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Operation Voodoo
The butler flipsthe grilled cheese onto a plate, slices it in half, and slides it in front of me, porcelain scraping against stone. “Fresh-sliced tomato?” he asks. “Something to drink?”
“Yes to both,” I say, and then take the opportunity to ask for a beer. When I pull the sandwich apart, the muenster strings and oozes, and my stomach growls in response. The first bite is moan-inducing. He salted the bread and fried it just enough to burn and crisp the edges. It practically melts against my tongue.
He pops the bottle cap off and places the beer on the island, giving it a gentle push so it’s within easy reach. He then collects a tomato out of a hanging basket and gets to work slicing it.
“This is…amazing,” I say after I swallow the first bite.
“I’m glad you like it, madame.”
“You don’t have to call me that,” I say. “You can just call me Scarlett.”
He nods his understanding.
An idea sweeps in, and I perk—who knows more about what goes on around a house than a butler? “How long have you worked here, Frederick?” I take another bite.
“Five years, m…Scarlett.”
I wash it down with a swig of icy beer. “Where did you work before?”
Hesitation. “Another house.” He slides the plated tomato slices in front of me. “Cracked pepper?”
“No thanks. Have you always wanted to be a butler?” He doesn’t look much older than me.
“Sure.”
Sure?
He busies himself with cleaning up and I chuckle playfully. “That didn’t sound very enthusiastic.” Not like someone who’s working their dream job.
He turns to me and with a tight smile, says, “I love it here. Wouldn’t want to work anywhere else.”
He then waits for me to acknowledge his response, to make sure I understand he likes working here and there’s nothing more to it. After I reluctantly nod, he continues what he’s doing.
I grimace as I take another bite, an icky feeling settling into my bones. I’m not going to get anywhere with this preprogrammed robot.
A movie I watched with Stephen last year hurls into memory. Get Lost?
No, Get Out.
About a psychologist and a neurosurgeon who basically erase and reprogram people.
I huff at the thought—Ruby and Magnolia producing robotic slaves at their compound to cater to their every whim. What a story that would be for the front page.
Though, honestly, I’m still more interested in the wreck.
Jake isn’tin the room when I return, which is too bad because I was looking forward to giving him a hard time about leaving me with his sister and Frederick. He must still be talking to Rebecca.
I ignore the jealous twinge in my chest and rummage through my bag for pajamas. It’s only eight o’clock, but I’m exhausted and wouldn’t mind sliding into bed with a book while I wait for the racing prince to grace me with his presence again. The only other thing that interests me at the moment is snooping through the office across the hall, but it’s too early. That’s a middle-of-the-night kind of thing.
I pull out a pair of cotton shorts, some fresh undies, and a crop-top and make my way to the bathroom. I really should shower off after being out in the pollen, but part of me doesn’t want to. If I’m on the dirtier side, I won’t be as tempted with Jake tonight. Beside me.
In bed.
A memory of us in bed together flashes forward—me panting and resting between rounds as I stare up at the ceiling, his body flush with mine. His hand rubs lazy circles against my inner thigh while his mouth pays special attention to my breast, and it helps me make up my mind.
No shower.
