The Errand Girl for Rhythm
"To the office, Madam?" Dean, her chauffeur, asks.
"Yes, please, Dean," she says, as she eases herself in the luxurious plush leather backseat.
"Are those for Mr. Gabriel?" he says, pointing at the pharmaceutical package she's holding. "Is he well now?"
"I hope so. That's the whole point of these drugs."
"I'm sure he will be fine. Mr. Gabriel is a strong man," the chauffeur says.
Strong, but ill-tempered, she wants to say, but zips it. She smiles as she recalls how Gabriel stomped out of her room earlier, his well-shaped buttocks bulging through the half-wet towel. She's sure there was also another "bulge" in his front, but she dared not look at it. Indeed, he looked like a Greek god, an angry Greek god. But she would not tell him that; he's already pig-headed and egoistic as he is. Telling him how great he looks would only swell his pride.