by Kailin Gow
“Laura,” his soft, deep voice called out.
Damn, if it wasn’t the sexiest voice I’d ever heard. Just the sound of my name on that soft, velvety voice was enough to send a pleasurable tingle throughout my body.
“Laura Turner.”
His voice shook the walls and vibrated against my body, feeling me, and touching me in such a wildly wicked way. At that moment, I didn’t care who this man was. It didn’t matter what he looked like. It didn’t matter whether he was young or old, or whether he was fat or short. The man had a voice that could make any woman want to tear her clothes off. If he continued as he was, that was exactly what I was apt to do.
“Who are you?” I called out, desperate to get an answer before I made a fool of myself. What was he hiding? Was he hideous and afraid of anyone looking at him? Was he crippled? From the conversation two of his associates were having in the elevator, it seemed he was quite attractive. Then why didn’t he show himself to me?
“A man who is only looking out for your best interest, my dear Laura.”
“A man who goes by what name?”
“At this firm, they call me Mr. Townshend, but you can call me Peter.”
“And how are we connected? Why did you contact me?”
“Ah, just like a lawyer to ask so many questions. Don’t be too impatient, Laura. Everything in its own sweet time. For now, what you need to concentrate on are the two days that remain before your name and your nasty little deeds are splattered across the pages of every rag in this country. Michael Brooks was very well known. Imagine how shocked the public will be to hear how he died… and at whose hands.”
“But I had nothing to do with…”
“Two days, Laura. The press doesn’t care if you had anything to do with it or not. Implicating you simply because you were said to be in Michael’s presence at the time of his death is enough to break your career before it even has a chance to get off the ground. So I want you to listen to me well.”
My hands shook with rage and nervous energy at the thought of all that wasted time studying just to have it all go down the drain because of people’s suspicions and the need for drama in the media..
“Listen to me carefully, Laura, because your whole future and the reputation of your family’s name and business is riding on your understanding of my instructions. As of today, you will move into the Clarington building across the street. You’ll find everything you need in room 411. If you’ll look right in front of you, you’ll find the key.”
I looked around and couldn’t see anything.
“On top of the bar.”
I walked to the bar and finally spotted the silver key attached to a small acrylic clear key ring with a strange insignia on it. I reached out to the clear glass topped bar and grabbed it, though I still had reservations about his request.
“In the room reserved for you,” he said, “you’ll also find further instructions.”
“Hold on a minute here. Why should I go stay there? I have my own apartment, not to mention my life back in Irvine.”
“You won’t have much of a life to go back to, if you don’t follow my instructions.”
“But, my…”
“Two days, Laura. Can you not sacrifice two days to save your precious future? Do you not have the passion it takes to save your career? If you don’t then how can you ever hope to be able to help others?”
“Two days? You want me to live across the street for two days? I didn’t even bring anything, no change of clothes, no toothbrush. I don’t have…”
“I told you. Everything you need is in room 411.”
I grunted my displeasure, but still shoved the key ring in my jean pocket. “Can you at least come out and show yourself? I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“All in due time, Laura. For now, you have all the information you need.”
“Will we speak again?”
He let out a soft sigh and an amused chuckle. “Of course we will, Laura. When the time is right. I make people appear and disappear, and I assure you, I’ll reappear in your life when the time is right. Don’t be too surprised, however, if you’re not too happy about the circumstances surrounding that next appearance.”
Chapter 2
With the key in my hand, I walked out of the chilly office and just stood by the closed door, too stunned to do anything. What had I just gotten myself into? Some strange man had just asked me to move into an apartment and I was expected to do what was told. Was I really going to follow his orders so meekly?
I thought of that message… I didn’t really have a choice.
Who did that man think he was anyway? I fumed.
Peter Townshend, that’s who. Peter Townshend. But who was Peter Townshend and how was he connected with me? The people on the elevator hadn’t really given much away about the man, other than his fine physical appearance.
I usually had a memory like a steel trap, especially where people were concerned. Ever since I could remember, I’d had a knack for remembering people’s names. The awkward and sometimes embarrassing moment of staring at someone as I tried to remember their name was something I’d never experienced… never or at least that I’m aware of. It would take something drastic like a head trauma to make me forget something or someone.
So if this Peter Townshend was a part of my past, how come the name didn’t ring a bell? Not even a little tinkling?
On the other hand, as his voice echoed in my mind, I realized that there was something vaguely familiar about it. I’d heard that voice before, or one just like it, but I was far from remembering when or where.
Of course, if we had met some years before, it would explain his mysterious claim of knowing me. That, or someone had leaked some highly personal information about me.
Why, I couldn’t fathom.
Finally breaking out of my stupor, I pulled out my phone and searched the internet for a Peter Townshend. Surely there would be something pertinent about such a rich and powerful man. I found several articles about an eighty year old Peter Townshend who headed a prestigious law firm in Boston. Every article touted his talent in the courtroom, especially with regards to his last trial which had garnered him much publicity. The articles also listed his past successful cases, but said very little on his private life other than he’d married young and had had two children and a few grandchildren to which he’d left everything upon his death last May.
