Praise (Salacious Players’ Club)

Emerson

I’ve never put my shirt on so fast in my life. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? The internal reasoning as to why I should not ever touch Charlotte in that way has slowly deteriorated over time. And just as I was about to give in and do what I’ve wanted to do for the past two months, Beau literally comes knocking.

Charlotte is behind me as we reach the bottom floor. She fixes her skirt and heads over to her desk to try and act natural as I open the door.

And there he is. I haven’t laid eyes on my son in six months, and I might be imagining things, but he looks different, older. He has the same green eyes and tan skin, but that’s about all he inherited from me. The rest is his mother.

Sandy brown curls. High cheekbones and a wide smile, although I really haven’t seen that in a while.

“Hey,” I mumble like an idiot, opening the door wider to invite him in. He doesn’t move at first.

“I’m just here to get that check,” he replies. He’s keeping his eyes everywhere but on my face. There’s a slight shuffle of his feet and a nervousness in the way he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Of course. Come in,” I say, moving out of the way.

He’s only one step into the foyer when he spots Charlotte in the office through the glass door. He hesitates, pausing for a moment as he stares at her. Sharp pangs of jealousy assault me. Because, of course, he can’t look away. Charlotte is the epitome of beauty, and although I wouldn’t have said it when she started working for me, she’s the epitome of sophistication now. In fact, she’s the best of both worlds. Somehow equally regal and fun. Demure and ridiculous, in the best way.

He takes a step toward her.

“Charlotte is an exceptional secretary. Smart and organized. I hope I never have to replace her.”

Pride bubbles up as I brag about her to him, and I see the moment his jaw clicks. He doesn’t like me talking about his girl as if I know her better, and I can’t say I blame him. But this jealousy is a two-way street because I feel it too.

“Come in and say hello,” I say, pressing a hand to his back.

When we reach my office, Charlotte stands up and greets Beau with a hug.

“It’s good to see you!” she says.

“Good to see you too. You look…”

She waits awkwardly for him to finish his sentence and I wish I could finish it for him.

Gorgeous.

Amazing.

Breathtaking.

Any of these would work, but he ends up using, “Different.”

There’s a tense smile on her face. “Good different, I hope.”

“Yeah, good different.”

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, soda, water?”

“Yeah, a Coke, please,” he replies, without taking his eyes off of her. And I can’t stop watching her, either, looking for a reaction to his presence. How does she really feel about him? Excited to see him? Eager to please? But no… Instead, she’s wearing a tight-lipped grin and looks entirely unnatural in his company.

“I’ll get it,” Charlotte replies eagerly, moving toward the kitchen. She’s trying to leave me and my son together, but he follows her instead of staying with me.

“You two catch up,” I say. “I just finished my workout and I need to go change out of these clothes and get cleaned up. Son, I’ll get you that check when I get back.”

“Sure,” he says to me, and I wish I could say it’s like there is no awkwardness between us, but there is. My son seems to have this idea in his head that by owning a sex club, I’m some sort of monster. Both a pervert and a criminal. There’s nothing I can do to change his mind or make him see differently, and it’s taken half a year of our relationship, but I refuse to believe it’s irreparable.

When I come back down about ten minutes later, I hear them talking in the front room. Stopping in the kitchen, I listen in.

“I feel like such a fuck-up,” he mumbles.

“You’re not a fuck-up,” she replies. “You’re going through a rough patch. You have to live with your mom for a while, so what. It’s not forever. You’ll get back on your feet and everything will be fine.”

The comforting sound of her voice makes me smile.

“I lost my job, my place, you…” His voice trails, and I feel the hairs on my neck rise.

And it dawns on me in that moment—Charlotte means something to Beau. Whether they broke up or not, she means something to him. And quite possibly, he means something to her. How could I get in the middle of that? How could I have even done the things I already have?

“You didn’t lose me,” she replies softly. “We’re still friends, Beau.” Her voice is so low, they sound close together. There’s silence, clothes rustling, movement on the couch, and I wish I could stop myself from listening now.

“Give me another chance,” he mumbles, and I can’t stop myself. Making my steps loud, I walk out of the kitchen, going straight to my desk. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing. Getting Charlotte back with Beau was what I wanted. It’s the whole reason I hired her. It’s what was going to make everything between me and Beau better, so why am I trying to stop it?

They scoot apart on the couch, and I glance up to see her face. She’s glaring at me, eyes wide with an expression of fear as if she’s been caught. And she’s trying to gauge my reaction.

“Sorry to interrupt. Let me get you that check.” Sitting down at my desk, I reach into the top drawer and pull out my checkbook. While I’m filling it out, Beau stands and walks over to me.

He’s positioned a foot or so away. When I glance up at him, I notice his eyes aren’t on me or the check, they’re on my desk. I follow his gaze and am suddenly filled with horror. The form Charlotte filled out is sitting face up on the desk, open to all of those filthy consent questions. Quickly, I grab it and flip it over, but I catch the way he tenses, his eyes narrowing with judgment. My son is disgusted by me. And at the moment, I can’t say I blame him.

Luckily, there’s no way for him to know it’s Charlotte who filled out that form.

“How much do you need?” I ask.

“My half was one thousand.”

My shoulders drop. “How much to get you through the next couple months, son?”

“I don’t need your money,” he snaps.

“I’m not giving it to you because you need it. I’m giving it to you because I want to.”

“Well, I don’t want it.”

“Beau…” Charlotte’s soft voice breaks through as she comes to stand next to him. “He’s just trying to help.”

I wince. The last thing I want is for her to take my side, no matter how good it feels. It will only drive him further away from me.

“He thinks he can pay for everything and that it will just solve all of our problems,” he says, staring coldly at my face.

“No, I don’t.”

Charlotte breaks in again, this time with a hand on his arm. “At least he’s trying. My dad hasn’t even spoken to me in months, let alone tried to help me or my family financially.”

Beau looks at her, and his expression softens. Come on, son. Do it for her.

“Fine,” he says.

I fill out the check for ten grand, and tell him to come back for more when he needs it. It feels like bait, but I don’t care. Anything that brings him back into my life. Even if he’s mad at me because of it.

Charlotte looks pleased for a moment as I hand him the check, so I don’t know why I say what comes out of my mouth next. Self-preservation, I guess.

“Why don’t you take Charlotte out for dinner?” I say, and her head snaps in my direction. “If she wants to, of course.”

Digging into my pocket, I find my wallet and pull out a hundred-dollar bill. Beau stares at Charlotte with hope in his eyes, but she’s still watching me.

I need Charlotte to no longer be an option. If she’s really with Beau, then I no longer have to resist the urge to have her for myself because the choice would be taken away.

I hate the way she’s staring at me right now, disappointment and anger and guilt all rolled into one.

“What do you say, babe? Want to grab some dinner with me?” He squeezes an arm around her waist, and I have to look away.

“Sure,” she replies softly, and it kills me.

After she gathers her things, she sends me a small wave goodbye, which is more than my own son can manage. I return her wave with a nod of my head. Watching her walk away with him is torture. But I’m doing this to myself for a good reason. Charlotte is not mine, no matter how much it feels like she is.