Barbara's Plea

by Stacy Eaton

  “Yeah, the old beast actually surprised me this morning,” I replied. “It only took me twenty minutes and not forty like the other day.”

  “Well, welcome. Come in, I have breakfast waiting for us in the conservatory.”

  She had a conservatory? I was so out of my league. I stepped past her after shaking her hand and almost spun right back around and walked back out. The foyer rose two stories and a circular staircase followed the curve of the rear wall up to the second level. A huge crystal—hell, it could have been diamonds for all I knew—chandelier hung from the center of the room. Even if it was made of crystal, it was probably worth more than I had made in the last three years.

  “It’s a house, Grey, don’t let it define who you are,” she passed by me to lead the way, “I don’t.”

  I pushed out a breath and followed her, embarrassed that she had seen my anxiety so easily. “I’m sorry.”

  She laughed and kept walking, “I realize that you are a man with manners, but we are going to have to work on the constant apologies. You have no reason to apologize.”

  We entered the conservatory, a room at the rear of the house with, in place of walls along the back, windows that overlooked a large garden. Sunlight filled the room, but not at an angle as to be blinding. The room had large bookshelves lining the walls on the right and left. Behind me loomed a large stone fireplace. The walls were a soft peach color that immediately comforted and welcomed me.

  Gloria moved to a table near one of the windows and sat down in a chair. The table had fresh linens and flowers along with fancy china on it. A basket of muffins and breads sat in the center, and as I grew closer, I could smell the sweet, yeasty scent of the warm bread. Saliva filled my mouth as my stomach growled.

  Gloria motioned with her hand to the seat across from her. “Have a seat,” she invited as a woman in gray slacks and a black blouse walked into the room carrying a tray of fruit.

  I glanced at the table; there were only two spots. Where was she going to sit? I watched as she set the tray down, gave me a faint smile and nod before she addressed Gloria, “Will there be anything else, Mrs. Withers?”

  “No, Amelia. Tell Carlos to give us about fifteen minutes before you bring out the main meal. Thank you.”

  Amelia wasn’t eating with us, she was the hired help. How stupid could I be? I sidled over to the chair and sank down.

  “So, how are you today, Grey?” Gloria asked as she held the basket of breads out to me. I plucked a hot muffin out of the basket.

  “I’m fine. More importantly, how are you feeling today?” I had spent quite a bit of time during the night thinking about how she had been so focused on me yesterday that she had barely mentioned her diagnosis.

  She snorted, “I’m trying not to dwell on it.” She broke a bite-sized piece of her own roll, buttered it, and ate it.

  “Did you think about if you are going to have treatment?” Why I felt I had a right to know such things didn’t matter. She had entrusted me with the knowledge yesterday, so I felt it was only right that I ask.

  “Yes, I did, and no, I’m not,” she answered right before she ate another bite of her bread.

  My hand and bread knife hovered over my muffin. “You’re not going to have treatment?”

  “Nope,” she vowed. “I have lived a long life, and I am not going to spend the last of it feeling worse because of all the chemicals they will put into my body to fight a losing battle.”

  She was so matter of fact that I wondered if she said it out of fear or if she was just that damned strong. “Okay,” I replied softly and began to butter my muffin.

  “Thank you for asking, Grey. I do appreciate that, but it is you that I want to talk about.”

  “Me?” I queried as I tried to contain the grumblings of my stomach. I had only had a small dinner, a bowl of soup. Even though I knew she had wanted me to join her today, I was still surprised to hear her say that.

  “Yes, you. I thought a lot about you last night, and I showed your pictures to one of my project managers. They loved your work, and I’d like to commission you to do a very large project.”

  “Seriously?” The piece of muffin I was about to pop into my mouth hung in front of my lips as I stared at her.

  She laughed, “Yes, seriously. I think those two particular pieces are exactly what my project needs to finish up.”

