4. Kyle

CHAPTER 4

Kyle

K yle tossed his wet towel into the waiting basket and left the showers, his shoes treading soft but sure footsteps up the narrow staff staircase at the back of the House. The staffroom on the second floor was nearly empty of workers, with only Misha and Adam letting out breathless grunts of laughter and competitive exertion as they arm wrestled across the narrow lunch table. The others would likely still be caught up with their morning tasks, which was why Kyle had elected to skip them and go straight for a shower so he'd have time to speak to the one person he knew would already be here.

"Master Epsilon?" he murmured, approaching the man where he was filling out the whiteboard on the wall with the night's client bookings, his back to the rest of the room. With his arm raised above his head all four of the tattoos trailing down Epsilon's right wrist were visible, although because they weren't inscribed in Universal – the only language now permitted to be written or spoken – their meaning had always eluded Kyle.

All he knew about the illegal markings were that they were Japanese like their owner, or at least as much as a third or fourth generation Xerxian citizen could be said to belong to a defunct Earth nation. Welcome to the melting pot that was the city's two million wide, yet ultimately limited, gene pool.

"Kyle."

Epsilon didn't turn around to speak the greeting, the pen dancing lightly over the whiteboard in his effortless handwriting. When Kyle wrote out the bookings, he ended up with ink all over his hand, but apparently even the universe bowed to the imposing Master of House Epsilon for it didn't dare allow a single letter to smudge.

The man was tall and slim, his dark hair neatly cropped around his skull. The deadly strength Kyle knew his body was capable of was concealed by one of the posh suits Epsilon always wore, and Kyle ignored his usual urge to run his fingers over the expensive fabric, a barely easier task than holding himself back from touching the man himself.

By the stars, he'd seen him only a handful of hours ago when his last shift ended but it already felt like it had been weeks . The sight of Epsilon – and the subtle scent of his cologne that haunted Kyle's fantasies – had his mouth watering and his limbs weak, and Kyle knew how pathetic all that was but in five years, he'd never been able to avoid it.

A hazard of the job , he told himself, although none of his clients had ever affected him this badly.

No. It was just Master Epsilon, with his graceful movements and all that competence and icy untouchableness.

"I see you're free at midnight," said Kyle as if he'd only just noticed the empty square at that time beneath Epsilon's name. As if he hadn't carefully perused the House diary last night to make sure of it.

Without missing a beat, Epsilon's hand slid over to that section of the board and filled in the empty space with a single word.

" Busy ," Kyle read over his shoulder. "Busy with what?"

"House business," Epsilon said shortly, then returned to what he'd been doing. The prick never bothered to elaborate.

"What House business?" asked Kyle.

"Business that is of the House , and hence not yours."

It wasn't difficult to annoy Epsilon. He seemed to exist in a perpetual state of mild irritation.

Kyle stared fondly at the man's back and tried not to let himself be distracted by the delectable strip of bare skin above his jacket's collar.

"That's code for you've got nothing on," he accused.

Kyle watched Epsilon's shoulders rise and fall with almost imperceptible movement as he sighed. And then he finally turned, brown eyes raking suspiciously over him.

"It's code for what are you up to now , Kyle?"

"There's someone I want you to meet at midnight," Kyle told him cheerfully, scrubbing ‘busy' out with the side of his fist. Epsilon swatted at him with the whiteboard marker, and Kyle ended up with a thick black line across the back of his hand when he didn't pull away quickly enough.

"Who is this ‘someone'?"

"His name is Vin. He's a bit down on his luck at the moment, and I reckon he'd be a good fit for the extra clients that Adam can't-"

"No." The syllable was practically growled. Epsilon began aggressively colouring in the entire square from midnight to 1am. "No more charity cases."

"But... Master ," he objected, lowering his voice into something softer, more soothing. "It's for a good cause."

"Yes, charity generally is, Kyle. But I can't afford to take on another employee."

"Just one more?"

"That's what you said last time," Epsilon reminded him, unimpressed. "And the six times before that. And now half of my staff are your strays."

