Page 7 of Pursuing the Egoist
“As I said, it was fun.” Noah didn’t blink, holding his gaze with his dead fish eyes. “Now, I’m gonna shower. Could you ask someone to remake the bed? I’m staying over.”
The ensuite door slammed closed. Yugo cursed under his breath and got up.
“YOU,” DESCENDING THE MARBLEstairs, Yugo addressed a maid who busied herself with dusting the furniture. “Go to the master bedroom. Remake the bed. Air the room. Now.”
Wiping her palms against her pinafore, the young woman bowed her head.
Barefoot, Yugo strolled through the hall toward the kitchen. The well-conditioned air chilled his half-naked body, making his pants cling to his legs even tighter. Feeling filthy, he glanced down and scrunched up his face finding white patches of dried cum decorating the thin wool. Regret for not joining Noah in the shower crawled under his flesh. He wondered if he could still make it if hurried up.
Chestnut wood, gray stone, two marble islands, and the polished chrome hood and refrigerators gave the kitchen the look of a modern castle. The high ceiling with heavy wooden bars and tall, French windows brought an airy feel, even though the room wasn’t overly big. Right now, the kitchen stood desolate, but the faint smell of eggs and bacon drifted through the air, reminding him of skipped breakfast.
He tugged the freezer open, grabbed the ice packs, then turned to the murmur coming from the hall.
One foot on the staircase, Greg held the maid by her elbow, whispering in her ear. Standing a few steps above him, the woman nodded, straightened, then rushed upstairs, pinafore rustling.
“Everything okay?” Yugo asked approaching Greg, a pro forma really, as his sole stepped on the burgundy stair runner. Not waiting for an answer, he said, “Arrange breakfast for two. We will eat in the bedroom. Let’s say in half an hour, okay?”
“Sure.” Not a muscle straining on the tranquil face, Greg stood still, elbow on the banister. He didn’t follow, but his burning gaze tracked Yugo upstairs.
Turning left, Yugo strolled down the corridor, but a weird sense of estrangement rooted his feet to the floor half-way. At first, he didn’t understand what caused the distress, but then it hit him.
The wall gaped in the place it hadn’t for two years. A painfully bright light streamed through the opening, making the well-lit corridor look dim and dull.
What felt like a small pulse in his chest resounded in his ears with a loud thud. Yugo took a step forward; his mouth dried up. Slowly, as if seeing the room for the first time in his life, he approached.
The sunlight, flooding the space, bounced against the white walls, burning out Yugo’s eyes. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the hallway, staring into the white nothingness. And through this impeccable whiteness, a tiny current of memories trickled. His foot passed the threshold, and cold, morning air washed over him. Fresh and brisk, it felt like a lick of the past over his cheek. A past he had long left behind.
“What’s going on?” His voice ricocheted through the empty space, multiplied by the echo.
The rustle coming from behind made him face the entrance. The same maid stood in the doorway, thin fingers crumpling the hem of her pinafore. “Airing the room, Herr Santell.”
“Airing the room?” Yugo’s gaze searched the space, spotting the fallen-off plaster on the floor, thick layer of dust, and crumpled sheet over the mattress. The room hadn’t been cleaned in years. “On whose request?”
“Mine,” The low voice boomed; Greg stepped into the room. His massive palm patted the woman’s shoulder. “You can go, Mary. Thank you.”
“Excuse me,” she squeaked and rushed toward the staircase.
Yugo scowled, alert in his heart.Of all days, you decided to air this room today. Why?
“I think it’s aired enough. Lock it, and don’t open it without my permission. Is it clear?”
“Crystal.” Greg bowed his head and stepped out.
When the warm electric light wrapped around Yugo with habitual softness, he said, “One more thing. Buy Noah something nice. A Rolex maybe? Have it wrapped and delivered tonight. And find him a bodyguard. Someone young so they look natural together.”
“Too much honor for a whore,” Greg mumbled, but Yugo heard.
“Watch yourself. He isn’t a whore,” Yugo corrected, voice ringing with metal. “By the way, you knew he wasn’t at Rudolph’s. Why did you lie?”
“I never said he was,” Greg deadpanned. “I said Rudolph’s men delivered him.”
Yugo scowled, staring into the brutish face of his subordinate. Something was off, and Yugo wanted to know what.
Under his gaze, Greg’s cheek jerked, and he did that tell-tale bow of his head to his left shoulder he’d always done when he had something to say. Something private. Something he had no right to say. Yugo waited. The ice packs chilled his palms; condensed moisture trickling down his fingers.
After a long pause, Greg gave in to the temptation. Voice dripping with revulsion, he asked, “Of all men… why this trash?”
Yugo tilted his head, mildly amused, greatly irritated. “Since when do you feel this comfortable around me to ask that kind of question?”
