The rate for his services was high. His quality was high. His acting skills were good enough that he could be a completely different person, and you'd never know.
However, the role he was least comfortable playing was Oliver.
Oliver Addams was a b...
The news blares in the background as I sit on the bed. I'm only half paying attention as I scroll through Instagram on my phone. And after my phone call with Yolanda, I have way less hope for getting laid than previously. The conversation yielded no advice, so, unfortunately, I am still at square one.
"There's been a recent surge of crimes in Chicago, most of them related to gang violence. People have been speculating about who they think is in charge of the new gang. This gang has begun calling themselves the Midnight Massacre. Presumably, because of the trail of deaths left in their wake. This new group has been breaking the usual string of random gang attacks often seen from groups of this nature. The Midnight members have only been targeting members of the Sarcelt Snakes. Just like always, the new gang could just be a rumor, but this reporter believes that the streets are getting just as dangerous as they were last year. I recommend not going out alone to stay vigilant. This is Sandy Sparks telling you to keep safe Chicago."
The woman on the news is clearly terrified while reporting on the events featuring gang violence. It doesn't seem to be her cup of tea.
Honestly, this "new" gang has been the talk of the streets for at least five years. As always, the news doesn't report on it until they get the okay from the police station. I follow gang violence a little bit, but not religiously. From the few news reports and what I can tell, the police are in cohorts with the Midnight Massacre members.
"Thank you, Sandy. We've received little to no information on the new gang. However, a suspected member or a possible gang leader has been spotted driving a black limousine. The windows are red tinted, and the FBI is asking civilians to report any suspicious behavior to them." The news ends and runs a commercial for McDonald's.
I glance out the window of my room. I spot a vehicle traveling up the driveway. It is a limo, unsurprising as wealthy people with tiny penises often compensate with massive cars. The thing that catches my eye, though, is that the windows are red-tinted.
It could be a visitor, I tell myself. I'll just wait for the door to open, and I see who emerges from the limo before letting my mind fill with fear.
I'm practically praying that the man I have been fantasying about for weeks isn't responsible for hundreds of deaths across the city.
I watch as the driver steps out and walks around to open the door for whoever. The door swings open, and wouldn't you know it, it is none other than billionaire success, Cal.
Before I even have time to process the bombshell of information that was just dropped on me, I hear a knock on the door.
"Oi, Oliver," Carl calls. "Cal's lookin' for you to be ready for dinner in ten minutes, somewhere fancy, I suppose." Carl disappears from my view. Fan-fucking-tastic, now I have to go out on a fake romantic date with someone who is probably a massive murderer and powerful crime boss. I immediately try to call Yolanda. The phone rings one time before I am sent to voice mail. This bitch must just hate me.
After a few minutes of contemplating my entire life while staring at the perfectly white ceiling, I hop off the bed to pick out a fancy date night appropriate outfit. I grab a pair of black dress pants, a black turtle neck, and a light gray blazer.
I check myself out in the mirror a couple of times before grabbing my phone and heading downstairs. The only thought in my head is that there is no way that Cal could possibly be a mob boss. Like that is some Wattpad ass shit.
"Mr. Hendrix is waiting for you outside in the limousine." One of the staff members says to me.
"Thank you," I mumble, my brain places that are definitely not this conversation. I step out of the massive mansion I have become accustomed to. I see once again the limo with red-tinted windows.
"It could just be a run of the mill billionaire limo with those windows," I mutter to myself as I walk closer to it. I watch as one of Cal's butlers opens the door to the limo.
Inside since none other than the billionaire himself. I hate to say it. In fact, it pains me to do so, but Cal looks fucking amazing. His Instagram really does him no justice. He's still in the suit he wears for work.
The suit blazer is perfectly tailored, and it is the richest, prettiest shade of blue. A blue so rich you feel like you could go swimming in it. The tie and handkerchief accenting the ensemble are a beautiful green.
"Are you going to sit down, Oliver? Or would you prefer to continue gawking at me like a pre-teen who's stumbled upon for the first time?" Even with the cruel nature of his statement, he still manages to stay eloquent in his words. That accent of his lingers beneath his words.
I wonder what it would sound like if he were to call me a good boy.
Fuck, wait. Please disregard that. I absolutely do not have a praise kink as I received plenty of love and attention as a child.
"Oh, fuck you," I mutter, but Cal can tell my heart's not in it.
"That sounds more like a request than a retort." Cal smirks.
The driver shuts the door after I slide in next to Cal in his goddamn gang leader limousine.
I've decided to bring it up at dinner because then Cal can't shoot me. It'd be too hard with the press there. So my theory is that he'll just give me the salary I was promised to keep me quiet and then dismiss me from my duties as his boyfriend for hire.
"You alright? I assumed you'd be begging me to fuck you by now. Lost interest, huh?" Cal smirks, looking down at me. He's such a bastard. Who told him he was allowed to be this cocky? Oh, that's right, probably the hundreds of men he has worshipping the very ground he walks on for fear he might murder them in cold blood if they don't.
"I'm not that into murders?" I blurt out.
"Excuse me?"
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