by A. E. Via
Chapter Eight
Edison
“You’re here late,” Presley said on her way past his door.
“I could say the same about you. You’re supposed to be going out of town.” Edison called out to his boss, the senior partner and owner of the bankruptcy law firm he worked at. He smiled at her when she backtracked and stuck her head in his door. “Did you finish your motion?”
“Yes, boss.” She winked. “And thanks for helping Marie with that Chapter 7’s Schedule I. I mean I don’t understand why she keeps struggling with that. Damn. The bankruptcy software does it all for you.”
“Not all of it.” Edison reasoned, not wanting to say anything negative about the new paralegal.
“You’re so PC. She’s not the brightest star in the sky and you know it. Some of the mistakes she’s made are kind of telling.”
“Let me keep working with her. She’ll catch hold. It takes everyone time to get used to our system.”
“Okay. You’re the executive manager. Her screw-ups fall on you, unfortunately.” Presley waved and walked away. “You’ll be firing her if she submits another inaccurate schedule to me.”
Edison stroked his hand down his tie, then decided to loosen the thick knot pressing against his throat. Firing was not his favorite part of his job, but it was sometimes necessary. He especially hated it when one of the senior partners hired a cute desk bunny who looked gorgeous in the office but didn’t have the first clue about working in one. Some of them didn’t even have legal experience, much less bankruptcy knowledge. So, as the executive office manager it was his responsibility to ensure the senior partners’ support staff was operating efficiently.
He was one of the youngest managers they’d ever had, but no one could argue he was also one of the best. And that was because he lived and breathed his job. He had the title and the pay to show for his hard work, but he also had the nonexistent social life as well. The young staff he worked with had been gone at five on the dot and were undoubtedly already three sheets to wind from their routine Friday night happy hour. As the boss, he was never invited.
He shut down his computer and began to tidy his desk in preparation for Monday morning. His assistant set his schedule in his inbox, and he quickly perused it to ensure nothing had been added. He had an early staff meeting, then a planning committee meeting after lunch, followed by another senior staff budget meeting at four. And he somehow had to get his own work completed between those time-consuming discussions. He had an emergency Chapter 7 that Presley needed completed by next Friday, or else her client’s paycheck was going to be garnished the following pay period, meaning they had little time to stop it. He scribbled on his schedule to call Ms. Strollenburg and tell her he needed her paperwork back asap so he could get her filed and in bankruptcy protection. The thought of the sixty-two year old woman, who was already working two jobs to care for her three grandkids, losing almost an entire paycheck really tugged on his heartstrings and made him kick into second gear.
He shut off the lights and made his way through their office that took up the entire top floor of the Town Center Office Suites. His firm, Alfred, Dolan, Maroko & Bickel, PC, also owned the building and was landlord to the multiple offices on the lower levels. Thankfully, the firm staffed a realty management company to oversee their tenants, and Edison didn’t have to concern himself with that department. The custodial staff was still inside so Edison didn’t bother locking up.
He checked his watch on his way through the building’s opulent lobby. His stomach rumbled loudly enough to make him double check that no one else had heard it. It was going on eight o’clock, past time for him to eat dinner. He’d eaten a light lunch today at Bravo of three-meat lasagna, garlic bread and two Arnold Palmers, so of course he was hungry. Outside, the sun had already set over the tall steeple that sat atop of the four-star Westin Hotel. It left the sky a pretty pale blue and orange he had to pause and admire. Town Center looked gorgeous tonight, even sounded wonderful as the live local talent they showcased each weekend could be heard from the grand courtyard.
So many people were out on the warm evening in their casual attire, men in slacks, some in cargo shorts, others in jeans, and Edison saw at least four women in little rompers, others in blazers, some in short, short skirts, or were those shirts? In this part of Virginia Beach, the weekend had started yesterday. Thursday was the new Friday. Happy hour lasted until nine. Restaurants operated until midnight, some until two in the morning. Prominent businessmen hosted cocktail parties that filtered out onto their large balconies.
