by Moore, Jewel
But she wasn’t that grateful!
“Most men seem to think that the words stripper and prostitute are synonymous. I was mistaken in thinking that you were intelligent enough to know the difference,” she told him scornfully, abruptly swinging her right leg up and over, narrowly missing his arrogant head. Standing, she glared down at him and snapped, “Look up the meaning in a frigging dictionary.”
Whirling, she raced out of the room, only stopping to grab her handbag and robe before slamming the door behind her. Then turning left, she headed to the back door.
It was hard to walk away from the money she had earned tonight although it was a paltry sum compared to the amount she had in the handbag clutched at her side. Tomorrow she would call Colin to let him know that she wouldn’t be returning. And she would forfeit the night’s wages—a small price to pay for his generosity. Technically she didn’t need that money now and though there would no doubt come a day when she would regret not collecting them, she was certainly not going to wait around!
***
Dominic took a moment to bring his body under control before he left the private room.
He cursed as he almost stumbled in the now-darkened club.
The dancer on stage was using the lights as an effect, so they’d been dimmed further to enhance her act. Glancing left and then right, he saw no sign of the dancer who had given him the lap dance. As skimpily dressed as she was, she would have to get changed first, he decided, and rushed to the exit. He would be waiting when she left the club.
He dialed Alvin’s mobile number as soon as he was outside and instructed, “Pick me up at the entrance.”
Alvin came speeding around the corner moments later. He was more suited to a race track, Dominic always thought, but he wasn’t about to let a brilliant, safe driver out of his employ. He paid the man more than double what he would have received elsewhere, which may him less likely to try out as a stunt car, or racing, driver.
“Did you see a woman leave the club?” he asked the driver as he jumped in the car besides him—this wasn’t the time to stand on formality and get in the back. If by chance she’d left the club, he needed to start pursuit immediately.
“A tall black woman?” Alvin queried as he swung the car around to the exit.
“Yes,” Dominic confirmed, banging his fist on the beautiful, wooden inlaid dashboard in front of him. “Where did she go?”
“She just swung out of here in a Ford Escort, boss.”
Alvin knew the brown envelope contained cash—it wasn’t the first time the man had conveyed money to Dominic from his butler. Dominic knew that the driver would immediately jump to the wrong conclusion, but there was no time to explain. He ordered, “Follow her!”
Alvin immediately gunned the engine.
“Faster!” Dominic ordered.
“She raced out of here, boss.” The driver obediently accelerated, but he shook his head ruefully. “I don’t think we’ll catch her.”
“We have to.”
“Yes, boss.”
Dominic fumed as they raced along the quiet road. He would have been faster in his Lamborghini, even if it meant breaking the speed limit. Damn his wayward cock! He usually had more finesse than he had displayed tonight. But the thought of her writhing under him, those long legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself deep within her had destroyed his customary style.
They came to a major intersection and Alvin said apologetically, “Sorry, boss, I think she’s gone.”
Dominic cursed again, this time aloud. He’d envisioned the night ending somewhat differently—with the two of them making love in the back of the limousine and several times more when he got her to his place. Now, all he could do is go home and imagine it was her tightness, instead of his hand, wrapped around him as he jerked himself off. There were a dozen or more women he could call and all would be willing for him to come over and warm their bed, but no other women would do tonight.
***
Chantelle reached under her pillow and ran her fingertips over the edges of the envelopes that would radically change her life.
Nothing in the way the night had begun had prepared her for the way it had ended. When she noticed the man and had had the strange reaction as their eyes had connected, she had dismissed it as one of those strange, freaky moments in life.
Dancing for him had been as easy as breathing. She might have done it for free, as Tiffany had declared earlier in the evening. She had good uses for every last penny of the money he’d paid her. Yet, she had been tempted to toss it back in his face when he had propositioned her like a common whore.
How dare he!
***
Chapter Three
Five months later.
Dominic and the other two panel members all smiled politely as his PA, Angela Daniels, ushered in a statuesque beauty, the last of the five people they had shortlisted for interviews.
The young black woman, Chantelle Payne, was their wildcard. A recent university graduate, she was by far the youngest and the least experienced of the candidates. But she had achieved a First in Architecture, Planning and Landscape, and was tipped to beat the rest of the year’s graduates to the prestigious Institute of Architecture’s Most-Promising Designer Award.
Dominic’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. For a moment the young woman reminded him of the dancer from Armstrong’s with her height and smooth dark skin. This woman was different, though. Instead of short straightened hair, this woman had tiny plaits which were pulled neatly back into a chignon. And she appeared warmly approachable—not coolly aloof as the dancer had been.
Forget that damn woman! he reprimanded himself angrily. You’ve wasted enough time, money and effort chasing her!
He could do nothing about heated memories of the dancer invading his dreams, but he would be damned if he let her control his waking moments, too!
“Chantelle, let me introduce the panel. Lauren Everton, Head of Acquisitions, Mark Albright, Chief Architect and Dominic O’Brien, CEO and—”
The woman’s eyes widened moments before her gasp of surprise interrupted Angela’s words.
