“Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Good afternoon, Oliver.” I look him over. His hands are clutching my lunch tray, but as I watch, they squeeze hard, his knuckles going white. I wait another beat before saying, “You did not bring up my breakfast.”
His mouth twitches. “No,” he says reluctantly, before adding, “my lord.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
I don’t reply, simply raise an eyebrow.
“Honestly?” he blurts out at last. “I thought I’d be the last person you’d want to see this morning. I figured I’d let you be served by someone competent, at least for your first morning here.”
I think that over for a moment. “During your time here,youwill serve my meals. Avoiding your duties will not teach you anything, will it?”
“No, my lord,” he murmurs.
“And for the record, Oliver, I always demand honesty. It will make things between us considerably easier.”
“Oh,” he says, and then: “Yeah.”
“‘Yes.’ Not ‘yeah.’”
“Yes. Yes, sir. I mean, yesmy lord,” he says, and stifles an exasperated curse at his own forgetfulness.
Oliver’s luncheon service does show an improvement in his attentiveness to my needs, though I find myself looking for deficiencies, nitpicking in my own mind. The slightly-too-loud clatter of plates as he sets down the tray on the sideboard provokes me to speech. “It’s not one of your American football touchdowns, Oliver. Be careful and precise in your movements.”
“Sorry, my lord.”
“And there isfartoo much ice in that glass.”
“Sorry, my lord.”
“I’m afraid simple apologies aren’t quite good enough for me,” I say, unwilling to let the matter drop so quickly. The truth is, I don’t care how much ice there is in the glass. But I want him to understand his role. “It’s your job to take care of me while I’m here, and that means understanding how I like things done. When I point out deficiencies, you should correct them.Immediately.”
“Of course, my lord. I could remove some of the ice cubes, if…?” He trails off, as if giving me the chance to turn down the offer.
“Go back down to the kitchen and bring me a fresh glass. No more than three cubes of ice.”
He gives me a long stare.
“Well?” I say at last. “Are you committed to learning how to serve, Oliver? Or is a mere glass of water too much for a Dominant to ask of you?”
I can see his jaw clench, but he merely murmurs, “At once, my lord,” and snatches up the offending, ice-stuffed glass.
I can’t help myself timing his return from the kitchen, but he is certainly quick about it. On his return, he sets a new glass on the tray with careful, exaggerated movements, and then turns to me. “Is there anything else I could have done better for you, my lord?”
I take a long, hard look at him, and get a guileless gaze in return. “It’s my view that one should start as one means to go on, Oliver. I’d be a very poor Dominant indeed if I were to let you get away with such sloppy service. Don’t you agree?”
His shoulders remain braced and stiff, but he gives a polite smile. “Oh, I completely agree, my lord.”
“You’ve changed,” I say abruptly. “Since yesterday. Your manner is different.”
“I’m being as me as I can be, my lord,” he says, and I give him a suspicious look.
“Was that a quip?”
“I’d never dare,” he says, but I definitely catch the quick uptick of his lips.
