My name is Lucien. In the morning the tower is quiet, and quiet is the only thing I trust.
There is a new badge on my desk. Black card, no photo, top floor access.
I had it made at six. Security asked nothing, because I sign what they take home.
At seven the elevator brings him up, and I stop pretending to read the market report.
He comes in with his jacket zipped to the throat and his jaw set like I called him up here to fire him.
Lucien: Close the door.
He does it. Then he stands with his back against it, hands loose.
Caleb: You wanted to see me, sir.
The sir is a small wall. I let him keep it for now.
I slide the card across the desk until it stops against his knuckles.
Lucien: That is yours. It opens every door in this building, including mine.
Caleb: I already have a badge.
Lucien: That one clocks you in and out. This one means you are on call.
He picks it up and turns it over, like the plastic might explain itself.
Caleb: On call for what?
Lucien: For me. Nights. Whenever I need you up here.
He sets it down slowly, and his face closes like a door I just put my foot in.
Caleb: I do maintenance. I fix pipes.
Lucien: You stayed last night. That was not a pipe.
I come around the desk. He does not step back, and that is the first thing I take from him.
My hand lands on his thigh, flat and slow, through the uniform.
He goes still. Not scared still. Deciding still.
Lucien: You were shaking worse than me, and you stayed.
My other hand finds the hem of his shirt and slides under it. Warm skin, hard stomach, a heartbeat going too fast.
His breath catches. My thumb drags over his ribs, and he leans in half an inch before he catches himself.
I want to see how far that half inch goes.
I kiss him. He kisses me back, hard, one fist in my shirt.
His mouth is hot and his tongue is not shy, and for three seconds he is mine.
I pull back far enough to speak against his mouth.
Lucien: I want to get you off. My hand on your cock. Then I want you in my bed tonight.
Lucien: Say a number. Whatever you need, I will pay it.
My name is Caleb. His hand is still under my shirt when he says the word number.
And something in my chest goes cold and clean, like a switch flipping off.
My sister's name is on a hospital bill I cannot pay. That is mine to carry.
The second he puts a number on me, I am a line in his book.
And I want it anyway. That is the fucked-up part.
I put my hand flat on his chest and push until there is a foot of air between us.
Caleb: I am not for sale.
Lucien: Everything in this building is for sale. I own most of it.
Caleb: Then you are short one maintenance man. Because I am not.
I pull my shirt down where his hand was. My skin is still hot under it.
His face does not change. That is worse than if it did.
Lucien: Take the badge. You are still on call.
I take it because leaving it on his desk feels like a speech, and I am too tired for speeches.
In the elevator I look at it once. Black card, no photo, every door in the building.
On call. Like a doctor. Like a dog.
I put it in my pocket and tell myself I will throw it away.