Dominic stared at her in shock for several long moments unable to believe what his eyes and the stirring in his groin were telling him—this was too surreal. His mother always told him that he had more luck than anyone she knew, even with his Irish ancestry. She just might be on to something, he decided, as he felt his smile turn predatory. He had searched high and low for this woman, had spent tens of thousands of pounds on the best private investigators he could find to no avail, and now she had flown like a helpless fly into his web.
She wouldn’t escape this time!
“Would you all excuse us for a minute?” He dismissed the others. “Ms Payne and I need to have a brief discussion.”
“I knew this was too bloody good to be true!” Chantelle’s eyes sparked like ebony chips as she glared angrily across at him as the door clicked shut behind his PA and the other two interviewers. “Did you set up this interview just to embarrass me?”
“No,” he denied. “I didn’t know it was you. Armstrong couldn’t tell me your name.”
Colin had warned Chantelle that Dominic had gone back to the club to question him. She had been so relieved at the time that Colin, though he might have not divulged the information, didn’t know anything about her.
“I spent months looking for you and couldn’t find you.” Dominic couldn’t help the bitterness that tinged his voice—he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. “I hired six private investigators, all ex-Scotland Yard, and they couldn’t find you.”
Dominic immediately wanted to take back the words. She would think he’d either wanted the money back or had been desperate to sleep with her. Neither impression made him look good, although the latter was true. And even more so now that he’d seen her in the daylight and realized that she was even more beautiful than the club’s dim lighting had suggested.
His words hung in th
e air as they stared at each other for a moment.
“So, what now?” she asked, finally breaking eye contact.
“Do you still want this job?” he asked.
“Yes. But am I going to be judged fairly?” she responded, cynicism coating her voice.
“Yes,” he promised. “I will withdraw from the panel and ask the others to interview you.”
Chantelle knew that she probably wouldn’t give the world’s best interview, but she wanted this job badly enough to at least try. Foolishly she had begun to imagine the things she would be able to do for her siblings with the salary offered. She would never forgive herself for not giving it a shot.
“Okay,” she agreed. And it would be easier if he wasn’t in the room to distract her with his sexier-than-she’d-remembered presence.
“Payne…” his lips twisted in derision, “so appropriate for the amount you’ve caused me.”
“I caused you pain?” Startled, Chantelle stared at him.
“You have no idea.” Dominic gave a lopsided smile and headed to the door. “Relax for a couple of minutes. I’ll have a word with the other panel members and then send them back in.”
Lauren and Mark were both seated in the comfortable chairs when Dominic walked into the waiting area. Lauren, the consummate professional looked cool and unflustered; Mark, on the other hand, made no attempt to contain his curiosity.
“What was that about, Dom,” he demanded.
“Ms Payne and I have met before briefly.” He didn’t elaborate. “It wouldn’t be fair if I sat on the panel, so I’d like just the two of you to interview her. I trust your judgment and expect you to give her a fair assessment.”
***
Don’t get your hopes up, girlfriend! Chantelle warned herself as she sat across from Lauren in the nearby Bea’s of Bloomsbury. She took a sip of her creamy cappuccino, trying hard not to smile like an idiot. The interview had gone perfectly. Feeling that she had nothing to lose, Chantelle had been relaxed and confident.
“O’Brien is the best employer I’ve ever worked for.” Lauren took a delicate, appreciative sip of her cappuccino. Chantelle suspected that the woman didn’t frequent the café on a regular basis. The decadent Chocolate Fudge Cupcake they had each ordered would have had a visible effect on the woman’s svelte figure. “I’m the only female among fifteen senior managers and I haven’t once experienced any overt sexism in the four years I’ve been with them. Don’t get me wrong—there are two, possibly three of them who don’t like the idea of a woman being so prominently placed in the company, but Mr. O’Brien, Dominic’s father made it perfectly clear that sort of behavior won’t be tolerated.”
Dominic. Chantelle repeated his name to herself for the ninth time since they had been introduced. She should have known that he wouldn’t be called something as simple as ‘Paul’ or ‘John.
“You would enjoy working for the firm,” Lauren continued. “There are enough new challenges to keep the job interesting but not so many that you feel overwhelmed.”
Though nothing was actually said, it was almost as if the woman was indicating that Chantelle was her choice for the role.
But, Chantelle was afraid to hope.
Dominic, after saying that he had searched for her and admitting that she had caused him pain, had been nowhere in sight when the interview had ended.
Whatever pain he’d felt, he must be well over it.
But, oh God, this job would be the end of Chantelle’s troubles. The salary was nearly double what she’d expected from a first job after full-time study. The perks included private healthcare.
Life was so bizarre. She had sent in her application form just for the hell of it, thinking on receipt of it the person doing the shortlisting would laugh all the way to the nearest wastepaper bin and toss her neatly completed form inside. When she’d received the letter inviting her for an interview, she had thought of not showing up. She’d needed a well-cut, tailored new suit, a decent pair of shoes and a suitable handbag. For a job she was unlikely to get, the cost of the items was too much to invest upfront.