None of those scenes called to him.
Edison hoisted his rustic brown messenger bag farther up his shoulder and made his way down the ten steps of their building’s entrance and onto the darkening pathway. He took his keys from his pocket and prepared to deactivate his car’s locks when a tall figure standing in the far corner of the lawn caught his eye. Who is that? All he could see was full shoulders tapering down to nice hips in worn jeans. The man stood stiffly with his feet shoulder-width apart, and Edison thought maybe the guy’s arms were crossed over his chest. He couldn’t be sure because he was standing with his back to him. He didn’t appear to be an employee, not dressed in dingy jeans and construction boots. Maybe he’s lost something? The man was just standing there staring across the raggedy, unshaped bushes that surrounded the building.
Despite his better judgment, Edison approached the stranger. It was still kind of light outside and there were other people around, so he wasn’t worried. Maybe the guy was homeless and disoriented. Edison was sure he could point him in the direction of the nearest shelter. If a cop circled around, he’d could be picked up for loitering in this area. Edison cleared his throat so he could project his voice. He wasn’t a screamer. “Excuse me. Can I help you?”
He watched the man’s shoulders stiffen before he turned to face him slowly.
Oh shit. Edison immediately knew he’d made a mistake. The guy was built as heck, his chest, his stomach, his thighs, all muscle. Damn. But what had him concerned was the way the man was scowling at him. Edison took a couple of steps back at the sight of dark eyes boring into him. “I, uh.” Edison pointed to the top of the building. “I work here. I was just wondering if maybe you’d lost something.”
When the stranger didn’t answer, Edison felt his pulse spike and he checked around to see if anyone was watching them. Nope. As he’d gotten closer another staggering realization made itself known. Not only was this guy big and badass-looking, but he was way taller than he’d thought. At least four or five inches over him with a towering strength that emanated from him. Edison swallowed hard, feeling the sweat gather under his pits and at the center of his back. The man could easily wrap one of those big biceps around his throat and drag him around the side of the building and have his nasty way with him. Freakin heck, Edison. Stop being ridiculous. Why would anyone want to do that to you anyway? Oh snap! What about money?
“I’m Bishop Stockley. I’m the new landscaper. I start on this job next week,” the man finally said, pointing at a logo on his large right pec. His voice was throaty and deep as if he hadn’t uttered a word in hours.
Edison released a relieved breath, then suddenly felt like a moron for being afraid in the first place. Even for one second. Gosh, had he been stereotypical? Fudge! Had he been profiling because of the way this guy was dressed? Edison shook his head. “Of course. I’m sorry. Right, right. I should’ve known. I just approved the invoice earlier this week for Stockley Lawn Service to be sent to accounting. Wow, I heard you guys put together an impressive proposal. Congratulations. We had a ton of bids.”
The guy—Bishop—didn’t open his mouth again, not even to accept the praise for their contract. Edison wasn’t sure what his deal was but it made his body warm with the way he glared down at him. There was an uncomfortable pause as Edison stood there staring at the man’s chest because he was unable to meet his dark eyes. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” Edison turned on hi
s heels and hurried to the pathway and into the parking lot.
He started his car and cranked the AC as high as it would go. He hated that he sweated like a farm pig anytime he was edgy. He grunted and tugged at the knot of his tie, yanking it farther down so he could breathe. Edison looked up to see the new lawn guy had walked in the opposite direction, heading towards a white pickup with a magnet on the door advertising the business name. Edison had missed all of that and he knew why. He’d been drawn to that big, looming figure with tunnel vision. Bishop. That was his name. Man, he was intense. Edison watched Bishop’s legs eat up the lawn, his strides confident and purposeful. He released another long exhale. That had been a whole lot of man. He appeared young to have his own landscaping company, but Edison found he admired that. Bishop Stockley was obviously a man who had drive and determination. Edison peered down at his undefined chest and his pudgy stomach, wishing he had the will and drive to accomplish his goals.
