I woke up early, the warm morning sun just touching the tops of the trees in my front garden as I enjoyed the bird song while I sipped my first coffee of the day. There was a minor disturbance among the birds as an Urber pulled up across the road and Melissa climbed out. Her hair was tousled, she was wearing a little black dress with a strap off one shoulder and she was carrying her heels and purse as she weaved her way to the front door of her parents house.
"Half her luck," I thought to myself. "Oh, to be twenty again."
It was hard not to wonder if she had crashed on a friend's lounge after drinking too much, or whether she had spent the night bonking some lucky guy. She was a stunningly beautiful young woman and even though she was only home for the summer uni holidays, I felt that there should be a queue of guys wanting to get to know her.
I'd met Mel, her brother Jake and her parents Steve and Sonya after Cassie and I bought this house five years ago. Mel and Jake often did the rounds of the neighbours offering to wash cars, rake lawns or do other odd jobs to make some pocket money. We were neighbourly friendly with Steve and Sonya, saying hello if we were both in the yard and catching up for a Christmas drink. They were both about forty-five, so ten years older than me.
When Cassie died two years ago, Mel was living interstate, studying engineering at university. Steve and Sonya had been incredibly supportive, and Mel had flown home for the funeral.
I looked at my watch. It was Saturday morning but I had a team of developers working in Los Angeles, where it was two pm yesterday. We had a call in an hour where I expected them to explain how they are going to get back on schedule.
It was two days later, I'd just finished dinner and was settling down with my novel and a second glass of wine, when the doorbell rang. It was Steve and Mel.
After some general chat, Steve got to the point.
"You manage IT projects, don't you," he asked.
When I answered in the affirmative, Mel continued.
"I'm doing a short course over summer on project management. One of the requirements is that I get work experience, but the engineering company I was going to work for, has just told me that they're closing down. I was wondering if it would be possible for me to work with you over the summer. It has to be a total of a hundred hours. Can you help me?"
"Do you know anything about IT?" I asked.
"Not really," she confessed. "But it's the project management stuff that I need to learn about, rather than the IT."
I thought about it for a minute.
"I could give you some admin tasks, bring you to meetings, most of those are via Zoom. You should be able to get a feel for the role. Is that what you are looking for?"
"That sounds great," she exhaled, glad that her plans were back on track.
"I work at home three days a week and am in the office or at the client's the other two. I also have teams working in Los Angeles and Manilla. Manilla is in the same time zone, but LA is sixteen hours behind, so yesterday. Are you OK with meetings or calls at some weird times?"
Two days later I had agreement from my boss and from the client and Mel was sitting at what used to be Cassie's desk in my study.
She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, both of which were a bit too tight.
"When we visit the client offices, do you have something a bit more professional to wear? I wear a suit."
We spent twenty minutes googling professional wear for young women. I was amazed at how analytical Mel was, commenting on the cut of blouses, skirts and dresses, noting which highlighted the models hips, arse, breasts, legs, and even their necks. This was an education for me, considering my suit was ten years old and I had no idea if it highlighted anything. Mel even noted how she thought some of the clothing would suit her body shape. I was trying hard not to contemplate Mel's body shape, at least not to be too obvious about it.
It was the following week when Mel approached me, obviously nervous about something.
"You know how you gave me access to your google drive so I could work on the project documents, well you gave me access to everything." She paused looking at me expectantly, but I had no idea what she was talking about.
"I accidentally clicked on a folder that had some, ahh, personal photos. Photos of you and Cassie."
"Oh fuck," I stammered.
"Yes, you were," she replied, not making eye contact. "I'm so sorry. I backed out as soon as I realised what I was looking at. I just thought I should tell you so you could change my access, and anyone else from work who may have access."
That night I browsed through the images and videos of Cassie and I having sex, and wondered which Mel had seen. There were several videos of Cassie using her hand and mouth until I sprayed cum across her breasts, which was one of our favourite games. I hoped Mel hadn't seen those, but that night as I masturbated remembering how Cassie's mouth had felt on me, I kept imagining it was Mel's mouth exciting me instead.
Over the next few weeks we worked out a schedule of when Mel would work with me, doing about twenty hours a week, but we kept it flexible. Generally, she didn't work on a Friday because, as she explained, "that's party night."
When Mel joined me in the office or at the client's offices she always looked impeccably professional, but, maybe it was my imagination, but there was often the most subtle edge of provocation. It was never anything overtly sexy, but maybe there was a hint of lace visible through her blouse, or she wore stockings with a seam up the back, or her skirt, while the hem sat just above her knee, would have a delicate side slit, just a little bit higher. She often wore necklaces that drew my eyes to the curve of her neck and breasts.
When she worked with me at home she dressed casually, as did I, but again, the shorts were short, the dresses loose and flowing, the tee shirts certainly highlighted her lithe young body. It was distracting, but deliciously so.
Could a thirty-five year old be a sleazy old man. I certainly felt like one some days. But then I considered that day when we first looked for appropriate professional clothing, how analytical she had been, how calculating. Was she deliberately dressing provocatively, or as an attractive young woman, did she just feel comfortable dressing this way? I hoped that she wasn't aware of my occasional furtive glances.
It was about two months into our arrangement when Mel announced that she was free to work on the coming Friday.
"What happened to 'party night'," I joked.
She gave me a look that may have been sad, or angry. I was about to apologise, agreeing that it was none of my business, when she answered.
"I've been chatting to this guy on Tinder, we had our first date last week and I thought it went really well. We had our next date lined up for Friday, but now he's ghosting me."
"What's ghosting," I inquired, a bit baffled.
"You aren't on the apps, are you," she stated.
"No way, I'm not going to put myself out there like that," I laughed.
"Ghosting is when you ignore someone, don't return their texts or calls. It's a dick thing to do."
"If you don't want to see someone, have the balls to tell them," I agreed.
"The apps are a nightmare," she explained. "I'm forever dropping them, then going back to them. They are all as bad as each other."
"Why do you go back to them if they are such a nightmare," I queried?
"I guess a girl has needs. Meeting guys in a pub is dodgy, you don't really know who you're going home with. At least the apps offer a little bit of protection," she explained guiltily, not meeting my eyes.