But then an inner voice had reminded her just how strange the events had been leading up to her applying. Totally pissed off on her way home on the Tube from a job interview which had gone badly after she had politely asked one of the two male interviewers to address her and not her chest, she had picked up a discarded copy of The Times from the seat next to hers. Realizing it was almost two weeks old, she had been about to put it back when a job advert circled in red caught her eye. The closing date was that Friday, two days away, and the salary almost made her eyes pop out of her head.
She had attended interviews for several jobs she could have done with her eyes closed, and yet each time she’d been politely informed days later that a more suitable candidate had been found.
I’m going to raise my game! she’d thought defiantly, but only half seriously. She’d mainly taken the newspaper home to read with her bedtime cup of chocolate. It was a well-written but expensive newspaper and though out of date, there was guaranteed to be something of interest between the pages. She usually got the Metro, the free weekday newspaper, which was too full of celebrity news and gossip for her liking, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
That night in comfy pajamas and half snuggled under her duvet, she’d read the job advert and realized that she met all the requirement. The next morning she had logged on to their website, completed the application and pressed ‘send’ with a flourish and more than a trace of defiance. She’d then forgotten all about it and continued her job search. Only to almost die of shock ten days later when she received an invitation to attend an interview.
“You were our last interviewee, so we won’t keep you waiting too long for our decision.” Lauren smiled as she stood up and offered her hand. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, but please stay and finish your drink and cupcake.”
“Lauren, thank you so much for taking the time to tell me some more about the company.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Chantelle broke off a piece of her cupcake, popped it in her mouth and watched the other woman swing her slender hips as she walked away, leaving her cappuccino half drunk and her cupcake barely touched. It was probably how she kept them so trim, Chantelle mused.
This is how the other half live.
Chantelle polished off the last of her cupcake. She couldn’t have left the cupcake. If she’d found that she couldn’t finish it, she would have asked for a container and taken the remainder home for her sisters. She never understood the way people wasted food so casually when there were others, right here in London, who were starving.
As she finished her cappuccino and stood up to leave ten minutes later, Chantelle wondered if there would ever come a day when she too would be able to order something expensive and purely indulgent, and not think about how many items on the ever-expanding weekly grocery list for her and her fast-growing siblings she could have bought instead.
***
Her cheap Nokia mobile phone vibrated against the kitchen table a moment before it rang. It was ten o’clock in the morning and the number wasn’t one of those programmed into her list of contacts. It was the day after the interview and the shock of seeing Dominic.
The call had to be from O’Brien’s Construction.
Chantelle thought of not answering, knowing that it would be a courtesy call thanking her for attending the interview and praising her for impressing the panel with her knowledge, then going on to say with just the right touch of regret—as if they really gave a shit!—that on this occasion there had been a better candidate.
She had been fantasying about the job, about being dressed in an expensive suit, toting a beautiful handbag that was stylish yet functional, and wearing a pair of elegant shoes—perhaps taupe Louboutin’s, the color had become all the rage since Kate, Duchess of Cambridge.
Stop it!
Shaking off the silly thoughts, she answered the phone on the seventh ring.
“Hello?”
“Is this Chantelle Payne?”
No, it’s Her Majesty the Queen!
“Yes, this is she,” Chantelle answered politely.
“Hi, Chantelle.” The voice at the other end was warm and filled with excitement. “This is Angela Daniels from O’Brien’s Construction. I’m calling to inform you that we’d like to offer you the job.”
“Pardon?”
“I said that we’d like to offer you the position you interviewed for yesterday.”
Chantelle was too stunned to speak for a moment or two. Finally she pulled herself together and said, “Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome. The contract will be couriered to you later this morning. Once you’re happy with the terms and conditions, please sign them and let me know. I’ll have someone pick it up. If this can be done by Friday, we’d like you to start on Monday, if that is convenient for you.”
So soon?
Other than the suit she had worn to the interview, she had nothing remotely suitable to wear. She would have to go shopping immediately…and use what remained of the money Dominic had paid her that night at Armstrong’s. Though she had earned it somewhat disreputably, she had been careful of every penny she had spent. It might have been pocket change to him, but it was a sum she was unlikely to amass in her lifetime. Squandering it would have been a travesty. And it had cost her more than a lap dance. He hadn’t captured her heart—that would be ludicrous on such short acquaintance, wouldn’t it? Instead he had awoken something inside her in those precious moments they’d shared. The part that she’d always ruthlessly suppressed. The part that wanted to be carefree, responsibility-free and able to enjoy her youth while it lasted.
“Monday will be fine,” she assured the woman, realizing that she hadn’t given a response while she’d allowed her thoughts to drift.
The last thing she wanted was to give them time or reason to change their minds.
***
I’ll be working with Dominic!
She had forced herself not to think about him after that fateful night at the club. She’d never expect to see him again, assuming that he was a gambler or worst. She was better off not knowing any more about him, she’d decided. He was too deliciously tempting and if he lived life on the wrong side of the law, she would expose her siblings to more harm than she had risked being a dancer to prevent.
