“Yes, I know her name – it’s Annie. You don’t have to go in. I just don’t want anyone in her office to see me if they happen to come outside. Lynn is friends with her; stop by her desk on your way out to ask her what kind of car Annie drives. Their office is off Woodruff Road. Just put it on her windshield and leave. It’s on your way home, no big deal,” I plead. I’m starting to sound like a pussy even to myself. If I have to continue this conversation, I may slit my own wrists listening to myself whine like a fucking girl.
Snatching the note out of my hand, he walks out the door.
Chapter Three – Annie
I manage to find my way home in the bewildered state I left the DC — how I’m not sure. I pull into my apartment complex barely noticing my surroundings; I’ve become accustomed to seeing the beautiful landscapes that surround the buildings. I love the quiet complex that I pay so dearly to live in. I hike up to my third floor apartment and open the door, throwing my bag down by the door, and promising myself I’ll work on the proposal before I crash tonight. My first priority is ditching the confining clothes that seem to suck the life from my pores. Tossing them on the floor as I make my way to my bedroom, I fall face-first on my bed, asleep before my feet leave the ground.
I wake up to the blaring drone of my obnoxious alarm clock. Shit! I’m going to be late for class if I don’t get my tail out of bed. Already naked, I rush to the shower. I step into the steam, turning the water as hot as I can possibly stand, trying to alleviate the dirty feeling I have from the X-rated dreams that are vividly replaying in my mind. I don’t even know his name, but those eyes – I just want to stare into them for hours – and his lips, so full and supple. I’d love to see what kind of damage they could do to my body. My thoughts are racing a thousand miles a minute, drenching the sex between my legs.
School is mundane to say the least. I always seem to get stir-crazy as the semester draws to a close, not to mention the exhaustion that sets in from doing too much with too little rest in between. I just have to make it through finals, get this deal signed at the DC, and then my summer is set. This contract will take me right up to fall semester and provide me with enough extra income to cover tuition and rent. Hopefully, meaning September won’t be as bad as this past January.
Jenny, a friend from high school as well as my carpool buddy, and I meet up at the cafeteria. In true Jenny form, she’s rambling on about a hookup she found on campus who sells the best bud. As we get in the car, she’s pulling it out, followed by a paper. She starts rolling a joint while she merges onto the interstate. I always wonder how the hell she’s going to pull off rolling a fatty while shifting gears traveling down I-85, but she never ceases to amaze me.
“Annie, light it up,” she says, handing me the joint that looks like a perfectly rolled cigarette. “This shit is strong and smooth; you’re going to forget who you are before you get back to work.”
She knows me – we’ve been friends for years. She’s my alternate personality. She’s the opposite of everything I am, which keeps me grounded, kind of the yin to my yang. I have two sets of friends – the work “friends,” or I should say people that know me from work; most I would call acquaintances. Then I have the set that I hang with when I have free time. These people my parents can’t stand because they “corrupt” me and are going down a different path than I am on. I’m not sure where they come up with this shit, but they really believe there is only one path in life, their path – high school, college, marriage, house, and babies. Really? I’m absolutely amazed that people are still that narrow minded, but I guess I feed the problem because I continue to follow their dream for me, instead of walking my own path.
Distracted by my thoughts, I take the joint from Jenny, light it, and take a couple drags before handing it back to her. “Do you ever just want to say fuck all the expectations and just do what you want to do?” I ask her.
“Shit, Annie, are your parents giving you hell again?”
“Again? Hell, it’s a continuous barrage. They don’t like my friends. They don’t like that I work and don’t focus solely on school, even though my dad got me the interview to begin with. They don’t like my apartment because young single girls don’t live on their own. Blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I just want to tell them to take a hike, throw caution to the wind, and do something totally unexpected of me.” My diatribe is a direct result of the weed. I don’t talk much about this kind of shit sober.
