Page 7 of For You, Sir

“Thank you. I already ate.” He put a skillet on the stove.

Of course he had. Jun didn’t exactly look like the type who rolled out of bed and struggled to get to work on time. His stylish hairdo defied gravity, suggesting a tousled look, but not a strand was out of place: a testament to practice, patience, and hair product. With that perfect skin and elegant posture, he could have been a model instead of a butler.

“Bacon?” Jun suggested.

“Yeah.”

As he moved from the stove to the grocery bag, I caught the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave—cedar and citrus. I was suddenly embarrassed by my own greasy hair and unshaven cheeks. I’d meant to take a shower before the nextJun-is-here, but after he’d last left, fatigue swallowed me up and it seemed like an insurmountable task. I dropped my nose to my shoulder, discretely trying to smell my armpit.

Jun moved effortlessly through the kitchen as if he lived there. As Jun put some bacon in a pan, I was struck by the crazy thought I was an intruder in another man’s house, lurking at his kitchen counter, while he was trying to make his own breakfast. It made as much sense as anything else in these last six months of my life.

I wondered what improvements Jun would make to my home that day. Before he transformed the place by cleaning up, I’d felt like a pile of garbage, surrounded by more of the same. Now, I was still depressed, but it felt more like I was staring down into a dark well instead of curled up at the bottom. Would he stop coming by if he ran out of stuff to do? I had the petulant impulse to mess up the living room again to make sure that didn’t happen.

But even while Jun’s housekeeping lifted my spirits, I wasn’t any closer to writing again. I still planned to sleep my life away on the couch, waiting for… What? The money to run out? For my remaining fans to admit I was a fraud and give up on me? And while I waited for the other shoe to drop, it was nice having Jun breezing through the house, making things better wherever he went like a raven-winged angel.

He was a first-class cook, too. The chicken soup he’d left in the fridge was so good it made my eyes roll back. “That soup you made turned out great,” I said.

A ghost of a smile from Jun. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Sir.”

I liked how he didn’t fake-smile all the time. There was something phony about, say, a too-enthusiastic waitress that came across as bad acting. Sure, Jun was usually as stone-faced as a mortician, but at least that was authentic. When I saw that hint of a smile on his face, he was expressing genuine emotion, not slapping on a mask for the customer’s sake. It made me feel like I could trust him to tell me the truth.

Of course, that might all be part of the studio’s plot to gain my trust. Probably why the devious bastards at Davies & Horne sent me someone so good-looking, too. Cool, sophisticated, and fine as hell in his three-piece suits—Jun’s type was my Kryptonite.

He was a paid professional, and I knew I should treat him as such, but it was hard to keep in mind while he served me all day. He attended to my needs before I’d noticed them myself, which made me want to do something nice for him in return. Give him a big cash tip or suck his dick or something. For the first time, I understood how a scumbag father could fall for his kid’s nanny. There was something appealing about receiving that sort of domestic care, even when it was all an illusion.

Jun placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, sliding his pinkie finger along the counter as he set it down so the plate wouldn’t clink. He set down a napkin and fork and a glass of orange juice as well.

I shoved a bite of perfectly cooked egg into my mouth. Eggs always seemed deceptively simple, but I couldn’t even make a good scramble. Maybe he’d gone to culinary school. “Damn, these are good.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“If you cook like this at home, your wife’s a lucky lady,” I ventured. “Or… husband? Girlfriend?” He looked to be in his late twenties, but could have been a decade younger or older for all I knew. I figured it was ruder to presume he was straight than suggest he might be gay. In SoCal, you could be whatever the fuck you wanted.

Jun’s eyes flicked to me. Then he turned away, putting the dishes in the sink. “Neither, Sir.”

What a waste. With that gorgeous face and long limbs, he had a body that deserved to be adored. I watched as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and neatly flipped them upward twice so he could wash the dishes. He had his back to me, so I let my gaze wander down his back and over the curve of his ass. Even through the blocky shapes of his formalwear, I could tell he kept fit.

I took a bite of bacon, and the salt and smoke spread across my tongue. I idly wondered how it would feel to slide my hands up between those slender thighs, what sort of underwear a butler might wear underneath.

“Would it be all right if I left at four today, Sir?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” I was going to ask if he had a hot date, but that would be pressing the issue after I’d already asked about a girlfriend. “Doing something fun tonight?”

He turned toward me, his mouth tight. “Visiting my mother. In the hospital.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” He had always seemed so calm. Now that I looked closer, I saw the tension in his forehead, the stiff shoulders. This hospital visit was something he really dreaded.

I sympathized. There was nothing good in the world outside. When I thought about leaving the house, I got a feeling like the walls were closing in, and my heart was being squeezed by a fist. There were jackals outside the door, and they’d be able to sniff me out because I was already bleeding. Paparazzi and disappointed fans, haters, and internet trolls.

How dare you write that filth?

You’ve lost your touch.

I hated your last movie. You know which director would have done it better…?

Judgment, shame, disappointment, wrath. I’d drown under the waves of their expectations. Better to just molder away in seclusion until the world forgot about me. Anything but write another fucking script.

I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to wait ‘til four. You can go whenever.”

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