by Mia Thompson
“So, Saph, remember what I said about Dirk and the charity ball coming up?”
Sapphire did what she always did in the world of 90210 when she needed to buy time to figure out what to say or do and still manage to look girlishly in character: she smeared on a blob of red cherry lip gloss.
Dirk. Dirk. Could be one of four guys Chrissy had been seeing lately. She never really listened to Chrissy’s problems, as they weren’t actual problems. She put an extra layer of lip gloss on and still had nothing, so she went with the next best thing.
“Sure.”
“Well, I can’t go with him. He went to Prague; his dad’s company was accused of child labor or something like that. I don’t remember.”
“So?” Sapphire could tell where it was heading.
“Well, I can’t go stag. It’s embarrassing, and I’ll be bored.” Chrissy milked a pathetic attempt for a concerned expression.
“Mmm.” Here it comes.
“Hey, you can go with me!”
Damnit. “Sure. Of course.” No normal twenty-something in her circles would ever turn down a charity event. It was a chance to show off your money and haute couture, all while using phrases like, “It’s for a good cause.”
“Great. I’ll get us a table at that new Japanese place for Friday at six, so we can eat before. Charity food taste like …well, charity.”
“Sounds great,” Sapphire said clenching her jaw. Friday night was her mixed martial arts class. She’d been looking forward to it for days. Why did Chrissy always insist on bringing her to those things? It wasn’t like she didn’t have other options. Women, men, and everyone in between lined up to go to any event and be seen with the young heiress.
“Hey, look who it is,” Chrissy shouted as she ignored the waiter dropping off the check and apologizing for the inconvenience.
Sapphire turned her head then closed her eyes quickly. Maybe if her eyes were shut she’d become just as invisible to others as they were to her. She opened them to see Chrissy raising her hand to wave. Sapphire grabbed the arm before she could think. “Don’t.”
Chrissy looked at her, bewildered. “It’s your boyfriend. Did you have a fight?”
Sapphire unwillingly looked over at John. He was throwing down bill after bill at the center of his table, accomplishing two things at once. One, he was doing it standing up so that everyone, including people who weren’t at his table, could see him paying; and two, making everyone at his table feel small because he always tipped twice the amount of the check when people were around. Otherwise, the waiter or waitress was lucky to get a few cents.
“Yes, we had a fight,” Sapphire lied. Thanks for the suggestion, Chrissy.
She and John had been dating for about six months, and Sapphire was so extremely bored with the man that Chrissy was a relief compared to him. If there were an award show for douche of the year, John would win it. Again, he was a part of her Beverly Hills persona, not a personal choice.
When John and his friends slipped out of the restaurant, Sapphire let out a sigh of relief. Chrissy looked at her. “What did he do?”
Sapphire quickly weighed her options as she put on a third layer of cherry lip gloss. If she made up something, it could get back to John. Chrissy had slept with a handful of his friends and played tennis with a few of their girlfriends. If she didn’t make up something, Chrissy could catch on to the fact that Sapphire couldn’t stand John. To outside people, there was no reason for her not to be madly in love with him. He was handsome, rich, and…well, that was really it for requirements.
“I dreamt he cheated,” Sapphire said remembering a friend of Chrissy’s having a fight with her fiancé once for the very same reason. It was the stupidest thing Sapphire had ever heard, therefore, the perfect thing to say to Chrissy.
Chrissy nodded in full support and opened the checkbook to see the balance at zero. Sapphire saw her friend hide a smirk.
* * * * *
Sapphire Dubois was considerably beautiful by most who saw her, dazzled by her dark hair and vivid smile. He, however, saw her for what she really was: ugly.
Behind those brown eyes he could see the devil himself reflecting back. Evil seeped out of her pores and sin came out of her mouth every time she spoke, as he knew her words were all lies.
There she sat, unaware of how close the game was to beginning. It was just a matter of time now before he would let her know he existed. Let her know, that he knew what she really was.
Once it begun, she would be a part of him forever. She would add to his purpose.
He peered down by his feet where the girl lay. Duct taped, gagged, and bound, she couldn’t do anything but look at him with those petrified and pleading eyes. Sweat and tears had pasted strands of hair to her cheeks and she was both dirty and bloody from the struggle.
The tape over her mouth was sucked in and out with every hyper breath she took.
As he bent down to grab her, muffled cries of panic escaped her mouth.
No one would know why the girl would suffer. No one, but Sapphire Dubois.
