He gives me a grin but looks away, avoiding my eyes. “I’m doing well, Ms. Hall. How is your day going without Mr. Glass looking over your shoulder?”
“Well, ya know, he can be exasperatin’. And he’s so demandin’,” I say, conversationally. He looks bumfuzzled by my admission. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean no harm by it. He’s a great boss. I can’t ask for better.”
“It’s strange that you would say that, because I’ve never thought of Mr. Glass as demanding. He’s usually very calm, and quite polite,” Mr. Waits says, thoughtfully. He’s holding a cup of coffee, but he isn’t eating lunch.
“Was that rude of me? I’m so sorry,” I say. “He is a perfectionist, and I appreciate that about him, I do. I mean, a man doesn’t create and run a company the size of Glass Investments without bein’ precise and goal oriented.”
“So, he corrects you often, does he?” my companion asks, before he takes a sip of coffee.
“Oh, no sir,” I reply. “I would hate to give him a reason to correct me. I try my hardest to do things right the first time.”
His eyes flash when I say that, showing a tinge of green inside the hazel. “So you like Mr. Glass?”
“Well… I…” Now I’m the one who’s confused. Does Mr. Waits not know that Mr. Glass likes men? I’ll be damned twice if I tell him. But I’m also not gonna tell him that I like him to cover for Mr. Glass. So, I turn on the Southern charm that rubbed off on me from my momma, bat my eyelashes, put on my warmest fake smile, and ask, “Why, Mr. Waits? Are you flirtin’ with me, sir?”
His hazel eyes grow wide, and his mouth opens for a moment before he closes it in a firm, hard line. Then he stares at me, and his expression softens. “I find myself without a dining companion this evening, and I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me.”
That shocks me. Since I’ve lived in Wilmington, I’ve had two men ask me for my phone number. I didn’t give it, of course. But in the six months I’ve lived here, I’ve been asked out a total of zero times, until now. I mean, I don’t think I’m unattractive. My hair is naturally blonde, and my tits are naturally big. Isn’t that what men are supposed to go for? But I’m also a single mom in a new city, and I don’t go out to clubs or anything like that, so I always assumed I’d be dateless for the next seven years, until Elise turned fifteen at least.
But now, here’s an officer of the company, a big wig, asking little ole me out. “Why, Mr. Waits sir, I’d be delighted to join ya for a meal.” He smiles at me, and nods his head. Until I continue. “But I’d have to arrange for a sitter for the evening, and it is such short notice I’m not sure if I’ll be able to.”
“How about if I give you my cell phone number, and you text me to let me know if you’ll be available, and then we can set a time?” He’s very nice about it and for some reason I just can’t say no. So I hand him my cell phone, which the company provides, and he sends himself a text from it. “There, now we have each other’s numbers.”
“Well, that sure is convenient,” I point out, with a grin.
“I hope to see you this evening,” he says, before he stands up and walks off.
I immediately call my neighbor, who I’ve babysat for before, and demand, “Jessica, you have to baby sit for me this evening! No if, ands, or buts!”
Once I twist her arm and make her agree to sit with Elise, I return to my office, with a huge smile on my face. I’m not lookin’ to get married or anything, but having a man take me out might not be too bad. I deserve a night out every once in a while, don’t I?
Chapter Three
I nearly spat out my coffee when Charlie asked if I was flirting with her. She knows that Asher is gay. Does she not realize I am Asher’s… What am I to Asher? Am I his boyfriend? His significant other? His partner? We’ve never really put a label on our relationship. We don’t live together, but I spend several nights a week in his huge penthouse apartment at the very top of Glass Tower. Maybe she really doesn’t know. Or maybe she does know, and just wants to spend an evening with a man. Some straight girls actually like hanging out with gay men.
