The pay?  Really?  Alex was the son of a very successful, very wealthy man.  While he stayed at home with Daddy Dick, what did he care what his wages were?  It was likely he didn’t, and this was just another bluff to hide his father’s controlling nature.  And as he stared into those sweet, naïve blue eyes, he hated Richard Tramdan even more.<br/><br/>The wind kicked up and Andreas had to chuckle at the difficulty the other man had with his hair.  It was significantly longer than his own, so while he was able to rake his back with little effort, Alex still struggled with the messy strands.  Moving closer, Andreas began helping tame the wild, glorious mane back, his fingers brushing along the warmth of a pink cheek.<br/><br/>“I don’t mean the pay,” he whispered.  “They treat you like shit in there.  If it wouldn’t have caused you more trouble, I probably would’ve punched that asshole behind the bar.”  He glanced down, finding Alex’s hand with his, and lifted it to inspect for any red marks or bruising Frank’s aggressive move might’ve elicited.  Then he kissed the abused wrist.  “You should at least be treated with some respect.”