Chapter 4
Aston’s ass itched like crazy. The tux, of course, made it worse. He walked up to the bar avoiding the passing trays of champagne.
“Any brewski?” he asked, more hoping than asking.
The bartender pinched his mouth shut tight, probably to hold back laughter. He shook his head.
“Didn’t think so.” Aston leaned over the bar looking at the selection, knowing it was highly inappropriate.
“That vodka over there any good?”
“Normally it’s seventy-five dollars a shot.”
Aston looked from the bottle to the bartender. “I didn’t ask for the price. I asked if it was tasty. Jesus…just pour me one.” Aston contemplated walking over to the Rite Aid a few blocks away and smuggling in a six-pack of Sam Adams. He opted not to, being his first week and all.
Instead, he took his glass of what he figured must be liquid gold for that price and leaned his back against the bar as he scanned the ball.
The room was lit up with artsy candles, and the walls were decorated with large fake golden badges. On a stage built for the special occasion a string ensemble played music that would put even the most hyper human to sleep. He noticed officers, civilians, and women…attractive women wherever he turned his head. Nothing like the charity parties at his old station. The following were missing: Hot dogs. Hood rats. Kegs. Bills under twenty dollars. Neighborhood pimp bribing the station to leave his hos alone. Cheese Whiz.
Aston admired the naked back of a woman in a red dress across the room, tilting his head to the side as he realized that there was something familiar about that particular naked back, but he couldn’t place it. The woman who he was staring at turned around and looked straight at him. The naked back belonged to Officer Moore. She grabbed a drink from a tray and looked like she was considering walking over to him.
Aston turned away, pretending to converse with the people next to him…the chief and a young guy with a face covered in pimples. He was green, without question. The poor bastard would remain green unless he transferred out of Beverly Hills.
“Yeah, that’s great, Chief,” Aston jumped in and let out a loud laugh as he glanced back at Officer Moore working her way toward him. He turned back to see the chief and the pimple staring at him, eyebrows arched.
“What’s great, Detective?” Chief Anderson asked, his expression odd.
“What you just said. Hi-larious.”
“I was telling Officer Harry here, that my wife struggled with cancer for two years. She nearly died.”
“Oh.” Aston wished he could pull his gun out of the holster, go back in time, and shoot his foot before it had reached his mouth. Since that wasn’t likely to happen, Aston mumbled that he was stepping out for a cigarette…leaving Chief Anderson and pimple face looking after him.
Outside Aston pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it.
“So this is where you’re hiding.”
&n
bsp; Aston turned to see Officer Moore standing with a bitter face and arms crossed, tapping an index finger to her elbow. Aston frowned, thinking desperately of a good excuse.
“You’ve been avoiding me…Detective.” She said the last part so coldly, Antarctica would have faded in comparison.
“Avoiding you?” Aston repeated, buying time without any luck. “I’ve…been busy; you know, new job and all.”
“I’m two doors down from your office. You pass by me every time you go out for a cigarette. So fourteen times a day.”
“Er…look, Angela, it’s not you…”
“No, it’s not me. My name is Angelica.”
Angelica. Crap! He knew that. “We both know this can never be; we work together and…” he paused. “There’s a reason why they say don’t dip your pen in the office ink.”
For a second, he thought she was going to slap him, which would have been fine; he’d been slapped by women more times than Brett Favre had retired. He was used to it.
“You know what the worst part is, Aston? Besides the dodging and the walking in the other direction whenever I come near,” she paused. “You poked me with a hanger to wake me up the morning after we made love.”
Made love? Aston did a lot of things. Making love wasn’t one of them.
She let her anger grow. “A HANGER!” Then came the standard slap. She got Aston right across the ear, leaving him with a slight ringing sound as she marched back into the ball.
Had he poked her with a hanger to get her out of his bed? Yes. What’s so wrong with that? What would she have preferred? A fork? Aston finished his smoke and waited until the ringing completely stopped to go back inside.
* * * * *
Sapphire looked around, beyond bored. The Beverly Hills police—what a joke, she thought. It wasn’t as if they actually fought crime. Maybe the occasional removal of a homeless guy nicely escorted to downtown L.A. and dumped there for the LAPD to deal with.
Uncomfortable as hell, Sapphire pulled down on her black strapless Dolce & Gabbana dress for the eighth time as she waited for Chrissy, who had been in the bathroom for the last fifteen minutes. Who would snort coke at a police charity ball? That’s right. The one and the only—Chrissy.
