Going to California?

Chapter 2 – Explanations and Unconsciousness

The job offer from Adam and the session with Dr. Winterbourne distracted me for the rest of the day. I thought I'd done a good job of covering up until I was going over some of Homelander's numbers with him in the living room of his apartment and the next thing I heard was, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Startled, I looked up at him and realized I'd just been listening to him talk—not even listening, really, just letting the sound of his voice wash over me. When he wasn't shouting or unleashing verbal venom, he had a nice voice. The usual burst of anxiety hit me and I managed to croak out, "I'm sorry. I've been—distracted."

"I can see that. You've been walking around like a zombie all day."

Had he been watching me all day? And I didn't notice? That was an unsettling thought. The urge to deny it almost choked me, but he'd see it for the lie it was. "I've had something on my mind. It's nothing. I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention. Let's get back to your numbers."

But he wasn't going for it. "What's on what passes for your mind?"

Fuck you! Do you think you could get a college degree with the shit education Vought gave you? Their product doesn't need to know algebra or English lit because their product doesn't need any options other than the one path Vought wants. But the words stayed safe in my brain and what came out was, "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. It's a personal matter."

He sat back in his chair and gave me the deadly smile that told me I would get away with nothing. "Since it's affecting your work performance, it clearly is something I need to concern myself with, so tell me about your personal matter."

Goddamn it, keep your nose out of my business! Air began to rasp in and out of my lungs, faster and faster. To distract myself, to keep from fainting, I said, "Fine. I got a job offer yesterday."

Whatever Homelander had been expecting, it wasn't that. He looked stunned. "A job offer?"

"Right." I scrubbed my hand across the tablet's face to wake it up and said, "Okay, so you're holding steady with rural white females 18 to 24—"

"No, we're not done talking about your new career opportunity." I chanced a look at him and he'd passed from stunned to pissed. Those really-fucking-blue eyes of his that impressed Stormfront so much looked like stones and he regarded me with all the warmth and friendliness of a scientist who just watched an unknown species of insect crawl out from under a rock. "You've been looking for another job?"

"No, I haven't. This is just something that—happened, okay? I'm not taking it anyway, so we can just stop talking about it."

"How did you get a job offer if you weren't looking for a job?"

My breathing stayed at its current accelerated level, but I kept myself under control, barely. Be careful, he can and will kill you if you cross him in any way. Remember what he did to Blindspot, and the birthday girl suicide that he didn't save, for whatever reason. "It came from someone I know on a personal basis. He doesn't know about my situation here at Vought. He thinks it's a normal job, and so he thinks I can quit to take the job he's offering." I reached for the pitcher of ice water on the coffee table and poured a glass for myself. It was something to do with my hands and my throat was getting dry.

He tapped the other glass on the tray. "One for me too, Ashley."

Did I hear a please out of you, fucker? But I gritted my teeth and poured him a glass. Don't get angry. Anger makes your IQ drop. It makes you stupid and reckless. But the voice wasn't as loud as it had been and that was a bad sign I didn't heed.

"So who is this friend of yours who goes sprinkling jobs around like Johnny Appleseed? Do I know him?"

I gulped at my water to give myself a few seconds to think. Adam might be in danger from this. I didn't think Homelander would kill him as he might still have a use for him if Dawn of the Seven's sequel got out of pre-production anytime soon, and it wasn't like I was anything but a talking lamp around here. As long as I didn't inconvenience him, I thought we both might be all right. "Yes."

"So who is he? Don't keep me in suspense." He smirked at me and it was the last straw.

I slammed the glass down onto the table. "For fuck's sake! I got an offer to be a full-time, live-in domme! Now will you let us get back to work?"

Homelander hadn't expected the job offer information, but this was a real shock. He tilted his head and looked at me for several seconds—wow, the insect belched fire—before saying, "Pardon me. A what?"

"A domme." He still wore that quizzical look. "A dominatrix. I got an offer to be a dominatrix as a job."

"You?"

Well, that was just insulting. "He finds me attractive. What about it? Some men do. He could have better-looking women if he wanted."

He ignored that. "So who is this guy who wants you to dress up in leather and stiletto heels and beat his ass bloody with a whip? I have to say, I never would have pictured you doing that. You're too-"

"Plain? Unsexy?" And fuck you yet again.

"Cute."

Just a euphemism for unsexy, as far as I was concerned. "I've already told you I'm not taking the offer, so we don't need to discuss this anymore. It's just morbid curiosity on your part now and I don't intend to satisfy it."

"Not like Mr. Let Me Lick Your Boots, huh? How much was he going to pay you for this, anyway?"

"More than I'm making in this job. He's rich."

"I believe it since he can afford to hire a live-in spanker. Where did you meet him?"

I gave him a mocking smile, not caring about the leashed anger in his eyes. It wasn't the heat vision, and I was too angry myself to give a shit otherwise. "You sort of introduced us."

That got a reaction. He stood up, making sure to tower over me, and said, "You are going to stop this right now and tell me what I want to know."

