Mickey Milkovich swore under his breath as he pressed the elevator button for the third time. He was already running late thanks to his alarm not going off and the bumper-to-bumper traffic during his thirty-minute commute. To top it off, the damn elevator wanted to take its sweet time moving between floors. His day was already off to a perfect fucking start.
"Come the fuck on," he grumbled under his breath. He juggled with his messenger bag and lifted his wrist to check the time, seeing he was eleven minutes late. Fucking great.
Normally, at any other job, eleven minutes late probably wouldn't be too big of a deal. His job wasn't just any other job, though, and his boss wasn't just any boss. His boss was the devil incarnate.
"Come the fuck on," he hissed again, practically punching the button. "The hell's wrong with this goddamn thing?"
The woman in the elevator with him was standing flat in the corner, her purse clutched to her chest, and a terrified look on her face.
Mickey snuck a look back at her and did a double take, realizing he must look like a fucking madman. He relaxed a little, despite his aggravation, and ran his free hand through his hair.
"Uh, how about that Cubs' game last night?" he asked lamely, even though he didn't give a shit about the Cubs' game and knew she most likely didn't either. He'd never been great at small talk, but that's what strangers talked about with each other, wasn't it? Sports and the weather, shit like that?
Just as he was opening his mouth to spew some more bullshit, the elevator door finally opened with a ding. Without saying goodbye, he left the shell-shocked woman in the elevator and dashed on to the 15th floor where Lindenmeyr Publishing conducted their business.
He rushed through the bustling workplace, hurrying past cubicles and ignoring most of the waves, looks, and whispers being thrown in his direction. He finally reached the outside of his boss's office and hesitated with his hand on the door handle. He scowled at the name etched in block letters on the door.
"He's in a bad mood today, man," someone warned behind him.
Mickey shot his coworker, Wayne, a wary look. "When isn't he in a goddamn mood?"
"It's worse than usual today," Wayne said before dropping his voice to a mere whisper, making sure his boss couldn't hear him through the large, opaque door. He lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow and waved his hand for emphasis as he spoke. "Rumor has it, he broke up with his guy last night. Apparently, he was working late last night and his beau came in pissed as all hell because he blew off plans. Jake, the custodian—you know the one with the mohawk—well, he heard the whole blowout. It was so bad. He thought they were fucking at first, but the man came out looking heated as all hell."
Wayne was the office gossip and usually kept everyone up-to-date on their boss's goings-on. He was flashy, flamboyant, and obnoxiously loud most days, and normally Mickey wouldn't want anything to do with a guy like that, but Wayne was pretty alright in his book; especially since Wayne usually joined in on the shit-talking of his boss.
Mickey hefted his messenger bag higher on his shoulder and dragged a hand down his face. "Fuckin' great. So, like always, I'm gonna have to pick up the pieces of the shithead's life."
"The benefits of being the boss's assistant, I guess," Wayne singsonged haughtily. It was no secret around the office that Wayne had been gunning for the assistant position before Mickey had nabbed the job, and that he still held a little resentment over it.
Mickey tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking the day was getting worse by the minute. The last thing he needed right then was for his boss to be in a terrible mood on the one day he just so happened to be late.
"Good luck," Wayne taunted before disappearing back into his cubicle.
"Yeah, thanks," Mickey said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
He turned back towards the door and ran a hand over his face before deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with. He reluctantly walked through the threshold and was immediately silenced when his boss held up a hand and turned his back to him.
Mickey stared at the back of the swivel chair with complete disdain. Rude prick.
He listened to the low grumble of his boss's hushed words. He would be lying if he said he wasn't trying to listen in on the secret conversation. Not that he gave a shit who or what his boss was talking about, but he figured any little piece of dirt he could get on the guy could benefit him sometime in the future if it ever came down to it. He always knew what to do to protect himself in any situation.
Finally, his boss hung up the phone and swiveled around to face Mickey, fixing him with a pointed look. "You're late. You were supposed to be here at nine."
Mickey clutched the strap of his bag, trying to keep his cool. He had to do that a lot around his boss, who usually seemed to like testing his patience. "Yeah, I know. My alarm didn't go off, the power went out during the storm last night. Traffic was terrible over on 90, some asshole switched lanes at the last minute and almost side—"
His boss waved a dismissive hand and started shuffling through some papers on his desk, clearly not interested in Mickey's excuses.
"Fuck you too, then," Mickey grumbled under his breath. He stepped further into the spacious office, closing the door behind him to drown out the noises and commotion coming from the cubicle floor. He placed the coffee he had with him on his boss's neat and massive desk. Hopefully, the fact that he'd still had the decency to stop for his boss's usual cup of morning coffee despite being late would sweeten his boss's mood a little. "Then the elevator door wouldn't open, so—"
His boss was in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee and interrupted Mickey to say, "Coffee's cold."
Mickey clamped his mouth shut, his jaw flexing. At his sides, he kept his hands from curling into fists. He really fucking hated the guy. If he didn't seriously need the nice paycheck and decent health benefits, he would have quit a long time ago. He also had a seven-year-old kid to think about. He'd be damned if he didn't do everything he could to give Yevgeny a good life, even if that meant dealing with his boss's bullshit on a daily basis.
"So, am I in—"
"Sit down," his boss interjected, motioning towards the two leather chairs situated in front of the desk. Once Mickey was sitting, his boss continued in a dull, tired tone. "I have a busy day today. I have a meeting later with the guy from Avenir, so I need to be prepared for that."
Mickey nodded as he reached down to pull his iPad from his bag, prepared to take whatever notes his boss needed him to.
His boss sat back in his chair and ran a hand down his face, looking pale, tired, and defeated.
Mickey watched him, waiting, his brows arched in annoyance. "Long night?" he found himself asking after a long, torturous silence.
He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. His boss didn't do personal. Truth be told, neither did Mickey. That was the one and only thing he appreciated about his boss; he kept things professional, never asked him about his day nor questioned him about his life. Mickey barely knew anything about the guy outside of the fact that he was the junior editor at Lindenmeyr Book Publishing and work was his life. He knew how the guy took his coffee. He also knew the guy was gay. Mickey just so happened to be gay too, but that meant nothing to him. His boss was physically attractive—anyone with eyes could fucking see that—but he would rather scoop out his eyes with a melon-baller than ever touch the guy.
His boss slowly lowered his hand from his face and looked back at Mickey with a blank expression, clearly caught off guard by the personal question. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted when the door opened and a tall man with a scowl stalked in, looking pissed.
"Oh, shit," Mickey grumbled under his breath when he instantly recognized the pissed-off man as his boss's boyfriend.
"We need to talk, Ian," the man declared, shutting the door behind him, no doubt to the disappointment of Mickey's coworkers, namely Wayne.
"Do you mind?" Ian drawled, his chin jutted. Mickey knew shit was about to go down; Ian was pulling out the chin. "I'm working."
"I wanna talk now," the man snapped. "No more fucking around. You won't answer my calls or texts, so here I am. We need to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about," Ian spat. "I said all I needed to say last night. We're done."
Mickey looked back and forth between the two men and stood up. "Maybe I should go, let you two hash this shit out privately."
"Sit down, Mickey," Ian demanded, his eyes never leaving his ex's. "We have work to do. He's leaving."
Ian's ex-boyfriend looked at Mickey before fixing Ian with a pointed glare. A rough, unamused laugh left his mouth before he asked, "Are you fuckin' him too?"
"Excuse me?" Mickey blurted, taking complete offense to the absurd question.
Ian scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. "Can we please not do this here? This is my job!"
"Are you?" the man bellowed, undeterred. "Answer the damn question, Ian! Are you fuckin' him too?"
"What the fuck," Mickey groused, scrubbing a hand down his face. He knew he should have called out sick that day.
