by L. C White
As I elevate my head, I’m hit by the unforgiving gaze of a man pulling out the chair right across from me. His eyes are like the beam of a magnifying glass in the sun: burning hot hazel, and for some reason aimed directly on me. God, it’s happening. I’m rosy red, breathless, and losing control of my senses.
He’s dressed differently than the other guests. More casual in a grey suit, open jacket, charcoal slack tie, and slim black belt. I cough, not that I need to. I have to do something to stop myself ogling areas I shouldn’t be. I swiftly look to the doors. Where the hell is Nathan? I need help here, now.
The man introduces himself as Mr Adrien Knight, and shakes the hand of all the men around the table. My eyes are still on the door. The door is a lot less daunting. It’s the wine, it has to be. It has gone straight to my head and is making me irrational. Get a grip Liz. He’s just another well to do bigwig.
“Excuse me,” a voice extreme and silky makes my heart bound.
Be normal Liz. Just say hello, then when this is over you can go and strangle Nathan.
I exhale and turn. I grin faintly, seeing his strong clean shaven jaw, his perfect cheekbones, and wavy styled brown hair. He’s holding out his hand. His pale fingers are well moisturised, and there’s a hint of light arm hair, poking out from his brilliant white sleeve.
I reach out and gulp. I know I look ridiculous. I bet my face is pillar box red; I can feel it. Damn my insecurity. It doesn’t help that he’s staring at me so keenly.
A quick shake, you can do this Liz. He may be a striking creature with a mind-blowing odour. But beneath, he’s probably the same as them all, and that’s what counts.
I touch his sleek palm, and curl my fingers around his unusually cool hand. I release fast, before I turn all gooey.
“Hi, I’m Liz Lovell.”
He takes his seat while altering his jacket, still staring at me. I don’t think it’s normal to hold eye contact for so long. I think he’s discourteous for making me so uneasy. Maybe it’s my fault. He’s the hottest guy I think I’ve ever been this close to, and my eyes keep flicking on him and off him. Perhaps he thinks I have an eye problem.
“Short for Elizabeth?” he asks, his jaw tensing. “Elizabeth is much better, Miss Lovell.”
All the men around the table look on like they’re witnessing some mating ritual. I drink the last drop of wine in my glass, but my mouth is still so dry. I do hope he doesn’t feel the need to talk with me further. I won’t be able to reply with this cotton mouth.
I move my eyes back to the doors, while Mr Knight talks business. His view repeatedly falls on me; it sears the side of my face. If I look I will liquefy in this heat. Nathan is going to pay for this. I think I might actually punch him in the face when he’s done out there.
“All work and no play.” One of the men cackles loud, rising from his seat with the others.
“You all have courtesy chips. Enjoy, and I will join you shortly,” Mr Knight says, remaining in his seat.
They all leave the table to go and play big boy games in the casino room. So now, it’s just me and the kind of man I will never be able to be normal around. This is a shot for me. I could interview the illustrious Mr Knight. But why has he got to be so damn unapproachable? He wants to be alone with me; it’s clear in the way he’s still staring. I don’t know what to make of it. Is he just some dirty pervert? Or does he want to tell me I don’t belong at such an event?
“Your friend is outside enjoying the company of one of my employees.” He flicks his fingers at the bar and orders some posh foreign wine. “So, you’re here to gather information for an article, how’s that working out for you, Elizabeth?”
It’s not, but I’m not going to tell you that Mr Knight.
“Fine thank you.” I shyly grin.
He folds his arms across the table and arches a little. “I don’t bite,” he smiles.
“Sorry.” I huff, pulling in my gut. “It’s been a long night and I have work tomorrow.” My eyes dance around the room. “And an article to come up with for my lecturer.” I catch a breath.
He thankfully gives me a break from his observations to pour himself a glass of red wine. Then he begins to pour into a second.
“Here.” He holds out the glass.
“Sorry, I don’t like red.”
I really don’t mind the taste. It’s the feeling the next day I don’t care for. Not the atypical hangover for me. I feel dreadful off the stuff. His jawbone clamps and his brow sinks low. He seems genuinely disgruntled that I won’t take his offering, and is still holding the glass out for me.
