Room For Three

by Melissa Silvey

  “So you’re blaming me?” He’s still in the mood to fight.

  “I’m not blaming anyone, and I’m still hopeful that we will work it out between us.”

  He finally looks at me. “Between you and Charlie?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “All of us.”

  He looks at me like people have all my life; like I’m odd, different. I’m used to it, but not from him, and it hurts more than I expected it to. “You’re expecting too much.”

  “It’s what I want, Peyton. And I usually get what I want.” The corners of my lips tip up slightly. It’s not ego, it’s just a fact. I like puzzles, problems, challenges. I don’t give up until they are solved. I won’t give up on Peyton and Charlie either.

  “I don’t think you’ll get Charlie to agree,” he says. His voice is now less argumentative.

  “Are you saying you agree?”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying,” he murmurs.

  “Give me some time to work it out with Charlie. That’s all I ask.”

  “And what about us? What do you expect me to do while you’re working it out with Charlie?” he counters.

  “I won’t tell you what to do. I just need time. Please understand that.”

  “Fine,” he agrees reluctantly, and stands up to exit the office. “But don’t expect me to wait forever.” He walks out, and I hear his footsteps recede down the hallway.

  I don’t think he’s threatening anything. He’s probably just telling me how he feels about the entire situation. Still, it’s not what I want. I don’t want to choose one of them over the other. But I will, if I have to. And I will choose Charlie. Whether she realizes it or not, she needs me more. She is more vulnerable.

  She will be okay on her own, of course, but I don’t want her to just be okay. I want her and her daughter to thrive, to reach their full potential. I want them to have everything this world has to offer, everything they were denied by her selfish ex.

  She needs someone to take care of her. And more than anything, I want that someone to be me.

  Chapter Twenty

  It’s been five days since we returned from San Francisco, and I haven’t seen Mr. Glass once. He’s still working of course, he just hasn’t been in the office. How do I know he’s been working? One reason is because an envelope was on my desk Tuesday morning when I arrived at work. Two checks were inside, one for me and one for my mother. Both were for ten thousand dollars.

  My mother watched Elise for a total of three nights, and endured the inconvenience of baking cookies and watching Disney movies with her granddaughter. Mom was excited about the money, and discussed buying a more reliable car.

  Me, on the other hand, I endured three nights away from my daughter, perhaps the best sex I’ve ever had, and a broken heart. Ten grand isn’t nearly enough to compensate me for that. I have decided not to cash the check. It would feel like he was buying my time with him, and that would make me feel dirty. He’s already paying me a good hourly wage. I’ll put in for overtime, and that will be compensation enough.

  I know he’s only staying away to avoid me. For Monday and Tuesday I was fine with that. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to have to bring his coffee and make sure he was okay. I wasn’t okay, and I’m still not, so I didn’t want to be responsible for his well being. But now it’s Thursday, and I’m starting to worry about my job. No CEO of a multi-billion dollar company is going to stay away from it for long, for any reason. And especially not to avoid his Executive Assistant.

  Well, if I get desperate, at least I have ten grand to fall back on.

  Just because he hasn’t been in the office doesn’t mean that we haven’t communicated. I’ve received dozens of email from my boss, half of which came in the middle of the night. They each began with “Ms. Hall,” and contained requests, such as print and file this or scan that. I always replied with, “Yes, Mr. Glass,” and updated him when the task had been completed. It’s been working out well, but I know it won’t last.

  So I’m a little surprised in the cafeteria, as I’m pushing around my salad on my plate, when I hear, “Is this seat taken?”

  I don’t need to look up to know it’s Mr. Waits. His voice isn’t really that familiar, but he’s the only man who has approached me in the cafeteria in the last six months.

  “I’m sorry, it’s reserved,” I reply, while still staring at my food.

  I hear the chair scrape against the floor as he pulls it away from the table, and says, “Well since your boss apparently isn’t coming, I think I’ll take it.” His normally light tone has turned dark. He sounds tired, as if he hasn’t slept well in the last week.

