Just A Man (The Porter Trilogy Book 1)

by Shannon Youngblood

  “Charlie darling! How are you? I’ve missed you so much! How’s the new job?”

  “It’s great mom, I really enjoy it, and it’s really rewarding.” I wondered if she could hear the sadness in my voice. She could always pin me, even over the phone.

  “Baby, what’s wrong? You sound sad?”

  I knew she had heard, but I didn’t want to burden her.

  “Mom, there’s a guy.”

  I had to hold my phone away from my ear when she started screeching,

  “WHAT! Charlie honey, oh my gosh, that’s amazing news. Tell me all about him. What’s he look like? What’s he do? Does he treat you we—”

  “MOM!” I had to cut her off or she would have never stopped asking questions long enough for me to answer. “He’s my boss, Alex Porter. I can’t quite figure him out, mom, and I’m getting these crazy feelings I shouldn’t be having.” I didn’t want to cry, but the tears started falling. “I’m so scared, mom.”

  “Oh Charlie, my beautiful, wonderful daughter. Listen to me, and listen good. Men always say that women are hard to understand, but I know from personal experience that men are just as hard for us to wrap our minds around. Follow your heart, baby. Do what makes you feel right. If he’s someone you’re supposed to be with, it will happen. If he’s not, then that’s his loss. You’re a smart and beautiful girl and he’d be a fool not to know that.”

  “Thanks, mom.” I cried out. She knew the words that I needed to hear. “Do I tell him what happened to me? I’m so scared he’ll jump ship, or at the very least fire me. He’s so moody, mom. One minute he’s calling me ‘his daydreamer’, and the next he’s yelling at me for daydreaming. I think there’s something dark in him.”

  “Baby, we all have a little darkness in us, it’s our job as women to pull the men out of the dark and into our light.”

  “But what if I don’t have any light in me, mom? What if it was all snuffed out?”

  “You’re the brightest light I know, sweetheart. You’ve had a rough past, but you’re strong and brave and if this man has any brains in that skull of his, he’ll realize that your past doesn’t define your future. Charlie, I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to get back to work. Please call me soon.”

  “Ok mom, I will, and thank you. You always know what to say. I love you,” I sniffled out. She really did have a way with words.

  “I love you too, sweetheart, please don’t let any man get you down. Goodbye, baby.”

  “Bye, mom.”

  I hung up with my mom, feeling a little bit better. I didn’t call her enough, and I really needed to start calling her more often. She had always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it, because that is what a mother did. She said I was the brightest light she knew. I know she was just trying to make me feel better, but I felt about as bright as a dull flashlight, and somehow I felt like Mr. Porter was fully immersed in the darkness. How could my tiny sliver of light penetrate darkness so whole without swallowing me up?

  I felt fuzzy and confused by the emotions coursing through me and the change of demeanor in Alex’s texts. I had truly enjoyed our encounter while it had happened both today and Saturday, but the after effects left me off balance and more confused than ever. I didn’t know what the future held and I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to.

  An hour later I still wasn’t sure, but I knew that if I was going to try and spring him from the darkness, I was going to need some new batteries in my flashlight. Everyday I was starting to feel like Beatrice, trying to rescue Dante from the inferno, praying to God that he didn’t drag me into hell with him.

  Chapter 13

  Mr. Porter was out of the office on Tuesday and Wednesday, which didn’t bode well for me. I wanted to get our conversation out of the way and get back to some semblance of normalcy. Thanks to my mom, I had a new determination to not let my past demons get in the way of my happiness. I didn’t know how he felt about me, and I could be misinterpreting his nickname for me and his looks, but I was going to put myself out there and see what happened.

  I spent the majority of those two days typing up documentation for Mr. Porter and fielding phone calls and emails. I had only heard from him twice in those days. Once on Tuesday explaining he’d had an emergency meeting in Detroit, and once this morning to tell me he’d be back in the office on Friday, but he needed me to drop off some paperwork after work on Thursday to his penthouse.