"What if I am fucking him, huh?" Ian yelled back, standing up from his desk. "It's none of your business anymore who I fuck, Jared. We're not together! I suggest you leave before I call security."
"You are fucking him, aren't you?" the man accused again, unperturbed by Ian's threats. "You're fuckin' your assistant. It would explain the long hours. It would explain you not wanting to fuck me anymore!"
"Whoa, hey," Mickey sputtered, standing up from his chair. "No one is fuckin' anyone around here, alright?"
Fuck, it was only Monday. He'd been really hoping the week would go smoothly, and that he could make it to Friday unscathed and enjoy his four day Fourth of July weekend with his kid. He didn't want to be in the middle of a fucking lovers' brawl between his boss and his boss's butt buddy.
"I don't wanna fuck you anymore because you're a lousy lay," Ian retorted. "And maybe I stay at the office long hours because you're so mind-numbingly stupid that I can't stand to be around your ass anymore."
"Lousy lay? Are you kidding me!" the man exclaimed, clearly more offended by being called a bad lay than being called stupid. "His dick is any better?" he bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at Mickey.
"Yeah, maybe it is!"
"Okay, back the fuck up," Mickey exclaimed. "He's never been anywhere near my dick, alright? Let's get that clear right fuckin' now."
The man didn't seem to mind anything Mickey was saying. He advanced on Ian in three quick strides until he was in his face, crowding him back against a bookcase.
To Mickey's complete surprise, Ian actually looked intimidated… scared, even.
"Yeah, okay," Mickey snapped, kicking into defense mode. He might not like the guy, but he wasn't about to stand back and allow the douchebag to fight his boss. He stepped between the two men, facing Ian's ex. "You need to go. Now. Hash this out another time, man. This isn't the time or the fucking place."
The man paid Mickey no mind, only glared at Ian over Mickey's shoulder. He grabbed the knot of Ian's tie, pulling him forward and against Mickey's back, so he could say straight to Ian's face, "You're nothing but a goddamn whore," he spat. "Can't keep your dick in your pants."
"You need to leave," Mickey declared again, trying to keep his cool, and trying his best to neutralize the situation. Fuck, he'd always imagined being wedged between two hot guys, but not like that.
When Ian's ex finally backed off, Mickey slowly relaxed. "Alright? We cool?"
"Yeah," Ian breathed as he straightened his tie. "All cool."
Ian's ex-beau took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender.
Mickey ran a hand through his hair, already planning on telling Ian he was owed an extra personal day for that shit. Before he could say or do anything else, Ian's ex-boyfriend threw a fist and punched Mickey square in the mouth, sending him stumbling backward.
"You two can have each other! I'm out!"
Ian caught Mickey under the arms before his ass hit the floor, and both men watched as Ian's ex-boyfriend turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.
After a moment of stupefied hesitation, Mickey struggled out of Ian's grip and took a few steps forward to put some distance between them. He reached up and gingerly touched his bottom lip. Sure enough, he was bleeding. "What the fuck!"
"Sorry about that," Ian said, handing him a handkerchief.
Mickey eyed the expensive piece of cloth before snatching it from Ian's hand. "What the fuck? I don't get paid enough for this shit!"
"Actually, you kinda do—" Ian started but shut his mouth once Mickey fixed him with a baleful glare. "You okay? Looks like he got you pretty good."
"Where the hell did you find that piece of shit?" Mickey asked as he continued wiping his lip. He watched as Ian sighed and walked back around his desk to sit in his chair.
"Met him at a club a few weeks ago," Ian answered after a beat, much to Mickey's surprise. "He was only supposed to be a quick fuck, but he didn't seem to wanna leave after a while. Became clingy. He wanted more than I was willing to give him. Don't have time for a relationship. Don't even really want one. He's having a hard time accepting that."
"You fuckin' think?" Mickey slowly sat down in his own chair, confused about everything that had just been said. It was probably the most personal Ian had ever been with him in the whole nine months he'd been working there, and he didn't know exactly how to react to any of it. He watched as Ian typed something on his computer. "He's a fuckin' tool," he said after an awkward pause. "You're probably better off without him."
Ian looked up and gave him a small, barely there smile. "Yeah, I am."
Mickey watched him for another moment before saying, "I get an extra personal day outta this bullshit, right? Asshole messed up my face."
"Ah, it's okay," Ian intoned, still typing away. "Your face isn't that great, anyway."
"Hold the fuck up," Mickey asked, not believing his ears. Maybe his boss wasn't such a dick after all. His lips curled into a small, surprised smile. "Was that a fuckin' joke?"
Ian smiled a little before clearing his throat and shifting in his chair. His whole demeanor changed in an instant, almost as if he'd caught himself having a little fun and was chastising himself for it. "Anyway, uh, about this meeting I have in a bit. Let's go over some key points, make sure I have my shit together. I can't mess this up."
Mickey nodded and grabbed his iPad again, figuring maybe that was all he was going to get out of the other man, a tiny smile and a bad joke. Oh well, it's not like he was going to lose sleep over the fact that his boss wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, that was the way he preferred things to be.
Later that night, Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath. His ex-wife's voice was really grating on his nerves, even more so than usual. He had been enjoying his night. He'd jacked off in the shower earlier, and he was just sitting down to enjoy his TV dinner and catch up on How To Get Away With Murder when his phone rang. It was Svetlana doing what she does best, ruining his fucking life.
"Me and Nika want Yev for the weekend."
"This weekend?" Mickey reiterated. "You know I wanted him this weekend, Svet. I was gonna light off fireworks for the kid. I bought… fuck, I bought a whole package of shit for him." He wanted to do with Yev all the things he'd never had a chance to do as a child; shit like being carefree, playing with sparklers, and lighting fireworks off with his dad. The very thought that he wouldn't be able to do that caused his chest to tighten.
"I'm sorry," Svetlana drawled unconvincingly. "It is our weekend, and we want him, and we decide we have him. You can have him next weekend."
Mickey clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. "But you said, two fuckin' days ago, that I can have him for the holiday. I planned my whole weekend around having him, don't do this."
"You can't just decide when you want him, Mikhailo," Svetlana snapped. "That is not how this works. We changed mind."
Mickey cringed at the use of his full name. He knew she only did that shit to get further under his skin. "Come on, Svet. Don't make me beg to see my own fuckin' kid. I thought we were past that."
"You can't just pick and choose what weekend to not go out and fuck random guy. We have court order for reason," Svetlana retorted. "Nika and I decided we want him, we have him."
Mickey rested his head back on the threadbare couch, once again cursing Svetlana's bitch girlfriend in his head. He knew it was all most likely Nika planting shit in Svetlana's head.
Svet and Nika had been together for almost five years, and Nika hated Mickey with a burning passion. She did everything she could to keep Yevgeny out of his life. Sure, a couple of years ago, Mickey hadn't cared as much. There had been a time when he would have chosen to get drunk and fuck random dudes every night of the week rather than take his son, but he changed. Or he'd been trying to. Sure, he still banged random dudes every now and then, but he'd cut down on the fucking and drinking, had gotten himself a decent apartment and a good job thanks to a friend of Mandy's. That wasn't good enough for Nika, though, and if it wasn't good enough for Nika, it apparently wasn't good enough for Svetlana.
"I got my shit together, Svet. You fuckin' know that!" he said, desperate. He hated having to beg and plead to see his son, but since Svetlana had full custody with him only having Yev every other weekend apparently only when Svet and Nika wanted him to, he had no other choice. "I'm tryin' here. I really am. I got a good job, a decent place…"
Svetlana was quiet for a moment before saying, "What about all the guys you bring around? Fucking with Yevy in the next room."
Mickey sneered, completely offended by the implication. "I don't bring anyone home when Yev's here, you know that."
"No, we do not know that! That is our point," Svetlana snapped. "You screw anything with a penis. You are a whore, Mikhailo."
