About an hour after Ben left this morning there was a knock at the door. I figured he got all the way to his meeting and forgot his phone. I didn't see it but then again with Ben it could be in the shower, under the bed, in the laundry that's already been picked up, on the floor of a cab he's already exited or in his pocket and he's still thinking he's forgotten it. I find his shirt from yesterday that didn't go out in the laundry (we're so organized when we travel), wrap it around me in what I hope is an avant-garde style and fling the door open, hoping eggs Benedict are on the other side.
No, it's a man in a suit. It's a man in a suit with a name tag. Just a first name. Otto. No hotel brand on the tag. Otto is holding a hotel key card and a set of car keys. He nods and says I must be Bridget, that he was sent by Mr. Benjamin (full name) as assistance for the remainder of our stay. As our personal butler. That if I wish I can call Mr. _____ first to confirm.
I squeal and slam the door in his face.
Then I yell to Lochlan, GUESS WHAT BEN GAVE US.
Lochlan looks quizzical. Breakfast?
NO. A BUTLER.
Lochlan has no idea how much I love butlers. I thought they came with the hotels here but apparently they are just personal assistants you hire and I'm spoiled fucking rotten and that explains all the times I spoke to the hotel trying to glowingly praise what I thought was their staff and they smiled tightly and let me ramble like a crazy woman.
Whatever. We have a butler.
WHO DRIVES.
Looks like my plans for two more days of naked eating in a hotel suite just came to a screeching halt. I open the door back up, hoping the shirt is doing my modesty justice.
Otto is smiling professionally. I'm sure he was warned about my...uh...enthusiasm.
Where would you like to go this morning, Miss?
