Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  Bronwyn had to get over that little insecurity about asking for money. Every time she’d talked money with her clients they’d paid it. Based on that alone, her fears were at best phobias. What she needed were a few whale clients who paid well but needed little. Having them would help her get over this hump and see some light at the end of this treacherous tunnel that never seemed to end. Never an ingrate, she said a prayer of gratitude and thanks for the cool guys she did have as clients. Some folks wished they had the clients she did.

  Enough of focusing on what she didn’t have, Bronwyn took back the runaway train her thoughts were on and focused. Flinging thoughts that didn’t serve her or her bright future as far away as possible, a smile blossomed.

  Another gift Bronwyn had was that she was a “girlfriend whisperer” as one of her guys put it. Yep, she was the perfect wing woman, always looking out for them when their girlfriends wanted to get a little too close to what they had going on. Scott was a master at this, and she’d learned a lot about how guys really were, working for him for the last six plus months.

  Kicking herself for spending so much time thinking about the dream that was Scott couldn’t be good for her self-esteem, but she couldn’t stop herself. The guy was hot. Getting him as a client had been a huge boost to her ego. Even if he did flirt in that way of his to get what he wanted, Bronwyn was putty in his hands. He got so much more out of her than she offered that it bordered on embarrassing.

  Her saving grace was that he paid, not as well as he looked, but she’d get his fees increased after that talk she had to have with him. It was hard not to realize that he talked to everyone who did services for him the same way. That was his way of making sure he got great service. It worked because here she was at night making sure his place was in order before his insanely jealous girlfriend made it into town for her weekend here.

  Late in the evening and still seated in her work van idling and thinking, Bronwyn finally pulled away from the mansion belonging to Scott—the crush of her dreams. She’d make it back to her sublet condo and figure out how to fix the van in the morning.

  Located only five miles or so north of where most of her clientele was concentrated in Buckhead and the up and coming Sandy Springs area, Bronwyn had to give another sigh of relief that she’d hit the jackpot in getting the place. The opportunity had come into play like a blessing from the heavens. After losing her job at the airport along with her roommate, Bronwyn was on the verge of being homeless. A friend of a friend told her about a couple who’d gotten the chance of a lifetime to work abroad for a few years and needed someone to supplement the cost of their condo. On a whim, not thinking it would pan out due to her lack of finances, Bronwyn met with them. After a quick meeting and realizing how desperate they were to get a trustworthy soul in their home who wouldn’t tear up the place, she found herself renting their posh condo for the next two years. The rent was well below market—thanks to their excellent mortgage rate.

  Everything fell into place with her finding her work van on a community listing, getting a place to stay for a couple of years and a bit of ingenuity to start a business that was meager cost. Word of mouth was the magical boost that had gotten her on her feet. The great thing about it was that she still didn’t advertise, relying on client referrals to take on new clients. Making it back onto the Interstate heading north, her ire rose as thumping and rattling of her broken back doors drown out any hope for a quiet ride home.

  “Damn Hero.” The way she stressed the word, hero, had enough venom to burn acid. “Nobody asked him to help break my doors.”

  Concluding it was best not to dwell on what she couldn’t fix or deal with at the moment, Bronwyn finished the drive home, prepared to conquer her new obstacle in the morning. Forgoing dinner in lieu of a shower and bed, Bronwyn settled in, ready to drift off to sleep when the face of her phone lit up. The bedside clock cosigned her bewilderment. It was a little after eleven at night. The only calls happening this time of night were bootie calls.

  “Can’t never.”

  She eyed the phone, curious to see a call coming in from an international unknown number. Her mumbled words filled the immediate space taunting her to take a look. Out of entrepreneurial curiosity and hustle to never pass up an opportunity, she grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Ah yes, Bronwyn, sorry for the late call, but we needed to reach you as soon as possible.”

  It took a few seconds for Bronwyn to place the voice on the other end. It was her landlord, the female one whose name she could never remember.

  “Oh, hey there,” she offered, trying to sound cheery and hide the fact that she couldn’t remember the woman’s name. “What’s up?”

  There was a pause. Her gut lurched with dread. Something was up, and it wasn’t going to be in her favor.

  “Right, I guess I’ll get to it then. Jonah and I are coming back home in a fortnight.” Another pause. “Bronwyn, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m listening.” What the hell was a fortnight?

  “As I said, we’re coming home in a few weeks and wanted to let you know that we’ll be moving back to the condo.”

  “Wait, what? It’s not been a full year. You said I had a two-year lease on the condo.”

  “Yeah, about that, well, it’s against the condo association’s rules to sub-lease. And, we never signed a sub-lease agreement with you, so you’ll have to find another place. But, hey, at least we’re letting you know two weeks in advance!”

  It took a few seconds for the woman’s words and tone to sink in. What the hell? This basic bitch was trying to handle her by reneging on their agreement.

  “But, I can’t move in two weeks. I’ve got other things going on right now that I need to take care of.”

  “Bronwyn, I feel for you. We both do—really, but we have a home and need to come back to it. If there were any other way to do this, we’d do it.”

  “Oh really, I bet.”