  The thought of visiting his home again was both alluring and terrifying. My last encounter had been wrought with embarrassment and sexual tension, and as much as I hoped he wouldn’t be home so I could relive the moment in peace, I was anxious to see him and start my rescue.

  On Wednesday night, Brigitte and I met up after work to get some dinner and shop. When I stepped off the elevator after the end of my shift, Brigitte squealed and ran over to me, her purse dangling on her shoulder. I was so excited for a little girl time, as well as the retail therapy.

  “Oh My God, Charlie, I’m so excited. I’ve needed a girl day for so long! Are you excited?”

  Her excitement was infectious, and I felt myself smiling in spite of the nerves resting inside me. I was going to have fun tonight and not let thoughts of work, or more importantly, Alex Porter, inside of my head.

  “I’m so ready, Brigitte, it’s been a hellish few weeks. I think retail therapy is in order. You driving or me?” I asked.

  She scoffed, “We are so not driving. There’s some amazing stores only a few blocks from here. I know you don’t know this area well, but I live and breathe downtown LA. We’ll make you a natural in no time!”

  I looked down at my shoes dubiously. Even though Alex wasn’t in the office, I knew in my heart he was watching from somewhere, so I hadn’t compromised on my attire. My shoes were going to kill my feet, but Brigitte was not to be swayed. With an overly exaggerated movement, I extended my arm out to Brigitte and we walked out the door into the evening sunset.

  A few hours later, I cursed Brigitte and Alex Porter for my aching feet. We were sitting at Starbucks with bags and bags of clothes and my feet were propped underneath me in a plush wing chair. I splurged and got myself a frappachino, telling myself the miles of walking I must have done while shopping had burned off any calories I was about to consume. Brigitte set across the table from me in a similar style chair.

  “I had so much fun today, Charlie! We need to do this again!” she said, drinking her latte.

  I had to agree with her. I had a great time. With the exception of Danny, I didn’t really have many friends, and I certainly didn’t have any girlfriends. It was nice to talk to someone about all things woman. “I did too, Brigitte, you’re such a great friend! Thank you for dragging me out. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

  After a few moments of no answer, Brigitte finally responded. “I did too, Charlie,” she said looking down to her hands, her tone saddening suddenly and without warning.

  I placed my cup on the table and grabbed her hand, “What’s wrong, Brigitte?” I felt a deep, genuine connection with her that I hadn’t felt with someone in a long time. We seemed similar in so many ways, maybe not physically, but I knew what it was like to hide behind a smiling face when all you really wanted to do was rage out. Brigitte didn’t show it very often, but right now she was vulnerable and I wanted to help.

  “It’s Steve,” she bursted out, “We’ve only been on a few dates and I really like him, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m so confused.”

  “Men are confusing, Brigitte,” Trust me, I thought to myself, I’m dealing with the King of Confusing, “You just have to tell him how you feel. If he’s a gentleman, he’ll listen to you and let you know how he feels, good or bad.”

  Brigitte processed my words and took a sip of her drink before responding, “I’ve been hurt before Charlie, and I don’t want to get hurt again.”

  I was right, thinking she was vulnerable, but it was deeper than I thought. She was scarred like me. I didn’t know how I
knew, but I did. Maybe souls like ours could reach out to each other in times of need. Truly, I was the last person qualified to give decent advice, but the connection I felt with Brigitte had morphed today and I wanted to console her and tell her things would be ok.

  “The thing about life that I’ve learned, Brigitte, is you can’t let the past weigh you down and stall out your future. You have to keep moving, even through the fear of being hurt. Not everyone is out to hurt us. Listen to your instincts and allow yourself to love.” I teared up at my own words. In a lot of ways, I was giving this advice to myself as well. I hoped I could heed my own words.

  Brigitte looked at me, fresh tears staining her cheek. I watched as she slowly stood and walked around the table, wrapping me in a hug. Another piece of my fragmented soul fused together with the addition of my new friend.

