Her Mom And I Share A Birthday Pt 02

[This is Part 2 of Her Mom & I Share a Birthday. Thanks to the Literotica Editing Staff, I was permitted to edit the title so that I could submit a Part 2/Epilogue. I was also allowed to edit the original story, adding a bit more dialogue and interaction between the characters. I am not soliciting further views of the first story; just noting that it helps to read it for this Part to make sense. Thank you.]

HER MOM & I SHARE A BIRTHDAY PT. 2

DECEMBER -- TWO YEARS LATER

Flying back home from my hundredth or so trip for Martin-LOGEX, I was in a retrospective mood for some reason. Maybe because for once, nothing was pressing. So I'm thinking about the ups and downs since I joined the company. I definitely used up a life-time of luck meeting Charlotte, but still on average, life is pretty much a 50-50 deal: Yin-Yang; Black-White. You handle the bad and the good as they come up.

Mr. Jordan did not retire as planned. Charlotte and I were almost two years into our playing-house-one week-a-month arrangement. It was working so far. Charlotte and her Mom and Grannie got into a routine, and thanks to Mrs. Jordan, we would meet the Jordans a couple times a month at any one of several quiet places in Aurora for a family type meal. And it sort of was. He relaxed completely while there; we did not talk about work. He and I never ran in to each other at the office--no reason to So it was a surprise when his secretary called me Friday afternoon to be at his office at four. Fortunately, it was an in-office week. But of course she knew that.

He came out and motioned me in. There was another gentleman sitting on the couch. It was Mr. Martin -- the CEO. My knees wobbled, and I fought back a sour burp. 'Oh shit--It's over,' I thought as I came to a dead stop.

Mr. Jordan had shut the door behind me and as he walked around, he said, "Looks like Mr. Rone recognizes you, Jim."

"So it does, Bob, so it does," he replied.

I am "frozen in the door", an infrequent but known air drop complication. The jump master either shoves you out the door or pulls you aside, and the rest of the stick keeps on going. But there was no jump master here. My legs are trembling; fight or flight is surging through the system.

"Sit down before you fall down," Mr. Jordan says.

There are a couple of chairs on the other side of the coffee table. I make it to the nearest chair somehow. My brain is working in 12 different directions, but I know enough to keep my mouth shut.

"I suppose you're wondering why we called you here," he opened.

I nodded, scanning the table for a big envelope or folder.

"Take a couple of deep breaths Charles, you're not being fired, [pause] for now," he advised.

"Bob, you're not his father-in-law yet; give the guy a break," Mr. Martin said as he got up and grabbed a bottle of water from the bar next to the couch. "Catch," he instructed.

It took both hands because the rest of my brain was stuck on FATHER-IN-LAW.

"Try not to choke or spill," he said as he sat down.

Back to survival school. You're captured; don't rush; don't panic; go slow and watch.

I drank half the bottle, and then leaned back taking as deep a breath as the mile-high altitude would allow.

"The Christmas Party is in two weeks. You of course recall what our deal was two years ago?" he asked.

I nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"Well," he gestured for me to continue, "Charlotte, his daughter," I turned to Mr. Martin.

"I know her, son," he said. "Go on."

"OK, Charlotte and I met shortly after I got here. We were casual friends at first but over the summer and fall it turned into a serious crush on my part. She remained remote, for lack of a better word, because she knew where I worked whereas I did not know who she was. So when I ran into her at the Hilton on her Mother's birthday, I did something that I would have done anyway even if there was no Charlotte, but since she was there too, and it might have had the side effect of, well, you know, changing a variable. I mean, I had such a crush....." I trailed off.

Mr. Martin interrupted, "Come on, Son. You gave Chelsea a very nice bottle of Champagne is what you did. You must need a wheelbarrow to carry your balls around. When I told my wife about that she laughed for five minutes. But keep going."

'I am so screwed; Mia never worked me over in the shows as much as I am about to get screwed,' my inner self was screaming in panic.

"Well, once I knew what she knew from the get-go, we tried to think of a way to solve it while we got to know each other better. And we fell in love. But then at the party, Mrs. Jordan told us they knew we were a couple, and then Mr. Jordan explained in clear terms how our relationship was at the wrong place at the wrong time. His contract was to run for three more years, and thus the only way we could continue to see each other was to not marry or cohabit or be a couple openly until time was up due to the nepotism rule. And I was never, ever to hurt her," I concluded.

