billy’s eyes widened and so did the grin on his lips, clearly impressed with the power of the toy.

He turned it over in his hands, studying the size and length before slipping it into his back pocket.

“I’ll be keeping this,” he said, still grinning.

“What?”

“I get to decide when you come, remember?” He said. “And we’re going to have some fun with this. Oh, don’t look so embarrassed, little dove, not when you know what I’m into...”

You supposed a vibrator was pretty tame in comparison to what Billy liked and, despite your embarrassment, the thought of him somehow involving it in your play had your legs feeling weak beneath you. But none of that stopped the heat that spread across your cheeks the rest of the night every time he so much as looked at you.

After all the time you’d already spent at the penthouse, it didn’t really feel like anything had changed; you had breakfast together before heading to the office and you had dinner together when you got home in the evening before spending the night in front of the TV. On Saturday Billy took you shopping for bed linen and, on Sunday, you spent the day with Seb.

And the more... physical side of your relationship continued.

Following a stressful Monday afternoon, involving a client being rude to you and calling you a dumb bitch on the phone because he didn’t want to pay his bill for Anvil’s services, you’d found yourself over Billy’s lap. He spanked you, punished you, for letting the client speak to you like that, telling you that you would never get in trouble for talking back or hanging up on an asshole like that.

When he was sure you’d learned your lesson, he made you come with his fingers before running you a hot bath. Then the pair of you had a perfectly normal evening; you sat and watched TV while Billy sat on the other end of the sofa reading a book.

It was all very domestic. 

Billy had been right, it was good. You were good together. 

You barely thought about the auction and about having to be seen in front of VDK after the last time you’d spoken to Catherine. But it hit you like a ton of bricks when, on the morning of the auction, a brochure arrived at the penthouse. And, as you and Billy had thumbed through it, gawking at the expensive artwork and jewelry, panic started to swell inside you.

That was how you found yourself on his bed, laid on your back with your legs spread wide. He’d lamented not having more time to correct your behaviour and stop your unnecessary worrying, but two denied orgasms from his fingers before letting you come on his tongue was more than enough to help you forget your worries.

You laid there, boneless, your fingers tangled in his hair as your body trembled and shook for him. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he crawled back up the bed and slumped beside you, immediately pulling you against his bare chest and holding you tight. Once more, you found yourself softly crying in his arms, with him gently wiping away your overwhelmed tears.

“I’d keep you here like this all night if I could,” he said. Your tears continued to fall. “I know. It’s okay, little dove. You’re okay.”

Eventually, and far sooner than you would have liked, he had to let go of you so you could both get ready. 

You tried not to think about the last time you’d worn the blue dress in the fitting room of Sophie Harrington’s little boutique. You tried not to think about Billy’s lips and teeth scraping over your shoulder, leaving you with a mark that had, thankfully, long since faded. And you especially tried not to think about how desperately you’d wanted him to fuck you in that moment. 

Once you’d finished your make-up and pulled your hair into a loose up-do, you slipped out of your room, and -

Your heart skipped several beats and you weren’t sure if it was because of how utterly flawless he looked in his black tux, complete with a black bowtie and a pocket square the same shade of blue as your dress, or if it was how he stared at you that caused your heart to seize. For a few seconds you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe, not wanting to do anything that might unfreeze the perfect moment.

When he moved towards you, you found yourself bracing, ready and eager to be pressed against or bent over the nearest surface, and fucked within an inch of your life.

Instead when he reached for you, it was barely a ghost of a touch, his fingers starting on your cheek before slipping down your neck and along your shoulder, stopping on the spot where the imprint of his teeth had been. His chest shuddered awkwardly, and you caught a possessive flicker in his gaze before his hand fell away from you.

“You look nice,” he said, and you could tell that he was only using the word nice because if he said anything else, the pair of you would no doubt end up back in his bedroom.

“So do you.” You forced a slow breath and took hold of his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

Billy took a breath of his own before nodding.

You stopped only to grab your jacket as you left the penthouse.