I stood up, which didn't do much good since he was still six inches taller than I am and I'd worn flats to work. "Or what?" Black dots began swimming in front of my eyes but I paid them no attention.

"Or you won't like the consequences."

"Homelander, you may have forced me to be your pseudo-sub at work, but what I do on my downtime is none of your business. If there is one thing in my life that helps me control the fear of you enough so I don't put a gun in my mouth and make you break someone else in this fucking job, you should be grateful." His face took on the usual hard, hateful aspect and he opened his mouth to spew some more threats, but I didn't hear any of them because I dove headfirst straight into the huge black void that had just opened up in the floor.

When I regained consciousness, Homelander was speaking to someone else and I kept my eyes closed. "Her breathing was really fast," he told the other person.

"Hyperventilating?" And it was Dr. Ives, the on-call physician at Vought Tower. I couldn't swear to it without opening my eyes, but I thought I was lying on Homelander's couch. And was that a cool, damp washcloth on my forehead? God knows what the doctor thought had gone on. God knows what kind of gossip would be running through the halls of Vought Tower by this time tomorrow.

"Yeah. Her heart rate and blood pressure were up too."

"She might have had an anxiety attack. Sometimes people can hyperventilate until they pass out." Got it in one, doc, I thought. "What were you talking about when this happened?"

Homelander took a few seconds before replying. "She was telling me about a job offer she's gotten."

"She must have been worried about how you'd react. Is she going to leave?"

"No, she isn't going anywhere. What should I do if this happens again?"

"Not much to do. Make sure she doesn't hit her head when she falls, keep her from breaking bones, and she'll come to in a few minutes. It's like a reset button if a situation's too intense or frightening. Or she might be pregnant. Is there any chance she's pregnant?"

"Not by me," said Homelander.

The doctor took a pause before saying, "I'll wake her up."

"No need," he said. "She's been awake for the past minute or so. Isn't that right, Ashley?"

I opened my eyes. "How long was I out?"

"About five minutes or so," said Dr. Ives. "I just happened to be walking past when Homelander called me."

"How lucky," I replied. "It was just an anxiety attack, nothing to be worried about. I am not pregnant, by the way. By anybody."

"Has this ever happened before?"

I hated divulging this information in front of Homelander, but there seemed to be nothing else to do. "Yes, twice in the past few months."

"Well, if you need an Ativan prescription, just let me know."

"Thank you." If there was one thing Dr. Ives was good for, it was writing prescriptions. If I was a doctor-shopper looking for Vicodin or Oxy, he would be my dream doc.

Homelander spoke at the same time. "Just call her prescription in to her usual pharmacy and she'll pick it up tomorrow."

Dr. Ives looked back and forth between us, nodded, and left us alone.

"I might already be on Ativan, you know," I told him as I sat up and removed the washcloth from my forehead.

"You're not. If you were, you wouldn't have fainted from sheer terror just now."

"I did not faint from sheer terror!"

"Really. Then what did you do?"

"I… blacked out because I didn't have anything for lunch." Why hadn't I thought of that when Dr. Ives was here?

"That's a lie. What did you have for lunch?"

No way could I tell him that I hadn't had time for a real lunch because of the session with Dr. Winterbourne. But as long as he didn't ask any questions about whether I had a psychiatrist, I should be golden. "A can of Coca-Cola and a Hershey bar with almonds."

"So just the sugar food group, then." Homelander stood there looking at me for an uncomfortably long time. "Take the rest of the day off and come back here at seven o'clock. We're going to have more discussion of your marvelous new career path and you are not going to faint from sheer terror every time I ask you a question. And just so you can't claim you fainted because you were hungry, I'll even provide some dinner for you."

"I don't think—"

"No, you don't. Somehow you seem to think you have options other than to do what I say in this situation, which you don't. So go get some rest and be back here in time for dinner and our conversation."

It didn't seem worth it to object, so I just sighed and turned to leave. "Ashley?"

"Yes, sir?" Belatedly I realized I hadn't addressed him as sir since before he'd called me out for not listening to him. But he hadn't said anything about it. I'd have to think about what that could mean.

"You—wouldn't do what you said, right?"

My brow furrowed. "What did I say I'd do? I don't remember."

"Put a gun in your mouth because you're so scared of me."

"Oh." I looked at him for a few moments. "No. I don't think you'll drive me so mad with fear that death is the only way out." I'd just quit this job first and take my chances with running away.

"Promise me you won't."

What the hell? Why would you think I wouldn't just break my word if things got that bad? But, again, it wasn't worth making a fuss over. "I promise I won't put a gun in my mouth because I'm afraid of you." Anyway, that still left a lot of wiggle room.

"Thank you, Ashley." He handed me my tablet and turned his back. "You're free to go." And I did, feeling like I'd just managed to talk a cop out of killing me. But I'd kicked the can of the job discussion down the road a few hours, so it wasn't a total loss. I just hoped the dinner he promised wouldn't be the same kind of dinner he fed the Deep.