Gemotions

The weight of the shopping bags felt insignificant in his hands. He'd spent the morning acquiring exquisite ingredients for tonight's dinner party. He'd even hired a pianist to play light classical music. He turned, watching as the front door of number 12, the humble abode of the Millers, opened.

There was Mrs. Miller, beaming at a chauffeur who was unloading luggage from the trunk of a Rolls Royce. He felt his lips curve upwards.

He glanced down at his designer shoes, a gift from a very satisfied client. He took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. He had a few more phone calls to make, some invitations to send. He really must get around to building that new swimming pool.