by Xavier Neal
The question seems to spark gratulation in his eyes. “It would be a pleasure. Do you have a preference?”
“Chips and dip? Does Wes even keep those around here?”
“He does. I'll make sure to arrange you a variety of choices. Something to drink?”
“Coke?”
“Will do.” He gives me a small nod and slips into my car.
Still slightly in disbelief, I head through the front door straight for my bedroom needing the space to collect my thoughts.
Just as my hand touches the handle, Wes' voice rings out, “Everything alright?”
My face turns in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. To no surprise, he uses the dimness and distance of the long hallway to maintain the never ending mystery. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Didn't expect to get lost. I usually have a pretty good sense of direction though in the middle of the night all that shit looks the same.”
There's a short pause before Wes' questions, “Why didn't you call me for help?”
Knowing the answer, but desperate for more interaction with him than the two-sentence minimum he typically delivers, I challenge, “Would you have actually come or sent J.T. anyway?”
He shifts his weight but doesn't bother answering.
An all knowing grin grows on my face and I prepare to enter my room once more. “Besides, I don't have your number. I have his.”
“We need to change that,” Wes firmly declares in such a sense I can't help but smile brighter.
“Thanks again for coming to rescue me. Not typically a huge fan of that happening, but I'm glad it was you.”
My door begins to open and he calls out, “Can I ask you something?”
I lean against the wall beside the doors. “Are you gonna come down here to do it?” After he denies my request with a shake of his head, I encourage, “Go ahead. Ask away.”
“What.....What do you do for a living?” The unsteadiness in his tone lifts my curiosity. “Are you...a call girl or an escort?”
Between my short black low cut dress, black stiletto heels, and creeping back in during the wee hours of the night, how could he guess I did anything else for a living? Guess I should just be grateful he didn't start at stripper and guess his way higher like a fucked up version of that classic Price is Right game. “You really wanna know?”
The still night air seems to stiffen sharply. “Yes.”
“Then I'll tell you over dinner. ” Without leaving room for a rebuttal I add, “Whenever you finally decide to have it with me. Goodnight, Wes.”
“Goodnight, Brynley.”
Slipping into my bedroom, I shut the door, and lean against it half hoping he storms down here to determine that's happening tomorrow. Which is what I actually want. I want to sit down and push his buttons from beside him as opposed to the opposite side of the room. And I know that's what he wants. I knew that the moment his body tensed from being so close to mine. Whether it was from sexual attraction to me or fear from the possibility of me destroying his perfectly put together palace, doesn't matter. The desire to be closer to him, to tear down the hood he hides behind physically and metaphorically, grows stronger with every passing minute I spend in this place. It could be because one of my favorite things in the world is seeing how far I can push the boundaries or it could simply be because his level of self-secrecy is such a foreign concept to me. Most likely it's a little bit of both.
Once it's obvious he's not going to follow me, I toss my heels to the side. I begin to make my way towards the bathroom to shower off the sadness and desperation crawling across my skin when a sight on the bed snatches my attention. Slowly, I approach the waiting display, unable to resist smiling sweetly at the view. Seeing a laptop in an unopened box sitting on top of brand new black luggage pieces causes me to shake my head. Most men shower women with chocolate and flowers when they want to impress them. Surely, he knows that. Surely, most women he's dated didn't expect lavish gifts like this until they had at least had dinner. Not that I would expect shit like this from anyone. Hell, I wanna be offended but I know the intent wasn't to show me just how filthy rich he is. It wasn't to rub in my face all the things he can do for me that I can't do for myself. I don't know much about my host but I do know that's not him. His way of life is all about protection, not projection. The thought alone tugs at something unfamiliar in the pit of my stomach. With a crooked smile, I turn and head the direction I originally planned, noticing the fresh flowers in various vases softening up the atmosphere. I giggle, stroll into the bathroom, and hit the light to see the cherry on top of his sweet actions. The unopened package of blue eyeliner and mascara with a small bow on it assures me he's much closer to giving me what I actually want than I thought.
“Quarantine, Matt? Do you really think that shit is necessary?”
“Yes.” He cuts the closed door another glance before adding, “Something here isn't right. The abrupt oscillation of her health is indicating it's most likely something she's ingesting or inhaling. The only way to possibly pinpoint that is by cutting off everyone else's access except mine.”
Anger shoves my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt. “I don't like what you're implying.”
“And I don't like implying it, Wes. But it is the only scenario aside from an unknown, undocumented mystery disease.”
There's no way in hell anyone would purposely hurt Lauren. Everyone in the estate is crazy about her. I'm not the only one she nurtures and adores. Hell, she goes to extreme lengths to assure the others have the time off or time to themselves they need, even if it requires her to do things she no longer should. I have no trouble admitting my entire life would've fallen apart without her here. The idea anyone would want to harm one of the only people on the property who spends more time caring about others than themselves is ludicrous.