  We headed back to work after that to get into our respective cars and head home. We departed on another hug and a promise to have another hangout soon in the future. I told her to tell Steve her feelings and she told me I should take my own advice before winking at me. I didn’t know if she knew about Alex or if she thought it was someone else, but she was right, I needed to embrace my feelings and let everything hang loose, no matter the outcome.

  **********

  I woke up extra early on Thursday to get ready. I felt like today would be some pivotal moment in establishing a relationship with my boss. Dating the boss was always risky, but I knew I needed to follow my gut instinct. The electricity between us was something neither of us could ignore, and frankly, I didn’t want to. My past issues might be a problem for him, but I’d never know unless I tried. I hoped and prayed that his demons were far less evil than mine, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. It didn’t matter though. I was going to give it a go. Maybe we could both be damaged goods together, I mused.

  The work day seemed to drag endlessly and I was nervous and anxious most of the day. Brigitte and Jerry had even commented on it at lunch, but I brushed it off as a family issue. I wasn’t ready to put myself out there to my new friends in regards to the feelings I was having regarding our boss. I did feel a little bad that Brigitte had opened up to me yesterday and I couldn’t do the same, but I just wasn’t ready. If something came of my talk with Porter, maybe I’d feel comfortable saying something, but not now, not when I wasn’t sure if things would even happen.

  When the clock hit five, I was so shaky I didn’t even know if I was going to be able to drive to his house. I ran into the bathroom to put some cold water on my neck and give myself a good mental slap. It was time to go and he was expecting the paperwork to be dropped off at a certain time, whether he was home or not. I wish I had asked him if he’d be home. Maybe my nerves wouldn’t be so shot if I knew what to expect.

  I headed out, grabbing my purse and the paperwork on the way, and made my way to my car. The trip to his penthouse was shorter than I remembered, but I was also closer than the dry cleaners had been from his house. I remember being able to see it from the white bedroom before he carried me into the bathroom.

  I gave my key to the valet and walked in. The same burly man was standing at concierge, wearing all black again, and no less intimidating. This time, he gave me a slight smile and asked if I still had the codes and the key. I assured him I did and he waved me up with no problem.

  When I punched in the codes to make the elevator open on his floor, I took a deep breath and, with my head held high, walked into his foyer. I may not have seemed anxious, but the fumbling with the keys would have probably been a good indicator of my nerves. I managed to get the key in and turned in record time for how I was feeling, and then I stepped inside.

  It looked more beautiful than I remembered. I tried to absorb every detail and store it in my memory. I’m not sure what I might need it for, but I couldn’t help myself. I even noticed he had a fireplace on the wall next to the entertainment center I hadn’t seen last Saturday. It wasn’t currently lit, since it was the start of the summer, but I imagined how cozy that would seem in the middle of December or January.

  In his correspondence, he had told me to take the paperwork down the hallway on the first floor to the first door on the right, across from the closet I had already visited. The door that had been locked the first time I had come to his home. This was his office and he needed the work placed on his desk. I headed over to the door, listening to see if I could hear the thumping noise I had heard last weekend. The house, though, was silent.

  When I passed in front of the stairs I had fallen down, I glanced down to see the damage my fall must have caused, but there was nothing there. No blood, nothing. I shrugged and kept walking, obviously he had cleaned anything that might have been there, or, more likely, a house cleaner did.

  I opened the door to his dark office and fumbled around the wall with my hand looking for the light switch. What the hell! Shouldn’t light switches be on the wall when you first walk in? I reached down into my purse to grab my phone and use my flashlight app, when I heard the familiar sound of someone turning the little knob on a small lamp.

  When my eyes adjusted to the light intrusion, I took a look over to where it was coming from and a small gasp escaped my lips. Even in the soft glow of the lone lamp, his presence took my breath away and faltered my steps. He was stunning sitting there, bathed in a soft golden glow.