Mickey scoffed. "That's rich, comin' from you," he grumbled, which was followed by Svetlana ranting in Russian. He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed. He could never win with the woman.
Svetlana calmed down after a minute, then said flatly, "Yev needs stability, he needs to be safe when he is with you, then maybe you see him more. All these random men you bring around, who knows what they do! You watch the news! All these creepy child sex predators!"
Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face and sat forward, eyeing the cold TV dinner in front of him. He knew he had to lie. It was the only way he'd be able to see his son. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that shit.
"I'm actually seein' someone," Mickey said before he could stop himself.
"You are seeing someone?" Svetlana asked, clearly sounding unsure. "That is bullshit. Since when?"
"Since… about three months ago," Mickey lied. "Haven't fucked anyone since. Haven't picked anyone up since. I like the guy. I think it's gettin' pretty serious."
"You, serious with someone?" Svetlana huffed. "I do not believe you. You were with Aleksandr for four months and—"
"Hey, it can happen," Mickey snapped, not even wanting to get on the topic of his ex. "Just because it didn't happen with him, doesn't mean it can't happen with someone else. I'm not a complete fuckin' lost cause." Before he could stop himself, he continued, digging himself into an even bigger hole. "I'm thinkin' about asking the guy to move in with me. I was gonna introduce Yev to him this weekend, see how that goes. Can't take that next step 'til I know how Yev feels about it all."
"You are thinking about living with someone?" Svetlana exclaimed. "I do not believe you. You do not do love, remember?"
"Yeah, well, a person can fucking change."
"How do I know you are not making this up just to please me?"
Mickey ran a hand over his mouth, hating that she was asking so many stupid fucking questions. The shit he did to see his son. "Why would I make this shit up?"
"To get kid, why else?" Svetlana retorted. "What is new guy's name?"
Mickey said the very first name that popped into his head. "Ian."
"Ian?" Svetlana repeated. "Where did you meet this Ian?"
Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose again, silently berating himself.
Ian? Fucking Ian? Of all the names in the world he could have come up with out of thin air, he says Ian? Not Ben or Bob or Bill. Fucking Ian.
"I met him at work," he answered without fully thinking it through. As soon as the words left his mouth, he stood up and began pacing. Fuck!
"Ian… your boss, Ian?" Svetlana reiterated. "The same boss you could not stand? The same boss you said was Lucifer's redheaded stepchild. That same Ian?"
"Yeah," Mickey grumbled reluctantly after a long pause. "Turns out he, uh, he isn't so bad."
"Not so bad? You've thought about quitting how many times because of him!" Svetlana exclaimed. "The dick must be good… ugly fuckin' skin stick."
Mickey ran a hand down his face and waited.
"Okay," Svetlana finally relented. "You can take Yevgeny this weekend."
Mickey let out a sigh of relief and smiled. If he had to lie a little to see his son, it was worth it.
Svetlana's next words turned his world upside down, and he knew he was completely fucked.
"But I want to meet this Ian character first."
"Meet him?" Mickey exclaimed. "The fuck you need to meet him for?"
"He is going to be around my son, I meet him," Svetlana snapped with finality. "Thursday, when you come to pick Yevy up. I will make dinner and meet the man who finally stole your cold, dead heart."
"Fuck, Svet, I don't know if he'd…" Mickey stammered. He ran a hand over his mouth and tried again. "I don't even know if he'd wanna come. He probably has his own shit going on."
"Make him come," Svetlana snapped. "If you are important to him as he is to you, he will come." There was some rustling and whispering on Svetlana's end, then she said, "I have to go, the kid needs bath. Remember, Thursday at six. Bring your lover boy or no Yevgeny!"
Mickey stared down at his phone after Svetlana had hung up. He scowled and tossed his phone to the side and headed for his bedroom, intent on getting dressed and heading to Boystown to find a fuck for the night. He needed to do something, preferably someone, to get his mind off the new shitshow he'd just created for himself.
The next morning, Mickey woke up with the hangover from hell and a heavy arm draped over his waist. He reached over and slapped the screaming alarm clock a few times before finally hitting the snooze button.
The random guy next to him groused and crowded closer into his personal space.
He frowned and peeled the guy's arm away from him. Normally, when he brought a guy home, he kicked him out shortly after the fucking happened. He must have been really fucking drunk to pass out without sending the guy on his way first.
"Ey," he said irritably, pushing the sleeping man's shoulder. He couldn't remember much from the night before, but his ass felt deliciously sore, and there were two used condoms lying on the bed, so the dick couldn't have been that bad. Still, the guy had to go. He patted the guy's bare ass for good measure. "Yo, get the fuck up, Romeo. It's time to go."
The man finally lifted his head and grumbled something incoherently. He leaned forward and attempted to kiss Mickey on the mouth, but he was stopped by a palm flat against his face.
"Kiss me, and I'll knock your teeth outta your head."
The guy shot him a perturbed look before finally rolling over to grab his pants from the floor.
"Be gone by the time I'm done showering," Mickey informed the guy before getting up from the bed to head for the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and scowled. The guy had left a hickey above his collarbone. He'd have to make sure he wore a collared shirt to cover it up. He had to appear professional in front of his boss, after all.
He stepped under the hot spray and relished the feeling of the scalding hot water cleansing his skin. As he soaped himself up, he sobered a little, and that was when he remembered his conversation with Svetlana from the night before.
"Fuck," he swore.
He had no idea what the fuck he was going to do. He knew if he showed up at Svetlana's with no guy, he most likely wouldn't be able to see Yev, at least not as much as he wanted to. He was going to have to find a guy to go along with it all just for the evening, for just a few short hours.
He briefly thought about bribing the guy he'd brought home with him the night before to go along with it, but he was pretty sure Svetlana wouldn't be convinced that his boss was a tall, heavily tattooed black man with dreadlocks. In fact, he was sure he'd described Ian to Svetlana before as being, 'fucking pale, with red hair, stupid-ass freckles… fuckin' alien-looking motherfucker.'
Sure, he could always go out and try to find someone who had those exact characteristics, but he didn't have that kind of time or patience. He only had two days to convince someone to go along with his stupid scheme. Honestly, and unfortunately, Ian was probably his best and only bet.
Mickey groaned and pressed his forehead against the shower wall.
How the fuck did he get himself into these situations?
That day, the elevator door slid open much too soon for Mickey's liking, and he sauntered off reluctantly, Ian's usual cup of caramel macchiato clutched in his hand. He really didn't want to do what he was planning on doing, but he soldiered on anyway. He nodded a greeting at some of his coworkers in passing, stopped and chatted idly with Wayne for a bit, and before he was ready, he was standing in front of Ian's office.
Reluctantly, he knocked and stepped through the threshold. Ian wasn't on the phone, that time, but he was tapping away on his computer, not even bothering to look up when Mickey entered the office.
"Hey," Mickey grumbled, placing Ian's drink in front of him.
"Thanks," Ian said monotonously without looking up. "How's the lip?"
Mickey was in the process of sitting down and froze mid-action. Ian cared about his lip. Maybe this wouldn't be as painful as he'd thought. "I've had worse things done to my face. It's cool."
Ian glanced up, his eyes searching Mickey's face before dropping to his open collar, undoubtedly spotting the hickey on his collarbone. "Looks like someone had fun last night."
Mickey smirked and buttoned the top button of his shirt.
Ian finished what he was typing before turning to face him. He cleared his throat and avoided Mickey's eyes, looking uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I wanted to apologize again for yesterday. I alerted security about the situation, so Jared won't be coming back anytime soon."
Mickey shrugged. "No need to apologize. It's not your fault the guy's a dick."
"Still," Ian intoned, his expression serious. "Sorry."
Mickey licked his dry lips and shuffled in his seat a little. Ian Gallagher was probably the only person in the world who made him nervous, and he fucking hated it.
"I talked to HR," Ian continued. "You're getting the extra vacation day you asked for."
