Page 12 of For You, Sir

What? Why was he changing the subject to shampoos and body wash? “Th-they’re fine.” In truth, I hadn’t used them yet.

He nodded to himself. “If Sir is feeling well enough to shower and get dressed, I would be honored to join him for lunch. If not, I feel I would be imposing.”

My neck felt hot. Was he saying I smelled bad? Hell, maybe I did. But I didn’t sense any accusation or distaste. Maybe he was using lunch as leverage to make me act like a human being again. Clever guy. Sure enough, the prospect of Jun’s company was enough incentive to overcome my weariness. “Sure. Actually, I was going to shower right now.”

“Ah. Excuse me then, Sir.” Jun rose to his feet and left the bathroom with a little bow, taking the cleaning supplies with him.

I found myself in the bathroom, holding a paper cup of latte and wondering what the hell just happened. My butler was running circles around me; this was probably what the studio had hired him to do. I chugged the rest of my coffee, stripped off my clothes, and got in the shower. As expected, Jun had impeccable taste. The luxury soaps he’d bought smelled fabulous, and it was cathartic to let the hot water pound over my body. By the time I was clean and shaven, I felt refreshed in a way I hadn’t for a long while. I was glad he’d made me do this.

I couldn’t put my dirty clothes back on—God, seeing them wadded on the floor, I could see how dirty they were—so I wrapped a towel around my waist and padded to the master bedroom. My bed was newly made, and my clothes were nowhere to be seen. I found everything in the closet and chest of drawers. Shirts and jeans I’d forgotten I owned because they were buried in piles of dirty laundry for so long. Jun was like a fairy godfather of health and wholeness. My thoughts lingered for a moment on how he must’ve handled my underwear when putting them away.

I took more time than necessary to select my outfit. I told myself it was just because I was rediscovering old pieces I liked, but it felt like I was getting ready for a date. Dressing to impress. I put on my favorite designer jeans that had creative, layered stitching and a thin black T-shirt for a Scandinavian metal band that I knew would show off my pecs. But checking myself in the mirror, the effect was lackluster.

Damn, Einar. What’s become of you?

The muscular chest I’d once been proud of had atrophied to humdrum mediocrity in my months on the couch. My pecs used to strain under the band’s logo, but now the shirt simply fitted. I stripped it off and put on a button-down with an artsy asymmetrical print instead, and cuffed the sleeves just above my elbows.

I needed to get back into a workout routine. I’d hit the weight bench and get my body back into fighting shape. But just thinking about it made me feel bone-weary. Showering had already taken a lot out of me, and by the time I finished dressing, I was slowing down like gravity had doubled. With no energy left, I dragged my ass to the couch and fell asleep.

~

I woke to a delicious smell I couldn’t identify—something savory and meaty. I went to the bathroom to brush the tangles from my hair, then headed into the kitchen.

Jun had pulled out my panini maker, a hefty tank of an appliance that I’d gotten as a Christmas gift, but never used. The steam wafting from the edges of the grill lured me in.

“Hello, Sir. Lunch is almost ready.” He wore an apron with bright yellow sunflowers, which looked pretty fucking cute.

“Cool.” I grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a seat at the kitchen island.

Jun pulled out a knife and cutting board, stealing a glance at my beer.

“You want one, too?” I asked, twisting off the cap.

“No, thank you, Sir.”

Was that a hint of disapproval in his voice, or was I just being paranoid? All those martini “lunches” with Hollywood bigwigs had probably left me desensitized about drinking at noon.

He cut the toasted sandwiches in half, then brought them over on plates with dishes of tomato soup on the side. “I didn’t make the soup,” Jun hastily confessed, as if it was a sin. “I got it at a local deli this time.” He put the plates down and pulled up a chair at the island beside me.

“Smells awesome.” I took a bite of the panini.God damn,it was good! Tastier than any sandwich had a right to be. The bread was grilled sourdough brushed with olive oil, and inside were layers of roasted turkey, grainy mustard, sundried tomatoes, fresh spinach, bacon and… I curled back the top of my sandwich and looked at the layer of melted cheese—a light yellow color with holes in it like Swiss. “Is this Jarlsberg?”

“Yes.” He looked suddenly shy.

“Did you get it because it’s Norwegian?”

A hint of pink appeared on his pale cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”

I smiled, inordinately pleased, and took another bite. The flavor reminded me of snowy days in Norway as a kid, eating toasted cheese sandwiches with my sister Nora after a day of sledding. “Takes me back to my childhood.”

Jun rewarded me with a subdued smile. He took a sip of tomato soup, then dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Do you have any requests for meals you’d like me to make, Sir?”

I tried to think of something, but drew a blank. “What do you like cooking at home?”

He looked sheepish. “I don’t cook much at home, Sir.”

“Seriously?” It was criminal his cooking skills were wasted on rich assholes like me.

He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I live alone. It’s not really worth it.”

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