The Arrangement: Chapter 1
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The Arrangement
A Cal Kestis Fanfiction
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Summary:
A/B/O.
18+ for Smut.
Alpha Cal Kestis has an after work drink with his employee.
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Chapter 1: The Nightcap
This is my favorite drive. It’s long stretches of winding road through the Irish countryside. The gorgeous countryside that is currently shrouded in total darkness. I catch glimpses of greenery at the edges of my high beams, but otherwise cannot enjoy the view.
Instead, I keep my eyes turned towards the night sky. There’s no light pollution out here, leaving every star in the Milky Way completely visible. A private viewing made just for me, a simple beauty I’ve missed.
I drive too fast, eager to get what I came for and return home. The excessive glow in the distance tells me the turn is almost upon me. The traditional stone estate is, of course, lit up on its walls and the surrounding fence lined edges of the property. Such a grand waste of money to use so much electricity on one man.
The wrought-iron gate is already open. Good, no need to go outside. It’s early in the season. The days are becoming temperate, but my breath still turns to clouds at night.
I pull into the expansive paved approach of the most notorious Alpha in Ireland, Cal Kestis. His family, a line of not-so-humble-tinkerers, made their money by getting into the tech field early. That, and buying out or killing off their competitors.
The ultra wealthy always use any means to make and keep their money; the rest of us jump through hoops to get a few crumbs. Exactly what I’m here to do.
I throw my used Hyundai into park and step out, looking down to avoid feeling dwarfed by the turrets and gargoyles above. Can’t see the stars here, anyway. My stained combat boots look out of place on the flawless black pavement. Blood and mud are so deeply soaked into the material that the color isn’t identifiable.
The hood on my heathered gray sweatshirt does some to insulate me from the frigid air. Though the same isn’t true for my black track pants, at least my core is warm. It’s enough to get me from my car and into his mansion.
As I approach the towering double doors, I pull my tools from the slippery pocket. The shiny lock gives way in seconds as my skilled fingers work the pins into place.
I poke my covered head in first, discerning what situation I’m walking in to. No one waiting, sparse lighting, should be a quick visit. An old money oriental rug covers the obnoxious white marble floor. Two trends of wealth clashing against one another.
A large grouping of tropical plants near the double curved staircases adds to the chaos. I’m no interior designer, but even I can tell the decor lacks vision. I suppose that’s what you get when a historic house passes down between generations.
“Honey, I’m home!” I call into the cavernous foyer.
A door opens out of sight on the second floor, giving me time to pocket my keys and tools before he comes into view. His bright smile lights up his face, but I know it’s practiced. Being born into a family of notoriety comes with such skills.
“You’re really just waltzing in?” Cal asks, looking amused. “You know, the doorbell works.”
He leans over the polished wood banister, resting his exposed forearms on the expensive material. The crisp white fabric of his button down crinkling as he drops his chin onto the backs of his hands, waiting for my answer.
“I don’t dance, Cal-cium,” I say. My tongue separating his name from the rest of the chosen word.
His freckled nose scrunches. “What? Oh, of course not.” He stands, returning to his full height. “You know it’s just Cal.”
I shrug, glancing at the stairs, requesting he come closer. “Have you considered asking your parents for a full first name?”
“Cal is a full first name.”
“Doesn’t sound like one,” I say.
The redhead starts his descent down the grand staircase with practiced ease. He doesn’t grip the ornamented railing, instead tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark blue dress pants. I stare at the pocket, eager for my pay.
“How did it go?” He asks, making small talk.
“Fine. Got him real good. Bullet went through both cheeks, probably took off part of his tongue. I had to get a little creative to make my hands shake. Let him bleed a little before I put him out of his—”
Cal shakes his head, his eyes closing. “The graphic details aren’t necessary.”
“Well, you asked,” I say. “Plus, I thought you’d want to know that it looked amateur. Wouldn’t want you to be unsatisfied with my services.” I drop into a mock bow, looking up at him for a reaction. He gives none and I rise, removing my hood.
As he takes his final two steps to reach me, I extend my eager hand. Which he takes, shakes, and releases. I hold up my empty palm inches from my face and stare at it in disbelief. My eyes flicking to his amused green ones. “Stiffing me?”
He lets out a polite laugh. “Money’s in the kitchen. I thought you’d want a drink at this hour.”
I grumble and trudge behind him under the left staircase and into the kitchen. It’s a strange mix between full-service-kitchen and McMansion: stainless steel, professional-grade appliances line two walls, and a massive granite island stands with barstools in the middle of the room. I suppose when he isn’t being served by his staff; he prefers not having to take his late-night snack to the formal dining room to eat.
A single bottle of wine and two glasses sit on the closest end of the counter, an envelope tucked between them. I rush forward, tearing it open, and counting it twice to ensure I’m getting every cent.
“You know,” he drawls behind me, “sometimes I feel like you’re only interested in me for my money.”
I pocket the thick sum of cash and pick up the bottle of red, looking it over. “You would be correct.”
I put it back down and start searching the entire kitchen, opening every solid wood cupboard, and peering into each nearby closed door. Cal ignores me, busying himself with uncorking the bottle.
I finally kick aside a random rug and see a round cutaway in the floor with a white handle folded flat against itself. I tug it upwards and there is some resistance as it hisses open. A hidden miniature wine cellar.
The built-in lights turn on to illuminate the tube-like feature, displaying spirals of wine bottles, like two woven strands of DNA. Rich people have the coolest shit. Cal eyes my discovery and I use his reaction, or lack thereof, to pick my bottle.
“Is this an unacceptable vintage for your fine tastes?”
I pull out my multi-tool knife and use my teeth to free the little corkscrew. “I assume you share your shittier wine, probably hiding the good stuff for yourself.”
