Suited

Two

Mrs. Genevive met me at the door of the Whitacre estate at eight the next morning. She was tall and slim with a mature face and well-proportioned assets. Today she wore Chanel, just like the last time I'd seen her at a work function. It was her favorite brand. It made her feel more put together. Her outfit consisted of a cotton pullover and a cream pair of pants with floral detailing. Her hair began to grey, so she committed to a full head of artificial color to match it. She considered the natural transitional period unsightly so she skipped to the good part: a styled layered bob of grey with highlights.

"Lucas," she greeted. "It's lovely to see you." I knew it wasn't, given the circumstances, but she was always polite and she liked me. She liked any man under the age of forty from abroad.

"Hello, ma'am."

"Come in. There's coffee in the kitchen. You're welcome to help yourself."

I didn't expect her to help me with it. She didn't know how to use the espresso machine. The private chef was there though, already beginning to pull a shot for me because she heard the door open. I'd been here before on account of Chairman Whitacre. There had been meetings in the house a handful of times. Miranda was aware I'd be arriving and she knew how I took it, so she handed me a steaming macchiato as I rounded the counter and took a seat a few moments later.

"Thank you, Miranda."

"My pleasure, Mr. Alberici." Mrs. Genevive took to the stairs. A short while later, she was out of earshot and Miranda continued. "So Lawrence is going to rehab?"

"That's the plan," I answered. "Shouldn't someone accompany Mrs. Gen?" Addicts tended to be violent, didn't they?

Miranda quietly laughed her way over to the hidden refrigerator, pulling out eggs and bacon on her arrival. "She'll be fine. Lawrence got all of his fussing out last night. He's exhausted."

"Fussing?" She maneuvered to the stove and began cooking. The meat sizzled as it hit the hot pan.

"He's in withdrawal again. Couldn't get to sleep for ages and his mood's been all over the place but Jessie said he was just lying in bed on his phone when he went to wake him. The boy's convinced his girlfriend is cheating on him—I can't remember her name. He goes through 'em so quick—He was flying off the handle last night but he hasn't slept right in days so he's just kind of fatigued."

"I see."

The workers always talked. It didn't matter if they were from the house or the office; it was universal. If something was happening, everyone would know about it. Within the house, the network was especially fast. Most of the workers lived in the private neighborhood on the property. Single-story homes lined the southern edge with a lake behind them and a garden separating them from the house.

At the end of the workday, the workers would retire there for the evening and talk. The cafeteria was a similar space for those in the office and sometimes, in either location, if someone unaware made their way into the space, they'd be informed. Everyone needed to know the important parts and Lawrence's condition was certainly important.

I brought my empty double-walled mug to the sink and began to wash it when someone was on the stairs again. Miranda began working faster. By the time I had finished, a large plate of bacon, eggs, and toast was on the counter next to a small cup of yogurt and a filled water glass. The collection of footsteps came closer until a stool scraped across the wooden floor.

Miranda adjusted her posture and smiled. "Good morning Mr. Lawrence."

So this was Lawrence. He was shorter than Gabriel by about ten centimeters and his hair was on the darker side of blonde. Miranda had been right. He did look exhausted. His under-eyes were purplish and his pale skin looked severely dehydrated. He looked young. Maybe early twenties?