I work in a hotel

He looked at me with his pursed lips. No stutter in his words. He could look me in the eye but I was the wrong side of the dark sunglasses and couldn't catch his gaze. It’s October. It’s overcast outside and we’re inside. I only saw his eyes once and that was at breakfast.
He didn't eat. He had a black filter coffee.

Eccentric is the wrong word. He lived a life of luxury for sure, but almost unknowingly so. Nothing was asked, it was simply expected. But still appreciated.

Oil rich black hair and a wholesomely self-centred ego. But not arrogant. Just expectant. Constantly expectant.

Yes ill get that for you. Yeh i’ll do that now. Wow your hotel business sounds amazing, much more extravagant than this one you’re staying in. You live in Washington? You holiday in Sydney? Your work is in Puerto Rico? And you’re in England for you husband’s cousin’s wedding? Ooh yes, your holiday photos do look interesting. I once… no no of course, its not as important as what you’re telling me.

None of it was on purpose though. He thought I was fantastic, gave me a kiss on the cheek when he left. Bundled out compliments. Shrouded in his scent I had presumed he'd been annoyed with the service. The rustic, ‘cute’ environment. But no, he’d truly enjoyed himself. Opening a velvet pouch for a wallet he paid for the room, picked up his Louis Vuitton handbag and waited for his husband to drive the car round to the front to pick him up. Those shoes could never touch the dirt.