  “Okay,” I said and finally set the sweet spongy piece of bread on my tongue. The taste and texture were so delectable that I had to fight to contain a moan of delight.

  “They are good, aren’t they?” Man, this lady never missed a beat. “I love my chef.”

  “You have your own chef?” I asked as I broke off another piece.

  “Yes, and I have a chauffeur, a maid, a gardener, and an assistant working for me. Get over the shock, please. Yes, I’m wealthy. I got over it myself a long time ago.”

  I laughed. This woman was so cool. “It wasn’t until you left that I realized who you really were.”

  She dabbed at her lips with her linen napkin and placed her hands back in her lap. “Who am I?” she asked seriously.

  “You’re Gloria Withers, the head of a multi-billion-dollar enterprise.”

  She studied me. “Does that change how you feel about me?”

  “No, ma’am, I mean, yes. It tells me that you deserve more respect than I had originally shown you.”

  She held her hand up, “Stop.” She straightened from the table. “I am the same old woman you met on a bench yesterday, the same woman with whom you sat and had breakfast, and the same one who is dying of a nasty disease. I put my underwear on the same way you do, one foot at a time. We both brush our teeth and have to pay taxes. Do not think of me as some matriarch to a fortune or any different than you. Just because my forks might be silver, and yours stainless steel, we use them in the same manner.”

  I was quick to reply, “No, that’s not what I meant. What I was trying to say was: You are part of a huge organization that has helped a lot of people, and I have the utmost respect for all that your company has done. I’m not going to deny that I feel completely out of my league in your presence, but I’m honored that you like my work.”

  She tipped her head to the side, “I like you, Grey. You’re a real man, one who isn’t afraid to say what he means or how he feels. You wear your heart on your sleeve and it shines right through your eyes. You have talent, and I want to help you.”

  “Thank you, Gloria,” my voice husky with emotion.

  She sipped from her coffee cup then said, “I was going to wait until after breakfast, but I want to show you something first.” She stood and called out, “Amelia.”

  In seconds, Amelia pushed her head through the door, “Yes, Mrs. Withers.”

  “Tell Carlos to hold off breakfast for a little while. I want to show Grey the workshop first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She turned and disappeared.

  “Come on, Grey, let me show you where you are going to work.”

  As I stood, she snaked her thin arm through my elbow. “But I haven’t said I’m going to take the job.”

  She smiled up at me, her light blue eyes twinkling, “I have no doubt that you will say yes.”

  She was right. There was no doubt that I was going to say yes. I needed a job, and if I could do something that would be a part of Withers International, I’d take it in a heartbeat.

  We left the conservatory and went outside through a door to the garden. “Your garden is beautiful.” The late spring flowers bloomed bright and bold. Butterflies flitted from one flower to the next as we followed the winding path.

  “Thank you. I quite enjoy it myself.” She didn’t say anything else, and I allowed her to lead me toward a smaller two-story stone building near the back corner of her house. It looked like a garage of some kind.

  “Now the carriage house has been closed up for a while, so it is a little musty, but I did have Tom open it for me yesterday to air it out a little. A few more days with the windo
ws open, and it should smell much better.” She pushed open the door and stepped aside for me to enter.

  As my eyes swept over the forty-foot by sixty-foot work space, my jaw dropped. There was every conceivable wood-working tool available in this room. Tinker my ass; her husband had been a major player. Saws of all dimensions and capabilities lined one wall. Shelves holding planes, routers, and other tools lined the back wall. Cabinets lined another wall. All through the center were work stations. There were dry areas to work with sanding and cutting, and wet areas for staining and painting.

  The east side of the room had large windows that let in fresh morning sunlight, and large work lights hung from the ceiling. A garage door allowed for the transportation of large pieces, a regular door led to a back room, and, in the corner, a staircase led to who-knew-what upstairs.

  “Walter kept his wood supplies in that back room.” Gloria pointed to the door I had noticed. “There is also a small bathroom in there.”

