Micah blinked at the accusing note in the man’s voice, turning to face him. “Um… yeah? I mean it is four in the afternoon. We’ve been shopping for over five hours. I’ve built up an appetite.”

“We missed lunch.” Damon seemed disproportionally distressed over this fact.

“It’s no big deal,” Micah assured, not enjoying the self-reproach he could hear in the other man’s voice. “We’ve been busy. And besides, I had like twenty crepes at your penthouse,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Yes, for breakfast,” the man shot back. “I forgot to feed you.”

Alright, Damon’s concern had been cute, at first, if a bit convoluted. But seriously?

“I’m not a pet,” Micah snapped. “I’m perfectly capable of telling you if I’m hungry. Or better yet, feeding myself.”

Micah had been good all day, letting Damon boss him around and dress him up as he pleased – he took pleasure in the man’s obvious satisfaction even. But enough was enough. Time to remind Damon that despite the weird power dynamics of their relationship – what with the fact that Damon was loaded and obviously powerful and Micah technically worked for him now – he wasn’t actually dependent on the man. Lest of all for his basic needs.

“In fact,” Micah announced cheerily, “to prove it, I’ll buy us lunch.”

Damon immediately scowled. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Micah scowled right back. “I may not be a billionaire like you, but I’m hardly desolate. I can afford to buy us a pizza or a couple of hamburgers. Unless you’re too good to eat peasant food.”

“That’s not it,” Damon denied, looking offended by the notion while simultaneously trying to smooth Micah’s obviously ruffled feathers. “Have you already forgotten about the contract we both signed? Not only am I responsible for your weekly salary and paying for your new clothing, I’m supposed to take care of any expenses we incur while we’re out together – that includes food and drink.”

Micah shrugged. “So make an exception.”

Damon raised his eyebrows. “I’m not in the habit of making exceptions.”

That was obvious, but Micah wasn’t about to give in. “Make it a habit, then,” he said. “Come on. At least let me pretend that I’m contributing. You just bought me thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes. It’s the least I can do.”

“No.”

“Please. It would make me happy.”

A muscle in Damon’s jaw ticked. Then he huffed. “Fine.”

Yes!

“But just this once. And nothing expensive. That would go completely against the whole point of our contract.”

Micah beamed. “I know just the place.”

Twenty minutes later, Micah had finished directing Damon to The Patty Shack, and they were seated at a neon orange booth, awaiting their food. Micah had ordered his usual – a bacon cheeseburger melt with a side of curly fries and a chocolate milkshake. Damon, on the other hand, had gone with a classic BLT, garlic potato wedges, and a glass of water.

Micah supposed he should have known better than to assume the man would turn his nose up at common-people food. He’d dragged Micah to a taco place – a taco place he was invested in – the first time they’d met, after all.