Temporary Boyfriend Ch. 07

Taylor had stayover over at my condo into Monday morning at my invitation. To say she was pleased with the invitation would be a serious understatement. She'd brought a few items of clothing and some of her new cosmetics, and I enjoyed watching her prep for the office in the morning. She stood naked at my bathroom vanity, sexy beyond belief, as she dolled up her face. We walked into work together, but nobody seemed to notice.

I'd barely sat down when Harrison came bustling into my office with a purple folder in his hand. I'd never seen a purple folder. He had a determined look on his face. He sat in the one chair in my office and studied me for a second. I think he was making up his mind whether I would be able to complete some task. I also felt certain that Taylor had seen him go by her small office, so I had no doubt that she probably was listening to what our boss had to say.

Harrison got right into it. "Alex Mitchell 'got made' over the weekend on a stakeout, so we lost our top guy in an important spousal surveillance he was doing. Moreover, the other P.I.s are on holiday or flat out on other jobs." He opened the file and put it in front of me. There was a long-distance photo of the face of a man about forty-five. Next to him in the photo was a blonde in tight clothing that appeared to be half his age.

Harrison explained, "The guy's name is Richard Reynolds. He runs a b ig flooring and carpeting business in Woburn, and is also probably laundering money. The blonde is Tracy Lewis. She was an escort until he got interested in her and took her on as her sugar daddy.

"Reynold's wife is THE Emma Whitney. She has more money than God, and engaged us to collect the dirt on him. She wasn't sure, but we quickly got enough to be sure that something is going on between Richard and Tracy, just nothing that could be used in court or to justify divorce and invoking the terms of a pre-nuptial agreement. We need you to replace Alex and add some pieces to the data puzzle that'll get his wife a good divorce settlement."

I asked, "What, where, how, and so on?"

Harrison nodded and started talking. He laid out a whole history leading up to the presumed cheating, and then filled me in on all of Mitchell's research and how he'd suddenly been confronted by Richard Reynolds, not revealing he was a P.I,, but ruining the opportunity for any future surveillance.

Midway through his discourse about Richard, I had an idea. "How about if I bring Taylor with me? Four eyes are better than two, plus she'll have some great ideas on how to tie up those loose ends."

Harrison thought and then agreed. He admonished, "Just don't let her get hurt if things go sour on you. We're sure this guy carries." I noticed that my health and well-being were not a concern.

I collected Taylor, who indeed had been listening to every word Harrison had with me. He led the two of us up to a young man named Jimmy Edwards, that looked to be about fourteen and held the title, Chief Technologist. After a few minutes with him, I realized that he was like 'Q' in the James Bond movies. He had no end of gadgets, all aimed at some kind of surveillance or investigative work. I could also see that he had a few weapons on the back bench that hadn't been mentioned.

I selected a few things based on what Harrison had told us, and then we left work. The first thing we did was check out Reynold's place of work. His car was parked behind the building along with several others. Harrison had said that he had an assistant that closed up the place for Reynolds on some days when he went off early. Mitchell had put a tracker on his car that was still working.

Our next stop was the address for Tracy Lewis. Her car was at home and the tracker was working on that one, too. We went to Red Lobster and had a long lunch. I didn't catch on right away, but Taylor started interviewing me. She asked me, "Who do you respect the most and the least in the world?"

I thought for a few moments, and then I started, "Well, in the world, regardless of timeframe, I'd vote for people like Winston Churchill, Queen Elizabeth, and Ghandi. On a more local level, I have great respect for each of my parents and the job they did raising me. I was a tough case, to be sure. Still am.

"As for people that I disrespect, I'll start with the public figures that lie and manipulate us. Thus, I'm suspicious of politicians, especially our former president who had a notorious record of lying to sustain his own ends. I don't think that the end justifies the means. More locally, based on what I've heard and read in his file, I don't have much respect for Richard Reynolds. He seems to be a cheater and is lying to his wife, either by commission or omission.

"I do try to respect other people from our initial meeting, lacking data to the contrary. By that I mean that I also honor and try to adhere to their boundaries, listen to their opinions and not trod on them, and support their autonomy as an adult.