Ha! Pull me around a corner to have his nasty way with me. Yeah right. It was kind of depressing to think he hadn’t had a man show him any kind of ways about nothing lately. And that was the reasoning he used for turning into Krispy Kreme on the way home and getting a half dozen of hot glazed donuts.
Chapter Nine
Bishop
“I could get used to working in Town Center, dude. Where you wanna grab lunch from? Mike’s even increased our break to an hour. This is so dope. And there’s tons of eateries around here.” Trent smiled, walking through the parking lot towards their trailer. “That’s what the locals call them.”
“Yeah expensive eateries. You complained about spending ten bucks on breakfast last week, imagine how much lunch would cost over here. You wanna spend fifteen dollars for a Reuben sandwich like Manny just did?” Bishop reached into the backseat of the truck and grabbed his cooler. “I brought mine.”
“You bring me something?” Trent said, staring hungrily at Bishop’s cooler. He laughed and shoved him in the shoulder.
“How come you got a woman but you’re always hungry?”
“She’s supposed to feed me?” Trent balked. “Says who? If I come in and ask her what’s for dinner, I’ll probably get one of those book CD things thrown at my head.”
Bishop chuckled. “Well she does work twelve hour shifts at the hospital. You should cook for her and then maybe she’ll do it for you.”
“Whatever. You know, sometimes I really miss the take-no-bullshit-fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-on Bishop” Trent moved with him to where a few guys were eating under a small canopy Mike and Manny had set up. There wasn’t much shade in this area, especially at midday, so sometimes they had to create their own.
Bishop didn’t react. He didn’t miss that guy at all. He wasn’t even real—Bishop was just a survivor back then.
“Which, by the way, Sil says she has new CDs if you wanna listen,” Trent said, accepting one of Bishop’s four turkey and cheese sandwiches he’d packed last night while listening to Mike holler at his latest TV show obsession, Fish Warrior. “I can’t believe you like to listen to those cheesy books.”
Bishop shrugged. He finished one sandwich in a couple of minutes and was on to the next one when he confessed. “I do, kinda. I mean, it’s a whole book on a CD-ROM being read for you. Whoever thought of that is pretty genius. I just wish your girl had something besides romance.”
Trent shoved him in the side, laughing at him. “I bet.”
“I only listen because it gives me a goddamn break from Netflix all the time. We don’t have cable, and video games get boring, so…”
“I get it.” Trent nodded.
He really did wish Sicilia had some mystery, or science fiction, or something. Listening to some of those love scenes were a bit much for a man who hadn’t had any in almost six years. Shit. Bishop closed his eyes and drank one of his bottles of water in one go. The second one, he let the last quarter of it run down his hot throat and into his collar. He was suddenly feeling warmer than before.
“There’s a Barnes & Noble up that block.” Trent pointed. “Next to the Bed, Bath place.”
“I saw it,” Bishop murmured, opening another cold bottle of water. He leaned forward where he sat on the soft ground and dumped half of that one over his skull, then put his hat back on.
“You should go over there and pick out your own,” Trent said matter-of-factly, then stood to leave. “I gotta call Sil.”
Bishop balled up his other coveralls and stuffed it under his head while he stretched out to relax for the last thirty minutes of his lunch break. The thought of going into that high-end bookstore didn’t appeal to him. He wasn’t sure he could even find what he was looking for without having to ask for help. He hated doing that. With his dark shades on he stared up at the tall Town Center office building and wondered what it was like to go to a place like that for work.
~
Edison
Edison took another bite of his Nature’s Own honey wheat granola bar, feeling proud that he’d pushed C9 on the vending machine and not C15 for the Snickers. He’d been standing at his window staring down at the landscaping crew for the past forty-five minutes, even though his lunch had been over ten minutes ago. He just couldn’t pry himself away. Edison hadn’t seen Bishop at all on the grounds, not that he was stalking him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to glance out of his window from time to time and enjoy the view. It was a nice view he had.