The street outside the auction house was swarmed with cameras - not just bloggers, but legitimate journalists too. Camera flashes greeted you when Billy opened the door for you and helped you out of the car, and you immediately tucked yourself into his side.

You still hadn’t looked at any of the gossip blogs, still had no idea what people had been saying about you and, now, you almost felt scared to.

Billy’s arm wrapped around you possessively as the pair of you made your way up the red carpet and into the auction house. You forced a smile to your lips, not wanting him to worry about you and not wanting anyone watching to think that you weren’t happy to be there.

“You okay?” He asked once you were finally inside and you’d let out a sigh of relief.

You nodded and Billy pressed his lips to your forehead in a way that made you feel like you were going to melt.

His lips lingered against your skin and he muttered; “you’re being so good for me. If you behave tonight, I’ll reward you when we get home.”

It was insane how quickly heat filled your body, coursing through your veins to your core. The promise of a reward had you wetting your lips and your breath catching. You had no idea when Billy had acquired such power over you, but there was no point trying to deny it.

With just one look, you knew Billy realised it too. His smile widened and his dark eyes sparked with it.

“You can do that, can’t you?” He continued softly, holding your gaze as you continued to melt in front of him. “You can be good for me tonight.”

“Yes,” you said just as softly, with the slightest hint of desperation. You wanted to be good, you wanted to be rewarded.

There was supposed to be a line, a division between what you and Billy did behind closed doors and moments like this, times when you were playing the part of his girlfriend. But, Billy understood without needing to be told that you were nervous, and the best way to deal with that was for him to take control.

You left your coat at the coat check and, immediately, you felt Billy’s hand on your hip, a strange tension filling his body. You didn’t need to ask what was wrong - not when you saw his gaze darkening every time another man dared to look your way. He was playing the jealous and protective boyfriend.

Selfishly, you enjoyed it, even if you knew it wasn’t real. (Though Billy was such a good actor, you almost allowed him to convince you.)

Feeling emboldened, you leaned in to him and pressed your lips to his cheek and felt his chest rumble in response.

Part of you wanted to push, wanted to kiss him deeply in front of all these people, just to see his eyes spark and to hear that sound in the back of his throat. You wanted to lose yourself in him, in the strange fiction you’d created together, just so you didn’t have to think about anything else going on around you.

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on yours like he was thinking about devouring you, right then and there.

(Was he thinking about you laid back on his bed with your legs spread wide, moaning his name over and over? Because you certainly were.)

“Come on, let’s go check out -”

Before he could finish, you heard your name behind you. Both you and Billy turned to find Leah Van Der Koy standing there, wearing a deep red dress that made her look years older than she was.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “could - could I talk to you for a minute?”

Her attention was solely fixed on you. You looked at Billy and he offered the slightest nod.

“I’ll come find you in a minute,” you told him before pressing another kiss to his cheek.

Billy was reluctant to pull away from you, his fingers squeezing your hip before he finally managed to take a step back. For a second he looked at Leah, then he turned and walked in the direction of the gallery, no doubt to look over the items that were available for auction.

Your gaze followed him until he disappeared from sight, then you forced yourself to turn back to Leah.

“I -” she started awkwardly, “- I want to apologise for my family. Grandmother told me what you said to her. And I-I want you to know that I think its fucked up what they were doing and I’m sorry I didn’t warn you sooner.”

You stayed quiet, not really sure what to say.

“I know you’re probably still angry. I just wanted to say that I’m not judging you or anything  for what you and Billy like to... y’know...” she said, turning a deep shade of red.

Well, at least you could take solace in the fact that the Van Der Koy’s had believed that you and Billy had been at the club together, that it was a part of your relationship and not Billy cheating on you.

“It’s fine, Leah,” you said, deciding to put the poor girl out of her misery. “And, thank you - for telling me and for not judging us.”

Given the way you’d spoken to Catherine Van Der Koy, you knew that you needed to hold your head up high and not waver under their scrutiny. As far as any should know, you and Billy were in a loving relationship and both enjoyed the more physical aspects of it.

