Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2011 London Saint James
ISBN: 978-1-926950-74-7
Cover Artist: LF Designs
Editor: Dana Horbach
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my number one fan. You know who you are. Thank you for always believing in me. For all of your encouragement. For listening to my stories. For smiling, really smiling when I walk into a room. Thank you for your love, support, and for being the person who rocked my world and gave me something to believe in. Thank you for being my own personal miracle.
Love,
London
ENCHANTED
The Heart of Winter, 1
London Saint James
Copyright © 2011
Chapter One
ONCE
I was late.
And jogging down the labyrinth-like corridors of the university. In a panic I lifted my arm as I ran, watching the hands on my watch tick faster. Jeez, I only had five minutes to make it all the way across campus, but knew with no doubt my final destination was farther than I could run. I would not make it to work by six.
Immediately I thought about Crystal, so I pushed my feet to move faster. She would be more than perturbed with me, and might actually think about killing me. Tonight was Crystal and Brad’s two year anniversary. I had promised to relieve her, promised to be on time, and now knowing I was going to break my promise, the realization did bother me.
Taking the stairs two at a time in a downward jog, I heard, “Hey, slow down.”
I tripped unceremoniously down the last two stairs, but kept on going. I could not slow down because I imagined the look upon Crystal’s face right about now. She would be standing, staring at the large brass clock which hung over the entrance of the restaurant. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows pulled down and pushed close together while the light blue vein upon her forehead made its appearance.
I weaved my way through the tables in the commons area, hurdled over a chair then ducked the flaming orange Frisbee which flew toward me. Finally, at ten after six, I made it to my dorm room, threw down my bookbag and grabbed my black pants from the foot of the bed. I toed off my Nikes where I stood. I peeled off my jeans and left them in a lumpy pile on the floor then jumped into my black work slacks. As I shimmied them up my legs then over my hips, I managed to rummage through my closet with my hand. Heaving cloths out of my way, and with a smirk of victory, I found the white long sleeve oxford shirt I needed. I pulled my sweater and my T-shirt off, flung them behind me and put on the fresh white dress shirt. I found my work shoes in the corner, slipped them on, jerked my hair back into a long ponytail, grabbed my coat and car keys and bounded out my door.
The weather turned quickly, snow falling, making my drive slower than usual. I knew with no doubt Crystal was going insane. But even more pressing at the moment came the realization my car needed gas, and my defroster did not work. Great, the red indicator light came on as the dinging started reverberating through my rust-bucket Datsun. I had a visual display accompanied by a taunt that I was operating on fumes instead of gas.
“I am so sorry, Crystal,” I said with chagrin. I entered the restaurant to find her waiting. She was standing there with the exact look upon her face which matched perfectly to her expression of my imagination.
“Where have you been?”
“My class ran late, and I needed to change my cloths. The weather is getting worse, my defroster doesn’t work, I was running low on gas but.” I had to take a breath.
I heard an imperious female voice say, “Excuse me,” only to realize I blocked the entrance. Stepping forward from the entrance doors, I unzipped my coat and pulled my ponytail free from the restraint of my hood. Crystal stood unyielding, hands on hips, not quite glowering at me.
“I really am sorry, Crystal. Tell Brad I’m sorry, I did not mean to ruin your night.”
Her face smoothed out some, the red in her cheeks faded, but I could still see the light blue vein prominent on her forehead.
“Well, I should have known. You are late for everything. Why should tonight be any different?”
I noticed Crystal’s voice quieted just a bit. I knew she was mad, but it seemed like she was going to try to forgive me.
“I really am sor—” I was interrupted by the booming voice of the night manager.
“Glad you could make it!” He snapped, his voice overflowing with his usual sarcastic manner.
There was just something about Dane’s voice which grinded on one’s nerves. It was like the screeching of fingernails across a chalkboard. When he would speak to me I wanted to cringe away, place my hands over my ears and scream. Of course, some of my misery came from the fact Dane had pursued me with great vigor over the past year in hope he would wear me down, and I would go out with him. I gave him excuses, not wishing to hurt his feelings, but I finally had to give him a firm and final no. When I refused, Dane became angry, hostile, and even now, months after my final answer, he treated me with little deference, glowering scowls, along with my personal favorite, brooding sarcasms.
I turned around to see him standing behind me. His arms were crossed, and he was just glaring at me with his beady coffee brown eyes. “Sorry, Dane,” I interjected then headed over to the time clock.
Dane let out this breathy sigh, throat clearing irritating noise. “Ch…ah, sure, how many times have I heard.” He mimicked me. “Sorry, Dane.” He rolled his eyes. “Since you’re late you can close tonight.”