The pointed metal pierces the soft cork, and I twist, popping it out. Cal moves to close the abandoned expensive kitchen feature, twisting the lock back into place.
“I was thinking we could drink a reasonable amount tonight,” he says.
The dark-colored bottle meets my chapped lips as I gulp the sweet red liquid down.
“I killed someone less than 24 hours ago. This is a reasonable amount,” I say.
Cal doesn’t press the matter and returns one crystal wine glass to its home. He pours a full glass into the remaining vessel and I snatch it away, drinking from that one too, as I sit myself on a barstool. With a sigh, he retrieves the glass he just put away.
He leans on the broad island across from me. “So, how did you do it?”
“Do what, Cal-culator?”
His eyes roll. “Make your hands shake. You said you had to get creative.”
“Oh!” I snort, swinging my feet. “Yeah, that — vibrator.”
His lips press together. “I’m debating how much more I want to know.”
“Gross, it’s not like that. I just turned it up to the max and bumped it against my hand while aiming.” I drain my glass in two gulps and slide it to him, drinking slower from my personal bottle while I wait.
“What a relief,” Cal says. He gives me a half pour only, pushing it back. “Was this a personal one? Or am I being billed for sex toys now as well?”
“It’s mine, but I do like the suggestion of billing you in the future for new vibrators.”
He sips his wine, like a gentleman. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
I alternate between swigs of my bottle and sips from the glass. The painful stress in all my muscles melting away as my body warms. I never drink when I work, but I’m always thinking about it. Maybe I have a problem.
Cal interrupts my thoughts. “Why do you own a vibrator?”
I give him an annoyed look at his stupid question. “Why do you think?”
He bows his head, his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink. “I just mean, does your mate not keep you satisfied?”
“Don’t have one,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because I already have Tony.”
Cal furrows his brows. “Who’s Tony?”
“He helped me kill your target,” I say, letting out a chuckle before taking another deep drink from my bottle. Every drop of alcohol becoming necessary for this conversation.
“You named your vibrator Tony?”
“Yeah, Tony Stark.”
He inhales, as if hoping I would be more forthcoming. “Why?”
“Because he’s red with gold accents,” I say.
“You know Tony isn’t a full first name.” He smirks like he’s finally found a shortcoming of mine.
He hasn’t. “Yeah, I know, his full first name is Tonald.”
He shakes his head, letting out a strangled laugh before mouthing the word ‘Tonald’ to himself. I empty my glass again, standing from my seat to reach for the bottle we’re sharing. Cal grabs it by the neck, preventing me from stealing it. I settle back into my seat before passing my glass to him again.
“Why not just settle down?” He serves less than a half pour this time.
“You’re one to talk.” I look at the pitiful amount of wine and top it off with some wine from my bottle.
He grimaces as I mix the two reds. “I suppose I am.”
There is a substantial silence. I look at my bottle, a little less than half left. I could chug it and be out the door in a minute, but I’d like to enjoy this expensive drink at least a little.
“Since we’re pretending to take an interest in the other’s personal life tonight, what’s your deal?”
“In what regard?”
“Why don’t you take a mate?”
“Seems boring. Plus, my parents require me to marry for status.”
“Typical alpha/omega pairing, I assume?”
“It’s all about the bloodline,” he says, sounding exasperated.
“Glad I’m not subjected to that bullshit.”
“I envy you.” He almost looks earnest, but I don’t buy it.
“I doubt that.”
He seems lost in thought, swirling the wine in his glass and watching the legs. I’ve never understood that part of drinking. I finger the stem of my glass, trying to pace myself.
“You avoided my question.”
I don’t meet his eye, instead examining the cast-iron pots and pans hanging overhead. “Oh, did I? Shame.”
“Why haven’t you taken a mate?”
“Tony is already the best part of a man. What do I need the rest for?” I give him a look that implies I won’t be giving a further answer.
“Fair enough,” he says.
I can’t help but look Cal over, searching for a deeper meaning in tonight. For all the years that I’ve known him, he’s never forced me into spending unnecessary time with him. I suppose it was coming; you do enough jobs for someone and they want to know the person beneath. Rapport, something I try not to have.
It’s not even like we actually know one another. He hires me maybe once a year. We do the intake questions, negotiate pay, and then radio silence while I complete the job. Only interacting again when I pick up the second half of the money. We don’t even qualify as coworkers, let alone friends. I can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t have an alternate reason for asking me to stay longer this time.
“You got another job coming up soon?”
There it is.
“You offering?”
“No, I don’t have anyone I need dead currently. Just curious,” he says.
There it is not.
“Nothing scheduled yet, but I’ll start advertising tomorrow.”
He ponders, studying my face for a moment. “Why not take a break?”
“Some of us don’t have trust funds. And my job doesn’t exactly come with PTO or a retirement plan.”
He laughs as if I’m being funny, but I wasn’t joking. Rich people always find it funny when the rest of us struggle to make ends meet. Just for the disrespect, I lean forward and snatch the bottle before he can stop me, giving my glass a full pour.
We chat about the weather as I guzzle wine, and he sips it. He finally finishes his first glass as I empty my last few drops. He’s quick to pour himself the rest of the community bottle, preventing me from stealing it.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out my car keys. “Fuck, I’m drunk. I’m outta here. Thanks for the wine.”
He follows me into the foyer, leaving his undrunk glass behind. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drive after drinking.”
The giant wooden door stands in my way, and I pull it open, stumbling from its weight. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to kill people for money, either, Cal-culator.”
“You already used that one.”
I jog down the porch steps and onto the driveway. “Fuck you, I’m drunk.”
He stands in the doorway, watching me. “Goodnight.”
I give him a mock salute and clamber into my car, speeding away without looking back.
Song for the chapter: Horns by Bryce Fox
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