Triplets Make Five

by Nicole Elliot

  It was odd, but it felt wrong to let the email go unanswered.

  Mr. Walker,

  Thank you for informing me of the paperwork. It will promptly be attended to when I return. As far as people losing their jobs, I suppose it is a good thing you haven’t fired anyone yet. Though I’m sure someone’s slacked off somewhere. Like I said in my prior email, I do not view you the way I once did. There is no reason for you to prove yourself any longer.

  And the retreat is going wonderfully.

  Again, thank you for it.

  Delilah Kent

  I set my phone off to the side and continued sipping my tea. The sun was slowly rising in the sky, casting a warm glow over the field that backed up to my cabin. At any other point in time, it would’ve been considered inspirational.

  But for some reason, it only struck me as normal.

  I finished my cup of tea and headed in from the balcony. My mind was at a stand still, so I figured a day of rest would do me some good. I closed the balcony doors, grabbed my phone, and headed down towards the fireplace to cozy up and read a book.

  I didn’t get four pages in before my work email rang out again on my phone.

  And it was another email from Preston.

  Miss Kent,

  I am glad to hear the art-based vacation is going well. Painting anything worthy of The Louvre? As far as people slacking off, there is plenty of that. But slacking off is only worthy of a decent chastising. Nothing has affected how the company operates and profits, so nothing of that magnitude has occurred. I figured it would settle your mind, if you still thought I was going to fire you.

  P. Walker

  A grin spread across my face as I read his email. I wasn’t in fear of losing my job any longer, but it was interesting that he was worried I was still thinking that. Did the infamous Preston Walker suddenly care about what I thought? That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t who he was. He didn’t care about what anyone else thought. All he cared about was women, money, and glory.

  But my stomach fluttered with every email I received from him.

  Our correspondence went back and forth like that for the rest of my retreat. And every time I got a response from him, a picture emerged to the forefront of my mind. It took a couple of days to solidify the color scheme and the shading, but once it was brought to life in my mind’s eye, I couldn’t shake it. Back and forth we went with our emails, bouncing around from work to our personal lives. And the more I learned about him the clearer the picture became.

  But then, there was one particular email. One email that changed the tone of our correspondence. And it had nothing to do with the content of the message.

  Instead of using my last name, he used my first.

  ‘Delilah’.

  He called me ‘Delilah’ instead of ‘Miss Kent’.

  Delilah,

  I know you only have a few days until you return to work, so I’ll make this brief. Could I see one of your paintings?

  P. Walker

  I looked up at the painting I was finishing up and sighed. It was the best one I had done during the three weeks I had been here. In the time we emailed back and forth, I learned a bit about his prep school days and about his frustrations with the company. I learned a lot about his years in Harvard Business School and how he always toed the line between the cool man on campus and the workaholic. I got to see yet another side of him. A side that was unfiltered and more raw without the risk of seeing judgment roll across someone’s face.

  It made me wonder if he could be like this in person with someone.

  But I couldn’t send him a picture of the painting I was working on. It was too personal. Too primal. In a way, I couldn’t even explain to myself why I had chosen what I had. Why my mind had been so hellbent on bleeding this image through my fingertips. So I hopped off my stool and started taking pictures of my sketches. Shaded doodles of the landscape and sunsets I was going to bring to life on my laptop whenever I couldn’t sleep at night.

  Because I couldn’t show him what I was most proud of. What my mind had retrieved as important during the course of our conversations. I couldn’t show him the painted picture of his naked body lying in bed that morning. When I stood, naked and vulnerable, in his penthouse apartment. I couldn’t show this to him for many reasons. Because it was personal. Because it was private. Because it etched itself inside a deeper part of me that had only ever been accessed by one other person.

  Because then I would have to talk with him about why I had left him that morning.

  And I was never going to be ready for that conversation.

  Thirteen

  Delilah

  My return to the office was less than triumphant. In fact, no one really knew I was gone. Marcie, the front desk secretary for the office building, greeted me as if it was just another day. I walked through the office building with everyone oblivious to the fact that I was there. Everyone was talking and gossiping about the latest drama in the office, not even noticing that I was returning after a three-week hiatus. The only reprieve I felt I had was the fact that I was about to see Preston. I was about to walk by his office with his door wide open, and I thought about sticking my head in there. After all, we had been conversing via email for the past week and a half.

  I felt confidence surge through my veins as the elevator door opened on my floor.

  I walked down the hallway, approaching Preston's door on my left. I could feel the excitement buzzing through my veins. Just the simple act of peeking into his office without him beckoning for me sent me reeling. It was a bold move for me in the office. One that wasn’t usually made. I could feel the fire surge through my veins as I started for his office, my shoulders rolled back and my head held high.

  But when I got to the door, I realized it was closed.

  Closed, locked, and no lights on in sight.

  Sighing to myself, I turned down the hallway and headed for my office. I opened up my door and gazed down at the papers that had been shoved underneath and groaned. The investor’s accounts needed to be updated with their newest monetary additions, and that would take me all afternoon.

