Spotting Damon’s vehicle immediately – it stuck out like a sore thumb in this part of Queens – Micah opened the back door and scooted inside.

Like every time he got into the man’s car, Damon couldn’t seem to stop himself from staring.

“What?” Micah asked as Geoffrey pulled the Rolls-Royce back into traffic.

Damon didn’t look away. “Are you wearing makeup?” he asked.

Micah felt his shoulders tense defensively. “Is that a problem?”

Damon blinked. “No. You always look beautiful,” he said simply.

Micah’s face burned. He’d been called a lot of things before: hot, sexy, and on one particularly memorable occasion, “a pretty boy with a mouth that looks like it’s made for sucking cock”. But Micah struggled to remember a time he’d been called beautiful.

Micah supposed that most people considered it a feminine term. Regardless, he grappled with how to respond. “Stop,” he finally muttered, willing the blush on his cheeks to vanish as he pressed the back of his hands to them.

Damon frowned. “Why? We’re going on a date. It’s standard procedure to compliment your partner.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a real date, is it?” Micah pointed out.

Damon reared back at the reminder, his jaw clenching as he glanced away. “Right.”

Micah was nearly overcome with the impulse to apologize, which was dumb. He was only stating the truth. Regardless, he had to bite back the urge for the remainder of the drive, which was quiet and tense – at least in Micah’s own head.

All thoughts of having unintentionally offended Damon fled his mind, however, when they pulled up to the event in question.

The charity gala was being held at Gotham Hall, a building in Midtown with grand columns and an intimidating facade. It was renowned for its luxuriousness and timeless beauty on the inside, and an extremely popular venue for the scant percentage of the population able to afford to rent it out.

But Micah had been warned about the location of the event, so it wasn’t that which took him off guard.

No, what had Micah blanching was the fact that there was a red carpet rolled out outside of Gotham Hall, complete with a throng of reporters holding flashing cameras.

“Damon,” he hissed, “Is that a red carpet?”

“Well, it isn’t purple.”

Damon sounded so unconcerned that Micah couldn’t resist glaring.

“What? I told you that there would be one.”

“I thought you were joking!” Micah exclaimed. “And the press is here.” The last thing Micah needed was his picture in the newspaper, arm in arm with an infamous mobster, for all of his co-workers, or worse, his father to see.

Damon frowned, finally seeming to have caught on that Micah was actually upset. “Does it make you that uncomfortable to be seen with me?”

“Yes!”