by Jenny Plumb
Not only has he dismissed her, now he’s insulted her. Somehow. In a way. She can’t think straight. She snaps her head around and glares at him. “Quite possibly all the time you are spending with the lowlifes, dealing drugs, selling their bodies, you forgot how a decent person, in a position such as mine should dress. I need to portray an image of an individual that people can trust and respect. I meet with potential investors every day.”
Chuckling, he backs away scrutinizing her from her head to her feet. “Baby, the Showstopper is a community theater. You don’t have to endanger yourself with those stilettos.”
“Don’t call me baby. I’m not your baby.” Huffing, she reaches for the door handle. “You better take care of the little girl up there. I can’t believe Macy didn’t file for full custody. I would never…” Before she finishes her sentence, her feet leave the ground as Matt’s arm snakes around her middle, jerking her hard into his torso. “Wha…aa…tttt are you doing? Put me down! Now!” Beating her fists on his arm and kicking her legs generates no reaction from him.
“I expected more from you, Jana, I really did. If that is how you talk to others in this community, you’d be best off to pack your shit up and go back to the big city.” Stomping to the couch inside the archway across from the dining room, he keeps her legs pinned against the back of it and pushes her chest down over the cushions holding her there with a hand against the back of her neck. She resists until she grows breathless. “You done now? If you think I won’t stand here all day and enjoy watching you wear yourself out, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Standing still, she pants her words, “Okay, you win. Is that what you want to hear? Of course, being close to a foot taller than me and double my weight is to your advantage.”
She should have kept her mouth shut, because she notices his eyes narrow and his jaw twitch. Sliding to her left, he raises his arm and slams his hand across her pencil-skirted ass.
What the fuck was that? Lurching forward with the impact, she shrieks. Her legs lift off the floor, rendering them useless to aid in any escape. Another smack echoes through the room as his large hand slams into the cloth of her skirt in the same spot as the first. She squawks, louder than the first time.
Close to her ear, he whispers in a no-nonsense tone, “Unless you want to wake my daughter, I suggest you keep it down and take your punishment.”
Gritting her teeth, she growls at him, “My punishment? Who the hell—”
Swats rain down on her backside. She bites her lip to keep from yelling out. It hurts more than she wants him to know, and tears form in the corner of her eyes.
He begins to alternate his swats on each of her cheeks, in a very methodical rhythm. Thinking it’s her pride that hurts more than her butt, she starts to feel something else, and it scares the crap out of her. Wiggling side to side to avoid his palm only intensifies the feeling. She’s turned on, and it mortifies her.
“And one more to remind you to not make assumptions about others without at least getting to know them a little first.” He administers the last smack and the only sound in the otherwise silent room is her sobs. Removing his hand from her neck, he flips her over, sitting her on the back of the sofa. Wrapping his fingers around each of her shoulders, he leans in and peers into her face. “Damn, Jana. It’s supposed to hurt, but not that much.”
As she sucks in a breath between each sob, he steps back without releasing her shoulders and assesses her. She’s fighting for control over her emotions, and he makes it all too easy when he releases her and crosses his arms across his chest, scratching his chin with his right hand. This change in action has her look at his face. His eyes are pinned to her chest. Redirecting her focus downward, she sees her bigger than average nipples are enormous and poking straight out under her silk blouse.
Jumping off the couch, she underestimates the height and her left heel twists. Matt catches her and puts her on her feet. Flapping her arms to break any contact with him, she groans, “You are a true barbarian.”
He laughs so hard, with his head thrown back for exaggeration, that without thinking, she slaps him – across the face. Her hand stings like crazy, and vibrations start to run up her arm. They hear Josie’s cries, and both turn their heads in that direction. Jana has never slapped anyone before, and he doesn’t look all too happy to have been the recipient.
Dashing around him, she makes it to the door, but not out of it, before she hears his retort. “Well baby, I may be a barbarian, but you, my dear, are a pain slut.”
She gasps. Without turning back, she runs to her car.
The Aussie and the Irish Christmas
Constance Masters
Candace couldn’t explain her confused feelings even to herself. All she knew was the thought of turning up to another family Christmas reunion by herself was making her sick to her stomach. Honestly, there must be something really wrong with her. She just couldn’t find the right man, or any man, that was both attractive to her and the type of person she wanted to be with even a lot of the time, let alone forever. The fact that people were able to find someone they wanted to be with for the rest of their lives amazed her. The fact that it might happen to her one day seemed beyond her imagination.
Marriage and waking up to the same person and being happy about it seemed like a pipe dream that would never happen to her. She just didn’t seem to be able to pinpoint a type to look for. Men that were too nice were boring, really boring. Not that she lived to argue, but everyone liked a bit of challenge didn’t they? Being with a man without any kind of special flavour would be like reading the same book over and over and knowing what was going to happen before you turned each page. Now, bad men, they might give you a thrill or two, but she wasn’t stupid, there would be enough heartache that the thrill would eventually disappear beneath the drama. So what was left? Someone she hadn’t met yet, but someone she would recognize the minute they met, hopefully, or soon after. What was she supposed to do, go on one of those online dating services in the hope that this perfect person would just appear? She wouldn’t even know how to fill out the form; writing what she didn’t want was easy, translating that into what she did want was hard.
