“I have something for you to fill out. Sort of like a questionnaire. It will allow me to know what you are comfortable with doing, trying, or not doing at all. It’s imperative that you fill this out with 100% honesty. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”
“Understood.” He nods, resting his forearms on the table.
I hesitate to hand it over, the little voice in my head still telling me this is a bad idea. I tell it to shut up and give Cassius the packet and my pen.
“It will take you some time, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to go through some emails?”
“Sure thing. Do what you need to do.” He smiles, picking up the pen.
“Let me know if you have any questions.”
He gets busy on the paper, reading through everything carefully. His brow furrows and his lips move as he reads the words, eyes darting across the paper. He takes his time getting throughthe first page, so I can only assume he will do the same with the rest. I pull my gaze away and turn my attention to my phone, where I look through emails. Somehow, in the few hours I’ve been away from my computer, I’ve accumulated nearly fifty emails.
A good portion of them I am CCed on by my COO, so I’m in the loop. I can see that he’s handling everything just fine, so there is no need for me to respond. I file them in the proper folders and keep scrolling. Now and then I glance at Cassius to make sure he doesn’t look confused or isn’t crying. My gaze lingers for too long, and it’s sometimes a struggle to look away. He’s taking this seriously, and I appreciate that.
So far, he’s intrigued and his focus is like that of someone taking an important test.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask.
“Oh, uh, sure.”
“Water, tea, juice, coffee…”
“Water is fine. Actually, do you have iced tea?”
“I believe so.”
“That, if you have it. If not, then water.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I leave him in the room alone and go back to the small cafeteria. The stock man is here, filling the cooler with drinks. The food is sitting on his cart, waiting to be put away as well.
“Is there any iced tea?” I ask.
“Yep. Here you go.”
He hands me a bottle.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
I go back to the room to find Cassius leaning back and scratching his head. He looks up when I walk in.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, already knowing something is off.
“Am I going to be treated as a dog?”
“Not unless you want to be.” He narrows his eyes, and I see it isn’t the time to joke. “Where does it say that?” I take my seat, sliding over his bottled drink.
“Head patting, kissing,petting…” he reads off the paper.
“That is standard physical praise. If you’re not okay with it—”
“It feels pet-like.”
“And did you think being a slave would be humanizing?” I question.