Christopher Lord: The Edwin Drood Murders

Отправлено 22 авг. 2018 г., 11:36 пользователем Sven Karsten   [ обновлено 22 авг. 2018 г., 11:37 ]

Simon Alastair pushed away the barely touched breakfast that houseboy/chef Jude Hexam had laid before him. This morning he had several things on his mind. Food wasn’t one of them.

“Sorry you didn’t like it, dude,” Jude said.

“We have a no-dude rule here,” Simon told him matter-of-factly. “I’m old-fashioned that way.”

“No worries,” Jude said, a goofy grin spreading across his handsome face. In his three days on the job, Jude had used that expression frequently, Simon noticed; maybe he really was worry-free. As Simon reasoned, at twenty-two, with his looks and talent, Jude must assume that no worries would ever line that gorgeous face and brow. “What should I call you, then?” Jude asked.

“Simon will do,” he answered.

“Okay, boss,” Jude said. He removed the leek and Camembert frittata, whole-grain toast with artisan butter, and fruit cup. Jude could cook, Simon had to give him that. Jude put the plate on the kitchen island and began cleaning up the gas cooktop.

Simon shook himself out of his reverie. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Breakfast was fine. I’m preoccupied.” He looked at the open laptop in front of him, and then closed the lid.

Reading more about your sexy man?” Jude asked.