I woke up without an alarm for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. The drapes were closed, blocking all sunlight from entering the room. Arthur was awake with his laptop opened, reading an e-mail or something of that sort.

I've never seen such horrible morning hair in my life, and I found it adorable. It probably had something to do with how damaged his hair was. He still had dark circles under his eyes, but he looked more rested.

"What's so funny?"

"You look like you've been put through the washing machine," I said.

"I was going for that look. "He unglued his eyes from the screen and smiled. 

"What are you up to?" I asked and stretched, trying to wake up properly.

"Criminal activities." 

Arthur pushed his glasses up his nose and asked me if I wanted to order room service or go out and have breakfast. I didn't hesitate when I said that I wanted to go out; I wanted to have coffee that didn't come in a plastic cup. 

"Nothing's better than fresh, city air," he said and closed his laptop.

I watched Arthur get out of bed and go through his closet. He wanted an idea for that day's outfit, and he decided he was going to go with something that matched his hair.

I changed into something that didn't stick out too much while Arthur picked out a pair of dark pants with a very bright pink jacket. Nobody was supposed to look nice in that jacket, but he did. At least, that's what I thought. 

For breakfast, Arthur decided on a small, cozy restaurant that refused to put prices on their menu. He seemed familiar with everything.

"Have you been here before?" I asked.

He nodded. "A couple of times. The coffee is fantastic. I'm fairly sure they put something illegal in it."

"And the food?" That's what I was most interested in.

"It's good," he said. "I'm more of a brunch type of person. I can't bring myself to eat right after waking up. I'll get a coffee."

"You strike me as the type of guy that pours sugar in your coffee."

"I'm diabetic, Tristan," he said and nudged me under the table. "I'm not pouring sugar on anything."

A waitress came to our table to take our order, and Arthur smiled like she was the only person in the world he wanted to see. He chatted for a couple of moments, probably just casual small talk about the weather, before placing our order. I liked listening to him talk in French.

"How many languages do you know?" I asked, just out of pure curiosity.

"Five," he said. "My parents were strict in their own way."

"Which means?"

"I got kicked out of school, and they cared if I knew everything about the Battle of the Hydaspes." 

"You got kicked out of school?" I laughed. He didn't seem the kind of person that got in that particular kind of trouble.

"Yeah. Twice." He nodded, with a small smile on his face, as if he was a little proud. "I got in a fight that I may or may not have instigated. And the second time, I skipped for two months to travel with my mother."

I stretched a little over the table and grabbed the tips of his fingers gently. They were slightly cold, but soft. He hadn't done a single day of manual work in his life.

Our waitress came with my food and Arthur's coffee. He didn't add any sugar or cream in it, yet he still mixed it with a spoon before taking a sip.

I ate, and we talked. We talked about Arthur's passion for art; we talked about his travels, his studies, and his job. It was incredible that he was the one telling me about himself without me having to force answers from him. The more we talked, the more human and whole he became. He wasn't just a fat wallet with a criminal background.

He still dodged some questions, but I wasn't mad about that. I was enjoying my time with him.

His phone rang a total of seven times during breakfast, and to his credit, he ignored it, saying he was going to deal with things once we were back at the hotel.

At noon he announced that he was hungry, and he wanted to act like a complete asshole and buy our way into a fully booked restaurant. I said I wanted McDonald's, just to see if he would go with it. He did.

"I like their fries," Arthur said, taking off his glasses to clean a smudge he had on one lens. "And you can get a-ah… Royale with Cheese."

"Oh." I nodded, understanding the Pulp fiction reference. "Because of the metric system."

Arthur smiled, and his smile turned into a laugh. "You're the first person to get it."

I shrugged and dusted off my shoulder.

Arthur had another coffee at McDonald's and complained that it was too hot. I found that I liked watching him drink coffee. And I loved listening to him talk. And I liked hearing him laugh and how he squinted a little when he had to read things that were far away.

His phone rang again while we were eating, and he pretended not to notice it. But he was becoming more transparent, and I could almost feel his stress level going up the more that phone vibrated in his pocket. His smile just froze on his lips until the caller gave up.

He didn't mention the calls; instead, he leaned over the table and placed his elbows on it.

"You know, we could do whatever you want here," he said, and he sounded like we were about to go skydiving or rob a bank. It made me smile.

"Is that so? So if I want to, I don't know, let's say I want to steal a car."

He shrugged. "Sure. You know, I once stole a car when I was about nineteen."

"The hell you did."

"I took it back," he said. "It was this party, and things were getting extremely boring so ugh… I stole a car with Elsie. I don't know whose idea it was, now that I think about it. We might have been a little drunk."

