Temporary Arrangement with Mr. Greg
Summary: When my newly single boss Greg hit a rough patch, I offered him my spare room just to help out. It was supposed to be temporary, a friendly gesture. But living under the same roof with him turned out to be a lot more complicated than I expected. What started as respect and admiration slowly twisted into something heavier, something I can’t stop thinking about.
EP 1 : The Offer
I’ve been working at Caldwell & Hunt Capital for a little over three years now. Investment banking is brutal, everyone knows that, but there are small things that make it worth the grind. For me, it’s Mr. Greg.
Greg Lawson. Forty-three. My boss. He runs our division with the kind of authority that doesn’t need raising a voice. Hard-nosed, sharp-tongued, fair. A man who never wastes words, never bothers with sugarcoating. The type who respects results, not excuses.
And he has that body. Not in a flashy, gym-rat kind of way, but something broader, built from years of habit. Shoulders that fill out a shirt without trying. Thick forearms, veins pressing against skin whenever he rolls his sleeves up. And that salt-and-pepper fuck, it makes him look like he was carved out of every woman’s guilty fantasy and every gay guy’s unspoken daydream.
Not that I ever let myself think of him that way. Not seriously. Greg Lawson was married. Straight. The kind of straight that didn’t leave any doubt. I mean, I could never picture him even looking at a guy that way.
I met his wife once at a firm dinner. She was polite, quiet. I don’t want to be one of those guys who says, “Oh my god, I knew there was something with them,” but even then, I felt the tension in the room. The silences between them stretched longer than they should. The way her hand clung to her wine glass while he talked told me more than words.
So it wasn’t exactly a shock when the divorce became office news. Papers signed last week. Since then, I've caught myself studying him more than usual. The sharp suits were still there, but he wore them differently now like he wasn’t bothering to tighten the knot on his tie or polish his shoes before walking out the door. His eyes had this distant pull, drifting in meetings like part of him was somewhere else entirely.
And honestly, Mr. Lawson was that rare kind of boss who made you forget he was the boss sometimes. He’d show up in the bullpen during breaks, standing at someone’s desk with his arms folded in those tight tailored pants straining, asking what we had planned for the weekend like we were just guys at a bar. Sometimes he’d drag us out for mini golf after work, trash-talk us the whole time, then be the first one in the office the next morning, sleeves rolled up, already buried in work. He worked hard, played harder. That balance made people want to follow him.
But now? Something in him had shifted. The bite was dulled. The spark was dimmer. After a few days of watching it, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I couldn’t see my role model sitting behind glass walls, running on empty like that.
So I went over to his office. The blinds were half-closed, his desk littered with files he clearly hadn’t touched in hours. He sat leaned back in his chair, blazer draped over the armrest, fingers rubbing at his forehead like even the quiet was too much. I hesitated in the doorway, not sure if I should speak first.
He didn’t even open his eyes.
“Something you need, Alex?” he asked, voice rough, tired.
I stepped inside. “No, sir. Just… wanted to check in. How’re you holding up?”
His eyes cracked open, narrowing on me like he was deciding if I was worth answering. Then he smirked faintly, humorless. “I’ve been better. But you don’t need to worry about me, my guy.”
I nodded, though my chest tightened. “Still Mr. Lawson. You’ve been through a lot.”
He shrugged. His shirt stretched across his chest, pulling at the buttons. My eyes dragged over the lines before I forced them back up. “Seven years,” he muttered. “Seven years, gone in a stack of papers.” He chuckled, low, like it hurt. “She got the house and suddenly I’m living out of a hotel.”
Something in me twisted. Respect, admiration, and… something else, something lower, sharper. He deserved better than a hotel room and cold takeout eaten off the nightstand.
I shifted on my feet. “You shouldn’t be by yourself right now, sir. Not while you’re figuring things out.”
Greg’s gaze flicked back to me, steady. “What do you suggest, Alex? That I crashed at my employees’ place?” His tone was dry, but not cruel.
I swallowed, steadying myself. “I have a spare room,” I said, careful to keep my voice even. “You don’t have to sit in some hotel room every night, staring at four walls you can’t stand. My place is quiet. There’s space for you, and… I wouldn’t mind the company either.”
For a moment, he just stared at me. His lips pressed together, jaw flexing like he was grinding over whether to laugh or tell me I was insane.
