Graveyard Shifts: A Pat Wyatt Novel

by Laura Del

  “That is wonderful,” he said, walking closer to me and kissing me on the cheek. “For the record, I love the way you look. I just did not want anyone else’s eyes on you but mine. But now that you have explained yourself,” he paused, shrugging, “let us make her want to crawl under a rock and die.” The way he said that was so menacing, I couldn’t help but smile and hug him.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t stand him, he did something like that, and all of my worries went out the window.

  “You know,” he whispered, “the party doesn’t start for another hour. We could…”

  “No,” I interrupted his dirty thought. “I don’t want to mess up my hair and makeup.” Never in a million years did I think those words would come out of my mouth.

  He sighed. “Very well. I will get dressed so you can make your grand entrance when all of our guests arrive.” I nodded, and he gently kissed my forehead, trying not to mess anything up.

  When he backed out of the room, he looked as though he would throw me down right then and there if I’d let him, but all of that would have to wait. Right now, I had a sister to destroy.

  chapter

  TEN

  I must’ve paced the balcony about a hundred times, sneaking peeks over the railing as the guests arrived. I had no clue who most of them they were, until Tina walked in. She looked beautiful in a strapless red cocktail dress with a black belt and shoes. Her blond hair was pulled into a classic updo, and her skin looked iridescent. I saw that Charlie had introduced her to Samuel (who wore a black suit, white shirt, and black tie), and her cheeks pinked at something he’d whispered. She stepped aside so the next person could come inside, and that’s when I saw him.

  Mike walked in, and my mouth dropped open. He just looked so unlike himself. He was extremely handsome with his dark blond hair slicked back and away from his face. His dark blue suit seemed to fit him perfectly, and his white shirt looked great against his tanned skin. But the thing that made me smile was the fact that he was wearing a tie. With him all handsome like that, he looked like Cary Grant, only with slightly lighter hair and eyes.

  I watched Tina walk over to him with her flirty face on. He must have introduced himself, because her million-watt smile faltered. She regained herself quickly, and she linked her arm with his, disappearing into the sitting room.

  I noticed he seemed taken with her, and a pang of jealousy ran through my stomach. But I told myself that it was only natural that he would be interested. I mean, who wouldn’t be?

  There was no time to think about that because the next people through that door were my father and sister, which was my cue to walk down the stairs. Only, before I could move, I saw a young woman walking behind them.

  At first, I thought she was one of my sister’s friends until she groped my father’s arm, kissing him on the cheek. My eyes widened in shock. Who was she? I shook myself back to the present. I would find out soon enough.

  As I fixed a smile on my face (that I hoped was welcoming), I made my way down the stairs. Samuel held out his hand, and I took it, just as he’d told me to do earlier. I smiled up at him like a fool.

  After he helped me down the last few steps, I saw that my father seemed a little shell-shocked by my beauty. Obviously, the tomboy he knew was long gone—at least for tonight anyway.

  I saw my sister’s eyes widen, but before anyone else noticed, she put on a fake look of compassion. That was just like her. Heaven forbid she was genuine about anything in her life.

  Jessica Lynn Wyatt is the queen of fake. The only things real about her are that she’s tall and blonde. That’s it. The rest of her is a ball of hot air and plastic surgery. She has a fake tan, a fake nose, and fake boobs, which I had to admit looked good in a low-cut, purple, floor-length dress.

  People say we don’t look like sisters, but there’s one similarity: our lips. They’re our mother’s. Other than that, we are polar opposites. She has our father’s blue eyes, and I have my mother’s hazel. She is five-foot-ten-and-a-half while I’m only five-four. She’s blonde. I’m brunette. You get the picture.

  Besides being the fakest person on the planet, she just happens to be my older sister by almost four years, and she will never let me forget it. If she died tomorrow her tombstone would read, “Here lies Jessica Wyatt, loving daughter and older sister of Patricia Wyatt.”

