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Wednesday’s, Christian left early to feed. Since he didn’t have a donor yet, he would go home and drink the synthetic blood just to keep his strength up. He slipped into the waiting black town car, his briefcase in his lap, and an impending migraine starting to form in the bowels of his head. After leaving Barry’s cubicle, he had a rather awkward run-in with Izzy and her tits and then his uncle had made a rather unpleasant visit in his office, basically chewing him out for not finishing those briefs. Christian was almost glad he was leaving early from work. At least he could escape for a little while, despite the fact that he had to work long into the night tonight in hopes to finish up those briefs by Friday. Once the driver saw that his passenger was securely inside, he began to take off.
Monsieur Charles Colbert had been with the Stewart family since the fifties. He knew what the Stewarts were and had taken care of them to the best of his abilities, even feeding Christian’s uncle when the time called for it. He got paid extremely well for his loyalty. Originally from France, Charles Colbert had gone to college in New York, hoping to become a successful businessman. He had gotten a job right out of college as a driver for the now senior Stewart. Charles, of course, was incredibly excited, thinking that he would just work his way up the ladder of Stewart Enterprise, and perfect his English while doing so. However, as the years began to pass, Charles started to realize that this was not going to happen. He was not going to get promoted, nor would he become that successful businessman he wanted to become. His English had greatly improved, however, and by that time, the Frenchman had grown attached to the family.
Charles had raised Christian as though the boy were his even though Christian was much older than he was. He had never married, not finding the woman of his dreams, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it. Of course, there were times when he noticed the rather large apartment he lived in was lonelier than usual, but he cheered himself up with the thought that he was never really alone; he had Christian, and in return, Christian had him. Christian even took French all throughout college specifically so he could converse with his driver. Plus, if Christian ever needed any help, Charles was right there.
“There’s some aspirin in the compartment above the cup holders,” Monsieur Colbert informed his passenger. Despite living in the States for the majority of his life, Charles still had a thick French accent. “It’s not vampire-resistant and might actually help your headache.”
“Merci, Charles,” Christian said with a small smile, as he reached down to grab the pills. “You know me too well.” He popped out two, white tablets and swallowed them with the help of his water bottle, and then leaned back in his seat and let out a sigh.
Once the car pulled up in front of a very nice, very familiar home, Christian got out of the car, his briefcase in his hands. Charles, meanwhile, walked over to the trunk of the car and led Christian to the door so he could unlock it and open it for him.
The first thing Christian did upon entering his house was head straight for his office. Christian’s office was located at the very end of the immediate right passageway. It was incredibly large and somewhat isolated, so when he had to hole up there for the majority of the night, he wouldn’t be disturbed. There were bookcases, all filled with books relating to business and finance, and on the walls, there were framed newspaper clippings of either him or the company. Of course his high school and college degree was hanging behind him, as well as any and all awards he had won. His oak desk was tucked in one corner of the room, only so that he had a grand view of the scenery before him. Every window each held a great view; this house was a few miles outside the city, so it was surrounded by shrubbery, trees, and bright, colorful flowers. In the center of the room, there was a grand couch that pulled out into a bed if necessary. Christian liked being in his office; it was peaceful, and occasionally, he would hear the wind through the leaves or the chirpings of the birds. At times, he would purposefully sleep here, if just to watch the bright stars twinkle against the black night before falling asleep.
Now, however, Christian was focused on two things. The first was obviously finishing those briefs. He had to finish typing up the company’s finances in order to provide the stockholders the necessary information concerning the last quarter of the fiscal year. Just thinking about it stressed him out; not necessarily because he was bad at it, but it was a lot of work, and he had already put it off. The second thing was to call Maggie Jarrett and inform her that she got the job.
He sat down at his desk and leaned forward so that he could open various drawers in his desk. He was looking for Maggie’s file, not only to add the results of her background check to it but to grab her number so he could call her then. If all went well, she would be starting tomorrow, which would definitely take a load off. His long fingers flipped through the plain, manila folders skillfully, and his brow had furrowed over his sharp eyes as he kept an eye out for her name. After a long few minutes, he pulled out the folder.
There was nothing in it; just her handwritten resume he had her fill out as a formality after the interview. Christian opened his briefcase and stuck in the information Barry had given him. When everything was situated, he reached for his landline phone and picked it up. Then, he began to dial the number she had given him.
For whatever reason, Christian felt his heart slightly increase its usual speed and his hands obtaining some moisture. There was no way he could be nervous calling her. But with each ring, he felt time slow down to a halt thinking but maybe now she would answer it. However, that was not the case. Instead, her voice recording answered. She sounded cheerful and sincere, something Christian hadn’t heard on a phone recording in a while. In fact, most people he knew, including himself, recorded their name and that was it.
Christian didn’t realize that the recording ended until he realized she wasn’t speaking anymore. Well, this was great. He was going to sound like a complete moron.