"You didn't have to do that, man."
"You didn't have to step in like you did. It was my stupid shit, and you never shoulda been involved," Ian insisted. "We're even now."
Mickey watched as Ian went back to typing. He took in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair gleamed in the sun pouring in through the large floor to ceiling windows, watched the way his tongue touched the crease of his mouth as he concentrated. It was a damn shame that someone so attractive was so fucking insufferable.
"Actually," Mickey started. "I was, uh… wondering if there was something else you could do for me."
Ian looked up, an eyebrow quirked. Before Mickey could say anything else, he interrupted him. "I don't know what you think is gonna happen here, but no."
"Excuse me?" Mickey asked after a beat, frowning.
"Okay." Ian chuckled dryly and scratched the back of his neck. "I know what my ex said yesterday. He called me a whore, said I couldn't keep my dick in my pants." On Mickey's confused look, he continued, "but nothing's gonna happen here. Nothing can happen here."
Mickey stared, dumbfounded. "What the fuck're you talking about?"
"I know about you, Mickey. People talk, okay? You're gay, whatever," Ian said, waving a dismissive hand. "But just because you stepped in yesterday and helped me out, that doesn't mean I'm going to… do whatever you're expecting me to do here. I'm your boss, you're my employee. That's it."
Mickey could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, the anger settling in when he realized what Ian was implying. "I don't want anything from you, especially that. Trust me," he exclaimed, using every ounce of willpower in himself to not pummel his boss. "You're a fuckin'—" He clamped his mouth shut, knowing if he said what he really wanted to say, he'd most likely lose his job. "Fuck, forget it."
"No, go ahead," Ian goaded. "Say it."
"I'm not fuckin' saying it."
"Say it," Ian pressed, standing up and walking around his desk. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk, waiting. He then laughed dryly. "I know you hate me, Mickey. You don't exactly hide it well. Just lay it all out there. Tell me what you think of me, once and for all."
"Fine," Mickey relented, never one to back down from a challenge. "You're a pretentious asshole who thinks he's God's gift to men when really no one likes you. You're not nearly as hot as you think you are. Truth is, I wouldn't fuck you if someone paid me to. So, no, I wasn't asking you to fuck me." His words hung in the air before reality set in. He closed his eyes, knowing he had just royally fucked up. Not only was he about to lose his good-paying job, but he'd just lost any chance that Ian might have gone along with his stupid scheme.
Ian stared back at him blankly.
"Fuck," Mickey huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He reached down to grab his bag and stood up. He turned and headed for the door, cursing under his breath the entire time. Not only did he not have a stable relationship, but now he was jobless. So much for doing right by his kid.
"Where're you going?"
Mickey froze with his hand on the door. He looked over his shoulder to find Ian watching him. "I'm fired, ain't I?"
"Never said that."
Mickey slowly turned around, eyebrows raised. "What?"
Ian shrugged. "I never said that."
"But… I just said… I called you a pretentious asshole."
"I heard what you said," Ian said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Glad you're finally being honest. Maybe things won't be so fuckin' weird around here anymore. You're not fired. In fact, I should apologize for even suggesting that you'd want to… you know."
"Wait, back the fuck up," Mickey said, confused. "I'm not fired?"
Ian sighed and walked around to sit at his desk. "No. If anything, I respect you more for being honest with me."
Mickey frowned and watched as he went back to typing as if nothing was unusual about any of it. "You are the most impossible fucking person I know, you know that?"
Ian looked up and smiled, just barely. "I've been told that before."
Mickey hesitantly walked further into the room and sat down.
"You wanna go grab a quick drink after work?" Ian asked as he continued typing. "Strictly professional. I'll buy. It's the least I can do for jumping to conclusions."
Mickey swallowed hard, not knowing how to wrap his head around any of it. Ian Gallagher was certainly an enigma, that was for fucking sure.
He thought about it for only a few seconds before saying, "Yeah, I can go for a drink."
Mickey had agreed to meet him at a small bar at the end of the block after work. Ian had stayed back at the office to finish up some things, and he'd promised not to keep him waiting too long.
He found a small table in the back corner and sat down, figuring he'd take some time to come up with a way to ask his fucking boss to pretend to be his boyfriend for two hours on a Thursday. The whole day had been surreal, so why the fuck not top it off by asking his boss to be his fake boyfriend.
"Fuck," he groaned before downing the shot he had in front of him. He motioned for the waitress to bring him another, figuring he needed the liquid courage. After downing a third shot, he finally spotted Ian at the front of the bar glancing around and looking only slightly out of place.
Ian had discarded his suit jacket, and he had rolled his sleeves up a little and loosened his tie. He no longer looked so uptight and pretentious, but Mickey knew better.
Mickey waved him over and forced a small, amicable smile as he slid into the booth across from him.
The waitress came over to take Ian's drink order, which, surprisingly to Mickey, was scotch on the rocks and not some fruity drink with an umbrella.
"Sorry, I'm late," Ian said as he glanced around the semi-crowded bar. "Had to finish some things up."
"It's whatever," Mickey huffed against the rim of his beer. He watched as Ian scanned his surroundings and once again thought to himself how pretty he was if only he never opened his mouth.
Ian glanced at him, and they locked eyes.
Mickey looked away a split second later, not wanting him to get any ideas.
"So, are we good?" Ian began. "I don't want things to be weird at the office."
"Yeah, man, we're all good," Mickey said with a curt nod, thinking to himself that things were always fucking weird at the office. "I'm just glad I'm not fired for… saying what I did."
Ian laughed lightly as the waitress placed his drink in front of him. "You're not the first person to tell me I'm a pretentious asshole. I'd rather you tell me that than be fake to my face."
Mickey watched as he sipped his drink. "It doesn't bother you, what people think of you?"
"Does it bother you what people think of you?" Ian countered.
"What do people think about me?"
"That you're a thug from the South Side who only got the job because his sister fucked someone in HR," Ian answered against the rim of his glass.
"Can't get mad at that," Mickey deadpanned. "It's the truth."
Ian laughed, and Mickey thought maybe his laugh didn't sound too bad. "Well, no one knows me. Not really. Can't get mad at what people don't know."
"You walk around the office like you have a major stick up your ass, and not in a good way."
Ian smirked at that. "I just don't want people knowing me, that's all. So I let them think what they want. I don't owe anyone there anything. It's better to just keep to myself. It's easier that way."
Mickey sipped his beer, eyeing Ian over the rim of his mug. He guessed he could respect that.
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, the other patrons of the bar laughing and milling around them in stark contrast.
Ian was the first to break the tense silence. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, why the fuck not," Mickey said, already feeling a little woozy and lightheaded from the three shots he'd downed in quick succession before Ian's arrival.
"If you weren't gonna ask me for sex," Ian began, his tone measured, "what were you goin' to ask me?"
Mickey took a few gulps of his beer, knowing it was now or never. They were in a public place, they each had alcohol in their systems, Ian was being somewhat normal for once. It was probably his best and only opportunity.
"I need a favor," he blurted, deciding to just go for it. The worst Ian could say was no. "You can say no if you want, obviously, but, uh, I need a… fuck."
"A fuck?"
"No, shit, not a fuck." Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face before trying again. "Alright, so I'm just gonna lay it all out for you. My bitch of an ex-wife won't let me see my kid as much as I want to until I get my shit together. I stopped fuckin' around so much, got a good job and a nice place, but she wants me to be in a stable, committed relationship for my son's sake. Doesn't want a buncha dudes parading in and out of his life. I can't really blame her, but I'm not exactly in a hurry to settle down with anyone anytime soon."
"Okay," Ian drawled, clearly confused. "What's this have to do with me?"
