Armand
I wokeup when the phone rang with Zio’s courtesy call from the concierge. It took three rings before he stirred and flung his arm out to make the noise stop. He knocked the receiver off the cradle, making me chuckle. It seemed I was forever doomed to be surrounded by men who could not get themselves out of bed without help. Good thing I found it an adorable trait.
“Zio, it’s time to wake up.”
He curled into a ball with a sleepy mumble that sounded like an attempt at asking for five more minutes. It didn’t come as a surprise considering he was pretty out of it at breakfast. Him not being a morning person made his waking up yesterday for the sunrise more meaningful to me. I could only imagine how many alarms he had to set to wake up in time.
Deciding to take pity on him, I slipped out of bed and walked around to hang up the beeping phone. Getting dressed, I grabbed his key off the coffee table to get him breakfast. After not having dinner last night, there was no way I was going to send him off to his conference without a meal. If I brought it to him, he could sleep in longer if he didn’t have to go down to the restaurant to eat.
Whereas I enjoyed a hot breakfast, Zio had shown a preference for their pastries. My Parisian soul despaired at the pathetic excuse for croissants he liked, but I grabbed two of those and blueberry muffins. I picked up four packets of butter since I noticed he always ate and drank things in even numbers. The server was kind enough to get me a bag for the pastries, a knife, a drink carrier, and two cups of coffee to go. I was generous with the cream and sugar because he preferred his coffee to be a pale shade of taupe. Since he also liked sparkling water, I grabbed him two bottles. That way he could take one to the conference and have the other in his room fridge for when he returned.
Satisfied I had everything he needed to start his day off on the right foot, I returned to his suite. I set his food and coffee on the desk next to his laptop. If he was anything like Arsène, he would multitask by eating and checking his email while doing last-minute adjustments on his presentation.
After putting the sparkling water in the fridge, I went over to peek in his closet. His clothes were neatly hung, making it easy to pick an outfit for him. I pulled out a pair of pants and a thin gray sweater with black trim to go over a white button-down shirt. Taking them into the bathroom, I folded them on the marble counter before setting about the impossible task of waking up Zio.
I started by saying his name, then shook his shoulder to rouse him. Other than a sleepy grumble, he didn’t react. That meant I had to resort to more underhanded means. I threw off the comforter and sheets, leaving him bare. He curled into the fetal position with a whine as his hand flailed in a desperate grab for the blankets to pull them back over him.
“Non, it’s time to get up, Zio.” When that didn’t work, I figured appealing to his anxiety would be the best method. “You’re going to be late.”
As I suspected, hearing the word “late” caused him to jolt awake as he stared at me with wide eyes in a panic. “Shit! How late am I?”
“You still have time to eat.” I held my hand out to him to pull him out of bed. He accepted my help, so I rewarded him with two soft kisses before ushering him toward the bathroom.
It impressed me how quickly he got ready and emerged fully dressed. He looked adorable, although he had a puzzled expression on his face. “How did you know this was what I planned to wear?”
“Since you wore your green sweater cardigan on our first dinner together, I assumed that was the outfit you wished to impress people with. You mentioned your presentation is tomorrow, so I thought you’d save it for that. Hoodies would be too casual for the event, which left this for today. You’retrès beauin it, too.”
His pleased blush was adorable. “Um, thank you. But we should head to the restaurant for breakfast if I have any chance of eating.”
“I already took care of it, so there’s no need to go downstairs.” I led him over to his desk where the bag and drinks were next to his computer. “This way, you can eat and do any last-minute presentation adjustments or check your email. I also prepared coffee for now and the other to take with you.”
Zio blinked at me in shock before he sat down in the office chair. “Um, thanks. That was really considerate of you.” He took everything out of the bag, his expression brightening when he realized I had made sure he had all of his favorite things. “This is perfect, wow!”
Taking a seat on the couch, I enjoyed his wonder over such a simple thing. “Your coffee already has cream and sugar in it, too.”
“You don’t miss any details, do you?”
“I don’t, which is what makes me so good at my job.” I had always prided myself on anticipating people’s needs before they had to ask for things. “There are also two bottles of sparkling water waiting in the fridge for you, too.”
He sliced his blueberry muffin in half and began buttering it. “Thanks! But why two?”
“Because I noticed you eat and drink everything in even numbers. When you order only one thing like a hamburger for lunch, you cut it in two.”
“I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed you figured that out about me.” He ate the bottom of his muffin in two bites, as he always did. “Is it obvious that I do that? Or are you like my brother where you get all Sherlock Holmes about picking up little details?”
“Ah, that’s what you meant by ‘Sherlocked’ last night.” His term had confused me, so I appreciated him shedding light on it. “To answer your question, I’m more attuned to people’s needs than the average person. I don’t think your preference for even numbers is something most people would notice, nor is it strange.”
“It’s a manifestation of my OCD. I’m lucky that mine isn’t debilitating, but it’s still annoying.” He ate the top half of his muffin while giving me an assessing look over. “Have you always been like this?”
“As a child, I enjoyed being useful. Few things please people more than having their every need catered to, and I love making everyone happy. My hedonism isn’t just about sexual pleasure.”
“Is it—” He interrupted himself and took a long sip of his coffee.
I refused to let him dodge the issue. “Is it what?”
“Never mind. It’s not my place.” He focused on pulling his croissant into smaller bites to put butter on. As dry as it looked, it needed any help it could get.
His reaction intrigued me. “You can ask. I’m an open book.”
