by Zaydee Rain
Sometimes I conveniently forget I haven't told Lorraine I'm not blind anymore. But then I don't know why I haven't even tried to bring it up. I guess I just want to savor every moment I can stare at her without her knowing. It felt so wonderful the first time I really saw her standing in Nicole's doorway last week. Lorraine is so beautiful. Every inch of her is.
I snapped back to reality to look around. My penthouse apartment was redecorated months ago to suit the comfort of a blind man. Low tables were removed, every expensive figurine were taken away and every part of the house was baby-proofed so I would not hurt myself when I walk.
I used to bang my shins on every thing that was on my way so when I hired Lorraine, she skillfully changed the interior design and she also taught me a thing or two. Okay, a lot.
I sat down next to Jenny, who crawled into my lap and wrapped her pudgy arms around my neck.
'Did you sleep well, princesa?' I asked her.
'Yesh.' She answered and then smiled. 'No one's ever called me princess before.'
'That's 'cause you're not,' her brother snickered and earned a warning look from Lorraine.
She glared at him but turned back to me. 'Arianne-she's my new friend-said boys are stupid.'
I tweaked her nose. 'How about me? Am I stupid too, mi princesa?'
She giggled and shook her head. 'No, 'courshe not. I love you.' Then she cuddled to my chest and all the way into my heart.
The O'Callaghans have a way of doing that.
Seven months ago
I am so killing Faustine the next time I see her. First, she sends me to this hotel telling me that I would be meeting a prospective client-who was a "very important person". As it turns out, she set me up to see her boar of a brother, Bart.
The man-if you could even call him that-was pathetic. Not only did he inherit Faustine's conceit but he was also horrible.
Horrible than the man I met on Grand Central Station last month.
W-wait. Why do I keep on remembering him? He was nothing but a rich, foreign pervert. I shouldn't even waste my time wondering about him.
Then as if some sick game was being played on me, I saw him walking towards me. He was with that guy-who had the audacity to make a move on Aunt Nicole.
I quickly looked around for a place to hide but there was none. It was the lobby of the hotel and there weren't enough corners to conceal me.
So I turned my back on them but then Faustine's brother, Bart, filled my line of vision. I went to my left to avoid both men but then Bart yelled behind me, 'Lorraine, there you are!'
I swung my gaze to my right but the guy who was with the guy who I was also running from aside from this other guy-Oh God! Let's just say he saw me and he was leading his boss towards me.
I walked backwards and held up both my arms to when they were only a few feet a way from me. 'Whoa, there. Can you please stop stalking me?'
The blonde guy grinned lazily. 'We're not stalking you. We just wanted to say hi.' He explained. 'Or did you forget us already?'
'Ha, I wish.' I retorted.
Mr. Rich Foreigner was wearing shade again so I couldn't read half the expression in his face. 'Who is it, Tripp?'
'The girl from the train station, that's who,' He told the other man. 'Fancy meeting you here.'
I only grunted.
'You mean the girl who crashed into me?'
'I didn't crash into you! You crashed into me! And I told you I'm not a girl!' I protested. I was already closing the distance between me and Mr. Rich Foreigner when I tripped and hurled my bag.
But even before I landed on my stomach, I heard the loud crash of glass hitting marble.
'Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break your lobby centerpiece.' I was sitting inside Mr. Rich Foreigner's office (Bart was long gone after she witnessed my clumsiness). And only two colors stand out in the entire room. Black and white. Very cool and sophisticated. The wall behind his work station though was all glass, giving the office a fantastic view of Manhattan.
I learned that his name was Luc De la Vega and that he was the owner of this hotel. He sat behind his desk-sans his sunglasses-so now I know the color of his eyes. Brown. It reminded me of dark, delectable Belgian chocolate.
He leaned back on his chair and tilted his head to the side. 'But still you broke it.' He said in an unemotional tone.
His eyes weren't exactly trained on me. Actually, it kind of looks like he's talking to the wall-which is understandable because he can't see. 'I know and I've apologized.'
'I don't think you understand,' he murmured. 'You can't get away with just an apology.'
I scoffed. 'You want me to pay for it?'
He nodded.
Then I scoffed some more. 'Well, aren't we just quits? You ruined my brother and sister's birthday cake and I broke your vase.'
He laced his large hands together and leaned forward. 'Ms. O'Callaghan, I replaced the cake.'
I sighed. That much was true. 'Then I'll just replace the vase. Maybe you could tell me where you bought it and I'll deal with the rest.'
'Hmm, sure. But there's just one problem.'
