"Let's see… Bar 4, gray shirt, brown jacket, brown shoes…" you mumbled to yourself, reading the description of your next appointment off of the iPad. Your eyes scanned up and down the front bar, trying your best to match the vague details to any of the people that sat near that section. Sundays were by far the worst day; everyone else had the day off except retail and the store was completely packed. People were even lined up against the walls, waiting for their turn to have their devices looked at. Finally your eyes landed on a brown suede jacket at the very end, encasing the broadest shoulders you had ever seen. Peering down the wooden table, the man who belonged to the jacket wore a gray t-shirt and was seemingly happily clicking away on his perfectly fine computer. "Network and connectivity issues," you sighed to yourself, bracing for the inevitable argument that was about to happen.
"Steve?" you asked as you approached from the opposite side. The man in the jacket snapped his head up from his screen and your breath hitched in your chest. The blue in his eyes was crystal clear, his chiseled jaw cut the sharpest of lines against his neck. The thick vein ran along his muscles and disappeared under the collar, the blond hair combed back and shaped just so, just enough to look cool but still age appropriate. A small smirk formed across his pillowy lips as his eyes raked over you and suddenly you felt a bit self conscious in your issued t-shirt and skinny jeans. Jesus, you hadn't even bothered with makeup today.
"Yep, that's me," and he stuck out his hand. You took it in kind and felt how firm but soft his grip was, and you couldn't help but notice how his fingers lingered on your skin just a second too long.
"So, we got some issues connecting? How can I help you?" You asked, trying to regain control over yourself and the appointment. You couldn't help but lean over the edge of the bar, crossing your arms so that your tits were pushed up and out.
Steve swiped his tongue gently over his lower lip before explaining, "I just bought a house around here and the internet guys were over yesterday. They said they set everything up but nothing will connect, least of all my computer."
"Oh man, that sucks so much. When I moved into my current apartment, I had to have the internet guys out three times until my service would work consistently. Those poor phone technicians, I swear I was calling and raising hell every other day," you laughed as you started gathering some information from his computer.
"Right? They never seem to really know what the issue is, they just want to run cable everywhere and make a huge fucking mess. Excuse my language," he continued, "When I showed them that my computer wouldn't connect, they just insisted that I needed to bring it here and have you guys look at it. So, here I am."
You clicked around his settings a bit, noticing that the computer had connected to the store's wifi with no issues. Opening up the browser, it loaded several websites and his mail at normal speeds. Even his notifications started to come through after being offline for who knows how long.
"Well, from my first look at everything, I'm sorry to say that I think your computer is fine. It's loading everything and running speedtests as it should. I would be happy to run a more thorough test, if you have a new minutes," you offered and Steve nodded. Instinctively, you ran an ethernet cable from the hub at the bar to the computer and forced the computer to restart into a netboot, selecting the diagnostic suite from the multitudes of hard disk images that loaded onto the screen.
"I had a feeling they were bullshitting me, but I'm not very good with any of this, so why not waste an afternoon?"
"Hey now, it's not a total waste. I'm going to check everything out on your computer and make sure there isn't anything else going on with it. Plus, you did get to meet me, and I'm pretty great," you laughed as the diagnostics ran. Just as you suspected, everything started to come back with green checkmarks, a sign that nothing was failing. "Sorry Steve, Comcast sucks. You'll probably have to have the tech come back out again."
Steve nodded, accepting the diagnosis much better than you had anticipated he would take it. With a few keystrokes you forced the computer back down and let it boot back up like normal. You knew he was watching you, all the customers did, but this felt different. It wasn't like he was watching what you were doing on his computer, but more like he was watching how you worked. Disconnecting the ethernet cable, you tied it into a neat knot and threw it back into the hole in the table. You tried so hard to ignore his eyes on your skin as you typed up notes for the appointment, explaining everything you did to come to the conclusion that it wasn't his computer that was having issues. You could feel him watching you, practically hear the gears turning in his brain even over the noise of the toddler having a full blown meltdown at the kids table.