Taylor asked, "Where are you on that spectrum?"

I did my eye roll thing. "I hope that I'm very near the end where I'm respected. I try to tell things like they are or how I see them. With all the women that I dated, I never once lied to them or told them something that wasn't true or obvious in order to get into their pants. I don't hold truck with conspiracy theories, or concepts unsupported by science or real-world data and facts. I think of myself as a critical thinker, and that means that I also examine my own life periodically to be sure I'm where I want to be."

I turned the table on Taylor and asked what she liked and didn't like about herself. That earned me one of her eye rolls, and then some silence as she thought and self-evaluated.

Taylor began, "I think that I'm a good communicator, and also, like you, a critical thinker. I'm trustworthy and do what I say I'll do, at least to be best of my ability. I'm kind and empathic, and I have a sense of humor. I take responsibility for my own actions, even when I mess up. I try to be compatible.

"Some of things I don't like about myself are some of my looks. My nose is too big, I have a weak chin, and my ears stick out, which is why I wear my hair like I do a lot. I haven't liked that I was so naïve about so many things, but I'm working on that -- especially with your help. I can be impatient about all sorts of things, including having other people take action about something."

When we sat, we'd each set up our cellphone to watch one of the vehicle trackers. I was tracking Richard and Taylor was tracking Tracy. They were both stationary. About ten-past three o'clock, Richard's car suddenly started moving. I interrupted Taylor's response. "We're rolling." We'd settled the bill and were just enjoying some coffee as we'd talked. We were out the door of the restaurant in sixty seconds and in my car -- the car that I rarely drove because there was no place to park in Boston except in my assigned space that usually got blocked by someone else looking for a parking space.

Reynolds had gotten on the Interstate heading north. I ended up trailing him by about a half-mile. With the tracker, I didn't need to actually see the car, I figured. Taylor announced that Tracy's car was also moving. As it turned out she pulled onto the Interstate behind us. I stuck to the right lane, and as we got near the border with New Hampshire, she passed us going about twenty-miles-per-hour faster.

At the Hampton exit, Reynolds left the highway and maneuvered over to Route 1. He eventually stopped. Some exploration on my phone by Taylor led her to announce, "He's at a Motel 6. Tracy just pulled in behind him."

I coasted past the motel and then doubled back. I went in the parking lot for a strip mall next door to the motel and parked. Taylor stayed in the car, and I took a walk past the place. I was just in time to see Reynolds emerge from the office, probably after registering. He drove his car about a hundred yards and parked in front of the end unit on the ground floor. Tracy parked next to him and they both went inside with no luggage.

I doubled-back to my car and filled in Taylor. She grinned, "Time for some movies and sound."

I smiled, "We can try."

I moved the car and parked around the side of the end unit. Before I could suggest anything, Taylor was out of the car with one of our gadgets in hand -- a video-audio contact recorder that also had its own wi-fi. She paused and made sure it was in operation and then sauntered around the corner of the motel. She timed her actions to the loud sound of a couple of motorcycles going on the street.

Almost in front of the door to the end unit was a stairway leading to the second level of the two-story motel. Taylor passed by the window to Reynolds' room, bent slightly as she went by, and attached our wireless device on the glass. She walked the length of the place and then walked around back and came to the car.

Meanwhile, I had the receiving end of the spy station active on my phone. We both hunkered down in my car and listened and recorded. I'd also set up a camera aimed at the relevant door and we waited.

We could hear the voices, almost like being in the room. The audio pickup on the glass was good, but every loud car that went by on the highway scrambled things. Even I was grossed out by what we heard from the two of them. They sure weren't making love. They were fucking and talking really dirty shit to each other. Richard called Tracy every name in the book, and she fired right back at him. They tried to gross each other out, and apparently got into some water sports to augment their needs for sexual diversion.

Tracy got Richard talking about his wife, and he ran her into the ground with a mountain of derogatory comments that I hoped she'd never have to listen to. I felt sorry for the woman. She wasn't only being cheated on; she wasn't loved in the least.

