Chapter Text
It was too much money. Way too much, the kind that Nick would never be able to scrounge together by the deadline Monroe’s uncle had set for him to buy Nebojsa’s Grimm books. Who even had one hundred thousand dollars lying around like that?
“We’ll think of something,” Monroe had told him, just like he always did when Nick brought a new obstacle into their lives. But thinking wouldn’t magically make the money appear in Nick’s account, and he wasn’t about to ask Monroe to help cover the cost. His friend had just paid for a wedding - a wedding that Nick had ruined - and a honeymoon trip, and didn’t need an additional expense because Nick couldn’t handle this by himself. Nick tapped his pen against his desk, staring at his computer screen blankly as Hank rattled off facts about their newest case. He needed to focus on it, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the burned husk of Aunt Marie’s trailer and the books that might be able to redeem the loss of it.
“Burkhardt,” came a call from behind him, and Nick jerked out of his stupor to face who had spoken. Renard stood in the doorway of his office, and he waved at Nick to join him. “My office.”
Nick barely held back his groan. What was it now? Ever since Renard had started supporting Dixon in the mayoral campaign, he’d been acting like he was full of more hot air than usual, as if his word meant anything to anyone. Still, Nick pushed himself out of his seat with a nod to Hank, because the man was still his boss and getting fired wasn’t conducive to paying for those damned books.
He slipped into Renard’s office, taking his usual spot leaning against the side table as Renard closed the door after him. Renard wore another new suit that day, one with glinting golden cuff links and a power tie to match, an ensemble he hadn’t deemed fit to don in the precinct’s presence before but for some reason had decided to strut about in now as if he had no intention of leaving the confines of his office for more than a refill of his coffee. He looked good like that though, the suit fitting him well and making the cut of his jaw and shoulders into handholds that Nick had imagined grabbing onto more than once, but the fact that Renard could afford an outfit like that while Nick was struggling to pinch any penny he had to come up with the hundred thousand dollars just made Nick want to punch him even more.
Maybe if he beat Renard up, Nick could take his suit and sell it. Those cuff links alone must have been worth enough for at least one of the books. He crossed his arms, unable to keep the bite out of his voice as he asked, “What is it?”
Renard cast him a sharp glance for it, but as he took his place opposite Nick leaning against his desk, all he said was, “You submitted a request to cash out your time off.”
That’s what this was about? They didn’t need a meeting for this. “Doesn’t that go through payroll? There’s nothing for you to approve.”
“No,” Renard agreed, and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. He glanced at the text on it, and then handed it to Nick. “This is the total, but I wanted to talk to you before it went through. You never use your PTO for anything, and the last time you cashed out was for the down payment on your house.”
“Your point?” The amount of money the paper detailed was abysmally low. Too low to do much to dent the amount needed to buy those books. Nick folded the paper in half so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.
Renard gestured at it, the light glinting off more than just his cuff links with the movement; a thick watch wrapped around his wrist, the kind Monroe would lose his mind over. The kind that cost real money to even look at. Selling something like that would make more than a dent in the cost of the books. “I don’t imagine you’re buying a house.”
“Of course not.” He still lived in that damned house he’d bought with Juliette, and while the thought of leaving it and even Portland altogether after everything that had happened with her had crossed his mind once or twice, this was where he was meant to be. Even if it did mean working under Renard.
“So?” Renard prompted. “What’s the money for?”
Nick rolled his eyes. Renard had his fingers in so many pots he couldn’t stand to be left out of anything. “It’s personal. Is that it?”
Renard sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets, a sure sign a lecture was about to come. “You know, a truce only works if it comes from both sides.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s important,” Nick told him. The look Renard gave him said he didn’t believe that for a second. Nick quickly amended, “When it’s important for you to know.”
“If that request goes through,” Renard said, “you won’t have any PTO left for anything. Including what you need that money for.”
“Good thing I don’t need to take time off for that, then.” At least he didn’t think he did. He shouldn’t. Did he? Maybe he would need to travel to pick up the books, because shipping them across the continents probably wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to sell all of his PTO, but what else could he do? He didn’t have money to throw around on watches like Renard did. If he was Renard, he would’ve simply bought the books and been done with it. But he wasn’t Renard, and he needed the money, but he needed to ensure the books came back to Portland in one piece. Nick continued before Renard could speak, “Well, okay. I might.”