"I don't trust them anymore and I definitely don't want them coming back," he started, closing his laptop in front of him. He shifted in his seat, leaning his body towards yours, making sure that his impossibly blue eyes looked up into your own, "What if you came out to help fix it? You obviously know what you're doing, way more than those guys."
"That's very kind of you, Steve, but I can't. House calls are hugely frowned upon here," you tried, fighting a battle within yourself. You wanted to see him again, of course. He was devastatingly handsome, and it would be nice to be able to show him that you cleaned up decently. But you knew that doing side work was a fireable offence, and you couldn't risk losing your job.
"Of course, I don't want to get you into any kind of trouble," he reasoned as he slipped his computer into his leather satchel and took out his phone, "Then I guess I'm just going to have to take you out for dinner too, so that we can call it a date instead," and he slid the phone over to you with a new contact page open.
His blue eyes caught your own and you couldn't help but chew a little on your bottom lip. There was nothing in the manual about dating a customer, even if you knew it was a completely superficial date. Plus, a little tech support, a little dinner, a lot of eye candy; there were worse ways to spend a day. No one really had to know.
"I'm off tomorrow," you whispered as you typed your number into his phone.
"Who was that guy?" Karen asked as the two of you stepped back through the locked doors down to the break room. Karen was good at her job, but spent more time worrying about her nails and when her next hair appointment was than internet speeds. "I saw him sit down and I honestly wanted to cherry pick him from the queue, but I was stuck doing an activation unlock."
"I don't know, just a guy. Typical wifi issues, can't recreate them in store so I told him that Comcast lied to him," you brushed off, trying to throw off any lingering feelings of guilt… or excitement.
"That wasn't just some guy. The girls in the repair room were taking turns peeking out the door to get a look at him. He was insanely hot, like you know a guy like that will make you feel sore in the morning." And she gave you a knowing look.
"I mean…" and you really didn't want to keep this conversation going, thoughts of Steve stretching your legs in the best of ways starting to float into your mind. "He was polite, funny even. Not a bad appointment."
"I'm sorry to tell you, but I hope you fucked it up so he has to come back. You lucked the fuck out with that one."
It was insanity, really. A moment of weakness. When his eyes caught yours you just felt compelled to take him up on his offer, consequences be damned.
He probably wouldn't call anyway.
That's what you kept telling yourself, at least.
But the way he looked at you, the knowing smirk he gave when he watched you type in your number into his phone, his warm handshake (and the $20 bill he slipped you as a tip), he made it nearly impossible to resist. Every time you tried to put him out of your mind, his eyes, his lips, the way his thin shirt stretched across his chest wouldn't leave you alone. There was something there, something that lived just under the surface, something that told you that this wasn't the last time you were going to see Steve Rogers.
It was no wonder you woke up early on your day off, treated yourself to a long, hot shower, scrubbed and shaved every inch of your skin to make sure it was touchably smooth. You even spent time doing your hair and a touch of makeup, just enough to accentuate your features but not enough to make it look like you were trying too hard.
But 1, 2, 3 pm rolled around and you phone was suspiciously silent. You even checked your watch several times to make sure that it was unlocked and actually receiving notifications. By this time the curls you had managed to put in your hair had all but fallen flat, your perfume worn off and lipstick faded. You sat on your couch, idly flipping between the three channels you got with you antenna. He wanted to talk about a waste of a day? You hadn't done anything else today, and you really needed to go grocery shopping, or snake out your bathtub so you weren't standing in drano water every time you showered, or anything other than being a pathetic loser.
The vibration on your wrist came so suddenly you nearly fell off the couch.
"I hope you're still up for some Itilian" an unknown number flashed across the screen. It had to be Steve. You hoped it was Steve, or else this meeting was going to be incredibly awkward.
"Pasta is exactly what I'm up for," you typed out quickly, running to your room to change into something other than yoga pants.
"Perfect. The car will be there in about ten minutes. Mind sharing your address so he finds the right place?"
You sent him your address and asked him to let you know the details of the Uber driver so you knew who to look for. Ten minutes? Suddenly sitting around all day didn't seem to give you enough time to look exactly how you wanted. You knew you had to wear jeans, being that you were most likely going to have to crawl somewhere to run cable. Still, you picked your tightest, nicest pair of dark wash skinny jeans, the ones that hugged your ass so much you couldn't wear them to work. You paired them with a black silk off the shoulder blouse, with long sleeves and delicate lace along the neckline. It did a nice job of showing you off while still being modest.
