Room For Three

by Melissa Silvey

  Great! My gorgeous gay boss is cuddling up against me on a leather couch. What in the hell am I supposed to do? Do I wrap my arm around his shoulder? Do I bury my hands in his thick dark hair? Goose bumps cover my arms, from his almost platonic embrace. I shiver, and he holds me closer.

  So I just sit here, with my hands folded in my lap. I hear the text alert on my phone, but I don’t want to move. I don’t want to breathe. I’m being held by Asher Glass. I close my eyes, and I realize this is why I uprooted my daughter, why I didn’t even look for a job in Morgantown. This is why I took an entry level position in one of the biggest companies in the country, and when the email went out that the job as his assistant was available I jumped on it.

  I’ve fallen for Asher Glass. I think I fell for him when I saw him through the glass of the conference room at Oakleaf, looking tired as hell as he entered numbers into a calculator. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but when he gazed up at me when I carried a cup of coffee in to him, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life. His eyes are beautiful enough to die for, and the rest of him is even better.

  The scruff that he’s apparently grown out since yesterday is scratching against my chest. His fingers are digging into my waist. And his hair is soft against my cheek. My nipples are hard, and my stomach muscles are so tight they might cramp up.

  “Shhhhh…” I whisper, and rub my cheek against the top of his head. “Shhhh… It’s okay,” I murmur, in my most soothing voice. Then my shaking hand goes up, and touches his neck. I move, and kiss the top of his head.

  I’m probably going to hell for this, I might be in hell right now, but I don’t care. It feels fabulous, and it hurts worse than when I found Patrick in bed with Marla. Because maybe the only thing worse than falling in love with the wrong man and catching him cheating on you, would be falling in love with the perfect man and realizing that he will never, ever love you back.

  He moves his head just a little, and his lips are lying against my skin. His skin is so warm, and soft. The muscles between my legs clench, and I’m afraid I might be dying a little inside. I’ve never wanted a man as much as I want him.

  “You smell like sugar cookies,” he mumbles against my neck.

  “Thank you, Mr. Glass,” I reply. He smells clean and citrusy, underneath the wine. He feels warm and inviting. His hands begin to move, rubbing up and down over my ribs. It’s torture. It’s fucking painful. But it feels so good. When I feel his hand move up even more, until he touches the bottom of my breast, I jump away from him. I end up on the other side of the couch, and then I hop up, and practically run toward the bathroom.

  And finally, I can breathe. It’s ragged, but air is filling my lungs. I breathe in and out. I look at myself in the mirror, and I can only shake my head. “Just stop, you idiot,” I say aloud. “He’s never gonna want you the way you want him. Just stop.”

  When I return to the sitting room, Mr. Glass is sipping the coffee I brought him earlier, which is probably cold by now. I sit down in a chair across from the couch, and wait for him to talk. After a minute or two, my phone alerts again. I finally check it. It’s Peyton.

  I’m glad you made it okay. How is everything there? Is Asher okay?

  I don’t know how to reply. I don’t know how Asher is. All I know is he’s upset.

  Everything is okay. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. I’ll let you know.

  I don’t know how I’m supposed to act now, or what I’m supposed to do. Mr. Glass isn’t even looking at me. I’m worn out. I’m as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. And… I’m horny now. I want more than anything to be touched by him. Why couldn’t I just let him do it? Why couldn’t I just enjoy it?

  “The owner, Kristoff, took me out last night to a strip club. And his wife, Amanda, came to my hotel room before breakfast. At lunch, she placed her hand on my crotch.” He shudders as he says it. “She’s texted me a dozen times, even though I’ve asked her not to. I’ve never met such horrible people in my life. They are cretins.”

  “Why didn’t ya just come home?” I ask innocently.

  He turns toward me, and I see the emotions in his eyes. He’s angry at them. I’ve never seen him angry. Somehow, he’s even sexier. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, under a black cardigan sweater, and he looks so dang smart. “I have a plan. I need you to act like we are having a sexual relationship, and distract the Hansen couple long enough to allow me to do my analysis on their company. Can you do that for me, Charlie?”