  “Hey there, Patty Melt,” she taunted me with my high school nickname. I cringed as she smiled, her white-capped teeth glistening against her day glow orange tan. That nickname was given to me by my ex-fiancé when I was a freshman in high school, and it stuck throughout all four years. The kids had tormented me with it, and when I’d graduated, it was his pet name for me. This is, of course, why she’d said it. It was just to get a rise out of me, and it was working. “How’s my favorite little sister?” she baby-talked and air kissed me at the same time.

  “I’m your only little sister,” I pointed out, and she cackled.

  She pinched my cheek. “Well, isn’t she just the bee’s knees.” I prayed silently that no one saw that.

  “I always thought so,” my father chimed in before there was a fight.

  At first glance, my father’s tall stature, gray hair, and olive skin are very menacing, especially with his broad shoulders, square jaw, and large nose. But when he speaks his bass voice sounds like a lullaby.

  He smiled at me for the first time in years. “How are you, baby girl?”

  My heartstrings pulled, and I could feel myself begin smile again. “Good, Pops,” I managed to say. “And you?”

  He shrugged. “You know me. Can’t complain.” He glanced down at me again, his eyes still wide. “I would hug you, but you look so damn pretty,” he said, gesturing at me, “I’m afraid I’ll mess you up.”

  “You’re looking good yourself,” I returned the compliment. The truth was he really did look good in his navy blue suit, white shirt, and car tie.

  “Who’s your friend?” I asked, changing the subject. I smiled, nodding in the direction of the small brunette pretending to be a redhead. She was very pretty, and very young.

  He smiled at her. “This is Cindy. My fiancée.”

  “Your fiancée?” That shocked me, but I smiled at her anyway, and then I whispered to him, “Pops, she’s fifteen.”

  He leaned in closer to me. “She’s thirty,” he huffed, “and we’ll talk about it later.” He took control over his anger (which wasn’t easy, considering he didn’t like me much), and then said, “And who’s your new guy?” Pops smiled toward Samuel, holding out his hand. “Hello there, young man.” If only he knew. “I’m Richard Wyatt, but you can call me Pops.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Samuel bowed at my side, disregarding my father’s outstretched hand. “Samuel Satané, at your service.”

  “Nice to meet you, boy,” Pops said, taking Samuel’s hand in his and shaking it. Hard. After he let go, I noticed Samuel put his hand behind his back, so my father wouldn’t see that he was trying to get the feeling back in it.

  “This is my Cindy,” Pops introduced her, looking down at her tenderly. “And my other daughter, Jessica.” He waved her off, and I gave a loud laugh.

  She narrowed her eyes at me as I placed my hand over my mouth.

  Samuel nodded to them in turn. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” my sister said. She stepped forward and looked him up and down with a sexy smirk on her face. That brought back memories. She sure could get under my skin.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, holding up my hand to them, “I have people to meet. I’ll see you later, Samuel.”

  He kissed my hand, looking into my eyes. “Yes, you will,” he said, and he winked at me, squeezing my behind before I walked away.

  “How are you holding up?” Charlie whispered. He stood at attention as I walked past him.

  “I need liquor,” I managed to say through a tight smile.

  “Kitchen,” he mouthed.

 
“Thanks.” I did the same, smiling my way through the crowd, stopping a few times to schmooze my guests.

  Waving to Tina, I mouthed that I’d be back, even though she seemed rather comfortable with what looked like a sixty-year-old millionaire on her arm. She gave me the okay sign, and I made my way down the hall into the kitchen.

  It was so quiet in there that I sighed, and when my eyes caught sight of the flutes of champagne on the counter, I hoped silently that there was something stronger. That wasn’t what I needed right now.

  A short, round, friendly-looking woman with black hair asked if she could help me.

  “Yes. Hard liquor, please,” I begged, and she laughed.

  “Coming right up,” she said with a smile and a French accent. “You are Mrs. Satané, no?”

  “Yes,” I answered with a smile. This was the first time someone had recognized me without freaking me out by calling me Ms. Wyatt. It was heaven. “And you must be Chef.”

