Saying he had class the next day wasn't a lie. Craig was attempting to push all the thoughts of the weekend fiasco out of his head as he went to walk home. He was far too paranoid to drive his car right now. He hadn't figured out how to escape Mr. Heathcliff's clutches in that sense. That self-indulgent prick still could turn him in at a moment's notice. Craig nervously adjusted his tie, tucking it back into the sweater he was wearing for the cool September afternoon; he felt restricted in it right now, knowing that he was living on borrowed time now.

A slick black limousine pulled up just in front of him. Craig nearly turned around and ran away, not even bothering to find out if it was a coincidence or perhaps the FBI coming to collect him. If he thought straight at that point, he might realize that he wouldn't be picked up in a limo…

"Hey there, gorgeous," a voice called, just as Craig managed to turn around.

His shoulders tensed up nearly immediately. It was him. Craig almost got away, but that ridiculous hand circled his bicep and steered him, very unwillingly, to the limousine. He was shuffled in and he pressed his back to the other side, attempting to open the door. It was locked with no signs of a button. Of course. He didn't know how to pick the lock of a car door, let alone have the tools to do it for an audience. Rick got in after him, seeming much more at home in the dark leather interior than Craig did, his back pressed up against the opposite car door.

A beer was offered to him, Craig refused, warily eyeing the other man. As far as Craig was concerned, he was going to be dead for what he did last night. The air didn't say that Rick was mad, but Craig never prided himself on being good at reading atmosphere. One could never be too careful.

"Thought about my offer?" Rick began, fishing a bottle opener out of one of the door pockets.

The relief on Craig's face couldn't be clearer and Rick chuckled. The other man wasn't watching, but Craig's eyes narrowed into a glare. It had been less than twenty-four hours and he'd been living like a scared animal, looking around every corner for someone to tackle him down and handcuff him. Sure, when he was trying to spite the smug bastard in front of him, prison didn't seem so bad, but now… He was still scrambling for a way to get to South America, if that said enough.

"You want your stuff back, don't you?" he asked, sipping from the bottle he held.

This was ridiculous. Rick finally looked over at him, leaning on his knees holding the bottle of beer between them. The gears in Craig's mind were working, regardless. No, he didn't want to live the life similar to a fugitive. He didn't want to be afraid to step out of his house every day and if he accepted this decidedly unpleasant offer, that could stop. He'd already proven that despite his small stature, he was more than enough of a match for a man who was at least six inches taller and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. If last night was any indication, Richard Heathcliff didn't mind in the least either. Not that Craig intended for that to happen ever again, but… Craig swallowed the bitter taste of fear in his mouth.

"A live-in historian," he clarified, to which Rick gave a little shrug and a nod, "Someone to take care of your little trinkets along with the artifacts I've acquired… That kind of job would typically pay quite handsomely. I'm not convinced."

Rick snorted out a laugh again, "Money doesn't matter much. I'll pay you well, plus expenses to take care of'em."

Craig hummed thoughtfully, "Of course, accomodations…"

"There are about fifteen completely unoccupied rooms in that goddamn house."

"And my interaction with you…"

Rick's grin was wide and nearly predatory, "As needed for a while. After that, well… I doubt you'll be able to stay away."

Craig scoffed, "I highly doubt that, it is a big house."

"You would know. You'd make a great sparring partner, among other things," Rick drawled, glancing over at the blonde after a swig from his bottle.

"Doubtful as well," Craig deadpanned.

"Do we have a deal?"

Craig frowned, "I'm still unsure why in the hell you're doing this."

"What can I say? Developed a little crush," Rick said airily, smile wide.

"You're not helping yourself."

"You'll say yes anyway."

Bastard was right, "Fine."

Rick laughed and tapped the window where the chauffer was. The limo started moving and the grin on Rick's face couldn't be wider. Craig would simply have to beat it out of him later. It wasn't like the man put up that much of a fight.