  Well guess what, neither have I. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I inform him, with as chilly a tone as I can muster.

  “That’s too bad, because I want to talk to you. And you’re going to listen.” That gets my attention. I look over at him, and he looks like crap. He has dark circles under his eyes, and I don’t think he’s shaved since we returned from California. He takes a deep breath, and releases it. “I assume you’re thinking about quitting.”

  “How-“

  “If you do, I want you to apologize to Asher first. Even if you’re not sorry for being a total bitch, I want you to say you are.”

  “Excuse-“

  He interrupts me again. He isn’t going to listen to my arguments, or anything I have to say. “My only concern here is Asher. I know he’s hurting when he holes up like this. I’ve tried to speak to him, but he’s avoiding me. He cancelled the purchase of Hansen Technologies. He won’t say why. He won’t answer emails, not even if they’re work related.” He pauses there, as if to finally give me a chance to answer.

  “I won’t break a confidence, not even if it’s work related,” I inform him.

  We’re still staring into each other’s eyes. He’s searching for something. I don’t want to have any conflict with him, even if I feel like he’s trying to start one. He looks away first, to stare down into his half empty coffee cup. “I didn’t think you would tell me anything. I can appreciate it, even if I don’t like it. Please reconsider talking to him.” He pushes the chair back, but I can’t let him go that easy.

  “Why do you care so much? He cheated on you.” My voice is lower but still angry.

  “I know how you feel about cheating, Ms. Hall. But you have no idea how strongly I feel about Asher. His heart is mine to protect, even if he doesn’t realize it.” He stands then, but lingers by the table.

  His persistence touches me. I know he cares about Asher, and I know he’s worried about him. I shouldn’t admit it, but I’m worried about him too. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how.”

  “I’m sure your employee ID will get you to the penthouse,” he says.

  “How do you know he’s there?” I inquire.

  “Because he locked me out.” I shake my head, unsure why he thinks Mr. Glass wouldn’t lock me out as well. “Besides that, he’s not at the beach house. I’ve already checked.”

  I sigh loudly. I can’t believe I let him talk me in to this so easily. Geez, I’m a push over. “So, what should I do?”

  “Just go up. Check in on him. Tell him you wanted to make sure he was okay. Say you’re sorry, and mean it. You’ll both feel better,” he assures me. His voice has changed, it’s almost soothing.

  “Okay,” I agree, as I stand up and carry my uneaten lunch to the trash, then head to the elevator. I wave to him, and push the up button.

  *****

  I exit the elevator, into a room that is more beautiful than I could have imagined. Beautiful white and grey marble flooring is covered by grey and cream Persian rugs. White leather chairs and couches sit around marble tables set on silver legs. Sculptures are placed around the room atop marble pedestals, but the walls are taken up by two tall sets of windows, letting in maybe too much light. Two stairways curve around the room, and meet in the middle at a landing, over a door that I’m sure hides more elegantly decorated rooms.
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br />   “Mr. Glass!” I call out.

  I don’t know if I hear something, or if I want an excuse to keep looking through his gorgeous apartment.

  Apartment? Ha! My two bedroom place is an apartment. He occupies the top two floors of the Glass Building. Or is it three? I don’t remember, and it’s irrelevant. He lives in an entirely different world than I do. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he’s worked his magic and exchanged it for platinum.

  “Hello!” I yell, and walk past silver knick knacks and huge potted plants, through the door, and into a dining room nearly the size of the cafeteria downstairs. I swear the table must seat twenty. This room is covered in art, from still life to sunflowers. A bureau to one side of the doorway holds a silver coffee set, and an expensive looking china tea set, silver edged with a beautiful peony and pink rose design. A china hutch in the corner holds the rest of the set.

  I am gazing into it, when I hear a deep rich voice say, “May I help you, ma’am?”

  This is great. I’ve been caught nosing around Mr. Glass’s apartment. I feel like a kid who’s been caught stealing. Awesome.

