Man of the House

by Abigail Graham

  Lilah smiles. "Thank you."

  "Would you like to learn how to swim?"

  "I'd love to," she says, staring at me with bedroom eyes.

  "Of course," I say. "Have you eaten? Do you need anything?"

  She hesitates, chewing some unspoken thought as she digs her teeth into her bottom lip. "Not tonight.”

  I shouldn't, I know I shouldn't, but as she walks back to her bedroom, I watch. I savor the subtle, unconscious sway of her hips, the way her thighs flex and the denim clings to the tight curves of her ass as the long tail of her shirt swishes and sways.

  She gathers her hair into a ponytail as she turns into her room, and my heart thunders, a deep animal longing in my belly turning almost painful as she disappears behind the door.

  Anger twists, unwelcome, within my ribs. She disciplined my children right in front of me, undermining my authority.

  What authority? I chide myself.

  On the other hand, I’m shocked by her initiative. It’s impressive for someone so young. She won’t take their behavior, either.

  This just might work.

  Chapter Three

  Lilah

  Disoriented, I snap awake and bolt up into a sitting position, twisting this way and that. I'd only just gotten used to the rental house when I left, and now I'm here in a foreign environment again. A blade of warm sunrise bisects the room, slicing across my legs. Everything is bathed in warmth and shadow until I throw the curtains open and yawn, stretching onto my tiptoes until my back pops.

  After I yank on a pair of lounge pants, I pad out into the hallway. The garden glows, and the pool is full of gold stolen from the sunrise. The air has the peculiar feel of early morning, cool and damp enough for dew to cling to leaves and windows. The sun is just coming up.

  I'm not sure why I woke until I find Aiden in the living room, reading the news on his tablet. The coffee lured me from sleep. It draws me by its scent, like a cartoon mouse after cheese.

  "Can I have some?"

  He looks up, and I feel a tug inside my chest. I keep telling myself it's my imagination, but there is something about the way he looks at me, almost startled before his expression settles. His gaze lingers a few beats too long before he says, "Coffee, you mean? Of course. The pot is on the counter."

  I pour myself a cup and breathe in the aroma, letting the heat flow into my chest from the inside. It's chilly in here. I take a sip and let out a small mmm before joining him, sitting on the far end of the sofa with my legs tucked under.

  "You take your coffee black," he notes without looking up.

  I shrug. "Ever since I started drinking it."

  "When was that?"

  "Twelve? Fourteen? I'm not sure. It was there and I got hooked on it, I guess. I drink four or five cups a day."

  "Then you'll fit in," he says with a quiet smile. "The boys should be waking in about half an hour. Why don't you start breakfast?"

  I stand up with my coffee cup, grumbling. "I didn't realize I was the maid, too. Maybe you should get me one of those little outfits."

  I flash with embarassment for snapping at him when I catch the look on his face, as if he's actually thinking about it. Heat spreads in my chest and grips my throat. I turn away without making my apology and rush behind the kitchen counter.

  "What's on the menu?" I ask, hoping I didn't sound as choked to him as I did to myself.

  "Oatmeal and jam with eggs on the side for the boys. There's a plate of cold bacon in the fridge—heat it up. I'll have eggs as well and a bagel, one side with cream cheese and one side with raspberry jam. Did you get all that?"

  I bristle, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t remember cook and maid being part of this job. I’m supposed to be learning important skills from this?

  "There's a dozen eggs in the fridge. Just cook them all."

  Frowning, I grab the oatmeal container and portion out enough for both boys while butter melts in the fry pan, and cut a bagel with a bread knife. I watch the butter skimming around the surface of the pan, nervous. I’m not exactly the world’s best cook, and definitely not the most experienced.

  I'm not sure what to make of Aiden. He wants me to think he's not watching, but every time I look up he turns back to his reading, and I can feel his gaze roaming over my back as I take the eggs out and crack them into a mixing bowl. I wonder how the chefs on television do this without smashing the eggs and prying them open with their thumbs, stopping half a dozen times to pick flecks of shell out of the bowl. By the time they’re all cracked the butter is foaming brown. I throw another pat in, hoping I haven’t ruined this before I started.