  “Why are you sitting in the dark, Mr. Porter?” I asked, a little shaken. He had scared me a bit and I was trying to recover as gracefully as possible. He had his hand around a small glass filled with a light brown liquid. The matching decanter sat on the edge of his desk, open and half empty. He hadn’t shaved today, his light stubble showing as proof. He looked dashing, and he was staring at me with a pensive look on his face, his thumb gliding over his bottom lip, over and over.

  “Miss Hightower, I live in the dark.” He gulped back the last of his drink and set down his glass. He stood from his chair and casually walked over to stand a few feet from me. My heart rate accelerated exponentially with him in close proximity. I could smell his unique scent of man and sandalwood mixed with brandy.

  When he leaned over and reached out his hand, I froze, closing my eyes, waiting for his touch, my blood ricocheting around in my veins. When I opened my eyes, I could see the smirk on his handsome face as he reached past me to flip the switch I wasn’t able to find. This man was driving me crazy, and he hadn’t touched me or said more than seven words.

  Unable to think of anything to do, I shoved the paperwork into his hands and mumbled something unintelligible. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, or what I thought I was going to be able to do. Did I think I could grab his hand and pull him into my proverbial light? Like a flip of the switch, that he had just gracefully demonstrated, I would wake him up and he’d fall to his knees with gratitude and profess his undying love for me for pulling him from his never ending night. I snorted to myself. What the hell was this? A fairytale? Sometimes my idiocy surprised me.

  “I see that your daydreaming knows no bounds, Miss Hightower,” he said flippantly as he walked back to his desk. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not because I couldn’t see his eyes.

  I dropped my head to look at the plush beige carpet, shuffling my feet in unease. “I apologize, Mr. Porter, I get caught up in the moment at times.” My cheeks flamed red when I realized that what I had said could be related back to our last two encounters here and in his office.

  I heard him chuckle to himself and breathed a small sigh of relief. I didn’t want me bringing up the encounters to make him angry or make him pull back. We weren’t having a conversation, but I really wanted us to. I needed to know where this was going and the only way to find out would be through communication with a man who lit me up inside, making me vibrate, but who could also scare me senseless.

  “Come sit down, Charlotte, I believe a talk is in order,” he said, taking the thought directly from my head and surprising me.

  I looked up into his eye
s, but, as usual, I still wasn’t sure what I was seeing in them. To most people it would seem his eyes were purely impassive, but, after a few weeks as his assistant and our few times “together”, I was starting to be able to translate a few of his looks, namely lust and humor. Not today, though, today I was thoroughly confused. The stare looking back was devoid of anything.

  I walked over to one of his two brown leather arm chairs and perched on the edge, eyes down, ready to spring for the door at a moment’s notice. I still didn’t understand why one minute I wanted to talk to him and tell him things I’d never told a soul, and in the next instant, I was prepared to bolt. The two conflicting sides within me were giving me a migraine.

  He chuckled again which prompted me to look back up. “There’s my daydreamer again.” He swallowed back another drink of his alcohol. My daydreamer? I wasn’t his anything, except his Personal Assistant.

  I gave him a puzzled look before asking, “Why do you keep calling me that? I thought you deplored daydreaming?” quoting Jerry from the day of my interview.

  His look softened a fraction before he responded on a sigh, “Normally, yes, that would be the case, but when you do it, I am enthralled with watching you, and wondering what you’re thinking. What are you thinking, Charlie?” he said, putting his glass down and staring at me with his head cocked to the side.

  I’m thinking you only call me Charlie when we are doing naughty things, I thought in my head. There was no way I was voicing that out loud. I was already blushing profusely, “Nothing, sir,” I whispered out, not able to sound convincing.

  Mr. Porter gave me a stern stare and sat upright in his chair, before stating, “I don’t think that’s true. Don’t lie to me, Charlotte. Don’t ever lie to me. I’ll always be honest with you, and I expect the same. Can you promise me the same?” he asked, staring at me.