Laughing at me, she hands me the joint. “Girl, just do what feels natural. You’re an adult. You pay your own way. They don’t have to know about the recreational things you do. You know what your problem is?”
I glare at her, knowing what is coming. “Enlighten me, oh, wise one, what is my problem?”
“You need to get laid!”
I laugh hysterically, having heard this from Jenny and Lynn for months. She’s convinced that if I just have random sex with someone, anyone, that my brain will allow me to move on; like it will tone down the noise from the racket that resides there. She was the one that picked up the pieces when my high school sweetheart and I called it quits after four years. He went to Clemson and I to USCS, leaving me heartbroken. He had been my first and only, but we both agreed we needed to experience college life.
My drug use spiked when I got to USCS and Will wasn’t around anymore to keep me on the straight and narrow. It went from recreational use on the weekends at parties, to daily use of much harsher substances in order to keep my schedule. Coke became my drug of choice and, sadly, my lifeline.
“We are not having this conversation again,” I snort while laughing at her, and notice that she’s pulling into the parking lot where my car sits. I hop out, but before I close the door, I lean in. “Wanna come out with Lynn and me tonight? Cravin’ Melon’s playing at Magnolia Street Pub.”
Jenny slowly closes her eyes and smiles. She has some crazy thing for the lead singer of the band. They played at our high school prom where she had a thirty second conversation with him. Now she’s convinced they’re soul mates.
“Yeah, I’ll meet y’all out there around ten,” she says.
“See ya then,” I call as I close the door.
Filching my keys out of my pocket, I unlock my car, throw my backpack in the front seat, and walk around the car to head in to work when I notice a piece of paper under the wiper on the driver’s side. I reach for it, assuming it’s one of those sales flyers people leave around, but when I glance at it, I realize it’s written in a hand I don’t recognize.
The second thing I notice is that it’s written on Gameshell Inc. paper – one of our biggest competitors. Seriously? I start to read it.
Looking around completely confused; the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Who would have written this, much less left it on my car in front of my office where any one of my coworkers could have seen it. And who the hell is “GD”??
Chapter Four – Annie
I’m high as a kite when I unlock the door to Waltons. Thank God it’s Friday and everyone left right at five, or I’d be showing my ass walking in all glassy eyed and giggly. Stepping into the office, I acknowledge the stuffy interior. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful office, but it’s so highbrow that I feel slightly suffocated at times. I push through the heavy door, passing the offices that all look fairly similar to my own, but with slightly different color schemes, to reach my door. Clutching my bag and the note from my car, I step through the doorway to go perch in the leather chair behind my huge mahogany desk. It has simple clean lines that I love, topped with glass, since I have a habit of spilling coffee everywhere. The walls are a warm gold color that plays off the color of the wood in the desk. I’ve hung several black and whites on the walls – I’m a huge fan of Ansel Adams. I’m drawn to his sky work and the way he captures the serenity of the clouds. I love how I see the color through his black and white lens. There are a couple of pictures behind me on my credenza, made in the same wood that my desk is constructed from, of my friends a
nd me.
This is a tough industry, it’s price competitive and very cutthroat. People work years to get on with a top firm, most of them stepping on people’s faces while they climb the corporate ladder. My parents did consulting work all of my life, different industry than the one I work in, but consulting just the same. I spent most of my childhood helping them work on different projects, starting as a gopher and gradually working into a team member role. It appealed to me that they could work when they wanted to, take on projects that afforded them the life they wanted, but freed up time when they wanted to do something else.
So, while my experience isn’t exactly in this field, I have more than most of my coworkers give me credit for. I’ve been doing this full-time since I graduated from high school, and I’m about to turn twenty-one, so coming up on three years. In those three years, I’ve worked for Waltons exclusively. Jack, my boss, knows my dad and gave me a one-time shot. He told my dad he’d let me pitch a small account, and if I got it, he’d keep throwing me bones. If not, he couldn’t offer me anymore.
