A deal with the devil

He chuckled before dropping his phone on the table after he sent the text, his pride was still hurt and now was the time he could show her who was boss—he obvious was. His phone vibrated again and he rushed to it only to find a text from his mum, informing him of the arrival of another gift.

He groaned before dialing her number but his numerous calls were ignored, she probably already knew the reason he was calling. Jackson took off his shirt and flung it on the sofa, glancing at his wrist watch and mentally calculating the time of her arrival.

"She should be able to navigate, find her way to cafe dium by 9:10 and get here by 9:15," he said to himself then remembered her conversation with Harry earlier about her not knowing her way around. He estimated her time of arrival to be 9:30 pm, after that he had other frustrating plans in mind—not for himself, for her.

How the hell did she deem fit to equal him to a criminal? That was absurd.

Another text came in. Your gift should arrive real soon, treat this one well. It took a while to get such good offer.

Courtesy of his mother, of course. His anger spiked, as he quickly checked if all exits are locked, no one should be able to get in unless he opened up. That thought did much to relief him so he decided to take a shower before his new PA arrived— the same one he had high hopes of frustrating.

He picked up a container of pills that sat next to his phone, it rattled as he opened it, plopping its content into his mouth. It was his daily medication that decreased the chances of an anxiety attack, he got them almost everyday especially when he was surrounded by people— an unappreciated gift from his career path.

He took off his clothes and turned the dim lights on, it was going to be an excruciatingly longbshower or even a bath after he had sprayed Calvary's new men perfume countless times during the shoot. The smell still chocked him, leaving an extremely bitter taste in his lungs. He set a foot into his golden brown fully tiled bathtub after pouring a little of his Time Dye men body wash and scattering a few rose petals. Sometimes he liked to smell pretty, especially on a day like this.

He sat in the bathtub regretting his choice of not bringing a bottle of champagne with him to complete his journey to nirvana. He'd be having a kiss scene with Natasha as soon as the shoot begins, that was enough reasons to be depressed. A kiss scene at the very beginning of the movie shoot, just a few weeks away. He had always hated kiss scenes, but the ones he'd had with Natasha, he hated them even more. He sighed before grabbing his soft sponge and scrubbed his tender skin with it.

A sound came from the direction of the living room—faint but audible, he brushed it off, he was convinced that he was alone. But what if he wasn't? The thought caused bumps to rise on his skin and he jumped out of the shower, quickly putting on a robe and heading to the living room. The sound grew louder with every step he took—it sounded like the footstep of a person. Maria couldn't have gotten in, he thought. Then who?

Who!? He mentally cried.

After all he had done to finally get a place that was a secret from Paparazzi and fans, he still had to handle this? He even left his Penthouse behind for a location of peace and tranquility no matter how small.

What if it was one of his deluded fans? He had had several encounters with a number of them; he got things like already worn panties and bras flung towards him. A particular one had traumatized him after landing directly on his head; a brown lacy panties that smelled like butt—it really did.

His masculinity wasn't for situations like this, he was terrified out of his mind. Was he being burgled? Should he alert the police officers?

No, he concluded. He needed to be sure so as to not make a fool out of himself. He'd man up and face whatever this was head on, his trembling hand said otherwise and he clenched them. He tiptoed to the living room where the sound came from.

A resounding squeal occupied the room, and he couldn't believe that came from him, it sounded like the fire alarm a sound from a protesting little girl who had he doll snatched. He stood and prayed for his legs not to give up as he saw a creature prancing his living room under the dim light. The creature seemed to have noticed his presence too, so it stopped all movements and merely looked in his direction. His heart ran a thousand miles per second while his head went faint from the fear. Breathing got harder by the second and he knew he could pass out anytime soon.

Mentally, Jackson was running to the light switch to enhance the view of whatever was the source of his horror, but physically, all the parts of him that aided movement didn't function. He let out another terrified scream as the creature moved closer to him but he still couldn't run. His knees weak and skin pale, he resorted to screaming till his own messiah comes—but no one did. On complete impulse, he ran to the other side of his room as his presumed predator moved closer. Luckily, that was where the light switch was. He flicked it on and his face fell.

"What in the hell!" He exclaimed loudly as he realized what it was. No, it was a who. In his precious living room stood a man, agreeably the same age as he was, smiling and pouting. The image made him dizzy and his thinking got warped. The man was in nothing but a short, extremely short short and his skin glistening like he dropped into oil. He ran his hands through his overly gelled blond hair and blew a kiss to Jackson who was still appalled by what stood before him.

The man flexed his muscles, he was tall and could pass off for a wrestler or a gym instructor. His fingers ran between his abs, he stuck out a tongue seductively and walked even closer; poor Jackson still shocked and putting two and two together crumbled against the wall with his hand on his head.

