The Paradox of Control

The sharp crack of Tom’s voice cut through the shop, his anger ricocheting off the walls like a hammer hitting sheet metal. Yelling at Jesse again. What the hell did he do this time?

I liked Jesse. Tom? Not so much. The man had authority on paper, sure, but he let people trample all over him like a muddy rug at a front door. No spine, no grip. He could raise his voice all he wanted, but yelling ain’t the same as control. A man in power has to command, not just make noise. If you can’t do that, you’ve got no business holding the reins.

A few moments later, the muffled shouting cut off, and Jesse strolled out of the office grinning like he just pulled off a goddamn bank heist. We both knew—he’d skated past trouble yet again.

I leaned against the tool chest, arms crossed. “What the hell did you do this time?”

Jesse smirked, all boyish charm and bad intentions. “What did I do?” He scoffed, playing innocent. “You remember that chick? The one who brought her car in last week for an oil change? Started flirting with me?”

I snorted. “I remember you flirting with her."

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off the technicalities like they didn’t matter. “Well, she came in late last night. I was closing up, just about to lock the doors, and… well, one thing led to another.” His grin turned wicked. “We fucked on a client’s car.”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came.

He rubbed his neck, glancing up at the security camera perched in the corner like a silent judge. “Left a dent. Couldn’t exactly deny it. Let’s just say Tom got himself a little late-night entertainment.”

"Jesus Christ, Jesse."

He shrugged, still grinning. “What? I’m still not fired.”

“So, Tom just... let you get away with it again?” I asked, not because I didn’t already know the answer—hell, I wasn’t even surprised. I just needed to hear it again, needed to roll the sheer stupidity of it around in my mouth like a bitter shot of cheap whiskey. Just like that?

Tom was a pussy. Too scared to fire anyone, too damn nice for the role he’d been saddled with. Well—no, the second part was more true. Tom didn’t have the stomach for confrontation, not really. Didn’t want to risk someone taking a swing at him, didn’t want to carry the weight of knowing he might’ve put a man out on the street. The thought of some poor bastard losing his job, failing to keep a roof over his family’s head, that ate at him. He’d rather let the whole ship sink than throw a single rat overboard.

Some people just shouldn’t be in charge of things. Tom was one of them. And me? I knew damn well I wasn’t cut out for that kind of role either. Didn’t even want it. I know what kind of man I am—well, sort of. I’m no leader, no captain of industry. I take orders, so long as they come from the kind of person who should be giving them.

Jesse shrugged, wearing that half-smirk that meant he thought he’d gamed the system. “Well, kinda. He’s rewarding me. Gave me the rest of the day off.” He winked. “Gotta love the perks, right? Guess I’m free the rest of the afternoon. Gonna use it to meet up with her again.”

And off he went, all swagger and devil-may-care confidence, like the world existed purely to indulge his whims. I wasn’t mad at him—not really. The man had guts, even if he didn’t have a matching set of brains. And I wasn’t talking about guts when it came to dealing with Tom. I meant women.

Me, I was still trying to get laid—just once, just to know what it was like—and Jesse? Jesse had a different woman hanging off his arm every other damn week. How the hell did he do it?

Then again, maybe we weren’t even playing the same game. He was out for looks, for the thrill, for the chase. And me… I wanted something else. Something I couldn’t even tell a woman, because if I did—if I dared to voice it aloud—they’d look at me like I was some kind of freak. And maybe I was.

All I knew for certain was that I was starting to feel desperate.

“Adam!”

The bark of my name yanked me out of my thoughts. I glanced toward Tom’s office.

“Get in here.”

I exhaled through my nose. What now? Whatever it was, I already knew I wouldn’t like it.

“What?” I called back, voice rough with annoyance. “I still gotta—”

“Get in here now!”

Something in Tom’s voice—sharp as a blade, carrying the weight of a command he wasn’t used to giving—snagged in my chest, made my breath hitch like I’d been yanked back by the collar. For a second, just a flicker, I thought maybe—maybe—he meant it this time.

But then the moment cracked. I let out a scoff, low and dry. No, that wasn’t real authority. That was a boy standing in his father’s boots, trying to walk like a man. It didn’t fit, not by a long shot, and I knew it.

“Jesus,” I muttered, dragging a rag across my hands before tossing it aside. “I’m coming. Keep your fucking shirt on.”

I took a breath, squared my shoulders. Knew exactly what was coming. Tom was about to play tough guy, and he’d picked me to be his goddamn punching bag for it. Jesse had just walked all over him—again—and now Tom felt like he had to prove he had a spine. Classic. Transparent as glass. But fine. I could deal with it.

I stepped into the doorway, met his eyes, let the silence hang for a beat longer than was polite. “What?”

I didn’t give him a chance to speak. Couldn’t help myself.

“Did you really just let Jesse off the hook again?”

His face twitched. Caught him off guard. “What? No! I mean, it wasn’t like that.”

I scoffed. “Then what was it like? ’Cause from where I was standing, it looked like the same old shit—you yell, you stomp around, you act like this is the time you finally grow a pair. Then he blinks at you, and you fold like wet paper. Every damn time.” I shook my head, not even trying to hide the disgust. “And now you’re gonna use me to prove to yourself you ain’t a pushover? Fine. Have at it. I don’t give a shit.”

Something in his face cracked—his eyes went wide, stung. He cleared his throat. “No… uh.” He shifted in his chair, grabbing onto something else, something safer. “Adam. I need you to start coming in earlier. Open the shop.”

I blinked. Oh. I’d braced for one pile of bullshit, and instead, he’d hit me with a completely different pile of it.

“I can’t,” I said flatly. “Still don’t have a car.”

The irony of that wasn’t lost on me—not for the first time, not for the last. Working in a damn auto shop, surrounded by cars all day, and I didn’t even own one.

“Take the bus.”

I just stared at him. “First bus doesn’t get to my stop till 6:30.”

“Damn it, Adam.” His palm smacked the desk. “I thought you were saving to get a car.”

I was saving. Had enough to pick up a junker, but there was something else I wanted more. Something, at least to me, chasing some dumb fantasy.

“Dominatrix,” I muttered, too caught up in my thoughts to realize that wasn’t inside voice material.

Tom’s head jerked back. “What?” He blinked at me like I’d grown a second head, maybe three heads. “Did you just say…?”

Thinking fast, I blurted, “Don’t make tricks.”

A pause.

A long one.

Then another.

I nodded, as if that had been a completely normal sentence. “You’re playing a trick on me, aren’t you? You know I can’t.”

He narrowed his eyes, studying me like I was some kind of alien species trying to blend in.

Then he sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine. Get out of here. I’ll find someone else.”

I didn’t spare Tom another glance—just turned on my heel and strode out, letting silence be my last word. Close call like that, best not to linger, not give him time to chew over what he thought he heard. The man had the kind of mind that worked slow but steady, like a millstone, and I wasn’t keen on finding out if he’d grind me into powder by closing.

So I kept my head down, hands busy, heart steady. Just had to make it through the next few hours. One foot in front of the other, one breath at a time.