All she needed for now was a decent bloke that opened doors and treated her like a lady, even if it was only for show over Christmas, so she didn’t look like such a loser in front of her family – a paid escort maybe? Nah, she couldn’t afford it. Why was she the only sister of five that was perpetually single? What was wrong with her?
The last few days before Christmas couldn’t go fast enough for Candy. Soon she would be on holidays. She hadn’t made her mind up yet what she was going to do about going home, but at least she didn’t have to come into work.
Phones rang all around her in the busy call centre, signalling the start of business hours. Luckily for her, not to mention the customers, she was doing the night shift and would finish in an hour. Her mind was simply not where it should be. “Damn it,” she muttered. The stupid switch girl had put a call through to her when she was supposed to be off air, finishing up her paperwork. Not only was her own desk phone ringing and a light flashing, but also an angry looking man was storming towards her with a look of thunder crumpling his otherwise handsome face. She was distracted for a minute by the look of this man, until she realized that he was after her and not in a good way. Oh shit, the only reason she could think of that someone would want to speak to her was because they were mad at her. She picked up the phone and began talking to the caller; dealing with a customer seemed like a better option than facing the man who had made his way to her desk and was now tapping his fingers impatiently and prattling under his breath in a distinctive Irish brogue. She did what she could to drag the call out, but eventually she had to hang up and face her angry visitor. The accent was a dead giveaway to her and she knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.
“Miss Bell? Candace?” he asked, his Irish accent making her name roll off his tongue with a lilt that seemed happier than the look on his
face.
“Um, yes? Can I help you?” If this was indeed the road side mechanic she had hung up on in the middle of the night then no, she probably couldn’t help him.
“That would be debatable. You weren’t able to help me when I called in the night. All I wanted to do was remind you to be a little more careful when seeing to directions to call-outs and you hung up me – that was rude.”
“I didn’t mean to hang up, I, um, I got confused.” That wasn’t a lie. She had gotten confused. When the man told her she’d sent him in the completely wrong direction from where he was supposed to be, Candy had panicked. She tried to switch him to hold while she got her thoughts together and opened the file, aka found an excuse, and then bam, she accidentally pressed disconnect and he was gone. It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened, but it was the first time a mobile mechanic had actually come looking for her.
“That’s just not good enough, now is it?” He pointed a finger at her and continued to berate her like a child. “I wasn’t only concerned for myself and the waste of time and fuel, you know. What about the woman who was waiting in a car? For all we know she could have had babbies in the car or her phone could have run dead. What if she had her weekly groceries in the car and they had all perished? She would have blamed us.”
“Babbies? You mean babies?”
“Don’t try and deflect the attention from you to me by being a smart ass.”
“I wasn’t! I was asking you a genuine question and then the penny dropped what you meant.”
“I’m sure. Listen to me, little miss off with the fairies, maybe when you’re taking a call you could make the time to listen to people and write down what’s being said. Then you might not keep making the same mistakes.”
Her mouth dropped open. She had done this before to him?
“That’s right, this is not the first time you’ve booked me for a job and then sent me on a goose chase! I cannot fathom what would make you so careless.”
“Geez, it was only a little mistake. How did you know where to find me anyway?”
“It wasn’t hard. I rang and gave your call number and asked for your name and location.”
“Oh okay, I guess.” Surely there was some procedure in place to protect her from a crazy Irishman that went out of his way out to come and yell at her in person. “Look, I’m sorry I gave you the wrong address and I’m sorry that I pressed the wrong button and hung up on you. It wasn’t intentional.”
The irate man ran a hand through his hair. “Are you the full shilling?”
“Huh?” She knew what he was getting at, but she was flabbergasted that he would be so rude as to actually call her stupid.
“It means, are you thick? Really, I can’t even make up my mind if you’re pulling my leg on purpose or if you really are struggling to catch on.”
“Are you finished or are you searching your small Irish mind for yet another way to insult me? I am not a computer, I’m a normal everyday person. I’m sorry if you had to drive a little further than was necessary.” Their argument was drawing interest, so she lowered her voice to a hiss. “Yes, I sometimes make the odd mistake but in case you hadn’t noticed, I work all night. I get tired and it’s easier to get distracted than you think. As for your argument about the poor lady with the babbies in the car and her ice cream melting… have a think, you idiot. People don’t shop with their children for ice cream in the middle of the night.”
“Do the words ‘customer service’ mean anything to you?”
“Do the words, ‘road service mechanic’ mean anything to you? Perhaps you should keep yourself out on the road.”
“You know, someone ought to slap your ass and remind you to use your manners.”
Heat crept up Candy’s neck as a heady cocktail of embarrassment and attraction heated her blood. As annoying as this bossy boots was, there was something about that accent and the muscular forearms at the end of his rolled up shirtsleeves that she found very attractive. Not to mention what he’d just said… yeah, that about the arse smacking, it was hot. “I think that might be against the law.”
