Chapter Two – Dinner for Two . Staff quarters

I flip off the security office's light switch and follow her towards our shared quarters. This is first night that we've had together. I do hope we get along. If we don't it could be like a bad marriage… I suppose one of us would end up leaving.

The first thing I did when Mrs. Jones headed off to serve Mr. Grey's dinner, was use the bedding provided to make up my bed. If there's something the military has taught me it's how to make a bed. Well, the fitted bottom sheet is a bit of a wrestling match but I've mastered hand to hand combat and emerged victorious over a simple piece of cotton sheeting. By the time I'm done, you could bounce a quarter off the sheets. I've hung my suits up. My collection of spare holsters are stored in the under wear drawer. My most frequently used holsters are on my night table. The FBI canted Outside the Waist Band belt holster is my go-to. The Miami Classic shoulder holster is a solid alternative if the dress of the moment requires it. The underwear is still in my foot locker. It will take a while to find places for everything.

In exploring the staff quarters, I noticed two place mats at our breakfast bar. I'm not about to sit around waiting to be served. Shared quarters, shared responsibilities. I'm not afraid to pitch in and help. I saw 2 plates and several casserole dishes in the warming oven. Our quarters smells deliciously of roast turkey. There's no bird in the oven… because I checked. Dang, it smells like Thanksgiving in here!

I looked around for things I could do to be useful. I looked in the obvious places and found the utensils. I got out drinking glasses, paper napkins, salt and pepper. I made some coffee… everything needed was with the coffee maker on the counter. I took a mug with me to the Security Room.

The Security Office has a Master Panel with colored lights showing the status of every point of entry. There's an integrated intrusion alarm. Above the Master Panel is a bank of monitors for Closed Circuit TV which cover the balconies, entrances and the garage. When I arrived, I saw the dark domed security cameras throughout the garage… looking for all the world like the expected building's security. Yet Grey has feed somehow. I wonder how Fred Welch, my old Marine C.O., managed to pull that off. Two cameras cover Mr. Grey's parking spaces.

As Gail leads the way, I notice her feminine shape partly concealed by her apron. She's wearing a crisp short sleeved white blouse and a dark navy blue skirt, pinched in by the apron. Her blonde hair is held back with a devise but is long, well onto her shoulders. It's not a date… I haven't been on a date in years. Hell, I haven't had a dinner with a woman in a very long time. It's time to dust off my manners.

I have done everything possible to reset her first impression after my less than graceful entrance. I decide I'll keep up my charm attack. We do need to get along. I doubt dating co-workers is allowed. It's never a good idea. What do I know about her, anyway. Grey calls her Mrs. Jones. Is she married? I don't see a wedding band or any rings for that matter, but it's not definitive in the modern era.

Using pot holders, she plates us servings of sliced fresh roasted turkey breast, baked potatoes and sliced carrots. She produces bowls of mixed salad and a container of raspberry vinaigrette dressing, I'm guessing home made with it's hand lettered sticky label.

She points me to a tall chair as she comes around the counter, removing her apron and putting it aside. When she turns back to me, I get my first full look at Mrs. Jones. She certainly fills out her blouse well. Her skirt follows the generous flair of her hips. It occurs to me that she deliberately chooses non-confining clothing for freedom of movement around the kitchen.

"Would you like a little wine," she offers?

I hesitate.

"You are off-duty. Mr. Grey is in for the night. He'll probably work in his study until late and then, if we're lucky, he'll go to bed."

"If we're lucky?"

"I shouldn't have said that. Mr. Grey plays the piano. Actually, he plays beautifully. Some nights he'll play until dawn. I assume it is because he can't sleep but I don't really know."

"I'd rather have a beer. I didn't think to stop and buy some." I'm kicking myself. I should have bought some but then, not knowing what I was walking into, maybe it is better this way.

"Wait right there," she says. She leaves our quarters… I think she's on a raiding party to the main apartment. Is this smart? If she gets caught, would there be repercussions? Probably. Would she throw me under the bus to save herself from an irate Mr. Grey? I don't know.

And she's back. I didn't hear any yelling. That's a good sign. She's carrying two bottles of Coors light.