"I told her I have a serious boyfriend without fuckin' thinking and now she wants to meet the guy. If she doesn't meet him on Thursday, I can't get my son for the weekend." Mickey gauged Ian's reaction as he registered the information. His eyebrows flew to his hairline as he continued, aggravated. "If she thinks I'm in a stable, committed relationship, I'll get to see my kid more, she'll trust me with him more. I don't know, it's fucking stupid."
"And you, what?" Ian asked, stirring his drink as he eyed him warily. "You want me to pretend to be that guy?"
"It would only be for a couple of hours for dinner," Mickey blurted, secretly relieved that Ian seemed to get where he was going with it all without too much explaining. "I'll work overtime, I'll work weekends. I'll do whatever the fuck you want me to do." When Ian didn't say anything, he snapped, "You'll get a free fucking dinner out of it. I can't promise it'll be good, but it'll be free."
"Why me, though?" Ian asked, rubbing a hand over his hair. "I mean, don't you have a friend that can do it for you? Someone who actually knows you?"
Mickey swallowed thickly and waited for a beat before saying, "Not any pale, freckled, redheaded ones."
"Me?" Ian asked incredulously. "You specifically described me?"
"I didn't fucking mean to! I told her I was seeing my boss, then I remembered I told the bitch before what you look like, and there's not really a whole lot of pale, alien-looking, redheaded gay men walking around fucking Chicago," Mickey groused.
"Alien-looking?" Ian asked with a frown. "Am I alien-looking?"
"Look, can you fuckin' do it or not?" Mickey snapped. He then lowered his voice and regained his cool before saying, "I do enough shit for you, do this one thing for me."
Ian smiled gently. "You get paid to do that shit for me, though?"
Mickey smirked. "Come on, man. I'm not asking for much. It's not like we have to bang. I don't know, we'll hold hands and shit, act like we actually fuckin' like each other, but that's about it. Just enough to get my kid's mother off my back for a while."
"Well," Ian said, pausing to take another look around. He glanced back at an apprehensive Mickey, played with his straw a little more, and finally settled on, "I guess it's the least I can do for putting you through all that bullshit the past couple days."
"Yeah," Mickey asked hopefully, his brows arched. "You'll do it?"
"I'll do it," Ian concluded. "It's only for a couple of hours, right?"
Mickey nodded as he sipped his beer. "Couple hours, that's all."
"Then I'm in," Ian said emphatically. "Maybe I can prove to you I'm not as big of a pretentious douche as you think I am."
Mickey scoffed into his mug, thinking that was highly unlikely. No matter how many beers or stupid little laughs or quick glances he and Ian suddenly shared, he would never see him as anything other than his pain in the ass boss who was simply doing him a small favor.
The next morning at work, Mickey walked into Ian's office to find his boss in the middle of a phone call. As per their usual routine, he placed Ian's coffee down on his desk and sat down in his usual chair to wait.
As he waited, he looked around the spacious, well-kept office. Nothing was out of place. Even Ian's desk was immaculate and perfectly organized. He had always thought it was a little weird that, for as much time as he spent at work, the place didn't really seem very personalized. He didn't even have the usual knickknacks or family pictures on his desk. It was like the guy had absolutely no life outside of work. It was fucking weird.
Mickey was broken from his reverie by Ian's voice.
"Sorry," Ian grumbled, fixing his tie and leaning back in his chair. He grabbed his coffee and took a tentative sip. "Coffee's hot today. I'm surprised."
Mickey stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Just when he'd thought they were finally getting somewhere…
Ian took another sip of his coffee and set it down before finally looking at him. "You get home okay last night?" he asked. "When I left you were already pretty buzzed."
Mickey decided not to tell his boss that he'd made a trip to Boystown after their get-together to get a sloppy blowjob from a stranger in a dark alley. "Yeah, uh, I left a little bit after you did. Went home and passed right the fuck out."
Ian nodded and turned towards his computer.
Mickey watched him for a few moments before bringing up the one thing he didn't want to bring up. "So, thanks for helping me out on Thursday. I appreciate it."
"Yeah, no problem," Ian answered distractedly as he typed away.
"You still wanna go through with it?" Mickey asked trepidatiously. "If you wanna back out, now's your chance."
Ian shrugged. "Yeah, it's fine. I already have it marked in my planner."
Mickey watched as he kept typing. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his palms on his jeans before continuing, "So, I was thinking maybe we should, uh, maybe have lunch together and go over some things."
"Some things?" Ian asked, arching a brow but still not looking away from the computer.
"Yeah, man," Mickey said, slightly irritated that Ian wasn't looking at him, and even more irritated that he had to have the conversation, to begin with. He really couldn't fucking wait for Thursday to be over. "I know it's only gonna be for a couple of hours, but if we're supposed to be in a serious relationship, you should probably know some shit about me."
"Like what?" Ian asked, still typing.
"Maybe something other than my fuckin' name would be a start," Mickey snapped, finally letting his irritation get the best of him.
Ian finally stopped typing and turned his chair to face Mickey.
"If we're gonna do this, we need to do it right," Mickey snapped once he had Ian's undivided attention. "If you're not gonna get serious about it, I'll try to find someone else."
"Alright," Ian said, throwing up his hands. "I'm all ears."
Mickey's jaw flexed and, once again, he was trying to control his temper. "So, we'll meet up for lunch, then?"
"Sorry, I can't do lunch today," Ian said. "I already have a lunch meeting scheduled with Eldhurst."
"Fuck," Mickey said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I knew that."
Ian turned back towards his computer and started typing again.
Mickey stewed in his annoyance and was about to open his mouth to rant when Ian interrupted him.
"You can come to my place later if you want," Ian said distractedly. "It's only five minutes from here."
Mickey's brow arched at his bold suggestion.
"I was gonna cook myself some salmon and risotto later. I have enough for two." When Mickey remained silent, Ian finally looked at him and sighed. "Don't worry, I'm not trying anything here. It's simply two guys getting together to discuss business. That's what this is, right? Strictly business?" On Mickey's curt nod, he continued, "We want your ex-wife to believe we're in love, so we have to do it right. Going over a few fun facts won't cut it."
Mickey nodded, knowing he was right. Knowing Svetlana and Nika, he had a feeling he and Ian were going to get seriously grilled.
"We can always go somewhere public if you want," Ian mumbled, typing again. "My place was just a suggestion."
"Your place is fine," Mickey snapped. "I just wanna get this shit over and done with."
Ian lived in a luxury, high-rise apartment building in the best part of the North Side, and Mickey felt seriously out of place as the doorman let him in and he made his way up to the 17th floor. He found the correct apartment number and hesitantly knocked on the door.
They had agreed to meet for dinner at seven, and that had given Mickey just enough time to catch the L home and take a quick shower before catching the L to Ian's place. His stomach was growling by then, and he was suddenly not regretting taking Ian up on his dinner offer. He just hoped the dude could cook.
A moment later, Ian answered the door, looking a little flushed and frazzled, which was the exact opposite of how he was at work. "Hey, right on time," he said, stepping aside to allow him to enter. "Come in."
"Thanks," Mickey grumbled as he stepped inside. He half-expected Ian to ask him to remove his shoes, but he didn't. He shut the door and watched as Ian turned and headed further into the apartment. Seeing his boss in regular, non-work clothes was fucking weird, but he didn't look bad, truth be told. He could tell, though, that Ian's grey t-shirt and well-fitted jeans probably cost more than one of Mickey's paychecks.
"Dinner's almost ready," Ian said as Mickey followed him to the kitchen island that separated the large, fully equipped kitchen from the massive living room. He opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing Mickey one. "Have a seat."
"Thanks," Mickey said again, feeling awkward, thinking the whole situation was all a little too surreal. He never in a million years thought he'd ever be standing in the middle of his boss's fancy apartment, sharing beers and discussing personal facts so they could trick people into thinking they were fucking boyfriends.
Once again, he reminded himself that he was doing it all for his kid, and it would be worth it in the end. He sat down on a stool at the island and watched as Ian resumed his cooking. He would be lying if he said the food didn't smell incredible. His stomach rumbled.