I punched in for the night. The metal clanking ka-ching of the time clock rang out within the little space. It was important to remind myself that sound meant I was now making money. I grabbed my black apron and order pad in an attempt to ignore Dane, but he was going to make his presence known. All I wanted was to get out onto the floor, get away from him, but as usual, he was certain to give me a lecture on being a productive employee which included putting my obligations at work to the forefront of my attention tonight. I’m not real sure of what exactly he said since I blocked him out, pretending to listen, but mentally I was making a laundry list of To Do’s for my weekend. Tomorrow would be Friday so I actually had a load of laundry to do.
Hearing, “Bla, bla, bla…I told you to…bla, bla, bla, and this type of….”
I’m sure I had a glassed over expression so I finally focused my attention and looked at Dane. He always looks like a bad version of the TV character Sonny Crockett, with his designer facial stubble, I decided. Oh, and of course his white Tshirts worn under his light gray sport-coat pant combinations. And to no surprise, he was wearing just that tonight. I wanted to chuckle. All Dane needed to complete his Miami Vice ensemble was the black Ray-Ban sunglasses and the slip-on sockless loafers, then he could really give the actor, Don Johnson, a run for his money.
I watched as Dane rolled his eyes at me. “And by the way, we have been busy tonight.” This was Dane’s way of making sure I understood the necessity to bust my tail. He rubbed at the side of his jaw, evidently irritated. “Remember to smile and not look so serious when you are talking with your customers.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but I fought back the urge.
“I can handle it,” I assured. I tied my apron around my waist, tucked my order pad into the front pocke
t of the black garment, and exited out of the waitress station. To my relief, I escaped Dane’s tirade.
My night was more than horrific. My first table consisted of twelve well-dressed businessmen. By the looks of them, they were either lawyers or investment bankers. I imagined they drove expensive cars, perhaps shiny Bimmers, living the good life in the suburbs with fancy wives as arm candy, a golden retriever, and two-point-five children.
“So Tad, what did you tell Eve about this weekend?” one of the men, with so much product in his hair it looked like an oil slick, inquired.
“That we are working on the Yamamoto merger, what else?” The dark-haired man, who I assumed was Tad, replied with a smug grin.
Poor Eve.
I could see all those bored wives, in the need to feel appreciated, as they spent their husband’s money freely. Their time filled with needless shopping dates or strategically planned retreats. They would sip tea by the pool in order to eye the well-built pool boy, and attend woeful my husband never touches me lunch gatherings. Likely all of this was an attempt to forget how much time their husbands spend at numerous weekend and late night business meetings.
I studied the rambunctious group of men for a moment, listening to their various tales of sexual conquests. I wonder if the wives know? When they hear, “Sorry honey, I won’t be home for dinner. I have an important deadline so it will be another late night at the office,” do they know? Do they know this is actually the secret code for all the time their husband’s really spend in their lush city apartments with their mistresses?
As the beer flowed, so did the quick comments and unappealing glances usually directed at my breasts. Soon the remarks and glares turned into touching. When I would clear the bottles and plates from their table a hand would brush up against mine. At one point, a slender blond man grabbed at my elbow asking me to stay.
“Come on, sugar,” he pled, his voice harsh and whiny.
This infuriated me; it was hard not to go ballistic. I was sure my face was flaming red, but I tried to maintain my composure.
“Do not touch me,” I said. I calmly removed my arm from his sticky-handed grasp.
He became sort of surly, leaning back and saying something like, “Touchy.” It was hard to fully hear, but his buddies jeered. I had a vision of punching the slender man in his smug face.
Perhaps I would get in a good shot and break his nose. Let him explain that one to the wife when he gets home. The errant thought made me smile what had to be an impish grin.
The night was as I feared, never-ending. I wondered if this table would ever clear out. If I heard one more “sweetheart” or “sugar” I really might snap. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. I was relieved when the curly dark-haired man, wearing a navy blue pinstriped suit with a red power tie, laid down his platinum card on the bill.
My relief quickly changed back to irritation. He also slipped a hundred dollar tip with his business card whispering, “Someone with such a sweet ass is worth more than minimum wage.” Then, he winked. “Call me, sweet thing.”
I turned to see the other eleven men. They snickered and hooted. This was a further extension of my already bad night. I smiled not quite politely, trying hard to ignore his comment, took the platinum card and the money, left the business card then went to tend to their exorbitant bill. His name, the name on the platinum card, was Carlton James Worthington III. Of course. He isn’t the first ass of his family he is the third.
I had found whether I lived in a small town or here in the big city, wealthy men were all the same. They were smug with that “I own the world and everything in it attitude.” When I stepped out from the register, I heard discussion amongst the men as to who would win the bet. It would seem I had become a wager of sorts. Carlton had bet the slender blond-haired man he would be able to sleep with me tonight, although sleeping would be the incorrect connotation. Carlton’s exact words seemed to pierce through me with a bristling shutter.
“I’ll have her riding me hard by midnight, boys,” he said, pawing at his belt. The bet had been set at three hundred bucks.
A short balding man laughed and he said, “She looks pretty young, Carlton, eighteen or nineteen maybe? Perhaps you should give this a rest.”