  She poured something out of a bottle into a glass with her back toward me. “Call me Chloe,” she said.

  “Call me Pat.”

  She turned around, handing me the glass filled with whiskey.

  “Here’s to you,” I toasted her before taking a sip. Then she nodded, turning back to fix whatever she had been previously preparing on a tray.

  “You know what they say,” Mike said, and I jumped. “Never drink alone.” It was lucky that I didn’t spill any alcohol because he had scared me half to death.

  He laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Chloe,” he pointed to my drink, “I’ll have what she’s havin’.” She handed him a glass, speaking French. He spoke back fluently, and she started to sing while she worked.

  “You speak French?” I asked, flipping my hair over one shoulder so I could see his face.

  “Yes.” He sounded astonished. “Frequently.”

  “What?” I huffed. He was staring again.

  He shook his head. “Nothin’. You just look amazin’ is all.”

  I took another sip of my drink. “Not half as amazing as you do. Who knew you cleaned up so well?” I nudged his elbow.

  “I did,” he blurted, and we laughed. “So was that your daddy and sister at the door with Sam?”

  “Mm-hm,” I said, feeling my brow crinkle into a frown.

  “Which one?” He seemed intrigued. “The blonde or the ‘redhead’?” I loved that he air quoted “redhead.”

  “Blonde.” The word left a bitter taste in my mouth. “The redhead is my father’s fiancée.”

  He whistled, shaking his head. “How old is she, fifteen?”

  “That’s exactly what I said.” I threw my free hand up. “But he claims she’s thirty.”

  “Your sister seemed nice,” he considered. “But I’m sure she does at first.”

  I turned around so my back and elbows were leaning against the counter. “You’re too much, you know that?”

  He mimicked my movement. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

  “No,” I said, shoving his arm with my elbow. “I like it.”

  He swallowed, moving closer to me. “Listen, about this mornin’—”

  “Shh.” I put my finger over his lips. “You talk too much.” Then I pulled away, realizing the gesture was too intimate in front of Chloe.

  “So,” I said, changing the subject, “how do you like Tina?”

  He blinked, confused. “Tina?”

  “Tina,” I prompted. “My best friend. The one I wish was my sister.”

  He hit his forehead with his palm. “Oh, that Tina. She said to call her Chrissie, but I forgot you gals have nicknames for one another.” That was something I’d told him the other day at lunch, and I couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “I think she’s pretty,” he finally admitted.

  “Pretty,” I said, as my eyebrow rose. “She’s more than just pretty.”

  He shrugged. “Well, I’ve got my eye set on another girl here tonight.”

  “Really?” I asked excitedly. “Who?”

  “You,” he blurted before he could catch himself. My mouth must have dropped open because he tried to backtrack. “I—I didn’t mean that.”

  I placed my drink on the counter. I was mortified that he’d said it so loud. “Oh,” I said calmly, “you meant it all right.” I could not believe that he had just said that in front of Chloe, and besides with Samuel in the other room it was very careless of him.

  “Pat,” he breathed, “I’m—”

  “That’s Mrs. Satané to you.” I pushed myself away from the counter, straightening my spine and fixing my dress. “It was nice knowing you, Mr. Wolf,” I said harshly, “but I will no longer be needing your services.” I walked toward the entryway and didn’t look back.

  “Like hell you won’t!” He yelled something in French to Chloe, and I heard her leave.

  I kept walking, but he grabbed my arm, throwing me up against the wall. “Let go of me!” I screamed, my fist pounding on his chest, but he didn’t even flinch. What was wrong with these men?

  My eyes widened when he pinned me aggressively with his lower body, making me feel all of him. “I feel something for you,” he yelled, “and I know you feel it too.”

  Finally, I pushed on his shoulders, and he backed up a bit. “You need to stop this right now. If Samuel hears you, we’re both dead. Do you understand? So at this moment I love Samuel, and that’s that.”

  His face contorted with rage. “I don’t care if he hears me! You can’t stay with him. He’s a creature with no feelin’ in him.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, trying to understand him.