  “Yes, sir. I can do whatever ya need me to do,” I agree. He stares at the wine bottles in front of him again, and his eyes are distant. “I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day. Is there anything else I can do for you before I head to bed?”

  I bite my lip after I say it, because I realize how it sounds. I want him to say he wants more. I want him to ask me to come sit with him again, so he can hold me. I want him to ask me to come to bed with him. I know he won’t, but I want it. I want my boss. And I’m going to have to act like I’m his girlfriend for the next few days.

  “No, thanks. You can go, Charlie.” I stand to gather my things. “Get some sleep. We’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” I turn back toward him as I’m leaving his room, and he’s staring at me. He’s gazing at me with his sparkling black eyes. Leaving his room while he looks so sad, so alone, might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  Chapter Seven

  I hear someone knock on the door, and it shocks me. For a moment, I think it might be Amanda Hansen. I’m just in my sweats, after doing my morning workout. I don’t mind travelling, but the time change is hell on my body clock. I’ve been awake since four. This will piss Peyton off for a few days after I return to Delaware. My roaming around will wake him up, and then he’ll lead me back to bed, and then he’ll…

  I hear the knock again. My heart is racing. Just when I’d calmed myself down with my workout, the door makes me anxious again. I take a step toward it, and I feel my hands shaking. I didn’t order room service, and it’s only six o’clock.

  Then I hear, “Mr. Glass, it’s Charlie.”

  I stride quickly toward the door. I’d almost forgotten she was here. I should have asked her to move into my room. I probably would have slept better with her here. When she asked me if there was anything else she could do for me, I wanted so badly to ask her to give me oral sex. I wish we had that kind of relationship, the kind that Peyton and I have. I would have done whatever she wanted, given her anything, to have her sleep with me last night, touch me, and pleasure me. I ended up masturbating, which was unfulfilling.

  I should have called Peyton instead. Or I could have called them both. Perhaps if I enjoyed watching Peyton be jealous I would have. But I don’t think the Hansens would have responded the same way to a man that I believe they will to a woman. And Charlie is so pretty, Kristoff will be dazzled by her, and Amanda will be jealous of her. That is the plan, anyway. Besides that, I wanted her here.

  I look through the peephole, to verify it is in fact Charlie, just as she pulls her hand back to knock again. I open the door, and her blue eyes go wide, and she looks stunned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She takes several moments to answer, and she’s still staring at me like I’m an alien. I’m used to it. Normal people have never understood how to deal with me, since I was young. My mother, the former model and socialite, thought that I would be able to socialize around the other children, if only I spent more time with them. My father, the businessman, thought that I would benefit from time in military school. Neither of them understood me. No one ever has.

  “Nuthin’,” she finally answers, but I know that’s not true. Her voice is higher than normal, and her eyes are…

  Oh. I’m only wearing shorts. “Sorry, I…” I move aside to allow her to enter. I’ve learned that people like it when I apologize for being different. It puts them at ease.

  “Um…” She avoids looking
at me, and stands near the couch. “I woke up too early, so I thought I’d order breakfast. Would you like…” Her eyes stray toward me again, and she stops talking mid-sentence.

  Charlie has been nothing but professional since I met her the first time. She’s caring, and considerate. She worries about me, and takes care of me, in a way that no one else ever has. She frets when I’m overwrought. She smiles at me when we’ve accomplished our goals. She makes sure I eat when I’m too busy to leave the office. She is a born nurturer. I wish I’d known her all my life.

  Once my parents accepted me as different from other children, even from my older siblings, they began to distance themselves. Being smarter than everyone else didn’t mean I wasn’t still a child, or that I’m not still human. I have needs, just like everyone else.

