Chapter 8
Tobias
Today mattered.
“Ben,” I said without turning as I adjusted the angle of one of the monitoring displays in the new office I’d prepared for Cove. “Has the badge arrived?”
“Yes.” His voice carried easily down the hallway behind me. I heard his steps slow as he approached, though he did not enter the room. “It’s been activated for gate access, interior entry points, and the aquarium wing,” he continued. “Limited security clearance otherwise, as requested.”
“Good.” I paused. “Did you confirm his departure?”
“Yes.”
“And the temporary override for early arrival?”
“Yes.”
I nodded once.
Ben waited.
He had worked with me long enough to recognize when silence meant I was thinking and when it meant I expected additional information.
This was the latter.
“He left his apartment on time,” Ben added. “Traffic is minimal this morning. He should be here shortly.”
That was acceptable.
I adjusted the display again, though it did not require adjusting.
Ben watched me for several seconds before speaking again. “The previous caretakers didn’t get an office.”
“He’s different.”
Ben hummed quietly, which was his polite version of calling me out on bullshit.
He was different, though.
He was mine.
Or he would be.
Soon.
“Has his badge been labeled correctly?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“With his name?”
“Yes.”
“And the secondary access chip?”
“In the envelope beside it.”
I nodded again.
Ben remained standing in the doorway. “You’re excited,” he observed.
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Mhm, right.” Ben smiled. “I’ve never seen you reorganize the house for someone before.”
“Changing an unused room into an office could hardly be considered reorganizing the house.”
“So we’re not going to talk about how you spent last night cleaning the entirety of the first floor?”
“That was necessary.”
“I’m sure.”
“I am ensuring he will be comfortable and has what he requires to excel at the job,” I said.
Ben crossed his arms loosely. “And what do you require?”
“That he succeeds here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I turned toward him, ignoring his comment to instruct, “Do not approach him unnecessarily.”
Ben laughed, dimple popping out on his cheek. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“I am serious.”
“I can tell.”
“If he initiates conversation, you may respond,” I clarified. “If he requires assistance, you are to provide it immediately.”
“Of course.”
“But otherwise,” I said firmly, “leave him space to acclimate.”
“He’ll be fine, Tobias,” Ben tried to assure me.
“I know. I just… want him here already,” I confessed.
Ben already knew about my displeasure regarding Cove’s refusal to stay at the house. I just couldn’t understand why Cove hadn’t wanted a room here. I had everything he could possibly need. And if he didn’t like something, I’d just change it.
What was so wrong about my home that he didn’t want to stay?
Or was it not about the house, and more about something Cove had found wrong with me?
“Stop worrying,” Ben chided, interrupting my thoughts.
It was not phrased as an order.
Ben rarely issued those, and not to me. No. To me, he offered suggestions.
He leaned one shoulder more comfortably against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest in an easy posture that suggested patience rather than correction.
He had perfected that stance over the years—relaxed enough to avoid provoking defensiveness, but still firm enough to keep me from retreating into silence when my thoughts began circling too tightly around something I could not solve.
“I am not worrying.”
Ben grinned boyishly, entirely unconcerned with the correction.
He had grown accustomed to these conversations.
At the beginning of his employment, he had treated my statements as instructions that required immediate clarification or compliance.
But over time, he had learned when precision mattered and when it did not.
Now he navigated my habits with a quiet confidence that suggested familiarity rather than caution.
He had also learned how to tell when I was unsettled.
Ben tilted his head, watching me with that same open, attentive expression that had made him effective in environments I preferred to avoid—donor events, meetings, negotiations with contractors who required reassurance rather than information.
I reached for the envelope on the desk and adjusted its position by a fraction of an inch so it aligned perfectly with the edge of the surface. I hoped he would appreciate the clarity of the workspace.
This would give him somewhere that was his space in this monstrosity of a mansion. I didn’t mind if he explored the rest of the house or utilized the back patio, but I felt deeply that he’d appreciate having a spot that was his alone.
The room had been unused before, and my interior designer had dressed it up as some sort of lounge because, apparently, every single corner of this place needed furniture and decoration, even if I never saw it.
She was most pleased when I called her about redesigning the space into Cove’s new office. And, she did not question me about it. Unlike someone else.
The room was directly in front of the door leading into the wing housing the majority of my aquariums.
It was the perfect spot.
I wanted him near the systems he would be responsible for managing without requiring him to remain inside them at all times.
The corridor outside the wing carried the quiet, constant resonance of circulating water through reinforced channels beneath the flooring—soft enough not to intrude, but present enough to remain perceptible to someone who paid attention the way Cove did.
He would feel it. He would orient himself by it.
The space itself was larger than a standard office would have required.
It needed to be.
He would spend long hours here.
A sectional sofa had been positioned along the far wall beneath the windows, upholstered in a deep charcoal fabric, durable enough to withstand saltwater exposure but comfortable enough that he could rest without feeling like he was in a waiting room.
The cushions had been selected after I confirmed the material would not retain moisture from damp clothing or hands.
He often forgot he was wet when he stepped away from tanks.
Across from it, built-in shelving lined the adjacent wall from floor to ceiling.
I had left several sections empty intentionally.
He would require space for manuals, notebooks, reference texts, specimen guides—whatever he preferred to keep within reach.
