Eleven

"Good morning, Miss Sands." I jumped, spilling more than half of the orange juice from the glass onto the tile.

"Sir..." Why on earth would he sneak up behind me and whisper a greeting into my ear? My eyes followed him as he walked around the couch to my side.

"Why are you up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep," I said, eyeing him. "And you? Why are you up?"

"The same reason." I nodded slowly, looking down at the mess I'd made on the floor. Turns out drinking orange juice at two in the morning is something I enjoy. There's silence, then there's the night, and from where I stood, there was the beautiful cityscape.

"I should get a mop." He shifted to let me pass.

Back in the dimly lit room with a mop in hand, I didn't see Mr. Powers, so I assumed he'd returned to his room. As I cleaned the spill, which had spread, I heard a deep hum.

Glancing toward the piano, I stood up straight, using the mop for support. He was still in the living room, after all.

He began to play a slow tune on the piano with his eyes closed, clearly enjoying it, the music seeming to envelop him.

And it captured me.

As a lover of melodious sounds, I smiled as the tune grew more captivating. Without realizing it, I set the mop aside and walked over to watch his hands create such soft, entrancing music.

I leaned on the piano's lid with my elbows, hands cupping my jaw. He was incredibly skilled, and I envied his ability. Sensing my presence, his eyes snapped open, meeting mine. He stopped humming but continued playing.

Knowing the effect his gaze could have on me, I shifted my attention back to his hands. When he struck the final key, I returned my gaze to his composed face.

"That was beautiful, sir," I whispered. The night grew even quieter as he didn't respond, instead looking down at the piano. Standing upright, I started to walk back to the living room.

"Miss Sands..." I turned. "Do you play?"

"Oh, no. Well, I used to, back at the orphanage..." I stopped, realizing I'd shared a part of my life I preferred to keep private. I met his eyes, hoping not to find pity.

He didn't disappoint. "Why did you stop playing?"

"I lost interest," I lied, moving closer with a smile. "Actually, I did it to please my first boyfriend. He hated the piano, so I stopped playing." I pursed my lips, then added, "Pretty stupid, right?"

He made a noncommittal sound, looking away at the cityscape through the door. I clasped my hands behind me, joining him in the view. "Is that why you want me to be a good father? Because you didn't..." He cut himself off.

I understood his unfinished question all too well and found myself pondering the same thing. "I don't know," I said, my gaze shifting from the bright city lights back to him. "I guess I've always wanted parents. So maybe I'm projecting that wish onto your relationship with your daughter."

He made that low sound again and nodded slowly, his lips curving slightly. To break the silence creeping back in, he pressed a random piano key. "You shouldn't have stopped playing. Music is beautiful."

I cringed inwardly. "It was a stupid decision, sir. Maybe I was a little in love." Now close enough to lean on the piano, I did just that. "Indeed, it was stupid. Dale left me for a city girl. He said she was more sophisticated." It felt odd.

Here I was, in the living room, discussing my first love with my boss—a man whose good looks and occasional slight touches affected me. Yet, he listened without disgust or judgment, making the moment feel less strange.

"Would you like to play something?" His voice pulled me from my reverie.

I straightened up, suddenly shy. "Oh, no sir. I'd probably be terrible, very rusty."

"Why don't you try? Then we'll see if you're as rusty as you claim." His tone was disarmingly persuasive.

I couldn't suppress a smile. "Alright, I'll do it. But," I pointed a finger at him, "please don't laugh."

"Do I look like someone who would laugh at others?" His jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing slightly. Was he offended?

"Oh no, sir, not at all." He gestured to the space next to him. Sitting beside him seemed like a challenge.

"Would you prefer to sit on my head?" he joked.

I cringed at the mental image. "Sir..." Don't say things like that. "Never mind. I'll sit down." I approached the stool and took my place.

Just pretend he's not there. How hard could that be?

"Go ahead, play something." It was incredibly hard. I couldn't ignore the feel of his bare bicep brushing against my arm. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my jumbled nerves.

My fingers hovered over the keys, hesitating. It had been so long. His gaze felt heavy on me, adding to the pressure. Eventually, I pressed a key, then another, seeking the familiar rush of emotion.