"Well then," Kyle said, pleased. "Clearly I have good judgement."

"You do not ," said Epsilon. His expression was approaching horror, at least as close as the man ever came to showing emotion outside of a scene. "Don't you remember the new hire who tried to stab a client?"

"Oh." Kyle rubbed at his jaw. "Yeah, that was rough. He seemed like a good guy, you know?"

"And the one you found sleeping in a sewerage drain who proceeded to steal everything from the House foyer, including the tiles from the walls?"

"He did us a favour," chirped Kyle. "You'd been talking about renovating for months."

Epsilon's mouth tightened into a thin, unconvinced line. "And the man you said was a sure thing, Master, just a guy who needs a few credits? Remember him, Kyle?"

Kyle eyed him. "I have this horrible feeling you're going to tell me that he was the one who-"

"Asked me to marry him, yes," Epsilon snapped, and the flush of uncharacteristic fury that ran down Kyle's spine was only soothed by the matching irritation in his boss' voice and the gratifying reminder of the way the ‘sure thing' man had whimpered and fled white-faced from the House, never to be seen again. Kyle didn't know what Epsilon had whispered into the trainee's ear after the unfortunate… proposal two shifts in , but considering the murderous glower Master Epsilon had been wearing, he'd been lucky to escape unscathed.

"Okay, so no one expects me to get it right every time." Kyle waved a hand.

"How about less than half the time?"

He frowned. "That can't be true-"

"Only forty-two percent of the people you have convinced me to hire have passed their probation," the Master informed him scathingly, raising a single eyebrow. "That means whenever I trust you, Kyle, it's more likely than not that I'm going to get screwed over."

"But Vin is starving," Kyle whined, putting aside the enticing imagery of Epsilon getting screwed over until he had the time and privacy to reflect on it later. "Can you imagine being so hungry you have to lick the city walls for sustenance?"

"He does not do that."

"He does! I've seen it!"

"That's not going to work on me, Kyle."

Oh, yes it fucking was. Giving a long, dramatic sigh, Kyle stared into the distance. "I suppose Vin could always sell himself to the gangs for food. They'd only take some of his organs, right? Do you think he'd still be hungry if he no longer had a stomach?"

Epsilon's eyes briefly closed. "Fine." The word was pushed reluctantly through gritted teeth. "I'll hear him out. That's all, Kyle."

But to Kyle, that was as good as signing an employment contract. He leaned in, inhaling Epsilon's intoxicating scent and realising his mistake immediately when all it did was send a Pavlovian response to his dick – by the stars, Kyle, stop breathing before you say or do something you'll regret – and reached for the marker in his hand. When Epsilon refused to relinquish it in some final yet futile token of defiance, Kyle touched his index finger to the blocked-out square of whiteboard marker ink and wrote the shape of Vin's name in negative space. The smudged white letters gleamed.

He pulled back in time to catch sight of a small smile that was quickly wiped from the corner of Epsilon's mouth.

"You may tell Vin to come by the House at…" He glanced at the board to check the time.

"Midnight," Kyle reminded him. "And already done."

Epsilon's half-amused, half-irritated expression brought a broad – and slightly smug – grin to his own face.

Kyle patted his shoulder. "You always did like my efficiency, Master."

And my cock, he thought, but he knew better than to say it aloud.

The man merely flipped the pen in his hand in a deft yet inattentive move. "If you're done sweet-talking and guilt-tripping me into hiring more of your friends-"

"Oh, they're not my friends," Kyle told him cheerfully. "I met Vin for the first time on my way home yesterday. He looked sad, so I thought I'd help him out."

"You and your fucking strays," said Epsilon in mock chastisement, but his expression had softened into something almost tender as he looked at him. "Now may I start the meeting, or would you like our staff to wait some more while you find another couple of random beggars to aid?"

Kyle cocked his head. "Our staff?"

"My staff," Epsilon quickly corrected, clearing his throat and turning to the rest of the now-full room. "Quite obviously, mine. "