“This you will like,” he says adamantly, not giving me the option to refuse. “It’s from my own personal collection.”
I don’t like being forced into anything. But I take the glass and sip, merely to stop him pressurising me. It’s smooth and refreshing, unlike the cheap bottles of plonk I’m used to. I hum out, surprised by the taste, and he seems pleased by my reaction.
“So, Miss Lovell,” he says, relaxing back in the chair so his jacket parts, enticing my view to his chest.
“I prefer Liz, Mr Knight.” I blush, glancing down at my hands.
I’m cut from a different cloth to him. Though, I do like the way my name rolls in his sleek deep American tone.
“Elizabeth,” he says, ignoring my request. “Tell me.” He draws in his red lips and it’s a sight that makes my butt shuffle. “What do you know of what we do?”
Shit. I know nothing other than he buys and sells properties. What the hell do I say? I stare blankly for a moment. He can see me thinking hard. Lines on his forehead appear, and his lids expand due to my lapse in dialogue.
He must be only a few years older than myself. I’d say twenty-seven, maybe eight. He’s obviously rich and knows what he wants. And he seems to be able to wrap the more mature businessman around his little finger. Now how do I come up with an answer from my observations, without being rude?
He knows I’m dying here. He rubs his temple briefly, bored by my silence.
“So,” he smiles. “Where is it you work?”
This is a much more agreeable question. One I think I can actually answer; that is if I don’t look directly into his eyes.
“I basically make coffee at a small coffee shop called Aroma… the best coffee in the city.” Oh shit, that sounded like a cheesy advertisement. “It’s just to help me get through uni… rent and food, you know.” How could he possibly know? Liz, you should be quiet now.
Nathan arrives back with a spring in his step. I scowl from his waist right up to his fulfilled eyes. He glances at Mr Knight then back to me. He can tell from my face he’s in for it. I’m giving him my best pissed-off expression. He reaches across the table. I notice his shirt half hanging out, and his belt buckle not fastened correctly. I scream at him inside my head, you dirty shit, couldn’t wait could you.
He shakes Mr Knight’s hand, and receives a curious glare of disapproval, because it’s so obvious what he’s been up to.
“Nice to meet you…?” Mr Knight Queries.
“Nathan.”
“Well Nathan, you should never leave a lady such as Miss Lovell to entertain herself.” Mr Knight releases Nathan’s hand. “There are many who would take advantage of such a situation.”
Nathan subtly rolls his eyes. He thinks I can take care of myself. I thought the same, until I met Mr Knight, and have now become a sweltering bag of nerves.
“Miss Lovell.” Mr Knight stands and glides around the table. The closer he gets, the faster my heart booms. “Until next time.”
He takes my hand unexpectedly. His touch causes an icy blast to surge through my veins. He stoops and his blood red lips brush against my knuckles, while he gazes intensely from beneath his brow. I gulp and gulp to rid the lump in my neck as he releases and walks away. I inhaled audibly, watching his perfect backside move across the room. Jeez, I need a damn hose down.
“What the fuck was all that about?” Nathan squeals.
I thru
st out my chair, stand, and push Nathan in the chest for leaving me to deal with that sizzling encounter alone.
Chapter 2: Aroma
Where’s the paracetamol? It’s very rare I need some, and when I do they’ve all gone. I search the cupboard above the microwave. It’s 5am, and if I don’t get at least an hours sleep, I’m going to have a major migraine all day.
I rise up on my bare tiptoes, accidently knocking a glass from the bottom shelf. It smashes against the counter, and tiny fragments fall like rain across the floor.
“Shit!” I stay perfectly still, looking at the sea of glass I have to manoeuvre through, to get to the dustpan and brush.
I hear the latch on the front door click, along with talking. It’s not just Cate, she’s brought someone back with her. And here I am, standing with scarecrow hair in my shorts and vest, surrounded by a sheet of broken glass I can’t move from. I should have known. To avoid encounters like this, not to leave my room after 3am.
“Lizzy.” Cate staggers with her arms outstretched, then freezes noticing the mess I’ve made.
