The Boss Upstairs (Orchard Heights Book 3 (standalone))

by Roya Carmen

  The oven timer pings, and I silently curse it. How dare it interrupt our conversation. I reluctantly walk over and don my oven mitts. Thankfully, I need to let the lasagna cool for ten minutes.

  “Sorry… go on.”

  He smiles. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I just finally decided to let her go. With a lot of therapy, physio and psychological—”

  “Why did you need physio?”

  “Oh, I was in a serious car accident.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

  “Cheez,” Ethan squeals. “Cheez.” He wants more cheese.

  “No, no more cheese, baby,” I tell him. “You don’t want bad poops.”

  Weston smiles.

  “So the accident? Did it play a part in you deciding to let go?”

  “It did.”

  An uncomfortable silence fills the kitchen, and I’m dying to know more. As hard as it is, I respect his privacy and I don’t utter another word.

  “She’d just ended it between us, and told me it was over. I was driving recklessly. It wasn’t like me at all. I was consumed with rage. God, I could have hurt someone…”

  I remain silent. I study Ethan who is now amusing himself by breaking his crackers into the tiniest pieces.

  “I didn’t consciously intend to spin myself off into the ditch. I just had no fear. A small of part of me wanted to die. I wasn’t even thinking…”

  “Was it a suicide attempt?” I finally ask.

  He is quiet for the longest time, lost in another place, another life. I slowly inch closer, wanting to comfort him. Could he really have tried to kill himself? I can’t imagine. Only the most intense love could drive someone to do that. Was what he shared with Mirella that intense? Did he love her that passionately?

  I’m dying to know.

  23

  Finally, he shakes his head. “No… I wouldn’t say it was. It was a moment of insanity. As soon as the car span out of control, I realized I was in trouble, and I saw my children’s faces. I desperately wanted to turn back time, but it was too late.”

  “God…”

  Ethan has now made a complete mess of his crackers, but I couldn’t care less.

  “But you were okay in the end… obviously.”

  “I was lucky,” he says. “I thank God every day for letting me live, despite how reckless and foolish I was.”

  “Your children needed you,” I tell him. “That’s why you were spared.”

  He smiles, averting his gaze in Ethan’s direction.

  “And a lot of other people too, I bet… me… I needed you.”

  His grin reaches his ears. “Well, glad to hear that.”

  “I think the lasagna is ready now.” I stand to fetch the salad from the refrigerator.

  “Can I help?”

  “No… you just sit there with Ethan. I’ve got this.” I hastily cut the loaf of bread, and serve it along with the salad and lasagna.

  He shoots me a smile. “Looks delicious… thank you.”

  I take a seat. “I hope you like it.”

  We both dig into our lasagna and watch Ethan devour his. I smile at the sight of him. He’s just like his dad. He loves food.

  “You got yourself a good eater,” Weston says. “You’re lucky.”

  “How about you? Are your kids good eaters?”

  He shakes his head. “Ashton was always pretty good, but Elizabeth… God, she’s just like her mother. She’s always been a picky eater. She drives me up the wall sometimes.”

  “Are you the ‘eat your broccoli or no dessert for you’ type?”

  He laughs. “Most definitely. Lizzie hates me.”

  I smile. “I’m sure she only hates you at the dinner table.”

  “Something like that.” He pokes his fork into his lasagna. “This is really delicious, by the way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Bridget was not a good cook,” he tells me, and for some reason, I’m not surprised. I’ve only seen a photo of her, but she strikes me as the quintessential career woman. Who needs to cook when you can pay others to do it? I’m a little jealous.

  “Is that why the marriage didn’t work?” I joke. “A man needs a meal on the table.”

  “What kind of old fashioned misogynist do you think I am?” he asks with a cheeky grin. “No, that was definitely not the reason. She didn’t cook, but she always made sure we were well fed. And if she didn’t, I did. We worked well together that way.”