“I hope you’ll accept Grandmother’s apology too,” Leah continued. “She can be a bit old fashioned, but she likes you.”

Somehow, you nodded and managed to keep the smile on your lips from faltering.

“Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just - I wanted to make sure we were alright.”

Again, you weren’t entirely sure what to say. You barely knew her and you’d only really spent one evening in her company, over dinner with her family. But the more you looked at her, the more you recognised something of yourself in her; she seemed isolated, like an outsider.

It made sense, she was a Van Der Koy, her family’s reputation preceded her wherever she went. She was stalked by journalists and gossip blogs alike and it must have been such a lonely existence.

Your smile warmed, turning into something more genuine. “We’re alright, Leah.”

She gave a clumsy thank you before turning on her heels and leaving you to go find Billy.

Despite being in a crowd of men dressed in dark tuxedos, it was easy to spot him. He cut an imposing figure as he stood in front of the display cases, typing something into his phone.

You couldn’t resist the urge to sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face against his neck. (If you ever saw Sophie Harrington again, you were going to have to thank her for your shoes and the way you could effortlessly reach his neck and lips in them.)

“Boo,” you muttered playfully, nuzzling closer.

Billy let out a low chuckle. “You’ll have to do better than that, I saw your reflection.” 

You huffed against his neck. “Well we can’t all have Marine stealth training.”

He laughed again and covered your clasped hands on his stomach with his, holding you while you held him.

“What did she want?” He asked after a quiet moment of just enjoying the press of your body against his.

“To apologise,” you answered, finally pulling your face from his neck and, instead, resting your chin on his shoulder. “And to tell me that she doesn’t judge us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, seems like VDK believes that we went to the club together,” you explained. “And she said Catherine wants to apologise to me.”

The only response Billy gave was a nod.

You stayed like that for a few more moments, enjoying holding him and pretending you weren’t surrounded by hundreds of other people, but eventually you let go of him and moved to his side.

Your gaze followed his to the case in front of you. It was filled with jewelry, everything from necklaces and bracelets, to rings and brooches. Pearls, diamonds, rubies and emeralds - you tried not to think about how much the whole collection was worth.

“What should we bid on?” Billy asked, his lips curling into a playful grin.

“You want to actually bid on something?”

“Of course. It’s a charity auction, it’d look weird if we didn’t bid on something.”

It made sense and, for the sake of appearances, you supposed he was right.

“How does it even work?” You asked, taking his hand and leaning into his side as you continued to gaze into the cabinet.

“It’s a silent auction; each item has a code and all you have to do is put it in on the app with your maximum bid, then at the end of the night, they announce who won,” he explained, absentmindedly brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“So... it’s like eBay, only in person?”

Billy bit back a laugh. “Pretty much.”

You looked at one of the little placards that bore the details of a silver bracelet. Along with the lot number it listed what the bracelet was made of, when it was made, where it had come from, and an estimated value.

“What if you bid over the value?” You asked.

As someone who’d spent most of their life scrimping and saving, the thought of paying more than something was worth seemed a little ridiculous.

“Then you pay over the value,” Billy shrugged. “It depends why you’re bidding; some people will want something because they think it’s going to increase in value, others just want it because they want it and they’re not prepared to lose out to anyone else.”

Ah yes, rich person logic.

“From what I’ve heard, a lot of people are interested in that pearl necklace.”

You followed the wave of his hand to the necklace in question, and  you must have pulled a face because Billy immediately started laughing. 

“Not a fan?” He asked.

“No, I like my jewelry understated and elegant, and less... 1950s housewife...” 

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

You were sure it was meant as a joke but, as you looked back at the display, your heart stuttered. You knew Billy, you knew how his mind worked; jewelry was the perfect way to sell a fake relationship, even if you’d told him ad nauseam that you didn’t want him spending a lot of money on you.

Stepping away, you tugged on his hand, wanting to look at the rest of the items going up for auction. 

Stopping in front of some watches, you suggested Billy put down a bid on one of them and he did, without question. Breath caught in your throat and your eyes widened as you watched him pull out his phone and place a 30 thousand dollar bid.