She did look pretty today, with her thick honey blonde hair hanging loose over her shoulders, and her skinny black pants that looked like they were painted on her. I’ve seen her several times and I’ve never noticed her wearing pants. Maybe she only did it today because Asher is out of town. Damn, though, Asher was right. Her ass is round, and perfectly proportioned with her huge tits. Those looked fantastic today, as well, in a tight black and white striped v-neck shirt.
I go about my day, but I can’t stop thinking about Charlie. What the hell was I thinking, asking her out? What was she thinking, actually accepting my invitation? What in the hell are we going to talk about? Why do I keep thinking about her tits?
She texts me just before three to let me know she can join me for supper, as she called it. Now I have to arrange a reservation at a nice restaurant. I call my assistant, and ask her to do it for me. Also, I’ll need to get flowers. Just because I’ve never been out with a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do it.
*****
I knock on the door of her apartment at exactly six o’clock. She opens it, and smiles at me as I hand her the bouquet of red roses I picked up on my way home.
“Thank you, Mr. Waits,” she exclaims, as she inhales the roses’ scent. “These are really pretty. Please come in while I put these in water.” Once she’s in the kitchen, which is just a few feet away, she calls out, “Have a seat, and make yourself at home. Would you like some sweet tea?”
“No, thank you,” I reply. I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine, but I can only assume she has none or she would have offered.
Her apartment is small, as I expected. But she’s put a lot of effort into making it a home. It is extremely clean, and uncluttered. She’s placed lacy curtains over the blinds on the windows, which match the pillows on the comfortable looking brown couch. She has a modest television, but a huge collection of kids’ movies on DVD. Pictures of her and a child I assume is her daughter are everywhere. The kid is just as pretty as her mom is.
“Your apartment is adorable,” I say, as she places a vase with the roses on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” she replies with her ever present bright grin. “I try my hardest to keep it clean, but it’s darn near impossible with an eight year old. Her room is a disaster!” I smile, because I don’t know the polite way to answer that. My older brother and his wife have children, but I don’t see them as often as I’d like. I really have no experience around kids. And then, of course, she asks, “Do you have children, Mr. Waits?”
“No,” I reply dryly. She’s stepped away from the table, and I finally take all of her in. She looks amazing, in a wrap-style black dress, which emphasizes all of her lovely assets. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face. She’s wearing more eye make-up than usual, and her sky-blue eyes practically pop out at me. Her full bow-shaped lips are covered in shiny pink gloss. She is just as beautiful as Asher says she is. Just because I don’t want to fuck her, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how attractive she is.
“I’d like to say thank you for askin’ me out. I haven’t been out on a single date since I’ve lived here,” she says, and makes a point of grabbing her purse. I guess she’s ready to leave.
So I take a step toward the door, and she escorts me outside then locks it behind her. She walks with me toward my car, without standing too close.
“I would think that men would be standing in line to go out with a woman as beautiful as you are. You look incredible, by the way.” I open the door for her, and she takes a moment to admire my car. It’s a midnight blue Porsche Boxster convertible, not nearly as expensive as Asher’s Lamborghini, but I think it suits me. I will have to remember to try to set her up with one of my single straight friends, not that I have many of those. Maybe an acquaintance or a work colleague? This woman deserves to have a man who will treat her well.
“Your car is very nice, Mr. Waits,�
�� she says as she climbs into the passenger side, and I close the door behind her.
“Please, call me Peyton.” I’ve got the car started, and I’m driving toward the restaurant. She sits with her hands folded in her lap, looking at the touch screen display. I’ve set the satellite radio to a soft rock station I like.
“Your car is very nice, Peyton,” she corrects herself, with a throaty chuckle. “And please, call me Charlie.”
“Would you like to change the station?” I offer.
“Oh, no, sir. I don’t want to break anything.” She says it, but she can’t take her eyes off the display screen. Maybe she’s never seen one before.