  I nod, still itching to know why they broke up. It takes every iota of strength I have not to pry.

  “No… it was way more serious than that,” he tells me. “She deceived me. More than once.”

  “Did she cheat on you?” I ask, not able to rein myself in.

  He blows out a breath, and looks down at his half-eaten meal. “No.”

  I nod, and my fork dances over my salad as I debate whether to take a bite, or ask another probing question. I stuff a forkful of lettuce in my mouth. That’s sure to shut me up.

  “I came to discover a few things about my wife. I’ve never been the kind of husband who pries into his wife’s affairs. I have great respect for people’s privacy as I cherish my own. But I accidentally fell upon her personal email account by chance, and one thing led to another. I was compelled to dig deeper.”

  I’ve abandoned my lasagna, completely riveted. Ethan is busy drawing circles in the sauce on his plate. I usually don’t let him play with his food, but tonight I’m just glad he’s occupied.

  “I’ve told you all about the arrangement Bridget and I had with Mirella and her husband,” he goes on. “Well, I’d been in love with Mirella for about two years, and I’d always thought our initial meeting was fate. I was under the mistaken assumption that we were soulmates. When, all along, our first meeting was planned… kind of.”

  “How so?” I ask, confused. We’ve now both abandoned our meals, and I wonder if we should be eating instead of delving into his past.

  “Bridget and I were having dinner with friends, but they cancelled at the last minute. There was a couple at the restaurant whose reservation got lost, and they had no table. And Bridget kindly invited them to sit with us.”

  “Mirella and her husband?”

  “Yes. I was under the impression that we were all complete strangers. I was instantly drawn to her. She was certainly not perfect by today’s standards, but she was the most beautiful, sweetest thing I’d ever seen. It was love at first sight for me.”

  His words cut me. I know it was years ago, but the thought of him being so passionately in love with someone else tears me apart. “So they weren’t complete strangers?” I ask, confused.

  “No. My wife, Bridget, and her husband, Gabe, already knew each other. They had known each other for two months, having met at a furniture show, when she was furnishing our summer property.”

  I take a sip of my wine. “Oh… and how do you know this?”

  “Email communications.”

  I sit up straighter. “Were they having an affair?”

  Ethan slaps his hands hard on his tray. He does this when he’s done.

  Oh no, Ethan. Not now. It was just getting good.

  I dash over to the counter and fetch the box of donuts. “It’s donut time!” I select the most colorful one of them all, the one with sprinkles, and hand it to him. His eyes are wide with excitement. I break off little pieces for him because I don’t want him to choke.

  Weston smiles at the sight of Ethan scarfing down his donut.

  “Go on,” I urge. “I’m sorry. Toddlers…”

  His mouth is a hard line when he resumes his story. “Perhaps an emotional affair. They were certainly discussing the possibility of having a physical affair. Bridget was more than willing, but Gabe did not want to be unfaithful. There was clearly a very strong physical attraction between them. Bridget mentioned our open marriage, and Gabe told her that his wife would never go along with something of that nature.”


  “She was obviously wrong,” I point out, stating the obvious.

  “She was…” he says. “The plan that night was for them to check us out. We were to eat at the same restaurant and enjoy our meals. Then Gabe was to come and say hello, introduce himself and feign surprise to have run into her, the woman from the furniture show. They were testing the waters, sort of speak.”

  “Then what happened?”

  He ventures another bite of his lasagna. It’s probably cold by now. “Well, apparently, as soon as he saw me, he changed his mind. He didn’t want me anywhere close to his wife.”

  I laugh. “I don’t blame him. Just look at you.”

  He grins widely as he reaches for his wine. “Well, I did have my finest suit on.”

  “I bet you did. I bet he took one look at you, and knew he’d lose his wife if he didn’t hold on tight.”

  He smiles, and I can completely understand this man’s fear. Weston Hanson is… What exactly? Enigmatic.

