He leaned one shoulder more comfortably against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest in an easy posture that suggested patience rather than correction. He had perfected that stance over the years—relaxed enough to avoid provoking defensiveness, but still firm enough to keep me from retreating into silence when my thoughts began circling too tightly around something I could not solve.
“I am not worrying.”
Ben grinned boyishly, entirely unconcerned with the correction.
He had grown accustomed to these conversations. At the beginning of his employment, he had treated my statements as instructions that required immediate clarification or compliance. But over time, he had learned when precision mattered and when it did not. Now he navigated my habits with a quiet confidence that suggested familiarity rather than caution.
He had also learned how to tell when I was unsettled.
Ben tilted his head, watching me with that same open, attentive expression that had made him effective in environments I preferred to avoid—donor events, meetings, negotiations with contractors who required reassurance rather than information.
I reached for the envelope on the desk and adjusted its position by a fraction of an inch so it aligned perfectly with the edge of the surface. I hoped he would appreciate the clarity of the workspace.
This would give him somewhere that was his space in this monstrosity of a mansion. I didn’t mind if he explored the rest of the house or utilized the back patio, but I felt deeply that he’d appreciate having a spot that was his alone.
The room had been unused before, and my interior designer had dressed it up as some sort of lounge because, apparently,every single corner of this place needed furniture and decoration, even if I never saw it.
She was most pleased when I called her about redesigning the space into Cove’s new office. And, she did not question me about it. Unlike someone else.
The room was directly in front of the door leading into the wing housing the majority of my aquariums.
It was the perfect spot.
I wanted him near the systems he would be responsible for managing without requiring him to remain inside them at all times. The corridor outside the wing carried the quiet, constant resonance of circulating water through reinforced channels beneath the flooring—soft enough not to intrude, but present enough to remain perceptible to someone who paid attention the way Cove did. He would feel it. He would orient himself by it.
The space itself was larger than a standard office would have required.
It needed to be.
He would spend long hours here.
A sectional sofa had been positioned along the far wall beneath the windows, upholstered in a deep charcoal fabric, durable enough to withstand saltwater exposure but comfortable enough that he could rest without feeling like he was in a waiting room. The cushions had been selected after I confirmed the material would not retain moisture from damp clothing or hands. He often forgot he was wet when he stepped away from tanks.
Across from it, built-in shelving lined the adjacent wall from floor to ceiling. I had left several sections empty intentionally. He would require space for manuals, notebooks, reference texts, specimen guides—whatever he preferred to keep within reach. A few foundational volumes already occupied the lower shelves: regional species indexes, filtration architecture references, andseveral current marine pathology texts I suspected he would find useful.
A mounted television occupied the opposite wall, already set up with every streaming service available.
Three monitors sat on the glass desktop, each calibrated to display live tank feeds from different sectors of the house. He’d be able to view real-time data from the tanks, such as temperature gradients, salinity fluctuations, oxygenation levels, pump performance, feeding cycle timing, structural alerts, and flow irregularities. Even the lighting transitions were visible through the interface.
He would be able to observe nearly every system in the residence from that single seat.
A smaller console had also been installed beneath the desk surface, allowing manual overrides if required. I doubted he would need it right away, but it would become useful once he began making improvements.
Beside the shelving unit, a compact refrigeration drawer had been installed beneath a counter extension.
It was already stocked.
Electrolyte water, bottled cold brew, several varieties of juice, and sealed containers suitable for specimen transport if necessary. I had not been certain which he preferred for any of it, so I had included multiple options.
Ben had suggested adding food, but I’d declined, hoping that possibly, Cove would agree to eating meals with me. And if he needed a snack in between, he could simply walk over to the kitchen.
Beyond the desk, a secondary door opened into a private bathroom attached directly to the office itself.
It contained a shower in case he needed to wash off while on the job.
The fixtures had been selected for durability rather than aesthetics, though the interior designer had insisted on incorporating stone tiling that matched the hallway corridor, and I had allowed it. The drainage system beneath the floor had been reinforced to tolerate sand and trace substrate without obstruction. Towels had already been placed in the cabinet beneath the sink.
Everything he required had been prepared.