“I’m sure you won’t break it. What kind of music do you like?” I’m making small talk, but I’d also like to make her more comfortable. Not that she looks uncomfortable. She looks quiet settled, and very pretty. She looks like she was born to sit in the passenger seat of a luxury car. I bet she’d look incredible with the top down, and the wind whipping through her blonde curls. Where did that thought come from?
“I tend to like country music. I know it’s a stereotype, but there’s somethin’ about listenin’ to music you can relate to. I know more about pick-up trucks and fishin’ than I do about city lights,” she says, as she notes the title of the song that’s currently playing.
“Maybe we can do something about that tonight, Charlie.” I smile as I think of the perfect place to park and gaze at the lights from the city reflecting in the Delaware River. What in the actual fuck am I thinking? This is just supposed to be dinner, to learn about her intentions toward Asher, not an actual date.
But as we’re walking into the restaurant, and people begin to glance at her as we walk past, it’s hard not to feel just a little bit of something that resembles pride. One man nearly breaks his neck to watch Charlie walk past, and his companion slams her hand down on the table to get his attention. When we’re seated at a cozy corner booth, the man sitting across from us can’t pull his eyes away from her.
I can’t deny I’m perplexed. Why would I feel happy that men are looking at her like that? Maybe I should walk over to him and ask him if he wants her number. But that thought makes me feel even worse for some reason. She’s looking over the menu, without the slightest knowledge that she’s causing a stir around her. All the men in her vicinity can’t take their eyes off her, including myself.
After we order, she hands the menu to the waitress and begins to look at me. “You have a strange accent, Peyton. Where are you from?” she asks me.
I almost laugh, hearing her tell me my accent is strange. Instead I answer, “Boise.”
“How did you end up in Delaware?” She’s not shy. She’s very easy to talk to. She’s the complete opposite of Asher, who rarely shares what’s in his head. He talks if I ask him questions, but he doesn’t voluntarily converse. I am never asked, How was your day, Peyton. I’ve never minded, though. I like to think of him as mysterious, and his personality fits nicely with his looks.
That might be the reason I find myself opening up to her. It might be her sincere smile, or her warm nature. Or it just might be my desire to talk to someone. “Asher bought the pipe company I worked for. As the other employees were getting their pink slips, I got a golden ticket.”
The waitress delivers our drinks, wine for me and iced tea for Charlie, and my dining partner gives the waitress a warm, “Thank you.”
“I’ve worked for Glass Investments for three years.” I take a sip of my wine and almost wish she was having a glass as well. Did that double entendre really pop into my head? Have I lost my mind? Not that she needs wine to open up. She seems very good at that already.
“I got the same envelope,” she murmurs. It’s the first time she glances away from me, avoiding my eyes. It makes me wonder what she’s thinking, just like with Asher.
“He doesn’t send out many of them. When he bought Boise Pipe, he invited three people from the corporate offices to come work for him. I just happened to be one of them.” I’ve often wondered what Asher saw in me to make him decide to give me a chance. But then, as I look at Charlie as she stares at the candle on our table, I realize he must have seen the same thing in her, as well.
“While Mr. Glass studied the accounting at Oakleaf Bancorp, he asked me to add up some of the numbers to see if they matched. I began entering the numbers on my adding machine. He asked me where I learned to key them in so fast and accurate. I told him I graduated at the top of my class at Allegheny Technical College, and that I won the office Olympics there not once, but twice.” She seems very proud of her accomplishments. Her smile would hypnotize a straight man, probably. Not that I would know.
“I was a salesperson at my former job. When Asher was in the midst of purchasing Boise Pipe, he approached me and asked me about the sales for an imported pipe, versus a domestically produced pipe. I went into a whole twenty minute speech about cost benefit analysis and cost effective analysis. When he asked how I knew the difference, I told him that I graduated top of my class at Boise State.”
We’re staring into each others’ eyes when the waitress sits our food down in front of us. She thanks the waitress, but she doesn’t look away from me. Asher Glass saw something in both of us that he wanted, something that would benefit his company. I have to wonder now how he talked about me to his friends after he hired me.
