ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) (10 page)

Laura had woken up at 1:30 that afternoon, after finally persuading Gloria to get back to the hotel room to catch a few hours sleep before the start of the conference at 4:00. Gloria had insisted on grabbing both breakfast as well as taking a stroll downtown to Laura’s dismay as soon as they had unpacked. She may have only had approximately three extra hours of sleep, but she woke up feeling like… well, if not a million, then a hundred dollars. Mainly, due to the fact that Gloria was so excited to be outside of Philadelphia for a change that she insisted on spending the rest of the afternoon shopping by herself. Laura was alone, and took advantage of the silence to drift into a well-needed rest.

She lazily yawned and shuffled her way into the bathroom, groggily shedding her pajamas. She let the shower run for a minute or two before stepping in, greedily letting the water and steam soak her skin, washing away all the accumulated stress of the last few days. Soaping her body, she could feel the strain of the past two years in the culminating in a stubborn and prominent belly. As she pinched and grabbed at the handles of skin, trying vainly in hopes that it could somehow break up the flabby layers. She was disappointed in how much she had let herself go. At the age of 24, she had been possessed of a firm, athletic and muscular body—a holdover from her high school days as a track star. Now, she felt disgusting. Though the added weight accentuated the curve of her thighs, she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about her weight gain even if she was the lone soul who even noticed. Nonetheless, she let the shower run for an ungodly period of time before finally emerging, feeling refreshed—if resigned to her body image.

She walked to the closet, where she had hung that evening’s wardrobe on a hanger. It was a relatively simple black cotton blouse, neither form fitting nor baggy along with a rather conservatively cut grey wool knee length skirt. Even though the conference was work-related, she recalled last year and witnessing scores of women heavily made-up, in tight revealing dresses and power suits, all of which displayed as much dedication to body sculpting as it did to the intricacies of performance management and operational strategies. She wondered why she should even bother. Although it was her regional director’s insistence she represent the company alongside Gloria and some of the girls from the benefits team, she felt woefully understated compared to the aggressively composed women at the top of the corporate food chain. She knew she could never compete with these heavily accessorized denizens of industry, all of whom seemed (with the exception of Gloria) to weigh 98 pounds and bathed in as much mid-market opulence as they did in artifice. She knew that these conferences were not only a step up on the ladder, but were an ideal breeding ground for networking; and subsequently, a highly competitive breeding ground for cattiness. She knew her career was at a dead end, no matter how many conferences she might attend; the world of HR was essentially Darwinian, where only the most ruthless (and cosmetically enhanced) survived. She knew she no longer cared. She wanted something more from life; a drive for creation, spontaneity, for the element of unpredictability that was more than her professional life could ever warrant. But she resigned herself to being there, in the same sense that she resigned herself to a loveless marriage where the sex had all the rote charm of a spin cycle. Old habits died hard, after all.

Nevertheless, she peered into her makeup mirror. Nothing fancy; a pearl-pink lip gloss that brought out the wide contours of her mouth, a hint of mascara, and a deft touch of blush to bring out her still high cheekbones. She spent almost an hour combing the tangles out of her hair, before blow-drying it until it fell in layers, a slight bob cut just meeting her chin. Though she had no way of knowing, she looked as radiant as she did when she was 22 years old. Even more so.

Laura made her way down the stairs, where she caught up with Audrey and Liz—the two members of her benefits team. The younger women looked up to Laura as being a relatable middle-point between their junior level of responsibility and upper management, while Laura looked upon them for what they were; party girls, fresh out of college and with all the vistas of youth and beauty before them. The three couldn’t have been more ill matched. Laura, who looked classically beautiful and dressed as subtly and gracefully as always, standing next to two bubbly and vacant women who were dressed one notch above a club girl. Laura had little in common with neither Audrey nor Liz; but they were fun and helped her laugh on their nights out.

As the crowd of office blazers, liberal use of hairspray and Avon cosmetics milled about the lobby, Jack stood near the side, helping himself to the complimentary coffee carafes. He looked at Aubrey and Liz, both in form fitting dresses, with the same patronization as he had the two women he encountered at the bar of the Omni the night before. He felt a blasé sort of allure, about as average these days as skin cancer. Still, they stood out from the teeming women before him if solely on account of their youth. But Jack wasn’t here to play the Lothario. No, he was waiting for his nephew and his wife—who by now, were predictably over twenty minutes late. He stifled a yawn, looked as his watch, and sucked in air. Then, as she returned from the lobby bathroom, his eyes fell on Laura.

He instantly recalled her from the scene in the elevator earlier that morning. But if she was merely pretty then, to Jack’s eyes she was positively
devastating
right now. Where he had only noticed an exhaustion some eight hours earlier, he noticed the vulnerability in her posture, her eyes, her uncertain smile; he sensed it permeating around her, and saw beneath a fluid and volatile spring that sent a rush of warmth through his spine. His eyes drank her in, even if she was unaware of his leering. She was too busy being introduced by her director to the organizers of the convention, making senseless small talk to take notice of the narrowing eyes of Jack DiStefano. He stood savoring her every gesture, every uneasy laugh, her soft voice floating through the cackle and chatter of the crowd directly to his ears. He was so caught up in his reverie that he didn’t even notice his nephew and wife make their way through the lobby.

“Hey, Uncle Jack. Sorry we’re late, but we had to pick up Chrissy from her recital and drop her off at Lena’s mom’s for the evening.”

Jack nodded politely, but couldn’t take his eyes off Laura. For one brief, fleeting moment, she turned her head in his direction and they caught one another’s eyes. They shared a sweet, sad smile before Jack turned to accompany his nephew to dinner.