“Hi!” he exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically. Subconsciously, he reached up and scratched the back of his head, hoping that maybe it might help him think of a suave way to tell her she got the job. “This is Christian Stewart. You, uh… well, you came into an interview a couple of days ago for a donor position.” Great, he did sound like a complete moron. “I just wanted to tell you that you did get the job, so… Congratulations. Tomorrow, around one o’clock, a town car will pick you up from your residence, or at least the one you wrote down. I hope that this is okay and enough time. The driver’s name is Charles Colbert, and he will be happy to answer any questions you may have. Okay… well-“ Just as he was about to finish, the machine cut him off.
Christian hung up the phone and placed his head in his palms, his long fingers loosely grasping the strands of his hair. This was a new sort of feeling for him. He was usually much more articulate, much more mellow than his embarrassing phone call he just made revealed him to be.
Chapter 3
Maggie Jarrett had been ice skating in Somerset Plaza, the center of the city, with her girlfriends when Christian Stewart had called her. They had just done an underground vampire nightclub thanks to her Red Card – a card that let Maggie get into any club run by vampires in the city for free – and now she wanted something less exhausting. Maggie liked getting dressed up and having fun, even though she had yet to actually donate her blood. Just being a member of the exclusive donor list get her the card, whether she was used or not, and she wanted to ensure she took advantage of that.
Maggie loved ice skating. Back in California, there really wasn’t much opportunity to actually ice skate, except for seasonal, cramped ice rinks that were usually ridiculously priced. But here, ice skating was different. The rink was a bit below ground level so that when the skaters looked up, they might see people looking down at them as they rested their arms on the surrounding banisters. She would idly wonder why those people didn’t join them in the rink because it most certainly looked as though they wanted to. The ice rink wasn’t that crowded, and she bel
ieved that the rink wasn’t just a tourist hot spot, but a place for everybody. But alas, most of the onlookers would depart after a few moments, only to be replaced by new ones.
By the time Maggie had finished skating, it was roughly four o’clock in the afternoon. She cursed, realizing that tonight, she needed to attend some sort of study group meeting she had all but been forced into even though she absolutely loathed group projects. Oh well. After replacing the skates she had rented with her boots, she rummaged through her purse until she found her cell phone, and quickly checked her messages, hoping that her aunt had not left her a message telling her they had last minute plans.
Maggie’s Aunt Rose had lived in Somerset as soon as she was old enough to move. Originally from Oakland, California, Rose Jarrett acted much more like a native Somerset business woman slash attorney than many of the actual natives. She was a defense lawyer for corporations and also taught a couple of classes at Somerset University. When she spoke, she spoke with a purpose. She seemed to have adapted the Somerset walk; she would travel through the city much faster than necessary because Somersetters were always going somewhere, and to Maggie, it looked like they were always late. It was probably because they were always making last minute plans.
Much to Maggie’s dismay, the young woman noticed that there was, indeed, a voicemail on her telephone. After moving somewhere a bit quieter, she called her voicemail, typed in her password, and held her breath, hoping she didn’t have to meet up with Rose relatively soon. But it was not Rose’s voice on the recording, but a man’s voice. He sounded vaguely familiar… The man’s voice was soft-spoken and low, almost husky, but Maggie highly doubted that it was due to the fact that he was trying to make it sound that way. A huge smile eclipsed her face when she realized why he had left her a message. She had gotten the job! As she listened to the rest of the message, she began to jump up and down with excitement.
A couple of people had looked at her and gave her a curious glance. Upon seeing this, Maggie exclaimed, “I got the job!” as though it was the most exciting thing in the world.
Now, her aunt would be happy that Maggie had gotten a job, and she would be moving out of Rose’s townhouse tomorrow. She was filled with eager anticipation. Maggie had always loved change. She loved moving around, loved seeing new places and meeting new people. Though she loved her aunt tremendously, she was curious to learn more about Christian Stewart, interested to see just what a donor life entailed for her. She knew he didn’t have a wife or children, which was somewhat sad considering he had been alive for a thousand years. If he had had kids, playing with them would have given her an excuse to be a kid again. Of course, she didn’t need one. Rose had two twin daughters that were fourteen now, and while they adored Maggie to no end, they were much like their mother when it came to being serious. It wasn’t like they couldn’t have fun, but for the most part, they were all working on something.
Maggie slipped her phone into her jean pocket and headed to the bus station on the next block. The Somerset Bus Transit always fascinated her because there were so many different people that traveled by it. Most of the time, Maggie would take a seat, stick her earphones in her ears as she turned on her iPod, and simply people-watched. It also wasn’t uncommon for somebody to be asking or complaining about something. Maggie would always frown at this but listen to it nonetheless. Yes, she knew the world wasn’t the easiest place to live in, but she knew that somewhere in some country, some person was going through something much more difficult than these people could ever imagine. More often than not, she wanted to stand up and make her own speech telling people how happy life could be if they just looked on the good side of things. But then a very small voice would remind her that she had no idea what these people were going through and complaining was their way to vent. She didn’t have to listen and she didn’t have to donate money.
Rose Jarrett’s townhouse was adjacent to a bus stop so Maggie didn’t have to walk that far after she exited the station. When she was safely inside and the building was locked, she took off her jacket and scarf and placed them on her bed. She would be leaving soon. Maybe she should start packing so that she wouldn’t have to rush tomorrow. That was an idea.