I have to wonder if he was as happy to have found me as he was to have found her. I’ve never been more jealous, and more proud, in my life.
What is going through Asher’s head?
Chapter Four
“So then I said, ‘Mr. Whitman, sir, I don’t care how much money ya offer me, I refuse to do that!’” Peyton laughs when I tell the story about when my former boss asked me to become friends with his wife so I could reassure her he wasn’t having an affair with me. I haven’t told that story in forever. It really gave me fits at the time, but I can look back at it and laugh now. Kinda.
“So, were you having an affair with him?” he asks me, in an almost conspiratorial tone.
“Oh, no sir,” I answer seriously. “He was having the affair with my best friend Ashley, who was also married. It was just such a mess. When his wife found out, she told everyone. He was fired from the bank, and we got a new CEO. After that, I was promoted from bank teller to his executive assistant.”
We’re parked at the perfect spot to overlook the Wilmington skyline reflected in the river, just like he promised. We’re sitting on the hood of his expensive little sports car. He was the perfect gentleman, and placed his suit jacket down on it for me to sit on. He hasn’t tried to touch me, or kiss me. But he has laughed at all of my jokes and stories. That’s been nice.
Something happened at the restaurant, something that broke the ice. He was reserved before we talked about Mr. Glass hiring both of us. Then, I guess, he realized we had a connection, sorta.
“Okay, when I was still at Boise Pipe, my boss, who was the son of the owner, asked me if I would hang out with him because he had grown to hate his wife and needed an excuse not to go home.” He chuckles under his breath at that.
“Why didn’t he just get a divorce?” I wonder aloud. “Why don’t people just divorce, instead of lying to their partner?”
“That’s the first hint of bitterness I’ve heard in your tone, Ms. Hall. Did someone cheat on you?” he asks, innocently. It’s dark where we’re sitting, and I think I can almost make out a thoughtfulness in his expression. Although I have absolutely no fear of him physically whatsoever, which is strange because I barely know him, the path the conversation is taking is makin’ me a little uncomfortable.
I slide off the hood, and hand him his jacket. “I think it’s time I get back home. It’s past Elise’s bedtime,” I say.
He opens the door for me, and he’s so close I get a whiff of his woodsy scent, and I actually feel his body heat. It’s late spring and there’s no chill in the air, but I shiver anyway.
“Are you cold,” he asks.
“No,” I reply, but I shiver again. He’s too close. He’s too warm. He’s too tall, and wide, and manly. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been this close to a man, one who is not gay anyway.
When we’re moving again, he turns on the heated seats in the car anyway. And after we’ve driven a few miles, he says, “I’m sorry if the topic hurt you.”
“I caught my ex with his best friend’s sister, in my bed mind you. I was already seven months pregnant, and only nineteen years old.” I try hard not to sound bitter about it. “If I’m honest, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. At least I found out before we got married, right?”
His eyes change for a brief moment, becoming almost completely brown. Maybe it’s the light. “That’s awful,” he says, sympathetically. His voice sounds much warmer than it did before. He sounds sincere.
“I don’t need sympathy. Me and my girl have done just fine without him.” I don’t tell him that he died in Afghanistan, when Elise was only three. Or that his life insurance policy went to his wife, the girl he cheated with, and their baby. That would definitely make him feel sorry for me. I don’t need anybody’s pity.
He stops at a red light, and reaches out to touch the back of my hand gently. “I can see that you’ve done very well for yourself and your daughter. He’s a moron for cheating on you.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure if he’s just trying to be nice, or if he’s trying to get laid. But I’m not going to sleep with him with my daughter in the next room. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be dating. What was I thinking?
He continues driving, with the soft romantic music in the background. But he doesn’t try to touch me or anything again. We just sit in a friendly silence. It’s actually kind of nice.
Room For Three Page 2