“I didn’t say it should be me, although the idea definitely has merit.”
His eyes scanned her and flickered towards her rear, which, luckily, was firmly cemented to her seat. He was checking her out! Her heart stopped for a split second and when it started beating, it just about thumped through her chest. His continued lecture didn’t help matters at all.
“As for the woman shopping with her babbies, you know full well I was using that for an example. She could have been in real trouble.”
Candy sighed. She would have to concede that one. She would have to pay more attention but she didn’t need to be told over and over like she was some kind of imbecile. “I get the point – what did you say your name was?”
“Rowan, my name is Rowan.”
“Well, you’ve delivered your message now, Rowan; so why don’t you toddle off and get on with saving any damsels in distress that are waiting for your impeccable mechanical skills? I’m sure somebody somewhere is waiting for their superman to show up.” As attractive as this man was, his arrogance overshadowed the appeal.
“Don’t you worry about what I have to do, miss. You’re the one that needs to pull their socks up. That being said, I will happily leave you, I need to sleep.”
“Off you go then. I’m sure you have a little woman waiting at home for you…” Oh my God! Did she just pose that as an open-ended question? The last thing she wanted to do was let this egotistical prat think she was interested in him. Yet she was staring at him, as if she was waiting for an answer. Look away, look away!
“No, as it happens, still single.” He actually chuckled smugly as he turned to walk away.
She searched for the perfect come back that would leave her having the last word. Nothing, she had nothing. Why did she feel kind of empty when he swung through the door and disappeared?
A Merry Little Christmas
By Bethany Leigh
Lucinda stepped onto the scales, half hopeful, half fearful. She’d stuck to her fruit and crispbread diet all week, hadn’t slept well most nights due to hunger; surely all that virtue would garner a reward? The scales hesitated for a few seconds before announcing her new weight. Lucinda punched the air like she was a champion gymnast or ice skater and the glowing red numbers had declared her winning score. Eight pounds lost! Huzzah! Take that, body. FINALLY you are being owned!
Lighter in spirit as well as weight, Lucinda dressed quickly for work. She could hear Broderick moving around in the neighbouring bedroom and she didn’t want to end up stuck on the tube with him. Already her skirt was less tight around the tummy. A few more weeks of crispbread and fruit and her clothes would be hanging off her. She’d buy really cool new ones, show off her new figure at Aurora’s New Year’s Eve party.
New Year, new figure, new start. New Lucinda.
Except she had to get through Christmas first.
She eyed herself sternly in the elderly dressing-table mirror, brandishing mascara. “Don’t think about Christmas. It’s still two weeks away.”
She put on make-up, cursing the freckles that covered her nose even in winter, and twisted her dark brown hair into a ponytail. She packed her bag ready for work. Banana – check. Apple – check. Crispbreads – check. Phone – check. Oyster card – check.
She tucked her wallet into her knickers drawer. No money, no credit card, no food.
She pulled on her coat, hurried downstairs and opened the front door. A blast of icy cold hit her. The front lawn and pavement glistened with frost. She turned right towards the main road that led to the Turnpike Lane tube station.
“Hey, Lucinda! Wait up!”
Damn. She hadn’t been quick enough. Reluctantly, she waited for Broderick to catch up. Several people walked past on their way to the tube, rugged up in heavy coats, scarves, beanies, gloves.
“Good morning.” Broderick’s breath plumed like steam in the frosty air. He wo
re an elegant dark grey coat, leather gloves and a stripy scarf, but his head was bare. Lucinda was struck again by how good-looking he was with his wavy auburn hair, fashionable lumbersexual beard and friendly grin. Most of the women at Clarkson’s had been smitten when he’d snared the job of acting creative manager.
The job she’d wanted.
“Hey,” she replied, disgruntled. She started walking again.
“Cold morning,” he remarked, falling into step beside her.
“You should go on Mastermind,” she answered. “Name: Broderick Jameson. Specialist subject: the bleeding obvious.”
Careful, she warned herself. He is your boss. You don’t want to get him offside and have him fire you on top of all the other crap things that have happened this year.
But Broderick didn’t appear to have taken offence. He chuckled. “I thought you Poms liked talking about the weather.”
“We like complaining about it.”
“There’s plenty to complain about, that’s for sure. I’ve only been here a few weeks and mostly it’s rained.”
“I don’t understand why you wanted to move over here to our rubbish weather when you have all that sunshine in Australia.” Taking the job that should have been mine, she added silently.
When Lisa had gone on maternity leave and Lucinda had applied for the acting manager role, she’d been confident of getting it. She’d worked for Clarkson’s for almost two years now, since she’d first moved to London. Before that, she’d spent four years working for a marketing agency in Manchester, where she’d grown up. Six years working in graphic design, including on two award-winning campaigns. Her latest award had come only six weeks before Lisa’s maternity leave. Lucinda had been flavour of the month at Clarkson’s. Lisa loved her work. There were rumours human resources wanted to appoint an internal candidate. Lucinda’s interview had gone well, she was sure the position was a given.