"Just a few more minutes," Ian said as he tasted the sauce he was preparing.
Mickey couldn't help but notice the way Ian's t-shirt stretched over the muscles in his back, and he forced himself to look away, reminding himself once again that it didn't matter how good the guy looked because he was the worst.
As Ian was stirring the risotto with his back still turned, Mickey took the time to take a quick look around his impressive place. Everything was decorated in beige, grey, and maroon. Everything was neat and in place. Once again, he noticed that there were no pictures of friends or family, nothing that looked personal. Just really expensive, monochrome-colored… stuff. Who the fuck was this guy?
A few minutes later, dinner was ready, and Ian slid onto the stool next to Mickey after placing their plates in front of them. "You hungry?"
"Fuckin' famished, man," Mickey said. "Haven't eaten since lunch." The food looked as good as it smelled, and he didn't hesitate to grab his fork to dig in. He shot Ian a sideways glance first. "You didn't poison me, did you? To get out of doing this?"
Ian laughed a little through his mouthful of risotto. "Just eat your free fuckin' dinner."
Mickey smirked and dug in, pleasantly surprised that Ian was actually a pretty decent cook.
"How is it?"
"Good," Mickey said simply before they fell into an awkward silence. He briefly thought about asking him where he'd learn to cook like that, but he refrained. He didn't want to seem too interested, because he wasn't.
After they finished scarfing down their meal, Ian cleared both plates, and they moved to the living room, new beers in hand.
Mickey thought Ian's couch was a little too hard and uncomfortable, and he secretly missed his threadbare, piece-of-shit couch at home.
"So," Ian started, obviously deciding to cut right to the chase. "What do you think I should know about? What's your ex-wife gonna ask?"
"Um, well, first of all, my ex-wife's name is Svetlana," Mickey began, "and her bitch fiancee's name is Nika. Probably should know that."
"Wait," Ian cut in. "I'm confused. So, you and Svetlana were married, then you got divorced, and now she's getting married to a woman?"
Mickey sipped his beer to stall and nodded. He had been dreading that particular part of the conversation.
"So, what?" Ian continued. "You're both bisexual?"
Mickey nearly choked on his beer. "Fuck, no! She is, I ain't. I'm all about cock."
Ian frowned. "But you were married to her… and you have a kid together."
Mickey sat forward to place his beer on the coffee table, then sat back. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, deciding to put it all out there. Ian was going to find out, anyway.
"It's a long story, so you're gettin' the really fuckin' short version of it," Mickey began. "My dad found out I was fuckin' some guy when I was seventeen. He hired a prostitute, paid her to 'fuck the gay out of me,' she got knocked up, I married her to keep my dad off my back, and here we are, seven years later, divorced and with a kid. My dad got shanked in prison a few years ago. Next question."
"Shit, Mickey," Ian began. "I didn't know. I wasn't—"
"Look, I don't want your fuckin' pity, alright?" Mickey snapped. "I dealt with it, it's done. Nothing anyone can do about it now."
Ian clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.
Mickey looked over at him, feeling a little bad for his outburst, but not bad enough to apologize. He'd be damned if he'd let Ian fucking Gallagher pity him. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Ian asked, picking at the label on his beer bottle.
"Shouldn't I know some shit about you?" Mickey retorted. "It's a two-way street, isn't it?"
Ian shrugged noncommittally and took a sip of his beer. "There's not much to know, really. I grew up as an only child on the North Side. Parents are still together and happy. Pretty cookie-cutter life… boring, you know."
Mickey didn't know why, but he had a feeling Ian wasn't telling him the whole truth. He thought about asking him why he didn't have any pictures of his family around since they were supposedly so close-knit, but he decided against it.
"So, what's your kid's name?" Ian asked, obviously desperate to change the subject.
"Yevgeny," Mickey answered, smiling gently at the thought of his kid. "He's goin' on seven." He looked down at his hands as he picked his thumb. "At first I didn't step up, didn't want fuck all to do with him, but now I fuckin' love the kid. I just… I don't know. I'm tryin' everything I can to be in his life, you know? Have a lot of making up to do."
"Yevgeny," Ian repeated, smiling. "It's a cool name."
"Fuckin' right it is," Mickey said, and he smiled a little. He looked away from Ian's intense eyes and sat forward to grab his beer.
"Any other family I should know about?"
"I have a few brothers, but they all fucked off years ago. They don't really come around anymore," Mickey said against the mouth of his bottle. "I have a younger sister named Mandy. She lives up in Elmhurst with her boyfriend, helps run a small clothing store, visits whenever she can."
"You're close to her?"
Mickey shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with the whole conversation. He never really liked opening himself up to people—least of all his boss—but, in the situation he was in, he had no choice. He soldiered on, reminding himself once again that by Thursday night it would all be over. "Yeah, we're pretty close, I guess."
"Anything else you think I should know about you?" Ian inquired. "Any past relationships?"
Mickey shrugged. "I don't do relationships," he said, wanting to steer clear away from that particular topic the most. "I fuck around a lot. Had one guy a couple years back. Aleks. He's Nika's cousin. Svetlana thought it was a good idea to set us up. Things were going good for a while, the fuckin' was decent. Then shit was starting to get serious… a little too serious for me, so I cut that shit off."
Ian sat forward and placed his own beer on the table. "I know how that is. I don't do the whole relationship stuff either. It's better to just keep shit casual, simple."
Mickey looked over at him, once again thinking how weird all of it was. He and Ian were actually being civil, actually finding out they had things in common. "Yeah, I guess you do know how it is, huh," he said, thinking about Ian's ex-boyfriend, who had obviously wanted more from him but didn't receive it.
After a short pause, he continued. "That's about it. Not much to know about me. I grew up on the South Side, had a shitty childhood with shitty parents and shitty siblings, except for Mandy. Was in and out of juvie throughout my teen years, finally got my shit together, and now…"
"Now you just wanna be with your kid," Ian finished for him, his tone soft.
Mickey nodded and looked away from Ian's eyes. He sat forward, grabbing his smokes from the coffee table. "Yeah, man. Now I just wanna be with my kid. That's all that fuckin' matters to me."
He brought the cigarette to his lips to light it, trying not to stew too much in the tension that seemed to permeate the air. He didn't see the way Ian glanced over at him, or the way his eyes slowly took in the sight of his profile before looking away.
Thursday night came much too soon for Mickey's liking.
That afternoon at work, after getting the actual work part of their day over with, Mickey and Ian had gone over a few key things, both wanting to make sure they would be able to answer most of whatever Svetlana and Nika threw at them.
Mickey hoped they wouldn't be complete bitches and just stick to trivial, general knowledge. Then again, he knew enough about relationships to know that it was perfectly acceptable to not know every single fucking thing about a person, especially after only three months, so he figured they'd be cool.
They had agreed to meet at Ian's place, then they would head over to Svetlana's in Mickey's beat-up Jeep. Showing up together in the same car had seemed like a perfectly good and reasonable first step.
"You okay?" Ian asked once they were parked in front of Svetlana and Nika's two-story South Side home.
The neighborhood wasn't nearly as shitty as the one Mickey had grown up in. In fact, since the whole gentrification bullshit a few years back, the neighborhood was actually pretty decent. It made his heart swell a little at the thought that Yevgeny was already a hell of a lot better off than he had ever been as a child. Yev had three parents who fully and unequivocally loved him, and a nice, clean house in the middle of a safe, decent neighborhood.
"Yeah," Mickey said, rubbing his lower lip. "I'm good." He glanced over at Ian, surprised for the second time that night that he seemed to have gone all out for the event. His hair was combed back and looking nice, and he wore good, fitted jeans and a dark green button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up a little. Ian smelled incredible too, but he didn't want to think too much about that. "What about you? How you feelin'?" he asked, deciding to keep things civil.