  “But then a few things happened,” he goes on. “First, our friends cancelled on us, and then Mirella’s and Gabe’s reservation was lost. Gabe was livid. I thought he was going to punch the hostess. Bridget intervened just in time, and invited them to sit with us.”

  “And the rest is history.”

  “Exactly.” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t just tell me about him straight out. Honestly, I think she got off on the secrecy and deception. And Mirella would have never agreed if she knew about the pre-existing relationship between them. She was in my boat. She thought our initial meeting was pure fate, and that we were destined to find each other.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “It doesn’t mean that your love wasn’t real.”

  He nods, a whisper of a smile traces his lips. “I know. It was. It was very real. It was the stuff of love songs.”

  “So that’s when you decided to leave your wife?” I ask. “When you found this out?” It doesn’t seem to be enough to break a marriage, especially when kids are involved. Yes, she was a bit deceitful, but—

  “No, there was more.”

  24

  “More?” I ask, on the edge of my seat.

  “I suffered a pretty serious head injury when I wrecked my car,” he tells me, glass of wine in hand. “I suffered from amnesia for about a month.”

  “Really?” I ask. This story keeps getting better and better.

  Ethan is done with his donut, and officially fussing. I reach for him. “Please go on. I just need to get Ethan cleaned up. I can still listen.” There’s no way he’s not telling me the rest of this story.

  “At first, I’d lost all memories of the previous five years, but eventually, day by day, memories came back, in fits and starts. I slowly reconnected with my world. I slowly remembered my life… and Mirella. I remembered the heartbreak and emotions that had led me to this moment. My body was still pretty messed up, and I was in physio, and it made me realize that as hard as it was, I had to let her go. I hadn’t remembered her when she first visited me in the hospital, and weeks later, she was already gone to Phoenix. I chose to let her be. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

  I’ve finally cleaned up Ethan, and I let him loose. He runs to his new toys. “God… I’m so sorry.”

  Weston dips his head, staring down at his plate of food, remembering her.

  “Can I clear your plate?”

  “Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry. All this reminiscing has curbed my appetite. It was delicious.”

  I take his plate. “No worries.”

  I clear mine too, and clean up Ethan’s spot.

  “I found an email from Bridget to Mirella. I was curious to read it because I was surprised by the sight of it since Bridget and Mirella were never great friends. My heart sank deeper and deeper as I read it.”

  I wipe the table. “What was in it?”

  “It was full of lies. She told her that we were happy, despite the fact that we were as miserable as ever. She told Mirella I still didn’t remember her, that I still suffered from amnesia. She told her that she’d ripped up photos of her and trashed our photo CD, which I know must have hurt Mirella. She even told her I didn’t remember my own child.”

  “What child?” I ask, confused.

  His gaze breaks from mine and his shoulders fall. “Bridget and I had a third child after Lizzie. A boy. His name was Jonathan. He died when he was six months old from complications from pneumonia.”

  My chest constricts. I can’t imagine. I couldn’t have lived if I’d lost Ethan at six months. I don’t know what to say. “I’m so… so sorry.” All this time, I’ve thought Mr. Dark & Mysterious led such a charmed life in his beautiful penthouse. But he’s lived through as much tragedy as I have, if not more.

  “I just don’t know why she had to write that letter. I’d already promised that I wouldn’t contact Mirella again. I’d promised her that chapter of my life was over. I was willing to work on our marriage. And then she goes and does something like that.”

  I shake my head, not quite knowing what to say.

  “I’ve always taken care of her,” he tells me. “It was never easy between us, and I wondered if she even truly loved me, or if I was just her caretaker. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “Why did you need to take care of her?” I ask, remembering the woman in the photo, flawless. She seemed very self-sufficient and confident.

  “Bridget has suffered from a serious eating disorder since she was about eleven,” he tells me. “I always made sure she took care of herself, that she didn’t relapse. She had a therapist and other support, but she also needed me.”