“Now, we can either do this here or at the hospital. That decision for the moment is up to you.”
I turn my attention to the small window where Brynley is stroking her mother's hand in a loving fashion. Lauren's pale face struggles to smile in return. The sight of the two of them creates a clashing ache in my chest. Why is it the two women who are so determined to change my life are from the very family I tore apart? Why does Lauren have to be so kind and why does Brynley have to be so alluring? Why can't I stop myself from telling either of them no? Why do they refuse to accept anything that isn't a yes? What have I ever done besides cause them grief to be worthy of their praise and attention?
“Wes,” Matt's voice firmly calls to me.
On a deep sigh, I agree. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
My eyes find his once more. “Quarantine her. Four days. If nothing changes, we'll transport her to the hospital.”
“And if something does?”
“We'll....We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'll have J.T. reprogram the access to her room allowing only you to enter. I'll have Luther bring you a new key card.”
“Good, can you have someone set me up in the spare room next door?” After I give him a nod, he continues, “I'm overseeing everything that enters and exits the room. I'll personally watch what Lucky cooks. I'll deliver it myself. What she drinks. I'll be the one to gather the water. There will be no changes to anything in her room until the four days are complete.”
Movement from the other side of the door catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Slyly, I slide to the side to allow the hood to hide my face as I declare, “You get to tell her daughter.”
“Tell me what?” Her voice cheerfully hums.
The beautiful sound seeps into my senses until I'm helplessly smiling. The only thing more scintillating than hearing her speak is seeing it. Her lips move in such a manner it's damn near impossible to process what she's saying because the only thing I want to do is find an excuse to have them on mine. Something I have no doubt will never happen. But Brynley has this way of making me believe for a brief moment it's not impossible, just improbable.
“We're-”
&
nbsp; “You're,” I correct him loudly.
“I'm going to isolate your mother from the outside world for the next few days.”
“Why?”
“There are some tests I would like to run and the only way to get the accurate reading I desire is by controlling all of the variables.”
“Why is this suddenly necessary?” Brynley bites. “Is she getting worse? Does she need to see a specialist? Is she-”
“Precaution,” I defend before Matt can ramble off something that would probably just upset her more.
Her voice is directed at me. “Against?”
“Everything,” my counter I'm sure is met with a scowl. “This is the best way Matt can break-down your mother's symptoms and potentially discover if it's one thing wreaking havoc on her body resulting in the others or if it's multiple things attacking all at once.”
A displeased hum escapes. Not that I blame her. All the bullshit I just said in a blatant attempt to not tell her the doctor suspects there's foul play, I should be grateful all she did was hum. If he's right, which I don't for a minute believe he is, then that makes me a liar. I gave Brynley my word her mother was safe here. That she was protected and cared for. I can't afford to be wrong. Being the cause of death for one parent is painful enough. To be the cause of two would be inexpiable.
“Fine,” Brynley sighs. “But if this fails-”
“We'll be relocating her to the hospital,” Matt reassures.
“You're damn right we will even if I have to hot wire that '65 Shelby Wes has got hiding in the back of his garage.”
Curiosity instantly tempts my head to spin around. “How do you know that?”
“Saw it when I went snooping to see where they parked my piece of shit Honda. Have you even touched that thing? It looks like it's in desperate need of being ridden.” She briefly pauses before playfully adding, “Kinda like the owner.”
Heat violently surges throughout my system. The combination of truth in her comparison and longing for her to be the solution shifts my weight as my dick, who wasn't invited to the conversation, attempts to lift with an opinion.
Matt hides his chortle and states, “I will be in constant contact with the two of you every step of the process. Wes if you would kindly alert the staff, I need to make a few outside arrangements before setting myself up here.”
“Of course,” I reply seconds before he strolls past my vision towards the front of the house. Before my courage can further dwindle, I prepare to finally do something I've been conflicted over since she first arrived. “Do you have to work tonight?”
Her movements seem to cease. “No. Why?”
“Would you...” the words claw themselves back up from being swallowed, “like to have dinner with me tonight? Here? At the estate?”
Anxiety ascends mercilessly as silence fills the space. I grit my teeth in impatience while hoping I can prevent my brain from winning the argument to retract the offer. The feeling of my heartbeat thrumming loud enough to echo throughout the halls has any remaining confidence fleeting.
All of a sudden, the warmth of her body radiates against the back of mine, and the heat from her speech shuts my eyes. “Depends....”
I steady my voice. “On?”
“Is it going to be a face to face dinner or am I going to spend the night talking to your impeccable backside?”
A groan over her compliment is robbed from me.
