The efficiency, control, execution. That was his drug. He’s never done such a long-term job like this though. And he felt like a mess. So much for hitting the ground running.
He felt like he’d hit the ground. Felt like he’d hit it 17 times.
Derek groaned up, threw on a pair of jean and a plain baggy black shirt from his apartment-minding the cast.
Ben was waiting for him outside, apathetic.
He ‘hmmed’ in disapproval.
Derek looked at him questioningly, “Hmmm?”
The crisply studded butler leaned forward, gesturing with his gaze, at Derek’s lack of foot-wear.
Derek resisted raising a brow, may as well add another reason why I wish I was back home.
Derek clip-clopped in his sandals after Ben, who escorted him to the kitchen. He’s done it every morning regardless of the fact Derek memorized the route the first time.
Ben entered the kitchen and stepped lightly to the side adding a dazzling flourish of the arm, “Master McVale has arrived.” He announced blankly.
The room was grand, unsurprisingly. The kitchen was made entirely of hardwood, painted to match the rough and textured sandstone exterior of the mansion. Peach marble countertops, an island with a large sink made entirely of the same marble angled to hug the counter.
Three of the widest steps lead down to a sharply angled table. Tall, it was-too-made entirely of peach marble and sitting at the table, by himself, was Alex.
He was clapping, “See, Ben?! That extra sass with the hand really brings the character out of you!”
Alex was wearing a tall cotton robe, embroidered with the same silver design as the shirt he gave Derek two nights ago.
“I defer to your unmatched understanding of my job, sir.”
Alex laughed, looking at Derek. “You see? Ben doing stand-up would be amazing!!”