Maybe Steve really did just need tech support, and maybe dinner was just his way of being nice, of showing you how much he appreciated your help. But something in your gut told you that wasn't true, that there was something else about it. With a final check of your hair and makeup, you grabbed your bag with everything you thought you would need and headed down to the curb.
But when you got down there, it wasn't an Uber.
"I sent my driver, Thomas. He's in the BMW today. Should be easy to spot."
Easy to spot it was. You prided yourself on the fact that you managed to find reasonable rent in a neighborhood that wasn't Murder Central, but the cars that lined your street weren't exactly on the same level as the matte black BMW M550 that was waiting just beyond the gate.
"Are you here for me?" You called to him as you let yourself out of the complex.
"That depends. Are you the one who is going to fix Mr. Rogers' wifi?" Thomas replied with a thick Chicago accent. You could tell right away that he was a native, probably was born and raised here. He was a timid looking man, middle aged, with a thick head of black hair that looked like he tried to comb it at one point. He wasn't exactly dressed like a professional driver, although he wasn't sloppy either. He wore dark jeans, a white button-up shirt, and a sport jacket with some fine leather loafers. To be fair, you had expected an Uber, so having a private driver in this kind of car was already an upgrade.
"That I am," and you shook his hand before introducing yourself. Thomas held the door for you as you scooted into the luxurious back seat of the car. The interior was fully black, leather of course, and the seats were so deep and plush that you could definitely sleep back there. This car made yours weep in its inefficiency. Thomas closed the door and got into the driver's seat, punching a few things on the center touch screen before he continued down your street.
"Temperature okay, miss? Anything in particular you would like to listen to?" he asked, trying to catch your eye in the rearview mirror.
"I'm more than fine, thanks. And I'm pretty flexible in other people's cars so anything on the radio is fine by me," you responded, trying your best to not be more of a burden than you already were. All of this was so over the top. There wasn't a single moment in your interaction the day before that had tipped you off. There wasn't a thing about him that screamed that he had this kind of money. Sure, Steve was well-dressed, but your store was a Flagship, it wasn't out of place for people to come in wearing suits or designers. Though, most people who were this well off had their assistants bring in their devices, never doing the dirty work themselves. "Thomas, do you know what it is that Steve does?"
Thomas turned the car and headed onto the highway, going north. "He's a businessman, miss. Of what, I really couldn't say. I do know he's self made, started out in Brooklyn and made it to where he is now. He's not particularly flashy but when he does make an investment, he expects a return. And, so far, his investments have been right."
You nodded and gave a weak smile. Businessman? An investment banker you supposed. That seemed so boring though, so… vanilla for the guy who almost made you giggle through your entire appointment, like a little schoolgirl.
"Where is his house?" you casually asked, trying to not sound so obviously curious about him.
"Outside the city. Mr. Rogers wanted someplace that was a bit more secluded," Thomas answered and you sat back in your seat. Your apartment was already pretty far out of the Loop, so going north only meant that he was out in the suburbs. You had expected that he lived in a nicer neighborhood, like Wicker Park or even right on the lake, with a spectacular view. Still, you settled yourself in for the drive.
"How long have you been driving for Steve?" you couldn't help but ask, dying to know exactly what you were getting yourself into.
Thomas perked up at your question, his eyes darting between the expressway and the rearview mirror. "I've known Mr. Rogers for about a year now, but I've only been driving him for a few months. I'm more of an assistant than chauffeur. Sometimes I'll travel with him, make sure things run smoothly so he can focus on his business, things like that."
"Travel? Does he travel a lot?"
"Frequently, he's quite busy."
"His wife must be a very patient lady," you dropped casually and Thomas caught your eye in the mirror.
"Mr. Rogers is very single."
A/N: The start of a series so subscribe to make sure to get the updates as soon as they come out! Please read and review! I love talking with my readers and reviews fuel my brain. Thanks for reading!