By dinner time, she was nearly packed, save for her pajamas, her toiletries, and an outfit to change into tomorrow. Now all she had to do was wait.
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At one o’clock sharp, a black town car pulled up to the curb Maggie was waiting on. It was sleek and well-maintained and was obviously owned by the Stewart family because there was no sticker offering a phone number to call if anyone was in need of a ride. Her brows perked up in surprise. She had been to the Stewart residence and knew that Christian Stewart was wealthy; she just didn’t know that he was this wealthy.
The driver got out of the car and gave Maggie a friendly smile. He was old, probably somewhere in his sixties, but his light brown eyes twinkled youthfully as he took in the young woman while she did the same to him. He was dressed in a typical driver fashion; the sharp suit and the black hat that slightly hid the fact the man was obviously balding. However, due to the bitter cold Somerset provided its residents, he was wearing heavy, leather gloves, a black scarf, and a thick matching jacket. He was taller than Maggie, but not by much; the man must have been a couple of inches taller than her five foot seven height. While he was not overweight by any means, he had a slightly protruding stomach that pushed out the layers of clothing he was wearing.
“Good afternoon, Mam’selle,” he greeted her in heavy French accent. “My name is Charles Colbert, but you may call me Charlie if you wish.”
“What would you like to be called?” Maggie asked him genuinely, a small smile on her face.
Charles looked surprised that she had asked him such a question. No one had really asked what he had preferred to go by, it would seem. He took a step back and surveyed the girl before him. Charles could see why Christian had taken an immediate liking to her. She was quite attractive in a girl-next-door sort of way, but probably did not have the slightest clue that she was anything other than average. Currently, she was in a very large hoodie with what appeared to the latest Joker’s face from the Batman franchise, and the words Why so serious? written next to the intimidating features. A blue and white scarf was wrapped securely around her neck and her hair hung loose, often falling into her face due to the temperamental wind. She wore form-fitting jeans and knee-length black boots. At least she dressed according to the weather. Too many times Charles had witnessed young women giving up comfort in order to try and impress a date, but instead of succeeding in their mission, he believed their lack of clothing made them look quite foolish. He decided that he liked this Maggie Jarrett, and hoped that his instinct was correct. It was, usually.
“Charles, I suppose,” he told her and then walked over to put her luggage in the back of the trunk.
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Maggie told him hurriedly, bending down and grabbing the handles of her bags. “I got it.”
“Please, Mam’selle,” he said. “I insist. It is my job, you know.”
Maggie still felt slightly uncomfortable letting him take her bags when she was fully capable of putting them away herself, but she didn’t want to offend the man and allowed him to do what his job entailed. Once everything was secured away, Charles walked around the car and opened the backseat for her so she could enter before heading around to the driver’s seat.
“So why don’t you like to be called Charlie?” Maggie asked once the car had been started.
“Pardon?” Charles asked with slight confusion, his eyes glancing up in the rearview mirror to look at the woman back.
“Well, you told me to call you Charlie, which must mean that everybody calls you Charlie,” Maggie explained, tugging on her seatbelt to tighten it. “I mean, if you don’t like being called Charlie, why do you let people call you Charlie?”
“I suppose it is because Master Stewart, the uncle of the man who hired you, began calling me Charlie,” Ch
arles replied, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. One could never be too careful while driving in Somerset. “He’s a very powerful man, Mam’selle. One does not correct Master Stewart.”
“I think that I would,” Maggie murmured, gazing out the window. “I just don’t think that it’s right for him to disrespect you, seeing as how you are his employee.”
“Well, I’m used to it,” Charles said, shrugging a bit though he doubted Maggie noticed. “But you will call me Charles, hmm? Maybe you will start a new trend.”
Maggie laughed and nodded. “Yes,” she said, agreeing with the older man. “Yes, that is what we’ll do, Charles. We will start a new trend.” She paused, her eyes once again going to the window. Maggie absolutely loved to people-watch, and Somerset was perfect for that due to the incredible variety of people who both lived and visited here. “So where are we going, Charles?”
“Home,” Charles responded. “We’re going home.”
“Good,” Maggie said, relaxing into the firm, leather seat. “Good.”
Chapter 4
The drive, as Charles told her, was a good thirty minutes.
Maggie thought she would take a nap, or at least doze off, but her interest in the streets of Somerset outweighed her slight exhaustion. It intrigued her remarkably how different Somerset was from Orange County, even now. There were so many different people here; different species, cultures, sizes, genders, sexual orientations, religions, and more. Orange County was obviously less crowded, although it may seem highly populated to someone who had never been to Somerset. The attitudes of the people were different as well; everyone always had a place to be in Somerset. The people were blunt and determined, even to the point of being rude. They were also very self-reliant. People back in Orange County were much more laidback and had a go-with-the-flow type of attitude. Everyone either had cars or took a bus. It was rare to see someone walking ten blocks when one could simply take the bus.
An Education in Scandal: A Somerset Novel (Somerset Series Book 5) Page 2