I raised my brow, trying to appear haughty-even though he can't see me-to hide my nervousness. 'What's that?'
'The vase was an antique,' he announced. 'I bought in from a dealer in China and it's one of a kind.'
Oh my God. I'm so screwed. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out.
'Ms. O'Callaghan?'
'Uh, yes.' What can I do? The vase was freaking one of a kind. Darn it. 'Uhm, I'll just pay you. Is that alright?' When he nodded, I sighed and winced at the same time. 'How much was the vase?'
My eyes widened and my breath caught at the amount he casually recited.
'I don't think I would even earn that much money even if I work for Faustine for a whole year.'
Mr. De la Vega shrugged. The devil.
'I-I'm sorry but I don't have that kind of money.' I explained. 'Maybe we could work other things out for this settlement?'
He seemed to consider what I say before nodding.
'I think there's something you can do to pay me back,' he finally said.
I tried to sound upbeat about it. 'Really? Great. What is it?'
He smiled a little and moved his eyes so that they were now pointed at my lips. 'You can have sex with me.'
Chapter 5
For the second time since I met him, I gaped at him wordlessly.
Have sex with him? Is he freaking demented? He must be for what kind of man would say such a thing?
I shook off the thick layer of shock that overcame me. 'You're kidding, right?'
He shrugged again. 'You said you had a job so I guess you must be over eighteen now.'
'I'm nineteen-and that's not the point,' My irritation was growing by the second. 'You just made a very indecent proposition-'
'Which I hope you reconsider,' He butted in. 'I'm a good lay, I'm telling you, señorita.'
I gulped. He was serious! He truly was serious.
'I don't care,' I tried to put more strength into my voice. 'I'm not going to have sex with you. If I have to work for you until my hair's white and I'm all wrinkled, I would. But no sex. Never.'
He cocked his head in a manner I'm beginning to find annoying. 'Never is too strong a word so I suggest you don't use it carelessly.' He smirked. 'But yes, you can work for me. I think I can find you a position somewhere. Though I'd rather the position you take with me is being horizontal on my bed.'
I gasped. The demented man is shameless. 'Mr. De la Vega, I came in here to settle things with you because I broke your 2-feet vase. I didn't come here to be insulted and I sure as hell won't be staying for the same reason.' I stood up and jutted out my chin. 'Give me a call when you finally develop a civilized bone in your body-if that would ever happen.'
After saying that, I walked out of his office and the last time I checked, my dignity was still intact.
There were two messages on my machine when I got home. One wa
s from Faustine, who was blathering about how I "embarrassed" her brother, Bart, during lunch.
'Really, Patrice, I expected more from you.' Yes, my name for the day is Patrice. The woman would never change even in a million years. 'Bart was so ashamed his lunch date was so clumsy and even broke a very expensive piece. He just came into town and was most distressed to be subjected to that kind of disgrace. I'll have you know that he especially asked for you because you charmed him the first time he met you in one of my fashion shows.' I supposed she was trying to make me feel guilty but just wasn't working. Bart was attractive in his conceited way but he just wasn't the man for me. 'Now, I think there's a way for to make it up to him.'
'I don't want to make it up to him!' I spoke to the empty room.
But the message went on. 'There's this small party a friend of ours is hosting on Saturday. It will be held on their Upper East Side apartment. You can come as his date, Patrice. I'm sure Bart will be thrilled. But you have to wear your finest dress. The very cream of Manhattan would be attending and you can't embarrass us yet again, Patrice.' And after that last sentence, she finally cut off the connection.
I sighed heavily and slid down the old couch I got on an estate auction for a very cheap price.
A beep sounded as a signal that the second message was going to be played.
'Hello,' the melodic voice of a man sounded. I tensed because I quickly recognized whose it was. It was from the very man who told me I could repay the broken vase by having sex with him. 'It's me, Luc De la Vega. I just called in to tell you I found the perfect job for you. Come to my office here at the hotel on Monday so we can discuss it. Goodbye.'
W-what? I sat up suddenly to look at the answering machine. That was it? No apology for the crude suggestion to go to bed with him?
Oh, that's just plain rude! Who does he think he is? Some guy who can get away with that kind of disrespect?
The horrible man would be in for a surprise on Monday.
I was in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico just lying on the beach, sunbathing. There was a margarita and an assortment of fruits beside me on the sand, waiting to be sipped and chewed.
Here there were no Faustine and Bart Collins. I was all alone in my own little Cabo world. I had the greatest urge to stand up and get my sketchpad to draw the scenery before me. But my muscles were too lax and I was too lazy to move.
