“In that case, you are most welcome,” Sir Sinclar remarked graciously.“Thank you, Sir,” I replied with a light bow. He nodded and was about to turn when I moved forward with an eager step. “Would it be overextending if I asked for a tour, Sir? However brief,” I requested humbly, my hands clasped before me, facing the father.He turned back, a gentle smile on his face. His eyes slid to his son, then to me, “I’m sure Adrian –”“Oh, no, Sir,” I cut in excitedly, taking another step toward the elder. “This is YOUR house, and I am honored to be able to visit. Please, if you don’t mind,” I pressed politely, courteously, my gaze never leaving my client’s.The old man smiled in that way fathers and grandfathers do. The smile of a man who had sons he was not close to, or able to reach the way he would have liked, and was only too happy to engage with males of similar age with his progeny.But usually couldn’t because younger men were not accessible, withou
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