"You're such an eye candy," the man finally said, his voice being the polar opposite of his appearance. His feminine voice made Jackson's stomach rumble with discomfort. "I wonder why Mrs has to pair you up." He flexed his manicured fingers now. "Come over here sweetheart, daddy would show you a nice time."

Like a kid who got separated from his favourite toy, Jackson couldn't decide whether his present emotion was sadness, anger or a mixture of both. He was too stunned to speak. His mother had graduated from trying to set him up with seductive girls, to weird, terrifying gay guys, did he ever mention to her that he was gay? Then why was she torturing him this way? Now over twenty strangers knew the password to his home no matter how many times he changed it!

The stranger was relentless nonetheless, he still made attempts to get closer to Jackson, who jumped from one sofa to the other, yelling to be left alone, also threatening to call the cops and sue him for sexual harassment. The intruder soon caught up with Jackson and pulled him into a menacing embrace. He was a stronger counterpart which gave Jackson a hard time breaking free from the hug.

"Stop fighting your desire, candy," he said again as he pressed his chin against struggling Jackson's face.

Their "intimate" time was broken apart by the voice of a lady recognizable to Jackson.

"I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed. "I- I shouldn't have- the door was open so I just-" his new PA stuttered almost running out of the room. If he were a multidimensional rabbit, he'd have dug a hole right there to another universe. But those didn't exist.

He finally broke free from the breathtaking—literally—embrace.

"This isn't- this isn't what you think in the slightest!" He yelled before picking up a pillow and throwing at the man who stood before him—clearly unfazed. What else would anyone think if they walked into a room contained by two grown men—one in a boxer and the other in a robe—in that very awkward position. His face was drained of every color.

"Oh, I must have left the door open, hun," the stranger said fanning his face with his fingers. "I didn't know we were going to be having company," he turned to the astonished PA.

"Get out! Get out of my house! Right now!" He ordered, still throwing a fit. It would be a very ridiculous story if he had to explain this to the police. He'd rather just take it up with his mother.

The stranger winked before heading out, and Jackson fell tiredly to the sofa.

"Your boy- uh, he's not wearing his cloth-," His PA said to him, pointing towards the door and he responded with a yell.

"Just shut up and give me the coffee!"

She did as he said, but in a more composed manner. His rudeness didn't seem to affect her in the way he wanted. Again, his fragile pride was hurt.

"Where did you get this from?' he asked with a bitter expression on his face even though Café dium was clearly indicated on the cup as he earlier predicted.

"The coffee shop on the street, Cafe Di-"

He interrupted as he spat out the content of the cup. "Did you get me cappuccino!? Weren't you informed that I hated Cappuccino?" He asked the lady who just stood staring into his eyes—unintimidated.

"Well, it's not everyday I resume twelve hours before my actual time of resumption and get coffee for my boss at 9pm," she started politely. "And you didn't indicate what you wanted so I naturally assumed everyone liked a decent Cappuccino."

"I am Jones Jackson, not anyone!" He ordered handing her whatever was left of the cup, "Make me some of the one I have instead." He pointed to the kitchen with a smug grin. He'd do all he can to make her grovel, and he was already in a disoriented mood after his encounter with the stranger today so he might as well take it out on someone.

"Okay," she responded without protest and headed to the kitchen. This surprised him even more, he expected her to protest but she didn't. He'd just wait to see how long she could put up with this.

She arrived five minutes later with a cup of coffee, its aroma filled his nose and the whole room. Now he just needed to find a fault in it.

"Too hot, are you planning to skin me alive?" He complained as he placed the cup on the table.

"I'd make another, sir." She left to the kitchen again, coming back with a newly made cup.

He brought the cup to his nose, inhaling the sweet smell of coffee, then to his mouth. It was surprisingly good. Good enough to fit his need.

"Too light, I'm not sixteen, mum," he rolled his eyes and watched her go back into the kitchen with balled fist. This was fun for him.

The door slammed shut and he jolted at the sound of it, then his mother walked in throwing her Black prada purse by the entrance and kicking her boots off. She wore a floral dress that clung unto every part of her body, complimenting her hour glass figure and a thin, blue monochrome scarf that tied her red hair. No one would believe she birthed someone as old as he was unless a birth certificate was available.

"Son! You messed this up again!" The angry voice of his mother filled the room. How did she even get in!

"The goddamn password!" He cussed silently. He really should change it into something she'd never figure out. He watched his ever so boisterous mother match annoyedly into the living room.

"Theodore just told me how bad you treated him and I needed to come see for myself!" She ranted on then stopped as soon as his PA made his way out of the kitchen, with another cup of coffee in her hand.

"Oh!" Mrs Jones exclaimed, "I see what's happening here. Oh my goodness she's so beautiful," she walked to his Personal assistant—who had a confused expression on her face and pulled her into a big hug. "Why didn't you tell me you already had someone, son?!"

Wait... what?