Carlton appeared more than confident in his ability. By his smarmy expression alone it was clear he tasted an easy victory. He ran his hand down his tie speaking rather smugly. “You know how I like them young. Anyway, this is going to be easy, too easy. It is almost not worth the game. It will be like taking candy from a baby.” He sneered.
The slender blond man interjected, “If you pull this off, Carlton, you are my new hero.”
“Yep, we all want to hear how sweet that little thing was.” This comment came from the ruddy faced man next to Carlton.
Carlton licked his lips. “I bet as juicy as a peach and petal soft.”
“Um….” The red face man growled, throwing in his two cents yet again. “And I bet those little perky tits have cherry tipped ends just ripe for the plucking.”
More snickers could be heard in low swirling rounds from the other men at the table while I was being picked apart a body part at a time, further being reduced to the likes of juicy, sweet, and something to eat.
Upon my return back to the table I handed back the platinum card, along with the receipt and the hundred dollar bill. Carlton looked perplexed as he picked up his credit card. He never moved the business card from where he originally left it. He was still expectant I would take it, call him maybe? Carlton signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of his credit card receipt then looked at me, bewildered.
“The hundred is for you, sweetheart,” Carlton said then he winked. The other men laughed.
I looked at this man, knowing he expected me to smile and swoon but I just could not…. “Oh, I know, Carlton. The hundred isn’t enough,” I stated.
He laughed out loud, a buzzing band saw of a laugh, leaning back proudly in the chair while loosening the tie around his neck. I wanted to reach out and strangle him with it.
“I’m impressed you paid attention, but now it would seem I am the one at the disadvantage here, since you know my name.” He tried to dazzle me with a mock frown. “Sadly I do not know your name, sweet thing.”
If my name had been tattooed on my ass, trust me, Carlton would have known it.
“Does it really matter what my name is?” Knowing my name was the least of what he was interested in at the moment.
Carlton shrugged his shoulders. “So how much?”
“Well, I think you should really reconsider your offer.”
Carlton pulled out his wallet as if he was an Old West gunslinger, and his wallet was his weapon. He ran his index finger through the wad of bills tucked inside the pocket, pulled out another hundred, and laid it down on the table, upping the ante, hedging his bet.
“Will this cover it?” he asked, confidently.
My irritation had won over all the other emotions of disgust. Something inside snapped. I was going to do something I may have dreamed of doing, putting someone in their place, but this time I was going to actually do it.
“Now, Carlton, what kind of girl do you think I am? We are not even close to being on the same page here.” I gave him my best girlish smile, playing with him just a little bit.
The men at the table started to egg Carlton on. Rounds of cheers began when Carlton laid down three hundred, then four hundred, then five. I shook my head in disbelief. This man was really quite obnoxious, and he truly believed he could buy me.
“Really, Carlton, I am disappointed,” I replied, shaking my head. “Five hundred dollars for a phone call?”
“I think we both know what is really going on here. Let’s not play these games and be honest, shall we?”
“Yes, I think it is best to be honest,” I added sarcastically.
“I want you and I usually get what I want. How much would it take for you to leave here with me tonight?”
Moving just a
little closer to the table, I shifted my weight. “Carlton, I think you are working with a misapprehension here.”
His face was smug.
“I really don’t think so, sweetheart.”
I placed one hand on the table. The other men elbowed each other and nodded their heads. I was pretty sure I heard the slender blond man say, “Pay up,” to the red-faced man to Carlton’s right.
“There is something you should be aware of,” I said.
Carlton smiled as though his victory was at hand. He placed his hand on top of mine. My first instinct was to jerk my hand away, but I kept my composure. With the quirk of his brow, he asked, “Really? And just what should I be aware of, darling?” He licked his thin set lips.
“Something I know you have not considered this evening,” I answered. With a shrug, I removed my hand from beneath his large sweaty palm.
Carlton’s fishy eyes flashed. He scanned my body from head to toe before he moved toward me further. The smell of alcohol was rolling from his breath in a nauseating wave. He grinned quite lasciviously.
“What is that, sweetheart?” he asked in almost a whisper.
“Well…” I paused. With my best “I hope they shrivel up and fall off” smile I reached out, picked up the pile of hundreds, fanned them once then placed them back down upon the table. I drummed my fingers over the cash while scooting his tawdry stack back toward him, less one hundred. Without any care for what I was doing, he ignored the money. Carlton scanned my body coming to rest with his bloodshot eyes firmly on my chest.
“Well?” he asked.
“When I told you this was not enough money, I really meant that literally.” I pushed the tainted hundred dollar bill into Carlton’s top left suit pocket. “You see, Carlton, you do not have nor will you ever have enough money to buy me. I’m not for sale. That includes my phone call, my attention, and my body. Let me assure you, all of which, you will never have the privilege of receiving.”
Rounds of low laughs swirled around the table.
“Told you,” the short balding man said under his breath. “You should have given it a rest.”
Enchanted Page 1