I'll do it later, I told myself.
'Ayanna? Ayanna? Ayanna!'
I blinked and found Faustine snapping her fingers at me. So much for trying to escape this hell hole through my imagination. I was back in reality. To be specific, I'm in the at party where "the very cream of Manhattan"-as Faustine had put it-really attended.
I forced myself to smile even just a little. 'Yes, Faustine?'
'I asked you if you could get us some drinks.' By the tone of her voice, I knew that she must have repeated her request for half a dozen of times already.
I looked at my hand and saw the champagne flute I was holding still more than half full. 'But I still have something to drink,' I held up the glass.
The older woman glared but forced a smiled which looked more like a grimace for the benefit of the other people around us, watching. 'I noticed that but I was quite hoping you'd get me and Mr. Dupont here a couple of cocktails.'
Ah, now, I understand. I glanced at the Frenchman standing beside my boss. He was in his fifties and he was very tall and sophisticated. I saw Faustine bat her eyes at him and gestured apologetically towards me. I knew the message she was trying to convey without her words. She was sorry I was such a stupid ninny.
I suppressed a huff and smiled even wider. 'Of course, Faustine. I'll be just a minute.'
She looked meaningfully back at me and said, 'Thank you, Ayanna.'
That's when I walked away and went to the bar. I ordered for two cocktails and was scooping both in my hands when someone breathed on my ear. I spun around to see who it was but it was only Bart. He was wearing a dinner suit which actually flattered his body. His blonde locks were slicked back making him look like a dashing rogue.
'Hello, gorgeous.' He smiled and ran a finger down my cheek. 'Are you enjoying the party?'
I carefully pushed his hand away. 'A little. I don't know half the people in here.'
He laughed at that; not with gloating but with amusement. 'I'm sorry I left you when we got here. I shouldn't have let a couple of my friends take me away from you. I should've introduced you around.'
I felt uneasy with him apologizing to me. It's not as if I was delighted to be his date for tonight and he sound like he seriously regrets leaving me with Faustine. 'No, it's alright. Don't think about it.' I turned my back to him once more to get the drinks on the bar.
'Where are you taking that?' Bart asked as he followed me through the throng of people.
I was about to tell him it was for his sister and Mr. Dunpont when I stopped dead cold on my tracks.
Not three feet away from me was Luc De la Vega with his bodyguard in tow. His minion saw me and hurriedly whispered something to his boss.
'Lorraine, are you alright?' Bart turned me to him and studied my face. 'You look shocked.'
I didn't notice that Luc De la Vega was already standing beside us until he spoke, 'Hello, Ms. O'Callaghan.'
Bart and I turned to face him. 'You know him, Lorraine?' he asked and I just nodded. He put on his best smile-being the publicist that he is-and held out a hand. 'You must be one of her friends. I'm Bart Collins.'
Luc did not move at all; even to offer his own hand. 'Luc De la Vega.' He simply said.
I saw Bart's eyes widen and he turned to me. 'The Luc De la Vega? You know The Lucas De la Vega?'
I frowned at him. Why does he keep on putting "the" before the other man's name? Is Luc De la Vega some kind of a legend or something?
'Yes, I know him,' I answered. 'After all, I broke his lobby centerpiece when we had lunch the other day.'
'Oh,' Bart looked dumbfounded for a moment until he regained his senses. 'Well, then I hope you both settled that matter already.'
'Actually,' Luc interjected. 'We haven't come to an agreement yet.'
He made it sound bad so I retorted, 'But I'm going to come to your office on Monday to work things out with you, Mr. De la Vega. Or have you forgotten about it?'
He smirked. 'Of course not, Ms. O'Callaghan.'
Somebody touched my arm and I looked over my shoulder to see Faustine looking pissed.
'Where the hell have you been, Gillian? You didn't come back with our drinks.'
Mr. Dunpont, who she dragged along with her, looked confused. 'I thought her name was Ayanna.'
Faustine merely waved her hand away and said, 'Oh, Mr. Dunpont, don't trouble yourself with her name. It's irrelevant.'
I nearly growled but Bart gave his older sister a reproving stare. 'Lorraine has been your assistant for what-six months now? I think you should at least have the respect to learn her real name, Faustine, and it's not Ayanna or Gillian. It's Lorraine.'
Faustine got this weird expression on her face now, like she was trying to ask her brother without saying anything what the hell is he doing defending me like that. I couldn't blame her. Even I am astonished by Bart's action.