I won’t lie; I know I have some assets in the looks department, so I played them up. I did not, however, offer them out as incentives to buy my services, when I pitched my first proposal to a small tire manufacturer here in town. Little did I know, the company was in the process of being bought out by a national manufacturer at the time of my bid. Forrester Tires brought me in to reorganize their work force, create safety programs, straighten out their OSHA problems, and hopefully, boost morale to up productivity.
I had six months, which sounds like a lot of time, but this place was in serious need, almost unsalvageable. I was nearing the end of my contract; having managed, by the grace of God, to accomplish what they asked me to do, when they announced that Biglin Tires was assuming the company in two weeks. Since they had been negotiating with Forrester’s the entire time I had been there, they saw the changes, and called Jack to request a meeting with me about servicing their company nationwide. That pretty much secured my future at Waltons.
I don’t work the accounts anymore. I just go in, sell them, bring in a team to do the work, and stop by often enough for the client to think I’m actively involved. Jack figured out long ago, my talent was in creating the idea and selling it – anyone could do implementation. But the fact still remains, I’m twenty-years-old. Most of my coworkers are thirty-five to fifty, and regardless of how good I am, they don’t believe I’ve earned my spot here.
The note catches my eye as I reach for my computer, and I pick it up again. Obviously, it’s from someone at the DC, but there are so many guys that work out there, I don’t have a clue which one it could be.
I tuck the note in my pocket, forcing myself to stop obsessing over it so I can get some work done. Fridays are tough for me with classes all day, and then work after five. I hash out the final details for the DC, making copies for everyone that will need them next week before tucking them in my leather case. I shut down my computer, glancing at the clock. I mentally calculate thirty minutes to go home and freshen up before meeting Lynn at Magnolia’s.
I step passed the bouncer right at ten. It’s so loud I can’t see – my eyes are vibrating from the beat of the music. I love Cravin’ Melon, but at this decibel level, it’s almost hard to tell it’s music anymore. I’m already desperate for a drink, and my mouth is crying out for a Diet Coke. I’m not twenty-one, but I don’t drink anyhow.
I’ve given alcohol a fair shot; I mean, that’s what kids in college do. It’s just not my thing. I prefer illegal narcotics, which is why I picked up an eight ball on my way here. It started out being a pick-me-up my freshman year. I worked a lot of hours; plus, had school and homework to deal with. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to add in sleeping and eating. At this point, it’s a daily use. I enjoy it far more than I should; although, I’m convinced I could stop anytime I want to. I refuse to admit that is the lie every addict tells themself.
Lynn walks up behind me, giving me a hug.
“Have you seen Jenny?” I’m practically screaming in her face to make sure she can hear me.
“She’s up at the front of the stage drooling over Doug Jones. Poor thing, he doesn’t have a clue who she is. I don’t have the heart to tell her though.”
Dismissing Jenny and Doug Jones, I ask her about the note. Digging it out of my pocket, I hand it to her. “Do you know who GD is?” She takes the piece of paper from me. A smile spreads across her face, already answering my question. She shakes her head like she can’t believe “GD” slipped me a note. “I found it on my car this afternoon outside the office when I got back from class.”
“I told you that you were being followed. You said you weren’t interested. Soooo… are you interested now?”
“I’m interested to know who is leaving notes on my car. I am not interested in ‘hooking up’ with whoever is doing it,” I say, knowing that I can’t add anything else to my laundry list of responsibilities.
“His name is Gray Dearsley. He’s the weekend shift supervisor. Honestly, Annie, he’s beautiful. I know he’s been tailing you at the DC, but you really don’t want to get involved with him.” I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I just told her I wasn’t interested in acting on anything, I just wanted to know who it was.
“Have I met him? I would think I’d remember a name like Gray.”
“I doubt it. His shift is the only one not involved in your project, so there’s no reason for him to be included in anything you’re working on. He’s usually only at the facility Thursday through Saturday, and he’s rarely out on the floor. Unless, of course, he’s watching you roam the aisles.” She shrugs like it’s unimportant before going back to her table.