Even knowing how much Anvil made a year, it seemed like an insane amount but you didn’t say anything, not when you saw the look on his face; he was having fun.

The next stop was through a winding corridor of paintings, some were beautiful works of art, understandably valued at millions of dollars, and some were...

Billy stopped in front of a large colourful painting of a crying clown and nudged you with his elbow.

“What do you think?” He asked, barely able to keep a straight face.

“I think if you buy that, I’m moving out.”

Before he could answer, you were tugging him again, pulling him away from the unsettling painting. You stopped a few more times, suggesting he bid on a fancy set of pens and a collection of first edition books. You didn’t dare look at how much he was bidding, instead trusting him to know how much he was willing to spend on each item. 

Finally, you found yourself standing in front of a case filled with old fashioned teddy bears. Your heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze, they were silly and frivolous things but you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“Which one?” Billy asked.

“I don’t need a teddy, Billy,” you answered softly.

“You might not, but maybe I do,” he said as you fixed him with a smile and rolled your eyes. “Pick one.”

“Billy -”

You fell silent as he leaned towards you, pressing his lips to your temple before muttering in your ear; “you told me you were going to behave tonight.”

His low tone practically vibrated through your body, the casual demand, the off-hand dominance in his words caused heat to lick through your body again and - fuck, you were getting wet. How was this turning you on?

“Pick a bear, little dove,” he said, holding that commanding tone, his lips grazing your ear with every word.

Teeth sank into your lower lip as your attention was awkwardly divided between the bears and the feeling of his hot breath against your ear. He made it harder for you to concentrate by softly nipping your earlobe.

“The panda,” you said quietly, not daring to look at the value listed on the label.

Billy didn’t say anything. Before you even realised he was doing it, his hand was on your cheek, turning your head towards him so he could capture your lips in an eager kiss. You parted for his tongue, turning your body towards him and thrusting yourself into his arms, quickly filling with a desperate need to touch and be touched.

When he pulled back, you felt like every sense, every thought was fixed solely on him, like the world had shrunk around you and, now, only you and Billy remained. You were already too far gone to even wonder how he’d managed to make you feel so needy with just a few words and a kiss. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to stop.

Again, he pulled out his phone and another bid was placed.

“That should do,” he remarked. “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

You let him guide you through the crowd, watching as he smiled and muttered his hellos to any and every acquaintance that you happened to pass. He pulled you closer to him as you reached the bar and the crowd got thicker, and you instinctively pressed against him.

At the bar, he put you in front of him, his hands on the bartop on either side of you, protectively caging you in. Your eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds as you felt his hot breath against your bare neck, then the ghost of lips.

Your own hands moved to grip the bar, trying to anchor yourself and suppress the urge to grind your ass against his crotch.

(Seriously, how had he managed to turn you into such a desperate mess?)

“There you are,” the unmistakable voice of Catherine Van Der Koy sounded just behind you.

You turned to look as Billy’s arms continued to cage you, protecting you from the world and the old woman in front of you.

“Catherine,” you greeted, forcing a smile. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”

Billy repeated your sentiments, though the smile he managed to force was a lot more transparent than yours.

“Oh, is that another Sophie Harrington dress?” You didn't even realise Faye Van Der Koy was beside her mother until she spoke up. “It’s lovely.”

“It is,” Billy answered for you. “Me and Sophie are old friends.”

“They grew up together,” you added, not wanting them to think there was anything more to it.

“Could I perhaps borrow your William for a few minutes?” Catherine asked.

Your heart began to hammer in your chest so violently that it felt like it was knocking against your ribs.

“Did you see the Cartier collection?” Faye asked, offering you a reason to step away from Billy. “There’s some very impressive pieces.”

Before you could answer, Billy pressed his lips to your cheek and quietly muttered; “it’s  okay.”

His arms dropped from around you and he took a step back, and it took every ounce of willpower you possessed not to press yourself back against him.

“I promise I won’t keep him long,” Catherine said.