"Bob," Mr. Martin said, "Good thing you're married to a lawyer; you didn't run this by HR did you?"

"Of course not," he said.

Turning to me, "And you and she agreed to it?"

"Yes Sir."

"Plenty of other girls out there; those were rather stiff conditions."

"I'm sure there are Sir, but like I said, it was and is a serious crush and this is a great company."

"Yeah, it is indeed my rule," came the reply. "It's a good sound rule; nothing personal about it, you understand. I run this place on merit."

Long pause.

"But all rules have exceptions, except this one." He gestured to Mr. Jordan.

"I'm not retiring," the bombshell dropped.

I waited without breathing.

"Bob offered me the COO job on Monday. And I told him I could not take it because of a certain deal I made. We've risen up through this company together, and when he asked what this overriding deal was, I told him the whole story," he was chuckling. "Wheelbarrow sized balls," he laughed.

Continuing, "So Jim looked over your file, quietly talked to your boss and some folks you audited, and then made calls to key board members. If I take the COO job, the rule is suspended for you."

He leaned back.

I didn't what to say and so I said, "I don't know what to say."

"Charlotte says you've become a fair poker player, not good, but solid enough to hang on for a while. So what do you do when the bet comes to you?" he asked.

And the light went on. I stood up and said, "Mr. Jordan, I am very much in love with Charlotte; may I marry your daughter please."

He smiled. "Not just yet," he said.

I froze in place.

"Sit," he said. "The job's not over until the paperwork's done. The Board needs to vote formally. There is a meeting next week for end of year business. It then needs to get signed and filed, as I understand it. Ask me again after the Christmas party."

Turning to the CEO, "I'll take the job, Jim." They stood and shook hands.

Mr. Martin extended his hand, "Congratulations, son. Folks say you've done a good job in Compliance. You've got a long career with us if you want it. Stay focused." And he left.

I turned to Mr. Jordan. I couldn't formulate the words I needed, so I stuck out my hand. We shook.

Still holding my hand, he said, "Same rules until it's done. I would not tell her yet; anything can happen; he usually gets his way on things like this, but sometimes the cargo gets delayed. Go see our girl." He dropped his hand and then clapped me on the back.

"Wheelbarrow," I heard him laugh as I shut the door.

Back in the office, I called her and advised I was headed out; she was finishing up at Victor's. I took a deep breath and asked if she was inclined to be frisky tonight -- our code word for being more energetic. Minx that she is, she made me say please. I changed in the office; this is a blue jean and flannel shirt place. For date nights I dress up a bit more. This was Friday night after a week at home, so I was prepared.

When I got to her place, friskiness was indeed in town. Spanx faux patent leather leggings, patent pumps, and "the" sweater - - the beige cable knit she wore the afternoon of my birthday when she paid me the visit that sent us down the road to where we're at. There's a little place in Aurora -- The Bent Fork -- that is more our place than any other. We can usually linger as long as we want; tipping well helps.

I was more flirty than usual, the testosterone talking loudly. So much so at one point she asked if I went to Shotgun Willie's for lunch, which I didn't and she knows that but it was part of the flirting. So a bit more wine, and she reciprocated. When our usual waitress came over and asked if we going to go home and make a baby, we sobered up, apologized, tipped large, made out in the parking lot some and went home.

We kissed some more at the door because we could and then on impulse I put her over my shoulder and carried her over the threshold. She kicked and squealed wondering what was up with the cave man routine. I just said it's a phase of the moon.

Dropping her on the bed, she bounced back up and put a hand on my chest, and said, "OK Charles, what's up?

I raised my hands to protest my innocence. "I'm just up -- it's Friday, I had a good week, I love you like there is no tomorrow, Jupiter is in the house of Mercury----who knows. If it's troubling you, we can just cuddle."

"Or," she said as she pulled a bag off the bed, "We can indeed be frisky."

Soft ropes and a ball gag came out. Lube and her favorite vibrator -- the Thrusting Rabbit -- were in a bedside drawer.

I warmed her up as she likes--long light massage strokes with equally light kisses. Then I restrained her loosely, more for show than effect, and likewise loosely secured the ball gag, an infrequent prop in our list of frisky devices. She came once lightly, and then I applied some tongue work and a second dose of Ms. Rabbit. The second time had her panting. She grunted and shook her head. I removed the gag and ropes and she said, "Up here now, hurry while I'm still buzzing." I straddled her and lowered myself as she got further elevated by plumping the pillow. Her mouth was so warm, and I was clearly motivated.