I see a head pop around the doorframe and glare fiercely. “Pete,” I groan.
Unfortunately, I do know him. He’s been here before. I think if Cate has no luck on the man front, he’s her fall back plan. He waves, so I crinkle my face some more until he slopes away.
Cate dodges the glass; not very well being tanked up on cocktails, wearing her five inch wedges. She fares better than I thought, grabs the handle of the dustpan, and hands it over to me.
I mumble and bend to sweep. She knows I don’t like it when she brings him back here. He’s a bit weird, almost obsessed with her. I’ve seen him going through her stuff, and sniffing it in the bathroom. I did tell her, but she thinks it’s kind of sweet.
“Sorry.” She folds over her bottom lip. “He’s proposed.”
“What!” I stand on a sliver of glass. “For fuck sake,” I hiss and hop.
“I said no.” She smiles, wobbling against the black tiled surface. “But if I’m still a spinster in ten years, he can try again.”
I breathe with relief. It would have been a catastrophic day if I had to explain to her when she sobers up, that she is getting married to the British version of Norman Bates.
I make myself a safe space to stand in and clear up the remaining glass.
“What you doing anyway… you after some painkillers, because I took the last two this morning,” Cate admits.
I pull a carrier bag out from the drawer and tip in the glass, not really wanting this half-drunken conversation. I tie the top and drop it into the pedal bin.
“There’s something wrong with you.” She stops me from leaving. “Have you and Nathan…”
“God no,” I stop her, and continue on my escape route.
She grabs my arm. “You’re not usually awake at this time, and the only time you need painkillers is when you’re stressed… what’s happened tonight?”
How does she expect me to act? Happy because I’m so ridiculously tired. I’m certainly not going to tell her that some exceedingly handsome highflier kissed my hand, and I can’t sleep because I’m on edge thinking about it. How he made me feel I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. How he made me so self-conscious, but I found his attention strangely addicting. He’s a multimillionaire, and I was just his amusement for a time, that’s all.
“You met someone didn’t you?” she chirps. “Details… or I’ll just go and ask Nathan.”
God, she gets on my nerves when she’s like this. And she’ll do it. If I don’t give her some sort of bait, she’ll be through that door, and on the phone to Nathan within seconds.
“Nothing happened… just sat there and ate, while Nathan flirted with Sara the receptionist.”
I heat up thinking of Mr Knight, and now Cate has her Ms Marple face displayed. She’ll not stop cross-examining me until she coaxes it from my mouth.
“So… did you get what you needed for your article?” she asks. “Because those bright cheeks tell me you didn’t.”
“Adrien Knight,” I cringe, saying his name. “He was the only one who spoke to me, and he gave me nothing.” I’m burning up, praying she’ll let me go back to bed.
“Shit, you talked to Adrien Knight!”
I purse my lips to the side, wondering why it’s such a big deal. So he’s rich, deliciously good looking, and likes to make girls like me wriggle in my seat. It’s done with now. Our paths will thankfully never have to cross again.
“Yes… and?”
She laughs. “He doesn’t speak to no one Liz… unless it’s business.”
Well, I was sat across from him at the event he did organise, so he didn’t really have a choice, I tell myself.
“Cate you’re being silly.” My pupils do a loop-de-loop.
“No seriously. Pete’s Sister had to go to his apartment to cut his hair because he wouldn’t come to the salon, and she came back traumatised. Mind, she did get a great tip, three hundred smackers,” she says in a gossiping tone. “He made her cut his hair by candlelight during the day… she couldn’t see what she was doing. And as for conversation, he simply told her to shut her mouth.” Her eyes widen.
I grimace. I really don’t want more questions about him floating around inside my head. I’ve been fighting to get rid of the ones I’ve already got. Why did he kiss my hand that way? No one does that anymore. Why did he single me out? And how has he made me so irrational?
“But you’ve got a little thing for him haven’t you?” Cate swoons. “Many have Liz… get him out.” She taps my temple. “He’s a player chick, and he has women coming out of every orifice. You didn’t give him a thing did you?” she concerns herself.