Before I knew it, my eyes were closed, and I was lost in the music. As I played the simple melody in my head, I felt Mr. Powers join in. Opening my eyes, I saw his earnest concentration as his hands accompanied mine on the piano.

A soft smile spread across my face, connecting with the tranquility he exuded. I closed my eyes again, letting the music we created together fill the night.

********

"Ruby, have you seen your father today?" She shook her head no and dove deeper into her book.

With a slight frown, I glanced at the staircase. His presence has been scarce since our music session the other night, nearly two weeks ago. He's been leaving early before anyone wakes or returning home late.

After all, he is a businessman, and such absences are not uncommon. But now, he hasn't been home at all for almost two days. When I asked Ruby if there was cause for concern, she said, "He probably has a big project. He always disappears when that happens."

Despite taking Ruby's word for it, I was still worried. If only I had his number, I would have called. I really need to get his number. "Grace, where can I get water?" Jeremy's question pulled my attention away from my phone.

"Don't worry, I'll get it for you," I said, rising to my feet. He nodded his thanks. As I passed Ruby, still engrossed in her book, I playfully ruffled her hair. Halfway past the living room, I was startled by a loud, feminine moan from upstairs. I stopped dead, frowning, and turned to Jeremy, who was also looking up the stairs. "I didn't just imagine that, did I?"

"You didn't," he confirmed. The sound came again, softer this time. "Definitely not imagined."

"He's not supposed to be here," I muttered, then frowned. Why would there be moans coming from his room in broad daylight, especially with his daughter in the house? We had an understanding! "Grab a bottle of water from the kitchen," I told Jeremy, my mind set on confronting the source of the noise in his room. It wasn't just the indecency that angered me, but the fact that he hadn't made his presence known after being partially absent for so long.

Then the front door opened. "Miss Sands, could you get me a bottle of water, please?" I spun around, startled to see Mr. Powers looking utterly exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes.

Wait a minute. I approached him slowly. "If you're here... then who's upstairs?"

"Uh? Miss Sands, I need water. I'm very tired and can't deal with any issues right now."

"Sir, what Grace means is we heard noises from upstairs and thought you were home," Jeremy interjected.

"What?" His voice was weary, his words slurred. "I haven't been home for... almost two days?" Another moan, fainter this time, drifted down. "Wait, that's Regina's voice." He dropped the suit he'd been carrying into my arms and trudged upstairs. Intrigued, I followed.

His usually firm steps were sluggish. I wondered what had left him so drained and sleep-deprived. We reached his door, the sounds from within more distinct. He opened it, and I entered behind him.

"Dom!" The pair scattered in opposite directions, each clutching at whatever was within reach to cover themselves. Regina had tumbled to the floor on the far side of the bed. My gaze shifted to the man she'd been with, who was now shivering in the corner he'd retreated to, his body slick with sweat. His eyes pleaded for mercy as Mr. Powers stepped back.

"Get out," he said quietly, turning his gaze to the floor and pinching the bridge of his nose, as if to restrain his emotions. Regina rose, clutching the sheet around her.

"Dom... I didn't..."

"Get the hell out, Regina. And never show me your face again." His calm tone was a clear effort to maintain control, and Regina was quick to heed the warning. She snatched her clothes from the floor and headed for the door. "Where on earth do you think you're going?" he challenged her before she could make it halfway.

"I... am... g... going out." I didn't catch his expression, but terror washed over Regina's face, and she turned, disappearing through what I assumed was the bathroom door. Her companion, now half-dressed, scurried after her. My curiosity piqued, I followed. In the bathroom, a ladder leading to the roof explained their clandestine entry.

I shook my head as I shut the door behind them. The nerve of her, bringing a man into his bed. When I turned back to the room, Mr. Powers was face down on the bare mattress.

"Mr. Powers..." I whispered, approaching his prostrate form. His eyes were closed; whether he was asleep, I couldn't say. "Mr. Powers," I murmured, reaching out but hesitating to touch him. Perhaps it was best to leave him be; my touch could unleash his pent-up frustration.

As I withdrew, he spoke in a strained voice, "Leave, Miss. Sands." I offered a small smile, walked to the bed's end, and removed his shoes, leaving him in his socks and clothes.

With a sigh, I exited the room to rejoin Ruby and Jeremy downstairs, hoping Mr. Powers would find some peace.