  Thank God he didn't ask me to fry a dozen eggs over easy. I'd make a mess of that.

  The smell of the bacon slowly turning between paper towels in the microwave draws his sons out of hiding. I set the jam jars and plates on the counters, and begin serving up the food. Meanwhile, I’m frantically stirring the eggs, trying not to overcook or undercook them or dump the whole thing on the floor when I go to serve.

  Crap, I didn’t put out plates. I slide the pan off the burner so the eggs don’t turn to rubber while I set them out. No time to half-ass being fancy with the silverware; I drop a knife and fork on each plate and put a pile of paper napkins in the middle of the table.

  The eggs haven’t turned to rubber yet. I portion out some of the eggs for myself, and one piece of toast.

  "That's not enough," Aiden says, glancing at my food as he settles onto a stool at the counter next to his sons.

  What, he’s micromanaging my eggs now?

  Jason glares at me. Tim, the younger, senses the tension and eats his breakfast slowly, trying not to be so obvious about staring at the adults as his offending brother.

  Whatever Jason might be thinking or wishing to say, he keeps his mouth shut and chews his oats with the grim determination of a soldier marching to war. Sullen he may be, but he's still a teenage boy, and he cleans his plate. They both do.

  Aiden and I are still eating when they run back to their rooms to get dressed for school.

  He sips his coffee and studies me over the rim. I do the same, glancing at him every time I take a sip.

  "After they're gone, I'll ask you to dress professionally. You're coming with me today."

  "I thought I was a nanny."

  "Not much for a nanny to do while the boys are at school. You're here for experience, so experience you shall have."

  The way he says experience stokes a furnace in my belly.

  "You don't eat much."

  I glance down at the plate and wring the napkin in my hands until I catch the motion and go still. "I follow a diet plan. Dad hired a dietician for me."

  "When did he do that?"

  "When I was fourteen. It was a birthday present,” I add, glowering at my meager portion.

  “Why?”

  “He said I was getting too fat, and I was lazy. I needed more exercise. The dietitian came first, then the personal trainers. Last year he took me to consult with a plastic surgeon. The doc pawed my face and scribbled all over me with markers. Wanted to chop up my nose, do something involving grinding to my chin, and give me boob and butt implants.”

  “I take it you declined.”

  “Yeah.”

  Declined might not be the best word. Tantrum would be a better descriptor. I told my father they’d have to drag me kicking and screaming and biting into an operating room.

  I don't know what to make of his expression now. He studies me, then rises. "Go change for work. We'll see the boys off and then be on our way."

  I rinse my dishes and slip off to change. After I lock the door, I lay out my clothes on the rumpled bed. I packed business casual with a few around-the-house outfits. I run my fingers over the various items I've brought to wear, then slip into a white blouse and a pencil skirt that clings tight around my butt. I almost put on a jacket but leave it behind and undo one more button than usual. With my hair pulled into a conservative ponytail and my glasses perche
d on my nose, I look just this side of professional.

  When Aiden calls out, I'm standing in front of the mirror toying with the collar of my blouse. Shaken out of my reverie, I slip on the sneakers his assistant gave me and step out.

  When I meet him in the living room, he's dressed smartly in a suit, and I suck in a breath at the sight of him. He has barely noticeable at his temples in his otherwise jet-black hair, and the way he looks at me freezes my feet in place as though my legs have turned to stone.

  I smile and force myself to take the few steps down to stand next to him.

