“That seemed to be the gist of it, yes.”
“Even if that were true, it’d be over now. Have her area manager take care of her, and if she continues to be a thorn, you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lift pinged, stopping at his office floor. The lift doors opened, and he walked to the end of the hall, stopping in front of his private lift and going through the security protocols. The lift doors opened, and Ezra followed him on. Ezra pressed the button for the penthouse level and the doors slid shut. It began to rise and with it, Ishmael’s spirits. One way or another, his appetites were about to be fed.
Moments later, the left came to a stop. The doors reopened, Ishmael striding from the lift, giving the man on his door the barest of acknowledgements before opening his door. Going in, he saw that at first glance everything looked as it should be.
Bob was stood to one side, observing the goings on. Michel, his personal chef for the evening, was plating up the meal. A freshly changed and groomed Kris sat on the sofa, reading on the Kindle that Ishmael had gifted him earlier that afternoon.
“It smells lovely, Michel,” he said, walking past. Upon reaching his bedroom door, he cast a glance over at Kris, unsurprised to see him watching him. “I’m going to wash up, and then we’ll go to the table,” he informed Kris. Kris nodded and put down his e-reader.
Ishmael walked into his room. Good, he put everything away where it should be. He went on to the bathroom. Everything was in its proper place, through one of the hand towels seemed to have been used to mop up water before being placed in the hamper. He looked in the shower. Bingo. The lube sat untouched on the shelf, telling him all he needed to know. Smiling to himself in anticipation, he turned around and went to the sink where he washed his hands. He thought about how he wanted to handle this act of disobedience.
First, he needed to be made to obey, Ishmael decided. Then he should face the consequences for his disregard. Ishmael nodded to himself as he dried his hands, knowing just how he was going to break Kris down. First, though, he had to show him he was a man of his word. He re-entered the living room and snapped his fingers at a wide-eyed Kris.
“You know, I think we should get this out of the way before we eat,” he said, reaching into his jacket for the contracts and forms. “You just need to sign these and then after dinner, you can call your mum.” He fished a pen out as well, placing the papers and pen onto the coffee table.
Kris looked through the papers, which were already filled out, enquiring only his signature. “Oh, um, the application for being allowed to stay for work and my employment contract,” Kris said. He picked up the pen and signed shakily, wisely seeming to understand that unless he wished to cancel their agreement and face the final consequences, he had no real choice other than to scribble his signature and the date.
Ishmael clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” he said, gathering the forms up and taking them across to Bob. He handed them to the bodyguard, whispering instructions to him. Bob nodded and left.
“Come, let us eat!” Ishmael took his place at the table. Kris moved to sit on the cushion by his chair. “No, no, you made a decision for yourself, so, come, sit at the table.”
Kris looked confused but did as he was told. “Well, I did agree to become yours and that was part of the deal.”
“Indeed, you did.” Ishmael glanced over at Michel. “Give him his own plate, Michel. Just for tonight.” Ishmael glanced back at Kris. “Just like the clothes.”
Michel said nothing, instead reaching into a cabinet to get out another plate. Kris averted his gaze.