“Alex, that’s… no. You don’t want me in your space. Trust me. I’m a mess right now, and the last thing I want is to impose.”
“No, not at all, Mr. Lawson,” I said quickly, heat rushing to my face. “You’ve been there for me since day one. You’ve mentored me, backed me up when it mattered, even when I didn’t deserve it. Let me do this for you. Please.”
His brows furrowed, his eyes heavy on me. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to find a place… or when I’ll even have the time to deal with it.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I was using that room for some music composition anyway, just a hobby thing. It’s already set up with a bed. I can clear it out in an afternoon.”
For the first time all week, I saw a faint smile tug at his mouth. “Music, huh. I didn’t know that about you.”
“Yeah,” I admitted with a shrug. “It’s just something I like doing in my free time. Anyway, the room’s comfortable. I’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
His expression softened, though the hesitation was still there. “Alex…” His voice was low, conflicted.
“No, sir. Trust me. It’s no problem at all. I want you there.”
Another long pause. I swore I could hear the sound of his breath as clearly as my own heartbeat. Finally, he let out a rough exhale and leaned back in his chair. “Alright. If you’re sure. Thanks, buddy. I’ll bring my stuff over this weekend.”
“Good,” I said, smiling before I could stop myself. “It’s settled then.”
We wrapped it up quickly after that, didn’t overthink it too much. He just gave me one of those nods of his, the kind that carried weight.
When I walked back to my desk, I was buzzing. The thought of him in my apartment, his things in my spare room, his voice in my kitchen, his smell clinging to the air… it hit me hard. I’d offered it out of nowhere, but the truth was I didn’t know how I was going to behave around him.
Greg Lawson. My boss. My crush for three years. And now he was going to be living under my roof.
The idea twisted low in my gut, equal parts thrill and danger. I knew I should be worried about boundaries, about how close this was about to get. Instead, all I could think about was the heat of him moving through my space, the way my walls would echo with his presence, the way I’d catch myself looking too long, wanting too much.
And I already knew, I wasn’t going to handle it well.
________
Coming Up Next: Move-in Day
[Chapters 2-9 are already posted on Patreon early before they drop here]
Summary: When my newly single boss Greg hit a rough patch, I offered him my spare room just to help out. It was supposed to be temporary, a friendly gesture. But living under the same roof with him turned out to be a lot more complicated than I expected. What started as respect and admiration slowly twisted into something heavier, something I can’t stop thinking about.
EP 1 : The Offer
I’ve been working at Caldwell & Hunt Capital for a little over three years now. Investment banking is brutal, everyone knows that, but there are small things that make it worth the grind. For me, it’s Mr. Greg.
Greg Lawson. Forty-three. My boss. He runs our division with the kind of authority that doesn’t need raising a voice. Hard-nosed, sharp-tongued, fair. A man who never wastes words, never bothers with sugarcoating. The type who respects results, not excuses.
And he has that body. Not in a flashy, gym-rat kind of way, but something broader, built from years of habit. Shoulders that fill out a shirt without trying. Thick forearms, veins pressing against skin whenever he rolls his sleeves up. And that salt-and-pepper fuck, it makes him look like he was carved out of every woman’s guilty fantasy and every gay guy’s unspoken daydream.
Not that I ever let myself think of him that way. Not seriously. Greg Lawson was married. Straight. The kind of straight that didn’t leave any doubt. I mean, I could never picture him even looking at a guy that way.
I met his wife once at a firm dinner. She was polite, quiet. I don’t want to be one of those guys who says, “Oh my god, I knew there was something with them,” but even then, I felt the tension in the room. The silences between them stretched longer than they should. The way her hand clung to her wine glass while he talked told me more than words.
So it wasn’t exactly a shock when the divorce became office news. Papers signed last week. Since then, I've caught myself studying him more than usual. The sharp suits were still there, but he wore them differently now like he wasn’t bothering to tighten the knot on his tie or polish his shoes before walking out the door. His eyes had this distant pull, drifting in meetings like part of him was somewhere else entirely.
And honestly, Mr. Lawson was that rare kind of boss who made you forget he was the boss sometimes. He’d show up in the bullpen during breaks, standing at someone’s desk with his arms folded in those tight tailored pants straining, asking what we had planned for the weekend like we were just guys at a bar. Sometimes he’d drag us out for mini golf after work, trash-talk us the whole time, then be the first one in the office the next morning, sleeves rolled up, already buried in work. He worked hard, played harder. That balance made people want to follow him.
