A Taste For Trouble

His name was Seth Todd Black. And he was a hellion.

Okay, okay, he wasn't really a hellion. But people tended to refer to him as such; he merely acknowledged it being said.

Miscreant, Asshole, Devil Boy were just a few of the disparaging names he'd been dubbed. For the life of him, though, he couldn't understand why. He wasn't a bad person. Not to himself, at least.

He was an extremely wealthy man who provided jobs and opportunities for a decent living for thousands of people around the globe. He governed incalculable charities, fed the poor, clothed the unclothed, and helped the underprivileged.

For heaven's sake, he rebuilt an entire parish after that bitch of a hurricane twirled her destructive little skirt tail across several states and uprooted a vast amount of lives and homes.

Talk about 'home-wrecker'. So, you see? He wasn't too bad.

Actually, he considered himself as normal as any other human being. There were just two small defects of his-or unredeemable habits, one could say, that made truly normal people deem him rotten: One, he fucking swore a lot. Two, he was a proud enabler of adultery and consciously steered clear of any female sector whose ages were below his on the calendar.

Did it make him a hellion because he enjoyed spraying F-bombs on everyone like a swear-word confetti gun? Or because he enjoyed dating screwing around with women who were five to ten years his senior, married, engaged, or otherwise entangled?

No? He didn't think so either.

It's not like he was strapping goddamn bombs to his chest, robbing banks, blowing up airplanes, hitting on pregnant women, peeping through little boys' windows with his dick in his hand, or sending naked pictures of himself to underage vaginas...Guess the world saw him in a different light than he did.

To himself, he was just Seth Todd Black: a good guy. A really good guy. You'll see. Then, perhaps, you'll agree.

At present, he was trapped within the confinements of his office with his gayer of the gayest male assistant, Will, browsing through potential design plans for one of his new tower loft constructions. And he was scowling with sheer displeasure.

The designs were drafted by one of his best designers; yet, they came across as trite and uninspiring.

With a sharp shake of his head, Seth leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, "I'm done."

Will glanced at him from across his large oak desk, brows raised. "You're cutting her? Monica Regens is your supposedly 'best' designer. You've been using her on all the top projects for years."

"Exactly. And now she's grown comfortable, which has rendered her predictable. She keeps recreating the same thing every time. I need newness. Innovation. Daring designs. Monica's just not delivering anymore."

Will nodded in agreement. An exceptional assistant for the last five years, he was about five feet four inches short, with a wiry frame and a gay attitude. He kept his hair trimmed in a spiky blonde Mohawk, had a wide gauge piercing on one ear and a cage piercing on the other.

Seth didn't force him to wear a three-piece suit-he himself detested suits-he permitted Will to wear whatever he wanted, so Will was always dressed in his customary steel-toed boots, tight jeans with studded belts, and stretchy rocker T-shirts.

Many times, he was asked why he hired a freak for an assistant. A careless shrug would always be his reply. Why not hire a freak for an assistant?

See, Seth Black was unconventional in every sense of the word, so he was perpetually doing the opposite of whatever was expected. Screw world order.

He was rich, he was powerful, he was the boss, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Some called it rebellion, but he called it shitting-on-dumb-ass-rules. Will wasn't a freak, anyway.He was just gay.

"That's true.However, you can't drop Monica at this moment. The Riverview penthouses, or shells, are already two months behind your planned schedule, and they need to be completed and crossed off the list. You've got a lot of food crowding your already laden table, so you need to clear some of these small dishes before the big ones start falling off and smashing into pieces."

"Taking a chance on a different designer-who you'd be putting a helluva strain and pressure on, by the way-to get these penthouses ready on time, might not be the smartest idea right now. You can always dump Monica after this project."

That was the answer he never offered to people who inquired about his freak of an assistant. Will wasn't a mere assistant. Will kept things leveled, pointing out the obvious to him when he was being blind and irrational.

Being the boss didn't deter Will from telling him point blank when he thought he was sticking his head too far up his ass. Will knew his shit better than those sniffy punks in sharp charcoal suits. So, there you have it, he hired a weird, gay assistant because he kicked ass...or licked it...or stocked it...or all the above.

"You're right, Will. But as you know, these apartments are unfairly overpriced. They're all sold out because pompous buyers are expecting something above what's already out there. This," Seth said, turning around his laptop to face Will, "is average. The same shit that's been in Monica's last three projects, with just a slight difference.

"You know what kind of customers I have. Customers who never question price because they know The Royals' Realty always delivers. If each new building doesn't transcend in creativity, notices will be made that I'm a fucking dickwad with my prices. Which I am, of course. But, who gives a shit about the price tag as long as they're happy with the product? Monica's not gonna work."

Will glanced at the computer screen and shrugged. "So what're you going to do, then?Want me to send out notification emails to the buyers, informing them completion dates are being pushed back a few months? It's construction. I'm pretty sure they'll understand that shit happens sometimes."

"Shit happens. But not with me. I've got a rep to maintain." Seth rubbed his forehead in thought. "Who do I have that can deliver this project on time with a commendable design?"

Will raised a censorious brow, "All your designers are not just good, but great at what they do, or else they wouldn't be working for you. You're the one who chose to put Monica above everyone else because she brought in praises for the Leo"s penthouses she designed a few years back. That doesn't mean she's better than anyone else. It's just the hype you gave her."

Seth shot him a disgusted look. "Are you my goddamn assistant or my consultant? You've got too much to say, dude."

Will smirked. "And you listen. Because you know whenever I open my mouth, it's not hog shit spraying out."

Seth waved him off. "So? Who do we have?"

"The design department of The Royals' Realty has 120 interior designers. So the answer to that is 'you have a lot'. The real question is 'who's not working on a project at the moment?'."

Seth glared across his desk with a look that told his assistant if he didn't cut the excessive chatting, he was going to knock his ass out. Cold.

Will burst out laughing and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. Lemme check."