  The boys emerge in their school uniforms, packs slung, and we ride the elevator down together. It's bigger than usual, but feels small and cramped with the four of us inside. Aiden has a stifling presence, a raw charisma…

  He's sexy, I admit to myself. I can't stop thinking about him no matter how hard I try. It's like trying not to picture something after someone else tells you not to think about it. I find my self imagining things I never thought I'd want to try with anyone. I never saw the appeal of some grasping, grunting man on top of me having his way, but I can't stop picturing him gripping my shoulders, pressing me into the bed, the two of us sinking down together as…

  I'm staring. I tear my eyes away and look at nothing in particular, my arms prickling as I wonder if he can smell it on me, sense it. I don't know what would be worse—if he could taste how horny he makes me on the air around him, or if he didn’t notice at all and was just indifferent. He's…him. I must be like a crushing little girl to him, no more worthy of notice than all the other women mooning at him in his tower.

  Two cars pick us up. One bears the boys to school. The other waits for Aiden and me. He opens the door for me, a perfect gentleman, and I slide across, tugging at my skirt as I become embarrassed to show so much leg. Why didn't I get one that went over the knee?

  He sits next to me, and I fight the urge to use the rocking motion of the car to tumble into him.

  "Ready for your first day at work?"

  I nod, worried I'll sound choked up if I speak. I fiddle with my hair as I ride, glancing at him as he checks his email.

  I swear he’s sneaking glances at me.

  "We're here," he says as we dive beneath his building.

  Aiden

  Lilah fights the urge to look out into the atrium as we step out of the elevator. She shies away from it and keeps her eyes focused on something distant, refusing to acknowledge the height. She scurries out a little too fast, then waits for me to catch up.

  "We're not going to the office yet. With me."

  Visibly curious, she follows me down the hall and around to the conference room. This is not the banal table setup I use for meetings with her father and his ilk. I stand at the center of a bank of floor-to-ceiling screens. The telepresence setup links the other rooms in ultra-HD, as if we're speaking through a window.

  Lilah flinches when it all comes up, and edges closer to my shoulder. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Pay attention."

  She nods and listens intently as the meetings begin. I give her credit. She's not bored by it. She actually seems fascinated. I check my watch and give a nod. In another room, Maria connects me to the rocket team.

  We face a room of scientists and engineers seated around a table.

  I turn to Lilah, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when I address her. "Do you know what this is about?"

  She shakes her head, and her ponytail swish-swishes her back.

  "It's not a trick," I whisper, then I raise my voice. "We're counting down to the first-ever privately funded interplanetary probe, Lilah. We're sending a robot to Mars."

  "Now?" she chirps, then turns a little red as I laugh softly.

  "The countdown is more of a six-month thing, but yes. It's time for a progress report."

  Lilah edges closer, listening as I go over the data with my team, flipping through the reports on my tablet. She looks over my arm to read along with me.

  "I have no idea what that says," she whispers.

  "We'll bring you up to speed."

  The meeting takes over an hour. I lean over and offer her whispered explanations whenever I can. She leans closer, and I feel her presence, a kind of implication of her skin prickling my own when I sense her body heat. She looks absolutely fascinated.

  After the meeting ends she says, "So you do robots, too.”

  "The first one is a simple rover, yes. The next in the series will be automated habitats. Shelters that build themselves on the Martian surface, even build food. Eventually, astronauts will land."

  Lilah clears her throat.

  "Say it," I say.

  "My dad says this stuff is a waste of time and energy. You could be using all this research to sell food or something, I guess."

  I smile.

  "Who says I'm not? It's a field test, Lilah. If the auto-habs can work on Mars, it'll be trivial to deploy them in disaster zones and impoverished nations. I have so much money I can't spend it in a thousand lifetimes, and when I'm gone what will that matter? This," I point to the image of Mars on the screen, "this lasts."

  "What about your family?"

  I flinch, my voice catching in my throat. "They matter too. I want them to be proud of me."

  Lilah examines me through narrowed eyes, her expression difficult to read.

  "Think about it," I say, turning her to look at the screens. "A human being walking on another planet. So far away that it takes radio signals two hours to travel back and forth. The experience of that."

  "I can't imagine walking on another planet," she says, her voice growing soft. "I can barely imagine walking in a park."

  I turn to her sharply. "What?"

  "Nothing." She sighs. "It's nothing. Isn’t there more work to do?"

