Page 26 of Discover Me
Micah's breathing comes faster. His good hand grips the counter edge, knuckles white. Something is very wrong but I can't figure out what.
"Tom, we'll figure it out." I step forward, trying to redirect his attention. "We have the contract and I'll walk Micah through it. Can you leave us alone so we can figure all this shit out?"
"Alone?" Tom looks up from his tablet, surprised. "Kellan, this is important. We need to establish a baseline, create a believable narrative. The photos go up today and people will have questions."
"And we'll answer them." I keep my voice firm. "But right now I need you to leave so Micah and I can have a conversation without an audience. We just woke up, Tom. Give us a minute to breathe."
Tom studies me, clearly trying to decide if this is worth fighting over. Finally, he stands. "Make sure you get this right, Kellan. There's a lot riding on this. Album sales, public perception, your image rehabilitation. Don't fuck it up because you want privacy."
He grabs the mug of coffee Micah poured, not asking permission, and heads for the door. "I'll expect you at practice soon. Don’t keep the others waiting.”
I wait until the front door closes behind him, listening for his footsteps to fade down the hallway. Then I turn to Micah.
He's visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping and jaw unclenching. The tension bleeds out of him the second Tom is gone, replaced by the easy comfort from before.
"What was that?" I ask, genuinely confused. "Why do you seem so uncomfortable around him? We all kind of hate Tom but you..." I trail off, trying to find the right words. "It's different with you. More intense."
Micah leans against the counter, his good hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Because every word out of his mouth is a lie. Our first meeting was built on lies and manipulation. He doesn't even really look at whoever he's talking to, did you notice that? His eyes are always on his tablet or his phone or the space just past your shoulder. I'm not even sure what color his eyes are."
He takes a breath, wincing slightly as his ribs protest. "I just... something is off about him. I know you really might like him or depend on him or whatever, but I can't be around him without feeling like I'm being sized up for some purpose I don't understand."
I shake my head immediately. "No, you pretty much hit all that on the nose. He's an awful person. Manipulative and controlling and only cares about what benefits him. I'll try to keep moments with Tom to a minimum. You shouldn't have to deal with him more than necessary."
Relief crosses Micah's face. "Thank you."
"Now, the questions he was asking were a bit personal but not too far-fetched." I move closer, putting myself between Micah and where Tom was sitting like I can physically block his presence. "I have to know what I'm working with and your comfort levels so I don't overstep. But I'll ask nicer than he did."
Micah watches me, his expression unreadable.
"What?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just... thanks for kicking him out."
"Okay." I grab my Dr Pepper and take another sip. "What do you like to do on dates and shit? If we're going to sell this, I needto know what you actually enjoy versus what you're willing to tolerate for appearances."
Micah shrugs. "I don't really date. And the few times I have, we just walked around town or grabbed cheap food. It's been a while since anyone was interested in a construction worker Beta with no prospects."
There's more to that answer. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way he looks away. Someone hurt him, made him feel like he wasn't worth dating. But I don't push. We barely know each other despite the intensity of last night.
"Great, then we'll fumble through this shit together." I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. "Maybe grab some dinner tonight? Something low-key before Tom forces us into that label event."
"We could get food and order it in," Micah suggests. "Cook here instead of going out. Less pressure for the first time."
"We could go down to that little shop on the corner and grab ingredients." The idea forms as I speak. "Be like our first outing together. No cameras, no pressure. Just two people getting groceries like normal humans."
Micah's expression softens. "I'd offer to make dinner but..." He gestures to his cast.
"You give directions and I'll do it." I grin. "How hard can cooking be?"
A beat of silence falls between us. Micah finishes his coffee and moves to clean up, putting away the toast and rinsing out his mug. I jump in to help, grabbing plates and moving to the sink. Our hands brush as we both reach for the same dish and Micah slowly threads his fingers through mine.
The contact sends electricity through me, the same jolt from last night. His hand is warm and rough with calluses, solid and real in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Are we going to talk about last night?" Micah asks quietly.
"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable." The words come out stiff. "That wasn't professional and I shouldn't have—"
Micah turns to face me fully, his expression serious. "That's not what this is. That's not what I'm asking. I'm just saying that it felt a bit more real than what we're supposed to be doing here. I just need you to be straight with me. Are we really just pretending or is there something else happening?"