A couple of moments later, it was over. I rolled over, and she followed on top of me. "As usual, a nice little mouthful for dessert," she purred. And I blushed. "Get's you ever time", she giggled. "You are such a teenager!"

She went to shower. I put away the toys and joined her. The emotional tsunami that started at 4:00 finally died down. I was spent; like Marathon / 100K ride spent. I was asleep in minutes.

I was to be in Spokane next week, Fresno the week after, then it was the Christmas party and travel was over until mid-January. The Party was the second anniversary of the Midnight Peace Accords -- her Dad's acquiescence to our love affair in exchange for discretion and remaining single. We had adapted. Travel was something lots of couples confronted. The week each month I was in town we shared and grew together -- cleaning, laundry, shopping, just being together. I gave up the Wednesday work for Victor, but we kept up the Saturday broadcast -- saving for kids, house, the unknown. I learned to pee sitting down; she could cook eggs three different ways now -- scrambled, over hard and over very hard. Ok--I kid. But I do pee sitting down.

It's Party night. She is at her parents all day helping get ready. I am on my own, but show up 30 minutes early just in case. Her Mom meets me at the door, only unlike two years ago, I greet her with a hug and a "Hi, Mom; how can I help?" The Accords did not restrict her from being a part of our lives. She gave me a list. I waved at Charlotte as I passed by with a two-thumbs up for her looks and was assigned dolloping a salmon concoction onto crackers and then to a tray.

As before, I greet people at the door until Mom can take over, steal a kiss from Charlotte when I can; and mingle. After a while, Mr. Jordan is out of the den. He catches my eye and nods. I wander his way and in the exchange of greetings he advises the deal is approved. I congratulate him on his promotion; he asks if Charlotte knows. I tell him no, I was being cautious. He says he will tell us in the post-party decompression.

I mingled some more, my heart pounding out of chest for a good twenty minutes. Not to be blunt, but mingling was difficult. I'm like the IRS; no one wants to see me. But most folks accept it is just a job, and I do not have a reputation as a bully. In fact, just the opposite. I'll give folks a chance to fix it before I go final, unless it is one of the Deadly Sins. But I'm saved from vanilla small talk when Grannie arrives. She lived the 60's full out. Followed the Dead; Woodstock; Mom was born in a VW bus; etc. And she had stories about Charlotte from over the years. I stored it all, all the while declining her offer to get high.

Eventually the last guest departed. I joined in with the cleaning crew and chatted with Charlotte as she oversaw the process. Mom was back in the den with Mr. Jordan, trusting her to supervise. We joined them when the work was done, and the crew was paid and out the door.

As I step in, I recall the last two times I was in this room after the annual party. Two years ago, I was up to my neck in hot water for dating Charlotte, and she was right beside me in the pot. Thanks to Mom, a settlement was reached. Last year, he was cool but not frosty. We four shared a polite drink, similar to the occasional dinners we had.

As we sat down on the couch across from them, they seemed reserved. Mr. Jordan sipped his drink, cleared his throat, and leaned forward.

"There's no easy way to do this, so I'll get right to it," his tone was firm.

Charlotte sucked in her breath and leaned into me grabbing my arm in one quick movement.

He paused. Then, "I'm not retiring for a couple more years."

"Dad! What?" she exclaimed.

"I'm sorry Missy," he said. (Clearly Mr. Jordan liked to live dangerously, using the dreaded and forever forbidden pet nickname for Charlotte.)

He continued, "Bob offered me the COO job two weeks ago, and I told him I would accept on one condition."

"Well?!?! What's the condition; how much longer do we have to hide in the bushes?" she demanded.

I've got my arm around her now.

Again a pause. He leaned back. "The deal is the Board waives the anti-nepotism policy for one specific person."

She stammers, "What? The policy? Who? Who for? Us? for Him?"

"Yes, waived for Charles. The Board's vote was Thursday, it was recorded yesterday."

She was quiet. She then shrugged off my arm and shot to her feet.

'Oh no,' I thought. 'That CPA brain is auditing the situation. Here we go.'

"You're just telling us now? You waited 'till now?" she challenged.

"Well, it was the first time we could all be together," he said.

"No-No-No-No," she fired back. "You could have told him (she pointed) to be here early and told us then! Or yesterday! Or Thursday! Unless-----." She looked at me.

"You knew?!?!" she accused.

