THE STORM HAD ENDED, Rochester pushed forward to lean against the wall, his gaze resting on the window summer. The shining morning dew which usually lit up the grassy plains of the garden had long been replaced by the sun's beam. Noon was fast approaching. And though his mood was disoriented for a major lack of sleep among the lots, he was still thankful because of what that person had done in the end. Her response had been the least of his expectations, but he was appreciative now that she had done it. It was artful, the way she had put his mother in her place, so he believed she must have figured out how he needed saving without even saying.
"Boss…" a macho voice spoke from the opposite side of the door.
"Who's it? I am not in the mood to see anybody."
"Oh, but it is just me, sir. Caesar, your wine butler. I came with the…"
"You may come in," Rochester said, adjusting his frame from leaning tiredly against the wall.
"Caesar, I would rather you…"