"I feel good," Ian said, smiling. "I think we have this is the bag."
"Oh, do you now?" Mickey asked, eyebrows high. "Glad one of us is so fuckin' sure about this shit."
Ian smirked as he unfastened his seat belt. "Just follow my lead. I got you."
Mickey normally didn't like to follow anyone's lead, but he decided to allow Ian to take the reins since he sure as fuck didn't know what he was doing.
They exited the jeep and made their way up to the porch.
Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face, hesitating for a beat before knocking. His weird mood seemed to fade away once he heard the sounds of Yevgeny's feet padding towards the door. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing a grinning Yevgeny.
"Dad!" Yevgeny exclaimed, immediately wrapping his arms around his dad's waist.
Mickey wrapped one arm around Yevgeny and bent down to kiss the top of his head. "You need a haircut, kid." He then straightened up, knowing their scheme was about to be pushed headfirst into motion once Yevgeny pulled away and noticed his dad's companion.
"Who's this?" Yevgeny asked, taking the time to size Ian up questionably.
"This is, uh—" Mickey began, hating having to lie to his kid, so he kept his answer tame. "This is my friend Ian."
"Hi, Yevgeny," Ian said with a kind smile. "It's nice to meet you."
"Hi, Ian. Nice to meet you too," Yevgeny said politely, before turning around in the next instant to head down the small hallway towards the kitchen.
Ian smiled softly at Mickey. "Adorable kid. He looks just like you."
Mickey nodded and chewed on his lower lip a little, slightly uncomfortable with the unexpected compliment.
"Come in!" Yevgeny called out. "Mama's making vatrushka!"
As they followed Yevgeny into the house, Ian leaned into Mickey and asked, "Vat-what-ka?"
Mickey fought the smile pulling at his lips. "Fuck if I know, man. Just eat it."
"Not the first time I've heard those words," Ian murmured, which earned him an elbow to the ribs. "Ah, fuck!"
Mickey and Ian entered the kitchen to find Svetlana hard at work at the stove, and Nika sitting at the island, a wineglass in front of her.
"Hey," Mickey said, avoiding Nika's hateful stare at all costs. He already knew the bitch had a smug look on her face, and she was probably only drinking to gear up for the reaming she was planning on giving them.
"You are late," Svet chastised, her accent thick.
"By five fuckin' minutes, Jesus," Mickey huffed.
"Swear jar," Yevgeny declared, pointing to a jar on the windowsill above the kitchen sink that was half-filled with dollar bills. It had been Nika's idea, thinking that Svetlana and Mickey swore way too much around Yevgeny. She was probably right, but Mickey still hated it.
Mickey stewed in irritation as he pulled out his wallet and fished out a dollar bill. Fucking bitch did whatever she could to make his life hell, including trying to dictate what he said around his own damn kid.
Svetlana turned away from the stove and narrowed her eyes at Ian, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his eyes following Mickey. "You must be idiot boss who finally warmed Mikhailo's cold, dead, shriveled heart. Must have an impressive skin stick."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Mickey groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can you not be embarrassing for once, please?"
"Uh," Ian started, looking completely caught off guard by Svetlana's bluntness.
"Ian," Mickey said as he begrudgingly heeded Yevgeny's second swear jar warning. He pushed another dollar into the jar. "His name is Ian."
"Yep, that's me. Nice to meet you," Ian said, holding out his hand for Svetlana to shake, which she blatantly ignored. He muttered 'okay' under his breath and comically pulled his hand back when Svetlana turned her back to him.
Nika snorted a little into her wine glass, obviously not impressed.
Since they were under Nika's watchful eye, Mickey walked over and sidled up next to Ian.
Once Svetlana and Nika began fussing over something about dinner, Ian leaned in and whispered, "Mikhailo, huh?"
Mickey rolled his eyes. "My full name. Probably shoulda told you that."
"I like it," Ian murmured, his warm breath cascading over Mickey's neck and sending warm, unwanted chills down his spine.
"Whatever," Mickey grumbled before walking towards the fridge to grab himself and Ian a beer, suddenly needing to put some distance between them.
Dinner was ready shortly after that, and the motley crew made their way into the dining room to eat. The grownups ate in silence for a few minutes as Yevgeny regaled them with tales from his day at daycare.
Just as everyone cleared their plates, Mickey felt himself beginning to relax. The night hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it would be. So far, nothing invasive had been asked. The conversation had remained casual, and Svetlana and Nika's questioning looks hadn't been too disconcerting.
When Ian had lightly squeezed Mickey's knee under the table in reassurance at one point in the conversation, he had almost choked on his peas, but other than that, things were going smoothly.
That was until Yevgeny excused himself and disappeared into the family room to play his one hour of video games he was allowed a day. The floodgates opened then, once the adults were alone, and the questions Mickey had been dreading started.
"So, tell me," Svetlana began, crossing her arms along the table and leaning forward, her cleavage on full display. "We already know where you two met, but how exactly did it happen?"
"Yes, how did it happen?" Nika asked snidely against the rim of her glass.
Fuck, Mickey was scrambling. In the two times he and Ian had gone over fun facts and tidbits about each other, neither one of them had stopped to think about coming up with a story on exactly how the fuck they had started their 'relationship'.
"Uh, we, uh…" he stammered. He closed his eyes and sighed when Ian squeezed his knee again. Then Ian spoke.
"Truth is, I'd always had sort of a crush on him," Ian began, his hand still on Mickey's knee, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth. "I was immediately attracted to him, but I never acted on it because he was my employee. So, I bottled it up and never made a move. I acted like a dick to him, but it was because I liked him and wanted to protect myself, I guess you could say."
Mickey slowly turned his head to watch Ian as he spoke, wondering to himself why Ian seemed so sure of his words. Had the fucker rehearsed the speech without him?
Ian continued after taking a sip of his drink, "One night, about three months ago, we were both staying late at the office, working on this huge fucking project we had. It was about two in the morning before we wrapped things up. We were both exhausted and drained. I only live a few minutes from work, so I offered for Mickey to stay the night at my place, since he had to be back at work early the next morning, anyway."
Mickey reached for his drink and took a huge gulp, deciding to let Ian run with it.
"I was in the kitchen, setting up the coffeepot for the morning, when the next thing I know, I turn around and Mickey is behind me… just staring at me with this look in his eye, you know? Like he wanted to fucking devour me."
Mickey spat out his mouthful of beer, causing Svetlana to shriek, Nika to curse, and Ian to laugh. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and shot Ian a pointed look. "Funny, that's not how I remember it. You clearly came on to me, asshole."
"No." Ian scrunched his face in thought before shaking his head. "No, it was definitely all you."
Mickey smirked and looked over in time to find Nika watching them. He shuffled a little uncomfortably and hid behind his beer mug once again.
"So," Nika began. "You two are serious?"
"Yep," Ian said, removing his hand from Mickey's knee and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. He pulled Mickey to him and pressed a kiss against the side of his head. "I'm not lettin' this one go," he murmured into his hair, but loud enough for their audience to hear.
Mickey stiffened a little against him, thinking Ian was nosing at his hair a little too long.
"Huh," Nika said before sipping her wine, her eyes still trained on them.
Mickey didn't like her tone, but he didn't think too much of it when Ian finally pulled away from him. He shot him a perturbed look, and Ian smiled back softly.
A little while later, Ian and Mickey joined Yev in the family room while Svetlana and Nika cleaned up. To Mickey's surprise, Yevgeny was completely okay with sharing his video game with Ian. He stood in the doorway of the living room, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, as he watched Yev and Ian play. Before he could get too lost in unwanted thoughts, he decided it was time to call it a night. They had survived relatively unscathed, and he figured he might as well cut shit off before Yevgeny became too involved in the whole thing.