  Shoving thoughts of my confidence to the side, I picked up the papers and got to work. I shut my door and dug into the numbers, surprised to see the numbers I did. I knew that Preston was trying to cut down on the number of investors meetings that took place throughout the year, so that probably accounted for the money I was handling. But as I went through and updated all of their accounts, I noticed there was another meeting with them set for next month.

  Maybe Preston was a smooth talker when it came to garnering funds for his companies.

  I kept my nose in the books until my alarm went off for lunch. I looked up and saw that it was twelve thirty, but when I opened the door there were still no signs of Preston. I wondered where he was. Where he could have been. He took great pride and boasted on how he was supposedly doing well, even though that bet had been called off after our date. So it wouldn't make sense for him to simply not show up to work.

  Then, the email on my computer flashed.

  Delilah,

  Welcome back to the office. I’m sorry I am not there to greet you personally, but something called me away from the company. Urgent matters with the business. I will be back in a couple weeks, and there are a few things I wanted to tell you:

  The paperwork for the investor’s needs to be settled by the end of the day. I need that money in the budget as soon as possible.

  I know you’re probably questioning the investor’s meeting next month. Don’t worry, we’ll talk about it later. It’s not a mistake.

  Your sketches were lovely. I’m glad your vacation did you some good.

  I will see you when I return. I won’t be back for a couple more weeks, so if anyone comes looking for me, just tell them to slip a note underneath my door and I’ll take care of it.

  P. Walker

  I smiled at his last bullet point. I hadn't heard from him since I had sent him pictures of
the sketches I did over the course of my vacation. Which meant whatever urgent matter required his attention, he had been attending to it for almost a week. And if it was going to keep him hostage for two more weeks, then it had to be another client. I wasn't worried about the investors meeting, I was simply curious about it. But the mere fact that he felt the need to address it meant two things. One, he meant to keep me at his side in my current position. And two, he knew me a little better than I was comfortable with.

  But even still, it brought a smile to my face.

  The fact that the investors account needed to be settled by the end of the day, however, meant he needed the funds immediately. And until I sent down the final numbers and my tallies, the Finance Department wouldn’t release a single dime of their checks. Maybe the urgent business was a new client we were taking on. Whatever the case was, I decided to go ahead and work through my lunch. I knew I could get everything settled before five o’clock that afternoon, but if I could get it settled sooner, I wanted to.

  I don't really know why, but that's what I felt compelled to do.

  But before I got started, I decided to send him an email. After all, that was the routine we had fallen into. I didn’t want him to be expecting a message and not get one in return.

  That would be rude.

  Mr. Walker,

  I am sure you have your reasons for the investors’ meeting. It was curious, but not beyond the scope of what you control at the company. Rest assured I will be there for that one. As far as the investor’s accounts go, I should have them settled by three this afternoon, so their funds should be in the correct account before closing time today. And thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed the sketches.

  I was wondering if I could ask you something. Well, request something of you. I have something I want to tell you. Well, discuss with you, if I’m being honest. Would there be anyway we could put something on the books for when you return? Just the two of us?

  Delilah

  I turned my nose back to the papers in front of me and began drawing calculations. I entered the numbers into the system in order to alter the charts and pie graphs that would be going out to all of the investors in their monthly newsletter. I wrote everything down and started to double-check my numbers, but my email flashing on my computer screen caught my attention.

  Preston had responded.

  Delilah,

  I would love to get together with you again. What do you think about our restaurant?

  I’ll call them and make the reservations and let you know when the date is. Wear whatever makes you feel beautiful.

  P. Walker

  I read the email over and over, losing myself in the words. Our restaurant? What did that mean? Did he mean the one restaurant he had taken me to on our one date? That place was hardly ‘our restaurant’. We had only been once, and if we were dating it would have simply been the place where we had our first date. But no one did that kind of thing until there was something special two people were celebrating. An anniversary or an engagement to be proposed. Visiting a restaurant again hardly denoted it as a trend of ours, so his words took me aback.

  But then again, I was also smiling.

  I sat back in my chair and read the words again. Within the span of the thirty minutes it took for him to respond to me, he had taken my simple request to talk as an open invitation to take me out again. Did he think I had been asking him out on a date? Was he really going to take me out again after what happened? After I had…left him like that? Naked and vulnerable in his own home?

  Did I really care?

  I decided to leave the email unanswered. If he booked the date for Friday, then I would go. If he didn't book it, then I wouldn't. I didn't know what it was, but I was still struggling with giving him the satisfaction of saying ‘yes’. Even on our first date, with the passion that flowed between our bodies all night, I still didn't have to say anything to get there. There were only gestures between us. Gestures that showed my consent with what happened, but did not force me to utter anything out loud.

  If I had to say it--if I had to admit that I had wanted to be with the kind of man Preston Walker had been that night--it felt like I was disappointing myself. Like I was somehow debasing myself by falling to the knees of a man who was a self-professed playboy.