  “Sorry, but the situation here hasn’t worked out as we thought,” another pause. “Look, that’s our home, not yours. We’re giving you two weeks to find other arrangements. That’s more than generous, seeing as we don’t owe you advanced notice.”

  “By what lease agreement are you referring to? The one that you reminded me doesn’t exist?”

  Bronwyn’s stomach soured. She didn’t want to go there with these folks, but they’d done this on purpose, hoping to catch her at night when she was sleepy.

  Son of a bitch!

  She’d had enough. This was the last straw, first her van and now this. If she could, Bronwyn would have reached through the phone and strangled the woman. Bronwyn heard the husband, Jonah, whispering something in the background. Shock with how they’d sprung this doozy on her started to ebb. The woman must have put her hand on the phone receiver as his voice became too muffled. Even with an intense effort to strain to hear, Bronwyn couldn’t understand what he said. Volatile mixes of anger, fear, and confusion of what she’d do about her living situation smeared themselves over her mind. The result rendered her thoughts a tangled mass of conflicting synapses haphazardly firing substantial enough to trigger a massive migraine.

  Determined to get off the phone so she could start planning her next move, Bronwyn spoke up. “I just paid for the next month’s rent. I’ll need the prorated amount back before I vacate. Once I receive the prorated credit back, I’ll be out within the day.” Her mind seemed to come back online as she continued. “I’ll also need you to put it in writing—the amount that is owed back to me. Oh, and that I was a great tenant, paying on time as well.”

  “You want us to put it in writing?” The voice was tentative. “Why would you need that?”

  “Because of this conversation right here. We had an agreement. Now you’re changing it. I want to make sure I receive my money back and get a rental recommendation to help me find my next place to live.”

  “I see.” The terse iciness of the woman’s voice did nothing to make Bronw
yn back down. This call at this time of night was done to make sure they had the upper hand. One thing she couldn’t stand was manipulative people, and this woman was trying to handle her.

  Fueled by shrewdness to look out for herself, she added, “Yes, I’ll need both the rental recommendation letter stating why I find myself looking for a new place to stay. It needs to include my stellar payment history, the state of your condo—I can provide a current video of the place—and the agreement to give me my prorated amount back. You give me those things, and I move out—no harm no foul with your apartment in pristine condition. As a show of good-faith, I’ll even sign off on not coming after you for breach of contract.”

  Intake of breath on the other end was confirmation that Bronwyn had learned a thing or two about negotiation.

  “Breach of contract? We don’t have a contract.”

  “Yes, we do, and I can prove it to any court. I have almost a year’s worth of utility bills in my name with this address on them.” Bronwyn’s mind was whizzing with all the information she’d picked up helping one of her clients get some deadbeat tenants out of his rental property. “Those bills prove I lived here and had the requisite right to do so.”

  Silence snuffed out the breathing on the other end, but she’d be damned if she asked if the woman was still there. Anger had set in on how they’d tried it. Sure, she needed a place to stay, but if they were going to try this, she’d get out and find some place else. She’d found this, and she’d find another place to live.

  If nothing else, the last year had taught her to trust her life with faith. It was that same faith that would help her get the hell out of here without a second glance—but they’d give her the money back for the remainder of the month on the way out.

  “Fine!” The huff and attitude from that word were enough for Bronwyn to pull the phone back and look at it in disgust. This heifer had brought this on herself with that punk-ass move; now she wanted to get in a huff? Please. “We’ll wire the money back to your account and send over the paperwork you require.”

  Feeling herself and thinking she had the upper hand now, Bronwyn amended, “You’ll send the money back, along with the paperwork with the same speed and efficiency as I do. You’ll PayPal me the money via Friends and Family, and you’ll send the paperwork back digitally signed and witnessed to my email.”

  “Back, what do you mean?”

  “I mean that I’m going to draft the paperwork and recommendation, send it to you, and you’ll sign and send back.” Pulling the phone back again to look at the date, she added, “You’ll have five days from receipt to sign and send back. Oh, and that goes for my prorated unused amount as well.” Feeling the surge of being in the power position, Bronwyn wouldn’t stop the roll she was on. “You can keep your fortnight too. I’ll start packing and be out of here within seven to ten days.”

  “Well,” another pause, “Thank you for being so understanding about this.” Relief flooded Bronwyn’s ear.

  “Don’t thank me. I don’t appreciate the way you handled this. I don’t want to be anywhere that so precarious for my well-being. I’m not going to go on about it, but know that from this point on, you’ll deal with me in the manner I decide.”

  “Or else?” Incredulity was thick in that question.

  “I go to your precious condo association and let them know that I’ve been subleasing from you for almost a year.”

  That let them know that she wasn’t playing around. Bronwyn had to retake a step. This was harsh, even for them. She hadn’t meant to strong-arm them, but this was the last straw for today, and they were the poor schmucks who’d been in the line of fire.

  Refusing to back down or change her mind about any of it, Bronwyn put the matter to bed, like she was going to be doing soon.

  “I’ll send over the paperwork within forty-eight hours. You have five days from then to sign and send back my proration and deposit. Yeah, I didn’t forget about that either. You’ll send back my deposit too. It’s late here, and I have an early morning. Goodnight.”