“But you need the money for something.” It wasn’t a question.
Nick grudgingly admitted, “Yes.”
Renard raised a brow. Nick jutted his chin out and didn’t explain further. At his silence, Renard simply asked, “How much?”
“Why?” Nick shot back.
“You need money.” Renard leaned back against his desk as if they were discussing the weather, not Nick’s dismal finances. Damn him. “I can help you with that. So, how much?”
As if that wasn’t suspicious at all. “You don’t even know what it’s for.”
“I don’t need to. You’re going to earn it.”
Nick recoiled, barely able to repeat the words, “Earn it?”
Renard smiled faintly at him. “You didn’t think I’d simply hand you money for nothing, did you?”
“Well, no…” He hadn’t even considered asking Renard for money in the first place. But it made sense: Renard had money, Nick needed money. Nick cleared his throat and shifted against the side table, trying to appear nonchalant despite the way his heart was thudding in his chest. “It’s a lot of money.”
“How much?”
“One hundred grand.” Even saying it out loud hurt. Renard was never going to go for it.
But Renard nodded, and said, “I can do that. When do you need it?”
“Uh - well, by the end of the week…” Monroe’s uncle had originally given him twenty-four hours, but Monroe had managed to negotiate the deadline to the end of the week after mentioning that Nick was a Grimm. His uncle had been fairly amenable after that, though still not willing to lower the price.
“All right,” Renard said. “You’ll get it in chunks. Twenty grand a night, for each night you spend with me.”
“What?!” Nick spluttered, dropping his arms to clench his fists by his sides. He couldn’t have heard that correctly. Spend the night with Renard - multiple nights, the whole week in fact to get the hundred grand?
Renard’s faint smile grew. “You want the money, don’t you? You’ll have to give me something in return for it.”
He’d give Renard something, alright: a great big shiner to match the ego he was being crushed under. “I’m not going to be your - what did you even want, a whore?”
“Sex, yes, but there are more ways to spend time together than physical intimacy.”
What, like a date? Like, multiple dates? With Renard? No. He shouldn’t even be talking about this. “But you’re my boss!”
“Consider this a side job.”
“What - I can’t just - no!” Nick cried.
Renard brushed nothing off of his lapels and pushed off of the desk, and Nick scurried out of his way as he strode to the door. Renard paused with his hand on the knob, turning back to Nick to say, “If you want the full hundred grand, you’ll need to start tonight. Let me know if you change your mind.”
And he opened the door in a clear dismissal.
Nick slowly dragged himself out of the office, his legs numb underneath him from locking his legs in place for too long. Renard didn’t stop him, and he made it back to his desk and sank into the safety of his chair with a groan. Hank was missing from his desk, but his coffee mug was missing too so he was likely getting a refill. Nick unfolded the paper in his hands and stared down at the number it displayed of how much money he’d receive for cashing out his PTO.
It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to be able to buy the books, and they were going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder who might not use them for hunting Wesen but definitely wouldn’t use them for anything good.
Well, maybe he could afford them.
Would it really be so terrible to go on a few dates with Renard? What was a few days - hours, honestly, because when collectively totaled up they wouldn’t even be together for a full day - in the face of a hundred grand? He might actually have to sleep with Renard though, which, while he’d always thought of his boss as handsome, was not as easy to stomach. It wasn’t so much the sex as who it was with; one hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, and Nick wasn’t above sucking cock to get it. He’d done his fair share of that through college for much less reward. But with Renard? Forget the animosity lingering between them - if anyone found out Nick had slept with Renard for money he really would have to leave Portland.
The number displayed on the paper stared back at Nick, the bolded text stating loud and clear exactly how much Nick had left to earn. Too much to accrue in one week, that was for sure.
Unless he accepted Renard’s offer.
No one would have to know. If anyone asked, Nick would say he got the money from Aunt Marie. It could work. He could do that. One week with Renard wouldn’t be so bad. And then Nick would never have to speak to him again outside of work.
He set the paper down on his desk and pulled his phone from his pocket, and with a tremor in his fingers, typed out a quick text to Renard:
I’ll do it.