Lessard nodded simply as Atticus replied, being content to sip at his tea in the dignified manner that came so naturally to him, the hand not upon the teacup reaching to idly run through long dark hair, a thoughtful hum passing between his lips. "Nothing I have seen, or not seen, of you so far has made me think you unreliable. Stubborn, yes... But certainly not unreliable." There was a kindness to the smile that graced his features then and he sighed softly, resting the cup upon his folded knee as he looked aimlessly around the room; strangely quiet for an evening.<br/><br/>"I wonder if clients will filter through the doors any time soon. This place is much better without the silence and stillness, don't you agree?" He chuckled to himself, his gaze shifting to the small book he had been writing in before the bodyguard's presence. "I suppose it is simpler for you though; when there are fewer people to be weary of? It must be difficult to maintain your focus with so many rooms and workers..." Lessard idly flicked open his book, flipping through pages until he came upon his notes of the people who lived in the house. It was a habit he had long-since gotten into, and he tapped Atticus' name thoughtfully.<br/><br/>"You are the only person I have less than a page for..." He mused, lifting his gaze to peer through elegant spectacles, looking rather intently at the other man. "I need to remedy that. You seem, after all, like a rather interesting person... Perhaps we should talk more..."