She instantly snickers. “Not that I mind constantly giving that ass of yours the attention it deserves. All those squats and jogging has totally paid off. I will admit though, my fingers are a little jealous they don't get to caress it like my eyes do.”
Now convinced even more than before he was invited to this discussion, my cock knocks against my jeans. Unsure of how to respond, I drop my jaw and simply let it bob in hopes it'll retort on its own.
A light touch unexpectedly drags itself down my spine causing my entire body to stiffen in avidity. After a decade of being the only one to touch myself in any sexual way, the hidden hunger to devour the deliriously delicious mocha latte whose hold on me grows stronger with each breath, is beginning to break free. I know if it ever does what happens won't be gentle. It'll be rough. And rousing. And raw.
She whispers, “Promise me, I'll see your face.”
Without hesitation, I agree, “Promise.”
Her touch disappears leaving me to silently fight with disappointment. “Time?”
“Seven.”
Her presence begins to fade and the sound of her footsteps seem to be headed towards the front door. “No hoods allowed.”
The corner of my lip lifts at the unnecessary addition. Once the sound of the door shutting reverberates, I give that direction a brief glance to verify her exit. A relieved sigh slips out just as Clark rounds the corner with a cup of tea.
“Are you alright, Wes?” His face hardens in concern. “You look distressed.”
“Relieved, actually,” I mutter.
“Oh?” He replies, a hint of curiosity coating his tone. “Why's that?”
“I invited Brynley to join me for dinner tonight and she said yes.”
“Well, of course she would sir.”
The sight of joy in his eyes puts a little in my own. While Lauren has nestled into the spot of the matriarch, Clark has taken on her counterpart role despite the fact she is technically his superior. It's not lost upon me the shoes they've managed to fill in spite of me actively fighting against it. However, having two surrogate parents, even if I'm not worthy of them, is better than being completely lost for the guidance any man trying to wade his way through life needs. Clark is the embodiment of what remains of my parents’ memory. He worked for them. He helped raise me. He was one of the few people my parents entrusted with more than the welfare of their possessions. After their death, I did everything I could to distance myself from him, swearing I wouldn't destroy the last bit of them I could preserve. It didn't really matter in the end. Clark continued on as he always had, lending business advice where it was warranted even if unwanted, embarking knowledge on gentlemanly customs he's mastered over the years, and eventually joining Lauren in the campaign for me to return to the outside world.
“Are you working tonight?”
“I can if you would like, but it is Miss Penny on the schedule.”
“Do you mind?” I cautiously question. “There are honestly only two people I truly trust with the delicate nature of this situation and the other is lying in quarantine.”
He gives me a warm smile. “Of course, sir. I'll let Penny know she has the evening off.”
“Thank you. Tell her she can spend the evening out. Tell her to bill it to me. Anything she wants as an apology for the inconvenience.”
He nods politely before furrowing his eyebrows. “Forgive for needing a clarification, but did you say Lauren was in quarantine?”
“Yes.” The realization of there still being things that need to be taken care of gut punches me. “No one is allowed access except Matt.”
“For how long, sir?”
“About four days.”
His face falls as he nods his understanding.
“He'll be assisting in the making of her meals and gathering of her fluids if the IV isn't enough. Was that cup of tea for her?”
Clark glances down at the object in his hand, almost like he was unaware he was still holding it. “It was. Yes.”
“I can drink it.”
“No, it's quite alright.” He grips it harder. “I can just pour it out.”
“It's fine,” my insistence continues. “I'm not a huge fan of tea, but no need to waste it.”
Quickly, he tries to kill the subject. “It's not tea, Wes.”
“What is it?”
He gives the steaming cup a brief glance. “Just um...hot lemon water. Pinch of sea salt. Quite bland in flavor, but Lauren's favorite when she's under the weather.”
The strange combination causes me to shake my head. “Odd.”
He fl
ashes me a brief smile. “Do you want me to have Lucky, make you something sir? Perhaps coffee? A smoothie?”
“No, I'm fine. Was just trying to be helpful. Didn't think you'd want to waste the beverage.” After he nods again, I add, “Do you mind alerting everyone else that Lauren is now unable to receive visitors for the next few days? Oh, and someone will need to set up Matt's room next door.”
“Will get that taken care of. Do you need me to inform Lucky on tonight's special occasion or would you like to discuss that with him personally?”
A wave of apprehension washes over me. For a moment my mind rushes around the magnitude of what actually lays ahead. It's so much more than a meal being shared. Much more than a flirtatious exchanging of double entendres over gourmet food. Tonight I expose the secrets that are seared into my soul. The ones that should shatter any desire for Brynley to ever want to speak to me again. What's a good last meal for a person's final shot at ever socializing with strangers again?