A few foundational volumes already occupied the lower shelves: regional species indexes, filtration architecture references, and several current marine pathology texts I suspected he would find useful.
A mounted television occupied the opposite wall, already set up with every streaming service available.
Three monitors sat on the glass desktop, each calibrated to display live tank feeds from different sectors of the house.
He’d be able to view real-time data from the tanks, such as temperature gradients, salinity fluctuations, oxygenation levels, pump performance, feeding cycle timing, structural alerts, and flow irregularities.
Even the lighting transitions were visible through the interface.
He would be able to observe nearly every system in the residence from that single seat.
A smaller console had also been installed beneath the desk surface, allowing manual overrides if required. I doubted he would need it right away, but it would become useful once he began making improvements.
Beside the shelving unit, a compact refrigeration drawer had been installed beneath a counter extension.
It was already stocked.
Electrolyte water, bottled cold brew, several varieties of juice, and sealed containers suitable for specimen transport if necessary. I had not been certain which he preferred for any of it, so I had included multiple options.
Ben had suggested adding food, but I’d declined, hoping that possibly, Cove would agree to eating meals with me. And if he needed a snack in between, he could simply walk over to the kitchen.
Beyond the desk, a secondary door opened into a private bathroom attached directly to the office itself.
It contained a shower in case he needed to wash off while on the job.
The fixtures had been selected for durability rather than aesthetics, though the interior designer had insisted on incorporating stone tiling that matched the hallway corridor, and I had allowed it.
The drainage system beneath the floor had been reinforced to tolerate sand and trace substrate without obstruction.
Towels had already been placed in the cabinet beneath the sink.
Everything he required had been prepared.
Everything except his presence.
“You’re really terrible at being subtle, aren’t you?” Ben said mildly behind me after following my gaze around the room.
“What would I need to be subtle about?” I asked.
Ben just grinned in response.
An alert sounded from Ben’s phone.
His gaze moved briefly toward the corridor beyond the office door, then toward the front entry hall.
“He’s at the inner gate.”
Already?
“He is early.”
“He’s five minutes early.”
“That qualifies.”
Ben’s smile returned, softer now. “You should go meet him.”
“I will see him when he enters.”
“You should meet him outside.”
“That is unnecessary.”
Ben’s voice changed when he spoke again—not teasing now, but steady in the way he used when he knew I required something more structured than reassurance.
“He came back, Tobias,” he said. “On his own. For the job. For you.”
That was true.
It was also the only detail that truly should’ve mattered.
So, by the time the vehicle turned the final curve of the driveway beyond the glass corridor, I had already begun walking toward the entry doors.
It was not one of the cars I kept on the property.
That should not have mattered, but it still made me cringe that something that did not belong here was here.
Cove remained seated for a minute after arriving, speaking to the rideshare driver from the back seat, one hand resting lightly against the interior doorframe as he finished whatever conversation had delayed his exit.
I could not hear what they were saying.
That did not prevent me from noticing how relaxed Cove looked while speaking with him.
There was a brightness in his expression that had nothing to do with me.
I did not care for that.
It was an irrational reaction. I recognized it immediately as such. The driver was inconsequential. A temporary presence. Someone who would leave within seconds and never return.
Still, I found myself watching the interaction longer than necessary.
Ben came to stand beside me without speaking, his hands loosely folded behind his back in a posture that mirrored my own closely enough that most people would not have noticed the imitation.
We both watched as the driver laughed at something Cove said, and then Cove smiled back.
I did not like that either.
Finally, after far too much chatting in my opinion, Cove reached forward to retrieve his bags, thanked the driver once more, and then stepped out of the vehicle.
Only then did he look toward the house.
Toward me.
He was dressed simply in a slim-fit t-shirt that clung close enough to his frame to reveal the narrow lines of his shoulders and the quiet strength beneath them.
The fabric caught lightly at his waist where movement had twisted it during the ride, emphasizing the length of his torso in a way that drew the eye downward before continuing along the lean structure of his hips.
His shorts were black and fell just above the knee, and left his calves visible, which were long and lightly defined.
His hair had been braided and pulled forward over his shoulder instead of left down his back, resting loosely against the front of his shirt, where the sunlight caught on the woven strands and the wispy fly-aways.
The motion of stepping away from the car had shifted it, drawing attention to the line of his neck in a way I found unexpectedly distracting.
He was carrying two bags. One rested easily against his shoulder, looking functional and familiar. But the second was smaller.
And insulated.
I frowned at the lunch bag before I could prevent the reaction.
He had brought food.
Of course, he had brought food.
There was nothing unreasonable about that.
He had no reason to assume meals would be provided here.
But it suggested distance. It suggested an expectation of independence rather than belonging.
That would change.
Ben glanced sideways at me.
“I didn’t say anything,” I muttered.
“You were thinking something.”
“I was not.”
“You frowned.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
I ignored him.
As Cove began walking toward the front door, the vehicle slowly reversed down the drive and disappeared around the curve toward the gate.
His steps slowed as he reached the base of the front entry stairs, his gaze moving once across the facade of the house before returning to me again as though confirming I was real and not something he had imagined while driving here.
I stepped forward before he reached the top step.
“Good morning, Cove,” I said.
Then he smiled, and whatever irritation I had briefly felt toward the driver vanished as though it had never existed at all.