"And what did you do with it?"

"Drove it around the city for half an hour then took it back. Not a scratch. It was this obnoxious, bright as hell orange and you know…it was exactly what I love."

"How long have you knows Elsie?"

He raised his eyebrows, and I realized that my question sounded like I was jealous or defensive.

"Fifteen years, I think," he said.

"Oh, you've known her for a long time," I said, trying to sound casual. I was most definitely not jealous.

"Are you gay?" I asked, and he snorted a laugh. "No, I mean, gay-gay. Not like, bi."

"Oh. God." He took a deep breath and then laughed again. "Are you jealous of her?"

"No," I said. "I was just curious."

"Aham."

Aham wasn't an answer, and it made me nervous. I didn't want to be one of those people who make a big deal out of small things, but I couldn't stand my own curiosity now.

"So? The answer?"

"I have a preference for men," he said. "But I've been with women too, so call it whatever you want."

I didn't want to make things awkward, and I was already able to tell that the conversation was going to take that turn for the worse if I kept pushing the issue. It had been a lovely day, and I didn't want to ruin it. I changed the subject to something else. I asked him why he had mayo with his fries and how many times he had dyed his hair in the past. He couldn't remember.

After lunch, we took a short walk and then went back to the hotel. Arthur didn't make it evident that he wanted to check his phone. He behaved like a very patient predator. He waited for us to walk into the suite, he made small talk, poured himself a drink, flirted, and kissed me. But the moment he sat down on the couch, he took his phone out and pressed his lips together. He returned the call and pressed the phone against his ear.

"It's me," he said and then paused, listening to what the other person had to say. "Listen, I was busy, and you don't get to ask me why I didn't answer. Let's not forget that you work for me." He sounded like he was about to fire someone. I couldn't read anything on his face. He was looking at the TV which was turned off, while absently scratching his collarbone.

"A week," he said. "Get it done." He placed the phone on the couch and sighed, closing his eyes. 

"This is EXACTLY why I hate working with third parties."

"Hard business?"

"Yeah." He looked at his phone again and made another call. At least he wasn't hiding from me. "Hey, Sammy," he said. His voice was far more pleasant now. This was the voice I was used to. Familiar, kind, a bit sweet, like a lawyer or a salesman. "I need a favor."

He waited while biting the skin around his thumbnail. "Thanks. I'll send everything through an e-mail. Tell sis that I said hello."

"What's with Sam?" I asked once he was done talking.

"We have a deal," he said. "Don't ask what kind of deal. I'm going to tell you some other day."

"Are you in trouble?"

"I'm always in trouble," Arthur said it like it sounded like it was all very amusing to him, then told me we should go to Tokyo once we were bored with Paris.

Later that evening, he took a shower and changed his clothes. He went for that classic all-black look that reminded me of expensive clothes ads from malls. He pushed his hair back and grabbed a nice gold watch.

I smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "You look hot."

"I try," he said.

Arthur told me we were going to a restaurant called Le Jules Verne. I was expecting it to be expensive and extravagant, but I wasn't expecting it to be on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower. We had a table next to the window, and I could see all the small city lights glimmering under us. Arthur acted natural, casual like he had done it a million times. He was extremely polite to the waiters and everyone around him, and it was delightful for me, too, since he spoke French. I was going to ask him to do it more often.

We took our seats, and I looked out the window, still in awe. I was floating above one of the most romantic cities in the world, and I was about to have dinner with an illegal art dealer with very dubious connections. 

I could've worked a lifetime without getting there, and he did it in a snap. I wondered if Tony got paid more than I did seeing how he was more involved in Arthur's affairs.

I never wanted to get into illegal activities, but Arthur King wasn't a murderer. He didn't sell drugs. Arthur King dealt with finer things. His name suited him. And I wanted to be like that. I was aware that I wasn't going to build an empire on my own in a couple of months, but I could buy a bigger apartment, a nice car, I could travel wherever I wanted.

I craved that life at my fingertips, yet I wasn't comfortable using Arthur. I liked him. Exploiting him was different than him pampering me. I convinced myself to stop thinking about that.

Arthur asked me what I wanted to eat, and I picked out something expensive with a name I couldn't pronounce. He smiled at me, and it was different than the way he smiled at the waiters. The skin at the corner of his eyes wrinkled slightly, and he didn't look like he was selling me cheap charm. How have I not seen it before? His utter politeness was a social mask. I felt special; I was the only one who knew.

"I want to work for you," I said.

"You already work for me."

"No." I looked him in the eyes. "I want to work for you."

The corner of his mouth lifted.