  “I’m…” I turn toward the voice, and find a very handsome man, about twice my age, with brown hair and pale blue eyes. He’s wearing an expensive black suit with a gray and black striped tie, and a gray and black paisley pocket square. “I’m, um…” I stutter. Is this another of Mr. Glass’s boyfriends?

  He smiles at me warmly, showing perfect white teeth and dimples in both cheeks. “You must be Ms. Hall. I’m Rowan, Mr. Glass’s butler.” He extends his hand, and shakes mine daintily when I offer it. “You are just as lovely as Mr. Glass has said.”

  So, Mr. Glass tells people I’m lovely, does he? Hmmm… “Thank you.” I can’t help but be flustered, as I didn’t expect to see anyone but Mr. Glass. This is another mistake, and Mr. Waits has had a part in it as well. I’m going to have to stop listening to Mr. Waits all together. “I’ve um… I’ve come to check on Mr. Glass. I haven’t seen him in the office this week. But I assume…”

  “He’s upstairs, ma’am, if you’d like to find out how he is yourself.” His pale eyes twinkle as he says it. This is not going as planned.

  “I won’t bother him. Just tell him I’ve stopped by, if he’d…”

  “Oh, there won’t be any bother ma’am. Please. He’d be more than happy to see you.” Rowan takes almost the same tone as Mr. Waits did earlier. He sounds very worried about his boss.

  “I don’t think…” I start.

  But he interrupts me. “Up the stairs and to your left, the last door at the end of the hallway.”

  He takes a step back, and waves his hand toward the exit to usher me out. So I step out, and think about escaping out the elevator. But Rowan’s eyes are watching me, almost as if to make sure I climb the damn steps.

  So I do. The hallway is partially open to the landing below it, the room where I entered the apartment earlier. The first door I pass is open, and I see a library inside. The next door is closed. The door beside it is what appears to be a comfortable sitting room, with white overstuffed furniture and grey accent pillows, a huge television, and a computer desk that holds three monitors.

  The door at the end of the hallway is also open. It must be the master bedroom. The bed inside looks too big to be king sized, with a white leather headboard and footboard. Mr. Glass apparently likes white, and leather. He also seems to like white leather. The walls are white, with French windows framing the bed. The room is clean, art and clutter free, and classically beautiful. Another white leather couch sits in front of a fireplace on the wall opposite the bed. The fireplace and mantle look to be the same marble as the floors downstairs, but the floors in this room are a dark gray marble, covered in soft gray rugs.

  Music flows from the room, a modern adult alternative song that I happen to really like.

  “Mr. Glass?” I call out again. There’s no answer.

  A doorway leads toward another room, and it appears the music is coming from in there. I walk toward it, and find an elegant closet roughly the size of my apartment. Sections of white drawers and shoe racks break up rows of suits, dress shirts, and sweaters. The shelf on top holds expensive luggage and briefcases. I walk into it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m afraid I’m going to get caught again. But the closet is so well organized, I want to look.

  A white ottoman in the middle of the room holds a pair of jeans and a long sleeved black shirt, neatly folded. Has Mr. Glass just taken them off, or is he going to put them on? Just then, I hear the door on the opposite side of the closet open, and I look toward it.

  Mr. Glass is standing there in just a towel. I feel my eyes go wide, and hear myself inhale loudly. My body reacts to his nudity immediately. I remember how it feels to be under his strong body, feeling what’s hidden behind the white cotton towel deep inside me. Every muscle inside me clenches. Goose bumps cover my arms, and my nipples harden. I’m sure my face is turning red as well, but I can’t look away.

  He’s looking at me, too. His dark eyes are scanning over every inch of me. If I could speak, if I could move, or escape, I would. But I’m damned if I can remember how to do anything but gaze at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.

  He doesn’t move either. It’s as if we’re both in a trance, gazing at the other as if nothing or no one else exists in the world. And I want to look, and keep looking, and never look away.

  “Walk toward him, Charlie,” I hear from behind me. I close my eyes, and ball up my fists. It’s Mr. Waits. Of course he’d be here. Of course he set me up again, to catch his boyfriend naked this time. Why does he…

  “You said you were locked out of the penthouse,” I remind him.