But now? Something in him had shifted. The bite was dulled. The spark was dimmer. After a few days of watching it, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I couldn’t see my role model sitting behind glass walls, running on empty like that.
So I went over to his office. The blinds were half-closed, his desk littered with files he clearly hadn’t touched in hours. He sat leaned back in his chair, blazer draped over the armrest, fingers rubbing at his forehead like even the quiet was too much. I hesitated in the doorway, not sure if I should speak first.
He didn’t even open his eyes.
“Something you need, Alex?” he asked, voice rough, tired.
I stepped inside. “No, sir. Just… wanted to check in. How’re you holding up?”
His eyes cracked open, narrowing on me like he was deciding if I was worth answering. Then he smirked faintly, humorless. “I’ve been better. But you don’t need to worry about me, my guy.”
I nodded, though my chest tightened. “Still Mr. Lawson. You’ve been through a lot.”
He shrugged. His shirt stretched across his chest, pulling at the buttons. My eyes dragged over the lines before I forced them back up. “Seven years,” he muttered. “Seven years, gone in a stack of papers.” He chuckled, low, like it hurt. “She got the house and suddenly I’m living out of a hotel.”
Something in me twisted. Respect, admiration, and… something else, something lower, sharper. He deserved better than a hotel room and cold takeout eaten off the nightstand.
I shifted on my feet. “You shouldn’t be by yourself right now, sir. Not while you’re figuring things out.”
Greg’s gaze flicked back to me, steady. “What do you suggest, Alex? That I crashed at my employees’ place?” His tone was dry, but not cruel.
I swallowed, steadying myself. “I have a spare room,” I said, careful to keep my voice even. “You don’t have to sit in some hotel room every night, staring at four walls you can’t stand. My place is quiet. There’s space for you, and… I wouldn’t mind the company either.”
For a moment, he just stared at me. His lips pressed together, jaw flexing like he was grinding over whether to laugh or tell me I was insane.
“Alex, that’s… no. You don’t want me in your space. Trust me. I’m a mess right now, and the last thing I want is to impose.”
“No, not at all, Mr. Lawson,” I said quickly, heat rushing to my face. “You’ve been there for me since day one. You’ve mentored me, backed me up when it mattered, even when I didn’t deserve it. Let me do this for you. Please.”
His brows furrowed, his eyes heavy on me. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to find a place… or when I’ll even have the time to deal with it.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I was using that room for some music composition anyway, just a hobby thing. It’s already set up with a bed. I can clear it out in an afternoon.”
For the first time all week, I saw a faint smile tug at his mouth. “Music, huh. I didn’t know that about you.”
“Yeah,” I admitted with a shrug. “It’s just something I like doing in my free time. Anyway, the room’s comfortable. I’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
His expression softened, though the hesitation was still there. “Alex…” His voice was low, conflicted.
“No, sir. Trust me. It’s no problem at all. I want you there.”
Another long pause. I swore I could hear the sound of his breath as clearly as my own heartbeat. Finally, he let out a rough exhale and leaned back in his chair. “Alright. If you’re sure. Thanks, buddy. I’ll bring my stuff over this weekend.”
“Good,” I said, smiling before I could stop myself. “It’s settled then.”
We wrapped it up quickly after that, didn’t overthink it too much. He just gave me one of those nods of his, the kind that carried weight.
When I walked back to my desk, I was buzzing. The thought of him in my apartment, his things in my spare room, his voice in my kitchen, his smell clinging to the air… it hit me hard. I’d offered it out of nowhere, but the truth was I didn’t know how I was going to behave around him.
Greg Lawson. My boss. My crush for three years. And now he was going to be living under my roof.
The idea twisted low in my gut, equal parts thrill and danger. I knew I should be worried about boundaries, about how close this was about to get. Instead, all I could think about was the heat of him moving through my space, the way my walls would echo with his presence, the way I’d catch myself looking too long, wanting too much.
And I already knew, I wasn’t going to handle it well.
________
Coming Up Next: Move-in Day
[Chapters 2-9 are already posted on Patreon early before they drop here]