  For some reason, she doesn’t see me as different. Until right this very second. She’s staring at me the way women do, before they get to know me and they realize I’m not like other men. That generally leads to disappointment, for both of us. Women want so much. They want emotions and feelings. They want dates and gifts. They want flowers, long walks on the beach, and all night conversations. I can’t do those things. I can do them sometimes, I just can’t be expected to remember to do them all the time. Females get their feelings hurt, and it causes me anxiety.

  Females also want a man to be more assertive sexually. If I don’t initiate sex, they assume I don’t want it. Then they assume I don’t want them. And then they assume I want someone else. And then it gets messy.

  I generally don’t have the same problems with men, because other men tend to be able to express themselves sexually, and would rather not express themselves emotionally. I have a hard time expressing myself at all. I’m not what anyone would call excellent boyfriend material.

  The few females that I have dated have led me to these conclusions. The relationships have always ended badly. Always.

  I don’t want my relationship with Charlie to end. And I don’t want her to be disappointed, I just want her to…

  I just want her to look at me like that, with carnal desire, and still treat me the way she does now. I want her to take care of me in every possible way. I know it’s wrong, because I want Peyton also. But Peyton isn’t the nurturer that Charlie is. So I must have them both. I must somehow keep them both. And I must keep them and my emotions for each of them compartmentalized.

  So, why do I want her to keep looking at me like this, as well?

  I close the door behind me, and take a few steps closer to her. Why did I want her to hold me so badly yesterday, while I was feeling emotional? Why do I have to want more from her, when I know it will only lead to both of us being hurt?

  “I’d like breakfast. Would you order for us please?” She took care early on to learn my eating habits. I’m picky, but she understands that. She’ll order what I like.

  Instead of returning to the bedroom and putting on a shirt, which would make her more comfortable, I stride into the kitchen. I want coffee, and I also want her to stare at me that way. I hear her on the phone, and after she’s finished she joins me. I turn when I hear her enter the room, and lean my hip against the sink.

  She’s dressed in one of my favorite outfits, a dark grey skirt that fits her in the best way possible, and a light blue cotton blouse that matches her eyes. She doesn’t have a lot of clothes, yet, but as I give her more raises, and more bonuses, she’ll feel comfortable about spending her money on herself. Right now, her focus is on her daughter, which is where it should be. I admire her for that, and I feel terrible that she is separated from her because of my selfishness.

  Charlie has no idea that I knew my assistant would be retiring when I invited her to work for me. She doesn’t know that I asked her to work in a menial job, just to make sure my faith in her was well placed. She also has no idea that the email that she received about the job opening, which was marked for company-wide distribution, only went to her. I’ve wanted her since the first time she brought me coffee, and asked if I was okay or if I needed anything else. She’s been the first person in… forever really… to ask if I was okay, to ask if I needed anything, to worry about my comfort.

  Timidly she moves toward me, and begins to prepare a cup of coffee for herself. “What is the plan for today, Mr. Glass?” She’s avoiding looking at me. I almost wish she would. I wish she would touch me.

  I would love to hear her call me Asher, in her adorable accent. I would love to hear her scream it… No, I can’t think that way. I have to keep up the boss and employee relationship, for her sake and my own.

  “I want you to be by my side. I don’t want you to leave me, no matter what. Can you do that?” That’s not just the plan for today. That’s the plan for the rest of my life. I’m not sure how I will accomplish it yet, but I will.

  She glances at me then. Her lips part and her pupils dilate. At times like this, I think she wants me as much as I want her, and in the same ways. All the correct physical reactions are there. She knows me. She knows my personality, my quirks and my anxieties. And she still wants me. She wants me physically, and she nurtures me emotionally. She is perfect.

  “Yes, I can do that.” Her voice cracks. It’s too high. She’s having an emotional response to my request. I am as well, and it scares me.

  “And, I want your radiant personality to shine through. I want you to kill them with kindness, while spoiling me and doting on me.” Basically, I want her to be herself, and I want her to blind Mr. and Mrs. Hansen to what I’m doing until it’s too late.