She retrieves a tapered beer glass… I'm sure there's a name for it. "For a cold beer a chilled glass actually isn't recommended," she says. "If the beer is warm, a chilled glass brings out the flavor."

"Should we be doing this? I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I'll replace it tomorrow. There's plenty of beer if Mr. Grey decides he wants one, but usually he drinks wine in the evening."

More knowledge for me to absorb about my new employer.

She pours herself a small glass of wine. I notice it's near the last of the bottle. "Mr. Grey doesn't like waste," she says with a smile.

"I can't say I know much about wine." I think about cheap wine we snuck as kids. Boone's Farms or some such.

"My culinary classes covered wines. I've been an executive chef and restaurant manager, which gave a practical perspective. They say certain wine types go with different foods but people have different tastes too."

"In my line of work, I can't really relax about alcohol. Even an off-duty mistake can have serious on-duty consequences." I hope she doesn't ask more. An incident could cost a driver's license or CWP… Concealed Weapons Permit. It demonstrates lack of judgment… as such, it could easily end a security career. I don't know many women outside of the security profession. If Linda is any indicator, women aren't fond of men who carry weapons. I'm not anxious to have that conversation at this point in our acquaintance.

"When I'm working, I can't even have beer. Iced tea or sprite with a slice of lemon. An Arnold Palmer, half iced tea, half lemonade, over ice, if the bar tender knows what that is. Fancy mock drinks are too easy some numb nuts bar jockey to screw up," I offer. Holy Shit! I need to use a filter.

"Maybe we should work on that?"

"Which? The drink or my language?"

"Both," but I think she's trying stifle a laugh.

I laugh too.

"In that case, I'd like that." So long as it isn't my nuts that are numb.

I need to change the subject.

"That's quite a garden you have going," I lie. I really have no idea.

"Not yet but I'm hopeful. These are just a few herbs for cooking. I wasn't sure how I'd do growing things up here. The real garden… I share with my sister… is at their house in Portland."

"You have a sister?"

"Yes, she's married and they have two boys. I visit on weekends."

"That's nice."

"My daughter, Sophie, lives with her mother in Tacoma." I sigh. "If I'd signed another DSS contract, I'd have been overseas for most of a year. Sophie's three. I don't see her enough as it is."

"DSS?"

"Diplomatic Security Service. It's under the State Department. They contract a lot of former military members for security around the world."

We've pleasantly chatted our way through dinner.

"Would you like desert?"

"Sure. Everything has been delicious."

"I have peach cobbler."

I nod in agreement.

She retrieves a square casserole from the warming oven. It's already been cut. She puts pieces on two plates.

"Ice cream?"

"Yes, please."

I get two scoops of vanilla on top. I sink a desert fork in for my first taste.

"This wonderful. Thank you… Mrs. Jones."

"You can call me Gail, at least when we're in here," she says. "Mr. Grey likes to be formal, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"You can call me Jason… or Taylor. I answer to both."

"Six AM comes pretty early. Goodnight, Jason Taylor."

"Goodnight, Gail."

~~~ Close Protection – 7 am Escala Penthouse

After my morning run with Mr. Grey, I jump in my shower. There's no time to linger.

I grab a towel and quickly dry off, wrap a dry towel around me and step into my room to dress for the day. I pick out my best suit which isn't saying much. I leave the suit coat and my piece on the bed, ready to go.

I emerge from my room to find the kitchen vacant but I find my place at the breakfast bar already set. Mrs. Jones will be making his breakfast.

I fill my cup with coffee. There's orange juice. Under a domed lid, I find bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast on two warmed plates stacked. There's a quilted cloth pad underneath for insulation. At my elbow, there's a plate with several fresh muffins, warm from the oven.

I eat my breakfast. I peel the paper and take a bite. Cran-Apple.

As we pull onto Fourth Ave, I deliberately turn away from Grey House.

"Taylor, you've turned the wrong way!" Mr. Grey barks from the back seat.

"Yes, sir. … Best practice is to vary your route each day." Last night, I used Street View to orient myself and plan a few different routes.

"Of course," he says. Why does it sound like he's sulking? It lasts until his phone rings in his pocket. I think he says "Rozz." I need to find out who that is.