  “I lied,” Mr. Waits’ voice rumbles deep in his throat.

  “Why do you keep doing this, Mr. Waits? Why would you set me up to spend time with your boyfriend?” I huff. I admit, I’m more than a little pissed off at him.

  “He hasn’t let me touch him since we returned home. He’s frustrated, and lonely, and sad, and I used to be the person to comfort him when he feels that way. But he won’t let me.” His voice is rough, it obviously upsets him to say the words.

  “That’s not what I said, Peyton. I said I wouldn’t until I worked things out with Charlie.” His voice starts out strong, but as he talks about me, it gets weaker. My heart aches from it. Mr. Glass is just as sad, just as heartbroken as I am.

  “Well, it’s time the two of you do it. I can’t stand the tension any longer.” Mr. Waits moves closer to me, I can feel him behind me. “It’s time, Asher. Kiss her.”

  Mr. Waits is blocking my exit. Mr. Glass is standing almost naked in front of me. I lower my gaze. I am again in the middle of the two gorgeous, sexy men. I don’t want to be between them, I just want… What? I just want to be with Asher.

  “I don’t want this,” I say, but I don’t move to leave. Because I do want Asher. My body is screaming for his skin, his touch, his lips.

  “It’s okay, Charlie,” Mr. Waits says, and I practically feel his breath against the back of my neck he’s so close. “It’s not cheating if I know it’s happening.”

  How can I argue with that? I look up again, to find that Asher has moved closer to me as well. I could reach out and touch him. I feel Mr. Waits’ fingers on my hair, pushing it off my shoulder.

  Then he reaches forward, around my arm, so close his lips are nearly on my shoulder, and tugs at the towel that is the only thing covering Mr. Glass’s nudity.

  I couldn’t stop my eyes searching out his big tool for anything. It’s standin’ straight out at attention, and twitchin’, as big and hard as I remember it.

  “Touch him, Charlie. Can’t you see how much he wants you?” Mr. Waits whispers against my ear.

  Damn him, and damn Asher as well. I do want him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He licks his lips as he gazes at her, almost as if he’s ready to eat her alive. He’s hard, maybe harder than I’v
e ever seen him. And she’s not even naked. She’s just standing there, doing nothing, while the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life is aching for her to touch him.

  How have these two already had sex, multiple times? It’s like they’re both nervous, like it’s their first time ever. What is wrong with them?

  I remove my suit jacket, and my tie. Asher’s eyes find mine, and they are spectactular, so dark and full of emotion. He shakes his head slightly, and it’s the most disappointed I’ve been, maybe ever. He’s telling me no. He’s telling me to stop.

  I won’t. He said he wants both of us, and that’s what he’s getting. Right here, and right now.

  I unbutton the first button of my shirt, and Asher growls, “Peyton.”

  I don’t stop. By the time Charlie turns around, I’ve got five buttons undone, and I’m pulling the dress shirt out of my trousers. Her sparkling eyes grow wide, and gaze from my face to my torso, and back again. She’s looking into my eyes, and I think I see fear, and nervousness, but something else too. When I pull the shirt off, and let it fall to the floor, her eyes search over my chest. Her lips part, and she gasps.

  I’m a gay man, who played sports in high school and college, and I’ve seen a lot of men in various states of undress. I know I have a pretty good body. I’ve worked hard enough for it. Asher is a little on the thin side, not muscular but not weak. Me on the other hand…

  “Good lord,” she whispers. She glances up at my face again, and I can see it in her expression. She wants to touch me, to explore my sculpted pecs, my eight pack abs, and my bulging biceps. Her eyes move down, to my oblique muscles, which can barely be seen at the waistband of my pants.

  “Your turn,” I murmur. Somehow her eyes get bigger when she tears them away from where they were straying below my belt. “You’re the only one who still has their shirt on.”

  She’s shocked, and has absolutely no idea what to say. Her face turns blood red. Her hand even reaches up to the neck of her prim cotton blouse. “I… Um… I mean…” she stutters.