  “That’s horrible,” I say, realizing that a picture does not reveal secrets. “Is she okay now?”

  “She wasn’t when we first separated, but she’s fine now. A little slimmer than I’d like to see her, but she still sees her therapist and follows the protocols. She’s trying her best for the kids. And her boyfriend is a nice guy… he takes care of her now.”

  “Yay, boyfriend,” I cheer, attempting to lighten the conversation. The evening has turned into a real bummer.

  He smiles. “I’m sorry… I’m depressing you, aren’t I?”

  “No… not at all,” I tell him. “I’ve actually been very curious about your past relationships and why they ended.”

  He studies me for a long beat. “You’re not becoming infatuated with me, are you?” he says, his tone serious.

  “Uh… no,” I lie.

  He smiles. “Pity… because I’ve kind of become infatuated with you, Grasshopper.”

  I laugh. “You want a donut, Mr. Boss Man?”

  “I’d love one.”

  I present him with the box, and let him make his choice. He opts for the plain glazed, and I choose the strawberry powder one. I know it’s going to make a mess, but that’s what’s fun about it. We bite into our donuts, as happy as small children.

  He helps me clean the kitchen and we retreat to the living room. We chat about Ethan and Weston’s kids, much more upbeat topics. He steals a touch here and there, and every time he does, I want more. I want time to speed up, so we can find ourselves alone again.

  He helps me with Ethan’s bath, delighting in every second of it. He tells me he misses those days, and I tell him he’s welcome to help me anytime. He wonders how I can take care of Ethan all by myself, and I remind him that I have a lot of help.

  Finally, I tuck Ethan into bed. I stare for a beat. I love his big brown eyes. They’re so kind, just like his father’s were. I love his golden locks and his small cupid bow mouth. I kiss him on the forehead. “Good night, my little monkey.”

  He giggles like he always does.

  We’re just about to leave when he stretches out his little arms. “Sten,” he says. “Sten.”

  It takes me a moment to realize he’s reaching out to Weston. “He wants a kiss from you too.”

  Weston’s eyes grow wide. “From me?”

  “Yes,”
I laugh. “I guess you’ve made an impression.”

  Weston slowly approaches, as if Ethan might have a deadly virus or something.

  “He’s not contagious,” I tease.

  Finally, Weston dips his head and kisses Ethan’s forehead softly. “Goodnight, Ethan.”

  The sight is so sweet, it almost makes me cry. I can tell that he used to be a great dad. Probably still is.

  I turn off the light, and take Weston’s hand. I lead him to my bedroom. He’s the first man, the only man to have entered my bedroom, in this way. I’m not planning to break the agreement. I just want him to see the place where I dream, where I fantasize about the things I’d love to do with him.

  He studies the space without a word, beiges and sky blues, accents of red. His gaze darts from my dresser to my bed, and back again. He studies the photo of Donovan and I. He walks over to the mannequin in the corner and takes in the beautiful red evening dress that I’ve only worn once, at a charity event.

  “I know… there are too many throw pillows on my bed,” I joke.

  He smiles. “Not at all. I’m a big fan of throw pillows myself.”

  “Well, that’s quite unusual for a man.”

  “Well, I’m not a usual man, Grasshopper. I thought you knew that already.”

  “Oh… I do.”

  He settles himself comfortably on my bed, amid the myriad of pillows. I want to tell him to get off my bed. I don’t like him there. He’s looking way too sexy in his slim fitting black shirt and pants.

  “I like your room,” he says. “It’s soothing.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him. “I like it too.” I remember first decorating it a few years before. I wanted something classic that wasn’t too feminine. The wall colors I chose are understated and somewhat masculine, and I chose the bed covers to match. I allowed myself pops of red in a single throw pillow, the dress, and a vase on the dresser.

  I walk slowly to the bed, wanting to cuddle with him. He smiles as I near closer. “You stay right there.”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “What?”

  He bites his bottom lip. “I was thinking…”