  I wandered around the room. My calloused fingertips grazed over surfaces with the utmost respect. I had just died and gone to heaven.

  “Will it work for you?” she asked as she stood near the door, a knowing smile on her lips.

  “Um…I…uh,” I took a deep breath and blew it out, “yeah, it would work for me, but you never did tell me what it is you wanted me to do.”

  “I need one hundred of your rocking chairs made, and fifty of your toy boxes. I’d like to have a hand in the engraved design for them, and of course the stain, but, otherwise, you do with them as you see fit.”

  My head spun. “Excuse me?”

  Gloria was all business as she continued, “I’ll pay for all materials and supplies. You will be paid three hundred for each chair and four hundred for each toy box.”

  My eyes bugged out of my head. “You’re not serious, are you?” my voice squeaked. She wanted to pay me thirty thousand dollars to make rocking chairs? I did the quick calculation for the toy boxes. Holy shit! That was another twenty grand. I could make fifty grand on this job. My fingers began to tingle as I imagined being able to spend all my time working in this room to create something beautiful.

  “I am very serious, Grey.” She scanned the room and I realized she looked uncomfortable. I wondered if she had been inside the room since her husband had passed away. I glanced around once more and met her at the door.

  “If you are really serious, I’d love to take the job.” I stared down in awe into the face of the sweetest little old lady I had ever met. She was giving me the chance to do what I loved— and get paid for it.

  “There are two other conditions that I must put on this offer of employment,” she continued in her all-business voice.

  “And those are?”

  “Your truck gets parked in the garage, and you use my husband’s old truck. You can work on yours when you have idle time, but you are going to need a vehicle that doesn’t cause you problems.”

  I didn’t like taking charity, but it would be nice to have reliable transportation to get around while I slowly got the repairs done to my own truck. “Okay, I can do that, if you really want me to, thank you. What is the other stipulation?”

  “You live in the apartment above the workshop. I want you to have access to your work anytime you want it.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “Why are you doing this?” I asked hoarsely.

  Her smile softened and she placed a hand on my arm, “Because you are a man who deserves the world, and you just need a good place to start taking it over.”

  Chapter Six

  Barbara

  Peggy had called me at the office the next day. When she commented about the delivery being scheduled for the day of my departure, I knew she had received my fax. I told her how sorry I was that I wouldn’t be there to help.

  If Todd was listening to my conversations, he would think nothing of it. He already knew I was going out of town to this conference. He himself would be out of town on business. It was perfect timing.

  When he was out of town, he rarely contacted me. He would leave the day before I did, and he was scheduled to be gone for three days. I doubted it was all for business, but at this point, I didn’t care.

  I was more than happy to have him go elsewhere for his carnal desires. My attraction to his devastatingly-handsome face had died the day he tried to kill my daughter.

  I had heard rumors of his infidelity, had even seen pictures online, but instead of upsetting me, they had just added fuel to my fire.

  Peggy and I had worked out most of the details the last time we had seen each other. The thought of finally carrying out my escape set my nerves on edge, and I tried to contain them as I set the table for dinner. Allie was upstairs with the nighttime nanny. Todd had made it very clear that dinner time was for him, and not a family affair. He wanted my attention and nothing to disturb that.

  After dinner, I would sneak upstairs and kiss Allie goodnight before Todd claimed my attention for the evening. Some nights, he locked himself in his office and worked late. I loved those times because I could snuggle with Allie before I showered and got ready for bed. If I was really lucky, I would fall asleep before he came to bed, and he would leave me alone.

  I heard the front door close as I pulled the meatloaf from the oven. I had to force myself to relax. Only a few more days, only a few more days, I chanted the phrase over and over in my mind.

  “Hi, Todd, how was your day?” I played the good wife.

  “Same ole, how was yours?” He untied his tie and pulled it off.

  “Fine, thank you. We got that new account I was telling you about the other day.”