The conference, like it had been for the past two years she attended, was enough to make Laura fall asleep. Between the opening remarks and the introductory workshop on time management facilitation, she was looking sideways at the temptingly open doors of the hotel bar. She wondered just how uncouth it might be if she were to slip aside on pretext of using the bathroom to grab a quick drink, but decided against it. After all, one of the reasons her director had invited her there was to set a good example for Audrey and Liz.

When 8:30 finally rolled around and it was time for dinner, both of them pulled Laura aside.

Aubrey was already slightly tipsy went she whispered in Laura’s ear, “Laura… not for nothing, but we have some really good weed on us. Are you game?”

It had been a good couple of months since the last time Laura decided to smoke pot. She took a look around her, and figured she could use a break to unwind. “Sure, why not? Where you want to light up?”

The three of them walked outside into the back lot of the hotel, finding a desolate clump of bushes to stand by. Laura felt like she was back in her college days as they took turns passing around the joint, keeping a close eye to ensure hotel security didn’t spot them. They were completely isolated.

“Is this what we have to look forward to?” Liz asked in a roundabout way.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” replied Laura.

“All of this… these conferences… this endless game of kissing up… is that what we need to do to get ahead?”

Laura paused. It was true that there was very little either of them could learn from any of the workshops; that the whole point of the conventions was to appear motivated in the eyes of higher-ups. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that there was more to the question. What did it mean to be at a senior director level? Higher pay? Greater responsibility? What about personal fulfillment? What about challenge? What about joy?

Why did she waste so many years in college studying the intricacies of HR sciences when she could have been perfectly fulfilled as a photographer or a pastry chef?

It became clear to Laura that she was, for the first time in several months, incredibly stoned. What didn’t become clear to Laura was how little she had eaten in the past 24 hours, unbeknownst to Liz or Aubrey. So when the latter suggested that they skip out on the dinner and have a few drinks at the bar instead, Liz was more than happy to.

It was Friday night and the bar was packed. Surrounding the three girls on all sides were smug and self-assured wealth managers (all vying to sneak a peak at the younger two of the trio), merrily drunken couples out for a night on the town, slovenly sports fans eyeing the game on TV and… Jack DiStefano, sitting perpendicular to the three girls, nursing his ever-present single malt scotch.

Soon, Aubrey and Liz found themselves embroiled in conversation with two young, clean-cut professionals who were eager to buy them drinks… and purposefully ignoring Laura, who began to feel like a third wheel.
Just as well
, she thought.
I could have wound up with another Dan, otherwise.

Still, her insecurities had begun to kick in. All around her, she saw couples ferociously in the act of either seduction or routine. She began to feel that there might be something wrong with her after all. Why had she enjoyed being single for all these months? Was she abnormal? Were her standards too high?

Jack watched her brow furrowing. When she finished her martini, she excused herself from the bar to step outside. He took his cue.

“Henry,” he said to the bartender. “For the rest of the evening, the young lady is on my tab. Please freshen her drink.”

The bartender nodded, and obligingly did so while Jack followed in pursuit.

“A disgusting habit,” he announced to the startled Laura, who was standing outside the front of lobby smoking. She jumped upon hearing his voice, then turned around to see Jack smiling, a lit cigarette also in his hand.

She looked dazed for a second before coolly replying, “We all need our vices.”

“We all need diversions,” Jack corrected her.

“What’s the difference?” Laura replied, suddenly intrigued by the presence of the strange but charming stranger.

“Twenty years on your life?” Jack chuckled, and Laura followed suit.

“Of course, without some form of a habit or another, what would we be left with? Living in a monastery?”

“Maybe. Maybe monks are just as subject to habits as anyone else. Pardon the pun…”

Laura laughed out loud at the admittedly poor joke. Perhaps it was the weed. Perhaps it was Jack. But there was something so engaging and comforting in the way Jack composed himself that she couldn’t help but feel at ease around him. “And in Providence,” she asked with a sly grin. “Where does it place itself in the field of vice?”

“It all depends. Probably pretty highly—if you’re a monk.”

And with that, Laura burst out laughing. At first, a minor chuckle; then, a hearty guffaw. Soon, she was laughing uncontrollably, so hard she thought she would lose her breath. “I’m sorry,” she replied between gasps of thin air. “But I needed that. I can’t remember the last time I laughed, so…”

“That’s a horrible place to be,” replied Jack.

Laura regained herself. “I guess so. Listen, I’m having a drink inside. Would you care to join me?”

“I’d be delighted.”

When they returned to the bar, both Liz and Aubrey had moved down several stools to be closer to their would-be suitors. There were several open seats next to Laura’s, and a fresh martini in front of her.

“I don’t think I ordered this,” she said as Jack sat to her right.

“Perhaps it’s from a secret admirer,” he smiled shrewdly. Laura blushed.

Soon, the two were caught up in a surprisingly deep discussion. Laura had opened up to Jack in a way she rarely opened up to anyone before, regardless of how close. She bared her heart to him—her divorce, her frustration with her job, her friends, dating… all of which she kept inside of herself, like a nagging itch she could never scratch. It felt good to pour her heart out to Jack, and she began to wonder just how she had spent so much of the past two years bottling all her fears and her frustrations deep inside her.

As comfortable as she was opening up to an absolute stranger, there was something still that intimidated her about Jack. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it; it was indefinable. So she drank. Hesitantly at first; then, more rapidly. Soon, as the night wore on, she began to lose touch with the surroundings—the noise, the cackling, the clinking of glasses. All she could focus on was Jack.

By the time it was 11:30, she was completely, irrevocably drunk - to the point of being cut off. She begged Jack for apologies, but he simply smiled. He offered to assist her to her room, to make certain she got in without any harm. As he helped her stagger to the elevator, arm wrapped around arm, the bartender couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of an older (and high-tipping man) with a younger, much prettier woman who could barely stand up straight.
What is this world coming to
, he thought.