  Sputtering was the only thing that proceeded a feeble, “Goodnight,” as Bronwyn disconnected the call.

  The nerve of them!

  Determined to get sleep and deal with their wretchedness in the morning, she sunk in the bed that she was acutely aware was theirs and not hers to try to sleep. A few tosses and turns and she lay there staring up and into the darkness. After that call, this wasn’t a comfortable place to be anymore.

  Drifting off in the first stages of sleep, she thought she dreamed of the phone ringing again, until it refused to stop. Oh, they wanted to come back at her then? Bring it on bitches. Bronwyn wouldn’t back down.

  Grabbing the phone without looking at the number and answering, she barked, “What?”

  Chapter Four

  BRONWYN

  “Hello, Ms. Bronwyn Scott?”

  In the dark, excessive blinking did nothing to help her discern the liquid-smooth Baritone voice. It floated through the phone, enticing her to sit up and pay attention. Her landlord, Jonah, never sounded this interesting. Come to think of it, her man-crush, Scott, couldn’t even hold a candle to this voice. It was hypnotic and on the fringe of dangerous with how she might react to its decadence. Sitting up in hopes of figuring out who the voice belonged to, she acknowledged his question.

  “Yes, this is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

  Good, at least she’d remembered to use her business tone to portray the professionalism she prided herself on, even if it was almost midnight.

  Midnight—this man was calling her at midnight. Who did that?

  Curiosity snatched her to full wakefulness. She waited with bated breath for the voice to answer. The anticipation of what he’d say next was like a dark seduction.

  “My apologies for calling at this hour but I find myself in need of meeting with you.”

  “At midnight?”

  Deep, decadent laughter filled her ear.

  “Ah yes, I forget that most of the world doesn’t work around the clock. Again, my apologies. I wanted to make certain I contacted you as soon as I had a free moment. As I said, I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible. Are you able to come to my home say at,” the voice of confident seduction paused, “at nine or ten this morning?”

  She had to give it to him; he had nerve.

  “Let me get this straight, you call me at midnight, without giving your name or who you are to ask me to come to your house at nine? Sir, you have yet to introduce yourself or give a good reason for why you think it’s all right for you to call me at any time of night.”

  One thing Bronwyn had learned with these guys was to establish and keep boundaries quickly. This one’s voice might be sex on audio, but he had to be trained quickly. That is if she decided to work with him.

  “Yes.” The answer was given without a hint of acknowledgment of how weird this encounter was. “I thought I explained why I called at this particular time. I’m in need of meeting with you and didn’t want to wait to miss the opportunity to meet you first thing, during regular working hours, of course.”

  “Um-hmm, still not a solid reason for a midnight call. It’s not like you’re bleeding, and if you were, I’m the wrong person to call.” Now she was slipping into her not so professional tone. Deciding to backtrack and regroup, she took a pause. This man was trying her, but she wouldn’t go off twice in one night. Putting a smile in her voice, she said, “Look, sir, I’ve had a trying day. It’s late, and I already have appointments scheduled for that time.”

  “I see. When would you be able to meet with me then?” His tone wreaked of disbelief, only serving to fuel Bronwyn’s intent to make the smug stranger wait.

  “I could meet with you day after tomorrow at... hold for a second. Let me check my schedule.” Bronwyn did what she said, checking the schedule to see that she was booked tight with a client’s poker night preparations. Deciding to toss out the absurd time she was available, she said, “Scratch that. I can’t me
et with you until Friday at one in the afternoon.”

  “But, today is only Tuesday.”

  “I know.”

  “And I have an emergency that requires your expertise.”

  “I’ve not agreed to meet with you let alone work with you yet—sir. Come to think of it, you still haven’t given me a name, who you are, how you came to have my number—I work on referral only—or why I need to drop everything for you?”

  “Haha—I do like your spunk. As you wish. My name is MacMillan Kelnar, and I received your information from Daniel Thiegs.”

  Confusion blotted out her usual grilling. Who was Daniel Thiegs?

  “Excuse me, but I don’t know a Daniel Thiegs. I only take meetings from referrals of clients.”

  “That is understandable, but he said you would be perfect for my needs.”

  “And again, I don’t know the guy.”

  “He may have told you to call him Danny. You met him in the parking lot of the home improvement center.”

  Then it made since. “Oh, the dude with the tiny house in his friend’s backyard. Yeah, him. Funny, he finished breaking my van’s back doors.”

  “Oh, that’s unfortunate. If you meet with me at ten—see how accommodating I am—I’ll make certain to have your van repaired or better.”

  “Bribes at midnight might not translate into daytime reality. I learned that a long time ago.”

  Another deep, throaty laugh on the other end had her interest in meeting the guy mounting.

  “I give my word that my offers come with no remorse or renege. You meet with me at ten, and I’ll take care of your van—promise.”

  What could she say to that? It was like the universe had presented a solution to solve one of her major problems. Looking for the crooked angles to this deal, she mused before jumping on it.

  “Are you still there?” The voice captured her thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m taking my time to think of the various ways you could screw me before accepting.”