  "It's noon. It's time for lunch. Have you ever had a cheesesteak?"

  She blinks. "Me? A what?"

  "A cheesesteak. You don't live under a rock. You know what a steak sandwich is."

  "I do?"

  Astonished, I move in closer. "You're mocking me."

  She shakes her head. "Fine. I know what a cheesesteak is. I’ve never had one, though. Dietitian, remember? Cheesesteaks and 1400-calorie-a-day diets don’t mix."

  Her voice twists in a strange mixture of embarrassment and frustration, and it's both endearing and heartbreaking. I just want to put my arms around her.

  "I think we need to fix that."

  I slip my headset in my ear. "Maria, I'm taking a long lunch. Reshuffle my afternoon schedule."

  “But sir…”

  “Do it.”

  “Where should I tell everyone you are?”

  “Giving Lilah a walking tour of the city. Except if Roland calls, tell him I’m eep in an engineering department, and Lilah is in…” I glance at Lilah, and she shrugs. “Down in accounting.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maria says, her tone flat.

  Lilah

  Stepping outside feels like more than passing through a door. It's crossing a threshold. Aiden puts on sunglasses as we pass through the first floor of the tower. The glass walls, five stories high, bathe the entryway in light. I stick close to his back, growing more and more apprehensive as he heads for the door.

  As we step outside he rolls up his sleeves and loosens his tie. I do the same. The late spring air is warm when it’s still and cool when it kicks up into a breeze. I squint at the sun, and Aiden gives me a look.

  "You didn't bring sunglasses?"

  "I don't have any," I admit.

  He looks at me in genuine surprise, and my embarrassment makes me wring my hands.

  "We'll get you some. Come on."

  We walk. Outside. It's so loud. There are so many sounds and people. They look at him, at me. He all but ignores it, casually passing through the crowds on the broad sidewalk. I resist the urge to grab his hand to keep from getting swept up and carried away.

  We haven't gone far, but it feels like miles by the time a gentle tug of my wrist pulls me
behind him into a shop. The air inside is a cool breeze. Aiden spins a rack of sunglasses and gestures.

  "I need these to see," I point out, tapping the clear glasses I wear.

  He sighs and plucks them from my face, taking them gingerly in his big hands. Folding the earpieces, he tucks one into my blouse, hanging from the button. I'm not sure if I feel the back of his hand brush my breast or it's just wishful thinking, but it makes my legs shudder.

  "Pick out a pair you like."

  I choose a practical-looking one and hand it to the cashier. Aiden pays before I can hint at trying to do it myself, and slips my purchase on my face.

  My prescription isn't that bad, and unground lenses like these improve my sight a little bit. Very far-off objects are a little fuzzy, but I'll make do.

  He stops me with a hand on my arm and points me at a mirror. I almost don't recognize myself.

  "It's a good look for you. Come on."

  He takes my wrist and pulls me outside. I stumble to catch up with him. Suddenly he lets go, as if he did it without thinking. He shoves his hands in his pockets as I walk beside him, wild-eyed.

  I've been in cities before—in a car. It feels alien to walk around in one. What's strangest of all is that hardly anyone pays any attention to us. A see a few flickers of recognition for Aiden, but no one recognizes him.

  I'm thankful for the exercise regimen, but running on a treadmill isn't the same as pounding ground on a city sidewalk. Aiden catches on to my fatigue and slows as the ache in my feet changes my gait. I lean against a tree in a planter and lift one foot, then the other, to rest them a bit.

  "You're definitely not out of shape," he says, looking me over.

  "I'm not used to this kind of walking. I don't get outside much."

  "We're almost there, then we can sit."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Not Pat's," he says. "Good, but too tourist."

  I blink a few times, even though he can't see through my shades. "What’s Pat’s?"

  He laughs. "On second thought," he says, "follow me."

  We walk. A lot. Finally I see it—a food stand with some tables on the sidewalk. He stops me before we approach. "Do you like onions?"