* * *
After Chef Henriette has dismissed me, I go back up to Elliot—I just can’t think of him as anything else this morning, and I guess it won’t matter, since (did I mention?) I’m leaving after breakfast—to help him dress, and bully him down to the breakfast room.
Admittedly, I’m a little nervous to talk him this morning. Last night was amazing, but it’s natural to get those morning-after nerves. Right?
He’s not in my bed when I get back up to my room, but when I knock at his door and hear the coldness in Elliot’s “Yes,” I’m prepared. Morning-after nerves. That’s all.
I’m a littlelessprepared for the wintery blast of those obsidian eyes when I enter the room,orhis first statement.
“You left.” He’s standing next to the piano, spine straight, hands behind his back, chin up, looking down his nose at me.
I stop where I am, surprised. “Well, yeah. I mean, yes. I didn’t want to wake you, but since it’s my last morning, I wanted to help with breakfast.”
“‘I wanted to help with breakfast,my lord.’”
At least I refrain from rolling my eyes. “My apologies,my lord. But as I said, I wanted to help in the kitchen.”
He stares me head to toe, exactly like he did on our very first meeting here in this room, and I get the same quiver at the intensity of his glare. “I had you excused from meal service. I told you that last night.”
He’s in high fucking dudgeon about it, so I change tack. “I’m sorry, my lord. You did. I should have asked permission, but I didn’t want to wake you—and I didn’t want the staff to be inconvenienced by my absence.” It’s a little bit of a lie; Daniel could’ve set the table himself with no problems.
But it seems to pass muster with Elliot. “Very well,” he says at last. “But from now on, you are excused from kitchen duties. You have more important things to attend to.”
I discard the sarcastic response that comes to mind:Oh, yeah? Like sucking your dick?and go instead with, “But my lord, I’m leaving after breakfast.”
His eyelids flicker, just slightly, a butterfly flutter of inky black lashes, and then he says, “But you can’t.”
For a second I think I’ve misheard, but the stubborn stare he’s giving me convinces me. “I beg your pardon?” I ask, a warning edge to my voice.
He takes a breath, about to say something harsh, I think, but then he pauses. “Of course,” he agrees, looking away. The rosy flush from his sleep is back in his cheeks now—but I think from a very different cause. “Of course you can. I misspoke.”
“You…misspoke?”
His hands relax their grip on each other, and he fiddles with the tie of his robe instead, tugging it tighter. “What I meant to say…” He clears his throat, puts his shoulders back. “What I meant to say was, I’d very much appreciate it if youwouldstay one more night.”
“Why?”
My reaction seems to take him by surprise. “Well, because…because you’re beginning to understand my needs, Oliver. And my work has been much easier for me while you’ve been here. And…”
“And?” If he doesn’t say it, I’m not even going to consider it. I’m not even going to consider itanyway, because Ican’tjust take another day off with no notice, but I’d still like to hear him say it.
“And because…I enjoy your company.”
Gone is the self-assured aristocrat, not to mention the confident sex-god from last night who had me begging to come. And yet…I still want to please him.
To serve him.
The horrible, cold desolation that’s been building in my belly starts to recede as I consider the idea. One more night. One more night with Elliot.
“Ifmy boss agrees, I guess—” I begin. Ah, fuck. What am I doing? Magda’s going to flay me alive.
Elliot’s eyes snap back to me. “You’ll stay?”
“Ifmy boss agrees, andonlyone more night,” I caution him. “But after that, Ihaveto go back to work. They’ll can my ass, otherwise.”
“I doubt that. I’m sure you must be a very valued employee.”
“You are? How do you—” I begin, alarmed that Nik or Zee or someone else might have spilled about where I work.