  She finally smiles at me. It’s like a ray of sunlight through a cloudy sky, streaming down only onto me. “So you want me to do what I do every darn day, while acting like we’re sleeping together?” I nod. Do I want her to act like we’re sleeping together? No, I don’t want it to be an act. “I can do that, Mr. Glass.”

  I hear the knock on the door, and she moves to exit the room. “You’ll have to call me Asher. Can you do that while we’re here?”

  “I sure can, Asher.” It sounds as good as I thought it would. These next few days are going to be heaven, and hell. I just hope I don’t cross the line I’ve placed between us. But if we do cross that line, I hope neither of us gets hurt.

  Chapter Eight

  “Well, hello Mr. Hansen, how are you?” So, Mr. Glass wants me to dazzle these two while he concentrates on work, huh? I can do that. He wants me to act like we’re fucking, so the wife will quit hitting on him? That might be a little more difficult. How can I touch him, and not want to keep touching him? I mean, I went to sleep last night thinking about how his hair felt against my cheek, and how his scruff felt against my skin. I wanted to touch myself so badly, thinking about my boss. I didn’t, but I wanted to, and that makes me feel just a tad bit guilty.

  Am I pathetic? Yes I am.

  But I’ll be damned if I let the owners of Hansen Technologies see that. All they are going to see is how much I genuinely care for my peculiar boss. Whether he can act like he wants me too is a horse of a different color.

  The man, who is obviously new money, walks toward me. I stay very near Mr. Glass, but I extend my right hand to him. From his tacky white tennis shoes and his Versace track suit, to his big Rolex Submariner watch, he obviously has more money than he has style, or brains. He looks like he’s never been near a submarine, much less in one. Also, after being around Asher and Peyton, I find him very unattractive. He’s too blonde, too blue eyed, and just way too plain. Compared to Asher, who is wearing a sleek black suit with a black shirt and no tie, he might be down-right ugly.

  “I’m wonderful, thank you. And who might you be?” he asks, as he stares at my tits. I’m used to it. Having developed 34C breasts by the time I was fifteen, I’m used to males staring at my boobs. It puts them off balance, and I like that.

  “Well, I might be Charlotte Hall, Asher’s personal assistant.” I say the word personal in a way that conveys my feelings to both men. I’m not even faking it. Mr. Glass is sitting in the cha
ir beside me, and I rock mine a little until my forearm is touching his. I smile brightly, because just that innocent touch makes my muscles ache. I went to bed horny last night, and now I’m touching the object of my desires. My nipples become hard, and Mr. Hansen’s eyes become wide.

  “Well, isn’t Asher Glass just the luckiest man alive, in every possible way?” he murmurs. He actually has the gall to lick his lips. I see now why Mr. Glass found him repulsive, and I have to agree with him.

  “Well, thank ya kindly, sir,” I reply, and allow my hand to linger on Mr. Glass’s wrist. “He thinks so too.”

  “Where in the world did you find her, Asher, and are there any more where she came from?” Mr. Hansen asks.

  I want to remind him that I am a human being. But Mr. Glass does that for me. “I found her at her workplace, which I bought, and I hired her because of her capabilities with her brain, and her capacity to learn and grow as an intelligent person and an employee. It’s just our good fortune that we happen to find each other attractive, and physically suitable for other needs as well.”

  I blush as he says it, and my smile is even brighter when he glances at me. His eyes sparkle with an inner light. I shiver from the emotions, desire and lust, his eyes cause to grow inside me. I want him. Gawd help me I want him right here, right now.

  Why does he have to be gay?!

  “Smart and beautiful, huh? Well, I have to say, you really hit a homerun, didn’t you? I’ll just leave you two at it, and if there’s anything you need…” Mr. Hansen smiles at me as he says it.

  “Oh, if there’s anything Asher needs, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he gets it.” I wave as he turns toward me before he closes the door behind him.