My next search attempt was for an MMA fighter named Peter or Pete Townshend, but that search resulted in no matches at all.
“Great,” I muttered. A mysterious and faceless man with no internet trail whatsoever. Who, in this day and age, didn’t have something about them somewhere on the internet?
A false name, I concluded. He must have used an alias, but it could be anything.
I stashed my phone away and headed back to the reception desk hoping to draw some information from the pert blonde. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but, I’m just in awe of this building. It’s so original and unique, so modern and… masculine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. Was it built recently?”
The pretty blonde looked up at me and shrugged. “Can’t help you there. I just started working here a month ago. From what I can see, everything looks new, but I couldn’t tell you when it was built.”
“It seems strangely vacant for such an beautiful building. I guess the rent here must be astronomical. Maybe that’s why they’re having such a hard time renting out office space.”
“I guess. I really wouldn’t know about that. Numbers really aren’t my thing. I just stick to answering the phones, greeting people and running the odd errand here and there for Mr. Townshend.”
“Errands? Really? That’s so… retro. So fifties.”
The blonde looked at me with a blank stare and tilted her head to the side.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, read a little Gloria Steinem or something, I wanted to say. “I thought the days of bringing coffee and getting the dry
cleaning for the boss were over.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m paid to do what he asks. Doesn’t really matter much to me.”
No, of course not. “It seems that this law firm is the only tenant in the whole building. That’s a little peculiar.”
“Well, I do know that we’re the only one on this floor.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I think we may even take up the floor above, but, other than that, I’ve never stepped off on any other floor, so I really wouldn’t know if there’s anyone there or not.”
“The firm takes up the whole floor?”
“Yep.”
I leaned over the desk and whispered, “But it’s so quiet up here. There’s no running around, no frenzied rush for depositions, or frantic pacing in anticipation of a verdict. Where are all the lawyers?”
The blonde looked at me with bored eyes. “They’re here and there. Some have meetings outside our offices, others are already in the midst of a meeting in the board room. Things like that. There are at least thirty-five lawyers that I know about. When Mr. Townshend passed, the firm was broken up into different areas of practice. Peter, Mr. Townshend’s grandson, took over the Los Angeles location. He…” She stopped suddenly and looked away as a pink blush quickly colored her cheeks.
I shook my head in disbelief. It seemed this girl had just as much of a crush on this mysterious Peter Townshend as the people in the elevator had. Apparently, men and women fell head over heels for this guy.
Was he really that great?
“Peter Townshend likes to do things a little unconventionally,” the girl finally said.
“I’ll say,” I snapped. I was still angry about my unconventional meeting with him. What a strange and impersonal way of meeting someone. I wanted to ask the receptionist why he’d remained hidden from me. Why he hadn’t met me face to face instead of hiding behind a wall?
Maybe the pretty blonde didn’t even realize just how unconventional her boss really was.
“Is there something…” I hesitated as I searched for the right word. “My meeting with him was just so odd. I’ve never had such a peculiar experience in my life. Is there something… wrong with him? Something physical that makes him… shy?”
“No, Miss Turner. Absolutely nothing.” Once again, the young girl blushed. “He’s positively the most flawless man I’ve ever seen. So perfect in every way.”
“So then why the…”
The phone rang, cutting me off and the blonde held up one perfectly manicure finger as she picked up.
“Yes. Yes, sir, she’s still here. She’s standing right in front of my desk.” She looked up at me with authoritative eyes. “Yes, Mr. Townshend. I’ll let her know. Yes. I’ll do just that.” She hung up and came around the desk.
Stunned, I stared at the impossibly tall girl. Her thin frame was made all the more fragile by the enormity of her gravity-defying boobs. It wasn’t hard to imagine the perfect children this gorgeous young woman and the mysterious and apparently perfect Townshend would make.
The young woman grabbed my arm with surprising strength and yanked me toward the elevator.
“Hey, what’s going on? What are you doing?” I called out.
“Just following strict orders,” the girl said. “I am to show you out of the office and tell you that you need to be in room 411 in ten minutes. If not, I’m fired.”
“Fired? He can’t fire you for something like that.”
“I told you; he’s very unconventional. If he wants to fire me, he’ll fire me. Besides, he’s a lawyer. If he wants to get around a wrongful termination suit, believe me, he’ll find his way around it, and if he can’t, he’ll keep me in litigation until I run out of money, which wouldn’t be too long. Don’t get me wrong. The salary here is great. Mr. Townshend is a very generous man. But…” She kicked up a heel. “I do love my Jimmy Choos.”
Fuming at the arrogance of this guy, I tried to wring my arm free as I followed the girl. “Look, um…”
“Ana. My name is Ana.”