I follow her, but get stopped by Jenny who is swooning, and pulling me toward the stage. Glancing over at Lynn, I motion that I’m following Jenny. She holds up her hand indicating she’s making a phone call. I have no idea how she thinks she’s going to hear a damn thing in here.
Jenny’s blitzed, gazing up at the stage like her soul is residing in front of the microphone. Bless her heart, she’s clueless. She hands me what I assume is a cigarette, but when I inhale, I get far more than a little tobacco and am quickly back to my drug induced dreamland. Cottonmouth is getting the best of me, and I desperately need to get a drink.
Lynn is looking around like she’s expecting someone. “Who are you looking for?” I ask scanning the crowd.
“No one in particular, just looking,” she responds. Liar. Luckily for her, I don’t care. Then I see him. The guy on the forklift just walked through the door. He’s several inches taller than most people in the crowd. I’m mesmerized – everything in the room stops moving, the sounds become silent, I can’t take my eyes off him.
“Holy shit, Lynn, what’s HE doing here?” I point over toward the forklift guy as she flags him down. “What the fuck?” I’m starting to freak out the closer he gets. Holy mother of God, I have got to get my shit together.
Lynn scoots over so he can sit down. I’m just sitting here like a total dumbass, with my mouth hanging open, staring at the two of them. The only reason I’m not drooling is because I still have cottonmouth from hell. Lynn says something to him, but I can’t make out what. The music is too loud, and she’s trying not to be overheard. He’s leaning into her, eyes diverted, but whatever she says makes him look up at me, shooting me that quirky grin again. My panties are drenched – damn traitorous body. How does this guy make me want to rush him to the bathroom to rip off his clothes and take advantage of every inch of him with just a look, a crinkle of his eyes, and a curl of his lip?
As he straightens up, he extends his hand over the table. Knocked out of my lust-induced daze, I realize he’s introducing himself, but I haven’t heard anything he’s said. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. What did you say your name was?”
He pulls closer to me so I have to lean over the table. I can feel myself sinking into the deep blue ocean of his eyes. “Gray Dearsley.” His vo
ice in my ear is a song of seduction, and my heart is singing. He won’t take his eyes off mine, and I feel naked, completely exposed, as if he can read every intimate thought that is passing through me. Drawing the look out as long as possible without appearing to gawk, I look over at Lynn giving her a smirk that says I’m going to kick her ass before the night is over.
Chapter Five – Gray
“Hello.”
“Gray! It’s Lynn. Where are you?” Geezus, her voice is shrill as she screams into the phone, but I can barely hear her over the loud-ass music in the background.
“I’m at Topher’s place.”
“She showed me the note you left on her car. She asked me who ‘GD’ was. She doesn’t think she knows who you are; she didn’t recognize your name. Anyway, if you want to see her, we’re at Mag’s in Spartanburg.”
“She may not know my name, but she knows who I am,” I say with undeserved arrogance. I know this girl is out of my league, and if anything Lynn has said is true, she’s going to blow me off the moment she sees me. “Give me twenty minutes to get there. How will I find you?”
“I’m in the back right corner when you come in the door passed the bar. There may be another girl at the table who’s with us, so if you see a little hippie chick, don’t pay her any attention. I’m sure she’s high.”
“Hey, Lynn, does she know you called me?” Not that it matters; I’m still going to see her.
“Nope, and you better not throw my ass under the bus.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Hanging up, I look up to see Topher glaring at me.
“Don’t start with me, Topher. I’m just going out to Mag’s. You wanna go?”
“No. I’m not gonna be involved in this shit. Abby’s going to kick your ass when she finds out.” I can see the anger in his eyes, but I really don’t care. I know that regardless of what I do, Topher will have my back, he always does.
Bound by Love Page 2