  “That’s good,” he murmured as he paged through the mail on the counter. “What’s for dinner?”

  I peered over my shoulder, to anyone else, he was a devilishly good-looking man; to me, he was the devil himself. “I made meatloaf, the kind with the cheese in it, your favorite.”

  “Yum,” he said softly. His shoes clicked on the hard Spanish tile as he approached me. “And I know what I want for dessert tonight,” he said as he pulled my hair off my neck and leaned in to nibble on it.

  In any other marriage, this would be a good thing-but not in mine.

  The urge to push him away was strong as he cupped my breast and squeezed the nipple through my bra. It was still sensitive from when he had bitten me the other day, and I flinched.

  “What? You don’t want my touch now?” he growled in my ear.

  “Of course I want your touch, I’m still sore there from the other night.” When you tried to rip my nipple off with your teeth, I finished in my head.

  “I’ll make you feel better later.” He ground his hips against my backside. The fact that he had an erection so early in the night did not bode well for my getting any time with Allie later.

  “Okay,” I said softly. He bit my earlobe so hard that I winced.

  “Dinner is ready,” I announced, hoping to get his attention off sex and onto food.

  “I don’t want meatloaf, I want you.”

  I nearly groaned in frustration at his words.

  “I thought you loved meatloaf,” I tried to sidetrack him. In response, he licked up my neck like a cat cleaning its coat. I fought not to shiver in revulsion.

  “I do, but I want you to eat first. I want you to eat me.” He pushed his hips hard against my butt, crushing my hips against the cabinet.

  I gagged inwardly at just the thought. Only a few more days, only a few more days, I reminded myself.

  “Sure, honey, if that’s what you want,” I replied and waited for him to give me space to turn around. When I did, he was already unzipping his pants. I helped him push them over his hips and down to pool around his ankles.

  I knew what needed to be done. If I could satisfy him quickly, and happily, he might leave me alone later tonight. I pulled his tight boxers down to his thighs and dropped to my knees. It would have been more comfortable if I had been able to kneel on a rug, but I knew better than to ask him to move
. When he wanted me, he wanted me then and right there.

  I’d been on my knees in every room in the house, including the hard cement floor of the garage and on the prickly cement of the back patio near the pool. Once he had made me blow him off while he stared down at our sleeping daughter, probably excited by the fact that he had my attention and she didn’t.

  I learned early on what to do to make him come quickly. I used my tongue and lips to excite him and grasped his balls tightly to push him over the edge. He must have been really excited because it only took five minutes for him to release.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I stood up. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth, I’m not done with you,” he smirked as he turned away and pulled his pants up.

  As I left the room, I heard him cutting into the meatloaf to serve himself.

  Shit! I said under my breath as I headed for the stairs. He wants more. It was rare that he did, but it seemed a good reminder of why I was leaving.

  I washed my face, reapplied a small amount of makeup, and brushed my teeth. He never wanted to kiss me after I gave him a blow job. He said there was no way in hell he was going to taste himself; that was my job, not his.

  When I returned downstairs to the kitchen, he was at the sink dropping his empty plate into it. “What took you so long? I had to eat alone.”

  So long? I was gone five minutes. “Sorry,” I apologized as I began to serve myself some dinner.

  “No, you had your time to eat, this is my time.” He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into the family room over to the leather sofa. He yanked me in front of him so my back was to his chest and branded my neck with harsh kisses while his hands roamed forcefully over my body.

  His right hand slid down my leg and under the skirt of my dress. I stared at the ceiling as he tilted my head back to get to my neck. “Spread your legs and bend over the couch,” he said huskily into my ear. God, I hated his voice.

  Those words might have been seductive, a way to heighten an erotic moment, but to me they were just instructions. I did as I was told and he tore my panties from my body. I felt the elastic catch on the inside of my leg and knew I would have a mark there later, just another one of many.