“Look, Ana, I’m sorry I put your job on the line. I didn’t realize it was so important I be there so quickly.” Looking over my shoulder at the distant steel door to Peter Townshend’s office, I added. “And I didn’t realize we were dealing with an ego maniac.”
“He’s not that bad, and, don’t worry about it, Laura. Following strict orders comes with the territory. I knew what I was getting into when I took this job. Mr. Townshend is generous, but he expects results for that generosity.”
Ana said my name with such familiarity, as if we’d known each other for ages. Had I introduced herself as Laura Turner or simply Miss Turner?
“You know my name,” I ventured.
“Of course I do.”
What else do you know? I wanted to ask.
At the elevator Ana stopped and finally released her death grip on my arm. Staring at her, I willed her to say more, to tell me what she knew about the mysterious Peter Townshend. If I had a clue about what I was getting into, I wouldn’t be so jittery and jumpy.
I would also be better prepared for our next encounter.
Maybe Ana knew what Peter knew about me. Maybe everyone here knew. I mustered up the courage to ask, and just as I took in a breath and parted my lips to put the question forth, Ana gave me an unceremonious shove into the elevator.
“You’ll love the Clarington. It’s a beautiful building with spectacular apartments. It’s on the same street as we are, but two blocks south of here. The Clarington. You can’t miss it.” She pressed the button for the ground floor. “Now go.”
The elevator doors closed and I was alone; alone with my thoughts of my increasingly bizarre meeting with this Peter Townshend. Everything about the meeting was strange, from the empty office building right down to the forceful yet beautiful receptionist.
When the doors opened onto the lobby, my adrenaline was pumping with such fury that I almost ran out of the elevator, prepared to run the two blocks to this Clarington building. Stopping myself, I realized I’d left my car in the parking garage below. I pressed the appropriate button and the elevator brought me down and opened onto the pitch black parking area.
“This just keeps getting better,” I muttered as I pulled a small flashlight out of my bag and flicked it on, bathing the dark garage in a clear blue light. My heart pounding, I directed the light to the right where I’d left my car and took long quick strides to get to it.
In the distance I heard a strange hollow sound and rushed to pull my car door open. It was locked. Of course it was locked. I always locked my car door, but with my growing panic, I repeatedly tugged on it anyway.
Taking in a deep breath that was far from calming, I directed my flashlight into my bag to find my keys. I had forever followed the advice once given to me to always have my keys in hand prior to entering an underground parking garage.
Of all the times to ignore that advice, I chose this one. I fumbled to get my keys out and shoved the car key into the keyhole, but just as I unlocked it and pulled the door open, the hollow ping sounded again, this time much closer.
I gladly welcomed the dim light that turned on inside the car and hopped in, eager to get out of the eerie setting and back onto the street, but in my haste I dropped the keys to the floor of the car.
“Damn it,” I swore as I kicked my leg out to keep the door ajar so as not to turn out the inside light. “Calm down. Just calm down.”
My words had no effect on my nerves as I doubled over to try to retrieve the keys from under my seat.
The sound of footsteps echoed nearby, too close. I sat up to close the door, but something blocked it from closing completely and I let out a little yelp of fear. Frantic, I tried again and this time the door slammed shut and I slammed my fist on the button to lock it, controlling the scream that rose to my throat and begged to be released.
I reached down again, grabbed the set of keys, and shoved the car key in the ignition, quickly turning it to get the headlights on. Nothing. No one.<
br />
The ping sound echoed again and I realized it was probably an air conditioning unit or something like that. It was far away and constant.
I’m just spooking myself for no good reason.
I put the transmission in reverse and backed out then headed for the exit. Once outside I let out a long cool breath.
The entire ordeal was starting to creep me out, but I didn’t want to lose my cool. I had to stay calm.
Following Ana’s instructions, I drove two blocks south and came to the Clarington building. Indeed it was spectacular. Tall pillars adorned with ornate scrolls guarded the entrance as did the uniformed doorman waiting to greet residents and guests. There was almost something Manhattan about it.
Unwilling to see another underground parking for the moment, I opted to leave my car on the street. After taking a moment to shake off the remnants of fear that still clung to me, I got out and headed for the door.
“May I be of assistance, Miss?” the tall and imposing doorman said. His avuncular smile seemed to hide something, like he knew something he shouldn’t.
If things continued at this rate, I would soon be a paranoid neurotic incapable of any clear thought. Smiling, I held up the key that dangled from the acrylic keychain. “I’m looking for apartment 411.”
“Indeed. The elevators are right through the lobby on your left,” he said as he pushed the door open and waved me in.
“Thank you.”
In the grand lobby, I took a moment to breathe it all in. The place felt more like a luxury hotel than an apartment building. Exquisite artwork lined the walls and the seating area was furnished with a modern take on Louis XVI chairs upholstered in a beautiful rose and gold striped damask.
I found the elevator, which was modern, but with an art deco touch, and I was charmed once more. Spending two days in such a luxurious building might not turn out to be so bad after all. In fact, I could easily get accustomed to living in such a grand place.