  He took my head in his hands, his eyes never wavering from mine. “He’s gonna suck everything outta you until there’s nothin’ left!”

  “Mike, you’re scaring me,” I whispered. I saw why his last name was Wolf. He looked like one.

  “Forget it,” he said, his arms going limp, while his face softened. “Just forget I said anything.” He backed away from me. “We should get back to the party.”

  We started to walk, but I couldn’t help stopping to look at the beautiful woman in the painting. I just loved the way she seemed as though nothing disturbed her.

  “Sam calls her the Ivory Lady,” Mike whispered in my ear.

  “Why?” I asked as I searched the painting’s beauty in order to understand her better. But all I saw was how remarkable her dark eyes looked against her flawless skin.

  “Because of her ivory skin,” he said, and the air got heavy behind me. Apparently he had moved closer.

  I sighed. “She’s wonderfully beautiful.” The fine brush strokes on the canvas were as gorgeous as the woman herself.

  “She reminds me of you.” Mike’s breath caressed the right side of my neck, and he wrapped his arms around me.

  I stopped breathing when his hands started to roam my body. Softly, he touched my breasts, letting his lips find my neck. And my heart stopped altogether when he moved one of his hands down my bodice and between my thighs, rubbing me through my dress.

  When I tried to turn, he stopped me by moving his other hand to my left breast, which made me lean my head back on his shoulder. I closed my eyes to the tingling sensation that ran through me like an electric current, and he kissed my neck harder, still feeling me with one hand and kneading my breast with the other.

  Before it could even begin, he stopped, and I was very disappointed—that was, until his fingers lifted my skirt and he felt the tops of my thighs. Then he let the fabric of the dress fall to either side of his hand, strategically moving up, over and into my panties, finding his way inside me.

  I gasped as he moved his middle finger in and out, while his other hand found its way to my right breast.

  When I started to make noise, he moved his hand (the one on my breast) to my mouth. It was a good thing I had on no-smear lipstick. And after a couple of minutes, he started to move as I rocked up and back against him. It was as if we were making love fully clothed, his finger picking up its
pace, while I bit his hand. He made a little sound of pleasure, and we stood there, rhythmically moving together.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my nails dug into his flesh when it was time. The pleasure racked my body once…twice…and then my head was spinning.

  After, we stood there, not moving, just breathing, as he removed his hands from my body. I felt like I was going to collapse until he turned me around to face him, and I pulled on his neck so we could kiss, our tongues doing a rough dance.

  “I would’ve done that earlier if you would’ve let me,” he whispered against my lips, placing his hands by my head on the wall.

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I breathed, and we kissed again, but this time he moved away from me. I fixed myself as he walked back into the kitchen.

  When he came back, he looked very satisfied with himself.

  “How do I look?” I asked as he stood in front of me.

  “A little flushed,” he said, kissing my forehead, “but still gorgeous.”

  “I’m going to compose myself,” I said in a rush, “and I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “As you wish, Mrs. Satané.” He bowed, glancing up at me with a wink and a smile.

  Once he was gone, I leaned against the wall, thinking about what we had done. There had to be a way out of this marriage without getting either one of us killed. However, there was a small piece of me that still wanted my husband.

  I scolded myself for wanting both men to myself. Do you want to be miserable? the voice in my head yelled.

  And as I walked back to the party, another voice whispered, Yes.

  chapter

  ELEVEN

  When I finally made my way back into the sitting room, I was relieved to see that it was time for dinner. All forty or so of us took our seats at the round table, but instead of my usual seat (which faced the mirrored wall), I was sitting between Samuel and Mike in the opposite direction. This was not good, and it would become interesting (to say the least) if anything went wrong.

  Mike was kind enough to pull my chair out for me, and I nodded to him before I sat down. Then, when I saw Samuel wasn’t sitting, a tight smile plastered on my face. I knew what he was doing. He was going to make a speech. The topic? Yours truly.