"Uhhhhh. I knew it was being discussed. I did not know it was approved," I replied.

She turned to her Mom. "You too!?!?"

"Only that it was possible, we did not want to get your hopes up," she offered.

She turned to me. "Wait a minute. He said the offer was two weeks ago. You knew two weeks ago. You found out he was making a deal. And, and, and, oh no. Really?"

I went mute, knowing what was coming. She's very adept at finding the nickel out of place.

"Friday night, let's have a frisky evening you said, I squeeze my ass into those spandex pants, let you tie me up, make sure you go to bed with a smile, and all the time you knew?"

I stood. "Only that it was possible, honey. The CEO told me to hold it until it passed."

"Honey??? So HONEY, you couldn't hold it [air quotes] as far as your primitive urges were concerned," she yelled. "Selfish pig. So now Daddy and the CEO know you can keep a secret; but what about me?"

'She's starting to enjoy this,' I thought. 'This is going to turn into one of those scenes like Mia is so good at. Utter humiliation.'

"You are a total, unmitigated PIG; I've got half a mind to sleep with your best man the entire week before the wedding."

"Charlotte Rose!!" Mom exclaims. "Get a grip and calm down." Mr. Jordan is just watching, eyes getting wider.

"I was thinking of asking your Dad to be best man," I reply. Remember my habit of a quip at exactly the wrong time? But she was too over the top. This was two years of being in double secret limbo letting loose. We had never revealed any frustration to each other, and to be honest she never downgraded her self-worth because she was single. One time in the quiet, post coital closeness she confided she wanted what her parents had.

She looks at me, hands on hips, glaring hard. "Nice counter, HONEY, so I have to go hangout at the Gentlemen's Clubs.

"Charlotte Rose!!!," Mom is getting louder. "Stop this nonsense; your Dad fixed it for you!!! What does it matter?!?!"

She glares at Mom, then turns back to me, with her back to them. She flicks the slightest smile. OK, got it. I flinch the eyebrows once. It's a well-rehearsed signal from the Saturday night show that something is coming. She rotates her body for cover, opens her hand and throws a slap but grazes my cheek dragging her fingertips as I flinch, slap my thigh recoil, turn, and grab my cheek.

"OK," I say, still holding my cheek. "Not your Dad then; how about Victor."

She brightens, "Sure, that works. I like Victor, and he thinks well of you."

Mom is borderline apoplectic. "What in the hell is going on?"

Charlotte ignores her. "Your move---." And then with a sarcastic lilt, "Honey."

I drop to one knee. "Charlotte Rose Jordan, will you please marry me?"

She looks over at her Dad. "Dummy here forget to ask your permission? No, no--wait, you gave it to him two weeks ago didn't you?"

I think he's still trying to figure out what demon took possession of his daughter before his eyes. Somehow he gets out, "Yeah, he did."

"OK," she chirps. Turning to me, "Yes, of course I'll marry you. Come here."

I got up and held her tightly.

In my ear, "I was just trying to make a point to Dad that I'm not a child to be protected. And don't you ever doubt that we're made for each other. You played that perfectly."

We broke and turned towards her parents. "Daddy, do you want to break out your good stuff and let's have a toast?"

He could only nod, then he got up and went to the cabinet. Her Mom came over, moderately furious. "What in the Seven Hells was that? Did you want your Dad and I to stroke out?"

She pulled her Mom into an arm's length hug. "I knew something was up when Sweetie Pie here came home two weeks ago over flowing with boy-joy juice. And Daddy seemed coy the last two days. So when the other shoe dropped, I just riffed it first to make a point and then just to be the girl that drove you nuts in high school."

"Did you have to slap him? Don't get me started on family violence."

We both chuckled, which did not help things.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I gave him a nonverbal cue, he got it, and we faked it." She turned my face. "See, not a mark."

She let out a deep sigh. "I should have sold you to the Gypsies when I had the chance. You're so full of your Grannie's genes. I can only hope your children make you completely grey before you're 40. Shit, I need a cigarette. Why did you talk me into quitting?"

Her Dad had poured the drinks. "Well that was something I don't ever want to see again. So from this I'm supposed to conclude you two really are meant for each other?"

"No, Daddy. I'm sure this scenario will never come around again. Don't treat me like someone who can't handle hard news and facts. I'm a CPA Dad, I deal with the serious reality of numbers every day. And then there's been this equal rights --Title IX stuff you're supposed to follow for, oh you know, decades."