As the two moved around the room, our video link suddenly came to life. We had a narrow look inside the room between the space where two curtains would normally meet, but we lost the audio to the loud rush of air in the room. The air conditioner or heater had come on and blown the curtains apart slightly, enough for our little stick-on device to capture what was going on in the room.

Richard and Tracy were both naked and actively pawing and poking at each other on one of the two beds in the room. Soon enough, he mounted her, and the fucking that we'd heard on the soundtrack restarted. We got about five minutes of good video through that slit between the curtains before the heater turned off and the curtains dropped back closed since there was no air flow to push them open.

Taylor and I stayed in the car and kept filming the door, especially after we heard the two of them talking about ending the day's fuck fest. About fifteen minutes later, the two exited the motel together and moved to their cars. They kissed goodbye and then drove away. We didn't follow, but did track them. Taylor also ran and recovered the small spy camera from where she'd stuck it low on the window glass.

Tracy went to another address that we'd check out later, and Richard went back to work just in time to close his business for the evening.

The next morning, Taylor and I played the nearly two-hour recording for Harrison and Alex Mitchell. I explained how Taylor had placed the small camera and sensitive microphone on the plate glass window of the motel room. They were dancing with joy. We'd accomplished our mission. The two men praised our work. We spent an hour documenting our exact moves and actions, submitted that, and the two men went off to complete the assignment and assemble the report and evidence for Emma Whitney.

Taylor and I went back to vetting executives and senior managers in line to get high-paying or sensitive jobs. We worked well together, and created a process that the two of us executed with precision. Even with the tougher cases, we were averaging less than six hours per person, and sometimes we got a really easy one that we could do in an hour.

Taylor and I went out to lunch together to the deli down the street from our office. I'd sent our order in electronically two-hours earlier, so we just had to pick up our order. Although the weather was chilly, we ate sitting on a park bench in Copley Plaza.

Taylor asked me, "What does the concept of commitment mean to you?"

I chuckled. She was skirting around the issue of our relationship and testing. I gave her a simple answer, "All in, all the time."

"Any more to that answer?"

"I suppose I could elaborate a little," I teased. "The initial part of the answer concerns just what it is somebody is committing to -- an ideology or faith, a person, a goal, a lifestyle, or variations on those themes. In order to commit, I need to understand the situation, be willing to change if I need to in order to uphold the commitment, and have the character and readiness to focus.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been committed to a healthy lifestyle. I try to eat modestly and I exercise at least four times a week."

I decided to bite the bullet and tease her further. "On another front, in the past, I resolved not to commit to any one person. You know my dating and sexual history, and actually I'm surprised that you still want to be my friend knowing that. I liked being your temporary boyfriend, by the way. The whole trip was an eye opener."

Taylor's eyes were downcast. She said, "So, you're still in that old mindset about your relationships?" I wasn't sure whether it was a question or a summary of our brief discussion.

I replied with a smirk, "Maybe. I'd like to hear your answer to the same questions." I looked expectantly at her.

"Oh, jeeze," she started. "Commitment. Hmmmm. Well, I think you'd know by someone's actions. She'd want to be with you all the time and be curious about you and what you thought about all sorts of things. She'd want you to meet her friends and family, and she'd talk about you to them with lots of enthusiasm. She'd communicate with you a lot, so you'd know what she was thinking. She wouldn't be trying to date anybody else and she'd be intensely honest with you about everything. All of that would be long-term, too -- a serious relationship is a committed relationship."

I pushed her, "What kind of relationship do your parents think that we have? Or Charlotte?"

Taylor looked away and wouldn't meet my eyes. I got her attention and gestured for her to speak.

She said in a nearly inaudible tone, "Serious. That's what I told them. I told them that ... that ... that I was in love with you. That's the truth. Mom knew it before I told her. She said she read the way that I looked at you. Charlotte ended up that way, too. Josh, I love you."

Taylor suddenly jumped up, clutching the remains of her lunch, and then started rushing away. I heard her sob. She would have run, but her high heels frustrated that activity. Several people followed the clack-clack-clack of her heels on the sidewalk as she rushed away.