Bishop had decided to eat his lunch on the south lawn where Edison had an unobstructed view of Bishop dumping ice cold water all over his sun-kissed skin. He believed Bishop was a white man, but he was so tanned, Edison couldn’t be sure if that was from his job or if he was mixed race. Bishop’s hair was a simple buzz cut of shorn black strands with a tight trim framing his stern forehead, and a full beard of stubble. Edison yanked another bite of his snack and chewed. Bishop had climbed out of his navy-blue overalls and tucked them under him while he napped in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. From just a few stories up, Edison could just make out the definition in Bishop’s arms and stomach that he was sure he got naturally. All that hauling and mowing and lifting was bound to keep a man in shape. Such good shape.
Edison was practically drooling. Bishop cocked one leg up and let it fall to the side and Edison damn near pressed his forehead to the cool glass to see if that was indeed an imprint of… Oh, this is so bad, not to mention immature. You have to stop. Edison groaned as his cock rebelled and stiffened to the point where he couldn’t ignore it. Oh gosh. Bishop draped one arm over his forehead and the other across his chest, tucking his hand into his pit. Against his better judgment, Edison’s other hand, that wasn’t fisting an empty granola wrapper, inched towards his zipper. He wouldn’t dare pull his dick out in the office, but he couldn’t resist giving it a few firm presses to ease the throb.
He wondered what it’d be like for a big man like that to hold him against the wall and take what he wanted from him. A big man who wouldn’t have a problem with his size because with arms like those he could probably bench press him. Edison moaned faintly, bearing down on his swollen cock. It looked obscene, shoved against his smooth slacks. He licked his bottom lip when he thought of how the water had cascaded down Bishop’s long throat.
“Edison!”
The two rapid taps on the door before his secretary stuck her head in and blurted his name made him jump so hard, he banged his head against the window. His hand flew away from his dick and up to his face. Crap! “Mila,” Edison huffed, trying to get his mind to stop spinning. He felt so danggone busted. Like when his pop had caught him jerking off to a Blake Shelton video when he was sixteen. He half turned so she wouldn’t see what was still quite visible. “You should be courteous and wait until I say come in, please.”
She gave him a weird frown, and Edison tried not to squirm. How in the world had he let that happen? He was willing his erection to go down the best he could. He glanced out of the window and noticed the ground crew was up on their feet as if headin
g back to work, and he caught the back of Bishop’s huge body rounding the corner before disappearing. That was definitely for the best.
“But, I always… I’ve never...” Mila eased inside and closed the door behind her, leaning against the hard surface. Whenever she cocked her head to one side like that it made the perfectly asymmetrical bob hairstyle she wore tilt to one side. “Is everything okay? Rosemary said you looked upset after running into Jessica last week. She know you denied her leave time?”
Edison’s erection withered faster than a popped balloon. He’d tried to forget his coworker’s rude comment, but he’d been unsuccessful. Then after being caught fantasizing over the lawn guy, a guy he couldn’t snag in a million years, no matter if he lost those last twenty pounds or not, made it all so obvious. He went across his office and sat gingerly. “I told her and she wasn’t happy.”
“What did she expect? This isn’t a play place where you can come and go to work as you please. This isn’t Google. She’s so ditz.” Mila took her wide hands and held them up as if she was wringing a neck. “That cute little figure won’t get her as far as she thinks.”
Edison moved some papers around, not bothering to really see what he was doing. Mila sat across from him in one of the chairs facing his wide desk. “We sound like haters.”
“We do not,” Mila harrumphed. “I’d never hate on the malnourished.”
While Edison constantly struggled with his fluctuating weight, Mila was happy and proud to be plus-size and her husband was even happier. No one missed the way he looked at her at office functions or the way he stayed wrapped around her. So Edison knew that kind of love was possible for people who looked like him. It just hadn’t come his way.