Mickey headed to the kitchen to say his goodbyes, eager to get the night over with, but he halted outside the doorway when he heard Svetlana and Nika whispering. He frowned and stepped in a little closer to hear their hushed conversation better.
"I don't know," Svetlana murmured. "I think it is real. The way they look at each other…"
"Oh, please," Nika shot back, her accent thick. "There is no way it is real. They barely even touched each other. I do not believe them. Probably one of Mickey's whores he bribed into helping him. You know how manipulative he can be."
Mickey cursed under his breath and stewed in his irritation. That bitch.
"What do you want me to do here, Nika?" Svetlana retorted, sounding irritated. "We constantly are having him jump through hoop after hoop after hoop. When is enough enough?"
It was silent for a beat before Nika said, "Let's invite them to the cabin this weekend. Put them to the test, the real test."
"I don't know, Nik," Svetlana said. "All this just for him to see Yevy. We are hurting Yevgeny here too, you know. He loves Mikhailo. You see how happy he is with his father."
"If he is lying, do you really want your son… our son… around a liar?" Nika asked, her voice growing softer around the edges, clearly trying to coax Svetlana onto her side. "We have to make sure Yevy is safe when he is with his father. Mickey constantly has men in and out of his life. It is no good for Yevgeny. We are only doing what is best for him. You know that."
"I don't know," Svetlana said apprehensively, and Mickey appreciated his ex-wife at that moment.
"What can it hurt?" Nika added. "If it is real, it will prove me wrong. Plus, Yevgeny would love to have all of us together for whole weekend. One big happy family, yes?"
"Don't fuckin' do it, Svet," Mickey grumbled under his breath.
"Fine," Svetlana finally relented. "I will tell them to come to cabin if it makes you happy."
Mickey listened to the wet, sloppy sounds of the two women kissing, a scowl on his face.
What right did that bitch have to want to keep his own son away from him? He then thought rationally. It would all be okay. Ian had his own life, and Mickey seriously doubted that he would take them up on their offer to spend the entire weekend at Nika's family's cabin. Still, the fact that Nika suggested such a thing pissed him right the fuck off.
Mickey headed for the family room and found Ian sitting on the couch, looking down at something Yev was showing him on his iPad. Ian was laughing, and Yevgeny was smiling up at him, looking proud of himself. The sight caught him a little off guard.
Ian looked up, his eyes questioning. His smile then faltered when he noticed the look on Mickey's face. "Everything okay?"
Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but Svetlana and Nika entered the room, holding hands and smiling. Fuck.
"How was dinner? You like, yes?" Svetlana asked Ian as he stood up.
Ian walked to stand next to Mickey, and he slyly wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him firmly against his side.
Mickey forced back a scowl. He couldn't fucking wait to get the hell out of there.
"Dinner was good, thank you," Ian said politely.
"So, Ian," Nika spoke, her smile a little too sugary, her tone a little too sweet. "We are going to my parent's cabin for weekend… four whole days of fun, sun, and relaxation, as they say. Svetlana and I were talking, and we would really love it if you will join us. You and… Mikhailo, of course."
Mickey shot eye daggers at Nika, but she paid him no mind.
"Yes!" Yev exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. "Dad, can you? Please!"
"We'll see, bud," Mickey lied, having no intention whatsoever of spending four days stuck in a cabin with Ian, Svetlana, and Nika. There was no fucking way.
"Ian?" Nika pressed. "Say you will come."
Mickey shot Nika eye daggers again, harder that time.
The next words out of Ian's mouth caused his stomach to drop.
"Sure, that sounds great, actually," Ian said, squeezing Mickey a little around the waist. "I didn't really have anything else planned."
Mickey slowly looked up at him, trying to keep his face in check. He didn't want Svetlana and Nika to catch on to his anger and complete bewilderment. "What?" he asked through his teeth.
Ian smiled a little and shrugged. "It sounds fun. What's wrong with fun?"
Mickey did everything he could to keep his tone light as he spoke his next words. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" he asked, hating his boss more in that exact moment than he'd ever had before. "I thought we were gonna stay home, light a few fireworks off, and grill out on the fire escape?" He then lowered his voice and said in a flat tone, "You know, like we fuckin' talked about?"
"Oh, I don't know," Ian said sweetly. "Sounds kinda lame to me. I think a weekend at a cabin sounds better."
"A cabin by a lake," Nika added for good measure, smirk in place.
Ian's eyes widened dramatically, and Mickey wanted to slap him. "Oh, a lake! I'm definitely in, then."
Mickey stared at him glaringly, wanting to rip his pretty head off.
Ian's smile faltered, and he removed his arm from around Mickey. "Um, we should really get going… have to get up early."
After they said their goodbyes and Mickey kissed Yevgeny goodnight, the pair left Svetlana's place and silently made their way down the front steps. Once they were a few yards away from the house, Mickey turned to Ian and pushed him, hard.
"The fuck is wrong with you!"
Ian regained his balance and shot him a bewildered look. "What?"
"Do you hate me or something?" Mickey bellowed. "Is your sole fuckin' purpose in life to make my life a living hell?"
"No, what? I… I…" Ian stammered.
Mickey pushed him again. "Two hours wasn't torture enough for you? Now we have to spend four days with those bitches? Four fuckin' days pretending to be in love!" He pushed him again. "The fuck is the matter with you?"
Ian opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. When Mickey pushed him again, he finally spurred into action and pushed him back. "Calm the fuck down, Mickey! Jesus! Can we talk about this like adults before you flip out?"
Mickey pushed him against a wall that time, his arm across Ian's chest, and got in his face. "You're lucky I don't kick your fuckin' ass right now."
"Do it, tough guy," Ian shot back, getting right back in his face. They were only a couple of inches apart, both of their breathing ragged as they stared each other down. "I'll march right back in there and tell them the truth."
"This is my life you're screwing with, asshole," Mickey spat. He finally stepped back after a tense pause.
Ian relaxed once Mickey's back was turned. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he regained his composure. "Look, Mickey," he began, his tone uneven. "It's not that big of a deal, okay? We'll get through this."
"Fuck you," Mickey barked before spitting on the ground and shooting him a dark, hateful look.
"All we'll have to do is just pretend for a few more days," Ian continued. "You want them to believe you, don't you? You want it to seem real, right? So you can see Yevgeny more?"
Mickey said nothing as he paced.
"You'll get to spend the whole weekend with Yev, guaranteed."
"Don't you have your own fuckin' family to spend time with instead of encroachin' on mine?" Mickey spat. He looked over at Ian in time to see a weird look cross his face. He was caught off guard for a second, but then he quickly got over it.
"They don't live around here anymore," Ian answered sullenly after a pause. "Look, if you're really so against this, you can just tell 'em I couldn't make it, that I have to work or something."
Mickey seriously considered doing just that. It would be the easier thing to do, to tell Svetlana that Ian couldn't make it, but for some reason, another part of him wanted to go through with it, if only to prove Svetlana's bitch wrong. He'd be damned if he let Nika think she was right, even though she was.
"No, fuck," he finally said. "It's four fuckin' days, right? I just have to put up with your ass for four more days. It'd be like at work, right, except I'll have to pretend to be able to stand your fuckin' ass."
Ian watched him, a glum look on his face.
"Just know I'm getting a week's worth of personal days out of this shit."
"I don't know if I can do that," Ian stuttered. "I'd have to—"
"I don't care," Mickey interrupted. "Find a way to do it."
"Wait, ain't I technically the one doing you the favor here?" Ian asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
"You really wanna argue with me now, asshole?"
Ian held up his hands in surrender. "Nope, we're good."
"Catch a fuckin' Uber home." Mickey spat at the ground once more, shot him another dirty look, then turned to head down the sidewalk.
As he headed for his jeep, stewing in his anger, Mickey didn't see the despondent look on Ian's face as he watched him walk away, nor did he know the real reason why Ian was going along with the whole thing, to begin with.