I got up and strolled after her.

Taylor wasn't in the office. I called our local florist and had flowers sent to her apartment. I could guess what had happened. She'd embarrassed herself by blatantly admitting what we were both feeling, and she probably thought that I didn't feel that way about her. I had teased her in the commitment discussion by not personalizing it to her. My bad.

I texted Taylor, too. 'I could have said the same thing about you.' I put a heart emoji at the end of the message. We did need to talk.

I left work right at five o'clock rather than stay late as I often had. I picked up a variety of Chinese takeout for dinner, and then walked to Taylor's apartment. I was pensive all the way about what to say and do when I saw her.

I knocked on her door and could hear somebody come and look out the peep hole. She said through the door, "Go away!"

I held up dinner, "I brought dinner. We need to talk, if not now then sometime soon. Please, Taylor."

I could hear her audible sigh of resignation through the door and then the various dead bolts and such being unlocked.

She swung the door open and looked at me.

I looked her in the eye and said, "I love you, too."

She sobbed once and threw herself into my arms, except I was carrying the bags with our dinner, so I couldn't really hug her the way that I wanted.

Taylor finally backed away and pulled me into the apartment and shut the door. I set the bags of food down in her nearby kitchen, and then took her in my arms and kissed her a dozen or more times.

Taylor had started babbling about her embarrassment about admitting that she loved me and obviously wanted to be committed with me, but how my saying the same thing back to her made all the difference in the world to her.

She calmed, and then produced a bottle of Chardonnay, which I opened with an old-fashioned corkscrew; the only opener that she had. I poured us glasses, and then we sat on her sofa. Taylor got a serious look, I held my hand up, and she went mute.

I chose my words carefully. "Taylor, I'm going to need your help -- a lot, I fear. I've been a very determined bachelor and I have had a weird lifestyle compared to what I think we want together."

She gave me a questioning look.

I went on, "I want to be your boyfriend -- not a 'temporary' boyfriend, but a real one. I want to date you, romance you, and see whether we have long-term compatibility -- long-term as in life long.

"I've been a player since I was in college, and, because of you, want to change my whole way of thinking about dating and sex and love and who knows what else. I want please you in so many ways." I looked at Taylor with a hopeful expression.

I added, "I've never said anything like what I've just said to you to anybody. I'm nervous and afraid that you won't accept me and help me change -- to be a better man than the Casanova that I've been. I know we said some of the same words in Rochester, but we're back home and this is for real."

Taylor leaned over and kissed me. "I'll help for sure, but I fell in love with the Casanova and his alter ego. I still think I know what I'm signing up for. Just so you know, I have some things that may make you not want to be with me."

"I can't imagine what," I told her as I held her hand.

Taylor sighed and our eyes stared into each other's. "They involve Charlotte."

I spoke. "Charlotte? Yes, I wanted to talk about that, too. Last weekend blew my mind away the way you two were with me -- and with each other. I'm still not sure what to make of that."

"Charlotte wants to be with you -- with us. She really fell for you over last weekend, and she wants more of you -- a lot more. Further, she admitted to me that she wants a romantic relationship with me, too. I have to admit that for the first time in my life I feel the same way about her. We've been texting and talking every day and night. We've become very close, and now we have a physical way to express that with each other."

I must have frowned, "So, what does that mean for us?"

Taylor bit her lower lip in an insecure gesture. "I'm hoping that it means that the three of us can live and love together."

"Charlotte is in Rochester." I stated the obvious as I knew it.

Taylor shook her head. "As we speak, she is looking at every job site that she can find angling for a job in or close to Boston. Since she's a technology person, she's pretty mobile. She wants to be with us -- you ... and me. I'm sure that she'll be here in only a few weeks."

"I liked Charlotte -- a lot. Hell, she was a carbon copy of you, Taylor. Are you sure you want to share me with your sister or that she's willing to share me with you?"

Taylor nodded, "Yes, absolutely. I'm a realist. I know it won't always be smooth sailing between the three of us, but I want to try. Please don't reject this idea. Please accept the idea of a threesome. Please love US."