  And yet, I had enjoyed every bit of it.

  Sighing, I got back to work. I confirmed all of the numbers and added up the total amount the investors had given to the company. Then, I hand-delivered everything down to the Finance Department to make sure everything would get processed before the end of the day. I told them it was urgent. That Mr. Walker needed these funds before the day was out.

  The woman I handed the papers to didn't seem to second-guess anything I had said.

  I strolled back to my office and looked at the clock. It was three o’clock on the nose, and I groaned as I relaxed back into my chair. I took a look at the schedule that had been set for me while I was away, taking note of the meetings I would have to appear in for the next month. There was another meeting with the graphic design team, another meeting with Finance, the other investors meeting, and another company-wide meeting.

  I went into the events and set alarms for them so I wouldn't be caught off guard the day of the meetings.

  I flipped back over to my email and read Preston’s message again. He was asking me all of those questions about Friday night as if I had some sort of input. But then his last sentence suggested I didn’t have any input in what was going on at all. Maybe he thought he was being romantic. Or maybe he thought he could swoon me back into bed. I wasn't sure what he was concocting, but I felt like something was brewing.

  However, my thoughts were interrupted with another wave of nausea wafted over my body.

  I had no idea what was going on, but it was so strong that I had to grab my trash can. I heaved into it, tears brewing in my eyes. I reached over towards my desk lamp and turned it off, my eyes throbbing as my rolling stomach took me for a ride. I thought I had left this stomach bug in the mountains, but it seemed as if it had followed me home.

  I felt gross. I knew I still had two more hours to work, but my body suddenly felt exhausted. I decided to pack my things up and go home, taping a notice up on the door to route any issues they had onto a note and slide it underneath Preston’s door. I grabbed some water out of my fridge to take home with me as the room spun. I had to slump against the wall in order to gather myself, the nausea rolling over me like an impending storm.

  I felt my forehead with the back of my hand and relinquished myself to the truth. I was sick and I needed to get to a doctor. I made my way for the elevator and went down to the parking garage, then slowly felt my way to my car. I took deep breaths as a headache tore through my head, throbbing my vision as I sat down into my car.

  I called my doctor and made an emergency appointment, listing my symptoms and telling them it didn’t matter to me who I saw. All I wanted was something for this growing migraine and something to help keep my nausea at bay.

  The rest I could work through. But I had just gotten back from vacation and I couldn’t afford to start taking sick days.

  Even if Preston wasn’t here to scrutinize them.

  Fourteen

  Preston

  That fucking business trip kept me away for almost three damn weeks. I knew the client was special and whatnot, but that had gotten ridiculous. I was two more days away from cutting off the deal altogether. I hated clients who thought they knew all the shit about what they were getting into. But once everything was finished, Kiefer And Associates had snagged their largest client to date. It would take it into the big leagues and allow the company to get their feet wet in how shit like this was supposed to work.

  And now, I was preparing myself for my date with Delilah.

  She never responded to my email, so I figured she was playing hard to get. I made the reservations for a Friday evening so we could have all the time in the world. I had every intention of exploring h
er body the way it deserved to be explored. I was going to kiss all her crevices and have her dripping into my hand before we even left that damn restaurant tonight.

  I was ready for it, and I had the perfect suit on to make her fall to her knees.

  It was a tailored gray suit, with a royal blue shirt and a matching gray tie. I remembered how she eyed my suit the first time. How her eyes took in the slope of my shoulders and the tapered waist of my jacket. I had every intention of drawing that same speechless look upon her face again. I had every intention of making it so that she couldn’t leave me in the morning.

  I had every intention of making her my breakfast Saturday morning.

  But when I met her at the restaurant, it was me who was in trouble. She stood from the table, her body draped in a flowing black dress. Her hair was piled high on her head and her eyes were accented with a glittering black eyeliner. I swallowed thickly as she waved at me, a tentative smile upon her rosy cheeks.

  She was breathtaking, and I could feel my cock already pushing against my pants.

  Striding over towards her, I slipped my hand into hers. Her eyes connected with mine, dancing in between them as I pulled her towards the bathrooms. I could feel her tugging against me, trying to get my attention as I pulled us towards the men’s bathroom.

  I turned around and looked at her before I crashed my lips onto hers.

  Instantly, her hands flew to my hair. I backed myself into the bathroom, tugging her along with me. Her lips pressed into mine and I tasted the sweetness of her tongue. I flipped the lock on the bathroom wall before I backed her into a stall, my hand racing up her dress.

  “Holy fuck, you look incredible,” I said.

  “Preston,” she said breathlessly. “We have to…umm…talk.”

  “Can it wait?” I asked.

  I pulled back and looked into her eyes as my hand crept up her thigh. I could feel how wet she was. How wanton her body already was for me. My cock pressed achingly against my pants, and they threatened to stain the outside of them with my precum. All I needed was her approval. Just a simple nod of her head. Anything to give me consent to fuck her into this wall and take what I had wanted for the past seven fucking weeks.