“No… I’m not interested,” I lie. “I’m glad I don’t have to see him again.”
She pats my hair. “That’s my girl.” She uses the doorframe to guide her unstable body back to Pete.
***
I wake and half-open my eyes. It’s mid-afternoon and I’m on the late shift at Aroma. I have to get ready. My head is banging and I can’t focus. I have no choice. My fingers stretch out to pick up my black thick rimmed reading glasses from my bedside table. I slip them over my nose and squint. It’s a little better, not by much.
I tap on the bathroom door. I’m now running late. I wait impatiently for approximately three minutes, growing angry. I skim my fingers through my nest hair, knock again, and cross my legs.
“Cate,” I yell. “Hurry it up will you… I’m gonna pee on the floor any second!”
The door flies open, and out comes Pete. He’s topless, with a towel wrapped around his waist. Jeez, I’m trying not to look at his skinny pigeon chest, but it’s right there in my face. I shut my lids slow. I shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of the likes of him, but my cheeks inflame. To have Pete fantasising over me peeing my pants, is absolutely deplorable. I shudder at the thought, barge by him, and slam the door.
I turn the knob on the shower to number four. Not freezing, but cool enough to wake me. I wash quick, lathering my dry hair with conditioner, then rinse. I wrap my thumping head in a towel, and check out my image in the foggy cabinet mirror. I wipe the steam and wish I hadn’t. I have bags, whopping huge ones that reach the top of my cheeks. Only one thing for it, aloe vera. I smear a small blob under each eye, and I will not look at my reflection for the next fifteen minutes. By then, the cream will have worked a miracle, I convince myself.
I dress into my light grey and dusky pink uniform. A pull over dress with attached apron. Not the most flattering garment I own, but suitable for serving coffee in. And it has my name sewn in, just in-case I ever forget it.
I pull back my hair into messy bun with the usual stray strands, and take the leap, looking in the mirror. No wonders have taken place, they’re still there, the mammoth dark circles. I slip my glasses back on, appreciative of the thick rim for once.
Tonight I work eight till midnight. It’s a coffee shop, who drinks coffee so late? Well it’s surprisin
g. I serve shift workers, insomniacs, and those who need to sober up sharpish. I do prefer it to the morning shift. People tend to be in a rush, rude, and unthankful first thing.
I zip my faux leather jacket to the top tooth, and wiggle my fingers into my gloves as I descend the building steps. It’s got to be at least minus one tonight, the vapour I’m exhaling tells me that. I dodge the night owls, and those dressed up for a night on the tiles with my eyes aimed at the pavement.
As I move by the avenue of twinkling trees, decorated in blue Christmas lights, I pop my earphones into my ears. Music might just improve this tiresome walk, and block out this painful headache.
***
A pleasant warmth hits me as the bell rings above my head. There’s a total of three customers. A loved up couple kissing over their steaming mugs. And a builder with a white hardhat on, who looks to be engrossed in a tacky tabloid.
I remove my gloves, and open the hatch. “You can get off now, Racheal,” I say, slipping my arms out from my jacket.
Racheal finishes sweeping up muffin crumbs, and tosses the dishcloth in the sink. She hates the job, especially the shift she’s just done, two until eight. She’s worked here for six months now, and is not really a people’s person. Though, when Harry the boss is around, she’s all smiles, thank you, and have a nice day.
Like a shot, she grabs her things from the coat hook, and she’s through the door without even a goodbye. I drop the tangled wire connected to my phone in my bag, and take up my position.
I’ve worked here for two years now and have my set routine. I wash out the spillage trays. Then I climb up my three step ladder to replace all the filters, so they don’t need doing again until Harry opens up in the morning. After I’ve conditioned the stainless steel goliath. I rearrange the pyramid of muffins, toss away the stale, and any teetering on verge, I can eat. Though, it’s only when I’m famished I will.
The bell rings as the builder opens the door on his way out for my first customers of the night. It’s Carl and Vicky. Primary school teachers who hate their job so much, they go to Finley’s (an Irish bar across the road) every day after work. They always order the same, Cappacoco to go, while wittering on about how much they despise kids.