Tired of waiting, Sapphire headed to the bar in search of something to make the time pass.
“You got beer?” she asked the bartender, though she already knew they didn’t. Before he could answer, she caught the look of a man looking extremely uncomfortable in his tux. He was gazing at her from the other side of the bar.
“No beer,” he said. “Just disgustingly expensive vodka.” He demonstrated the disgustingly expensive vodka in his glass by downing the last swig.
Sapphire laughed. She looked at him and two words came to mind. Two words she never would have thought to say—even to herself—ever: ruggedly handsome. With eyes that swallowed her whole, the man moved toward her, not so smoothly.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, eyes glistening.
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “It’s an open bar.”
“You do know I carry a gun.”
The bartender abruptly went to get two more vodkas.
“Do you have a name?” he inquired. “I’m Aston.”
“Ashton?” Suddenly Chrissy stepped in front, stealing Aston’s hand from underneath Sapphire. “Christine,” she offered.
“It’s As-ton,” he said and Sapphire caught an annoyance in his voice.
Sapphire backed away some. She wasn’t about to compete with her friend. Chrissy had used her full name, which meant she wanted to sound like a grown woman, and which also meant she was very interested.
When it came to men, Sapphire always faded in the presence of Chrissy. Not that she normally cared, but this time, surprisingly enough, a sting of jealousy hit her. In her mind she dropped an elbow on Chrissy’s head.
Aston smiled at Chrissy as he watched Sapphire pull away. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Sapphire.” Chrissy tossed it out so quickly you’d think she was throwing out the garbage.
Sapphire motioned to Chrissy to wipe her nose. There was no white powder there—this time—but Chrissy believed her and wiped her nose frantically. Sapphire smiled. Every so often she’d do that…just for kicks.
“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around at other charity events, and I go to all of them. I’m a very giving person,” Chrissy declared.
Liar. Chrissy only went when she wanted to meet men, knowing only the richest of the rich got invited to certain events. Not because Chrissy was in any need of a rich man. Unlike Sapphire, she was not attracted to men who weren’t in the disgustingly wealthy category.
“I just moved here. I was transferred from downtown and…” Aston began.
Chrissy’s smile disappeared quickly, and she discreetly wiped her hand off on her dress.
“Oh, you’re with the police; how’d I miss that?” she said dryly, eyeing Aston up and down. “Saph, I’ll be over by the check signing.” With that, Chrissy was gone, leaving Sapphire and Aston alone again.
“Let’s try this again. Aston,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Sapphire.” She took his hand and froze. Rough hands. Not silky smooth like the Beverly Hills men who hadn’t worked a hard day in their lives, like John’s baby-bottom smooth manicured hands. This was the first time Sapphire had felt rough hands. “So why did you transfer?”
“It was a demotion in the disguise of a promotion. I’ve already put a request in for a transfer though. Hoping to get out of this hellhole within a few months.”
“Most people wouldn’t call Beverly Hills a hellhole.”
“No? What would you call it?”
“I didn’t say I; I said most people.”
Aston laughed and his eyes sparkled. They held each other’s gaze for a long time until the bartender came back with their drinks. Aston looked over at them without any desire to grab either.
“You know where we can get some beer?” he said, not expecting an answer. “My place.”
* * * * *
Aston looked at the sun rise over Beverly Hills while he lit his cigarette and cracked open the window. He didn’t want the girl to wake up from the smell. Not because he cared about some rich little princess’s beauty sleep, but the less she slept the more he’d have to deal with her. He had a good two hours before he could use work as an excuse to get her out, even though he didn’t start till nine o’clock.
I can get used to this, Aston thought, letting the smoke fill his lungs. Sure he’d miss the street action and the adrenaline, but hooking up with young rich women, finally having his shield, and going to parties all day long no matter how boring they were, that, he could get used to.
The young woman turned in her sleep and let out a quiet moan just as Aston turned to look at her.
When he first spotted her at the bar the night before, a strange feeling arose from his stomach. Indigestion, most likely, but the feeling was also accompanied by a strong urge to take her home. Not someone, but her, specifically.
With one last glance at the girl, Aston turned back to the window and wondered who she might be. Maybe a billion dollar heiress. Perhaps the daughter of a famous lawyer or movie producer. Either way, a rich chick born with a silver spoon in her mouth and butlers to wipe her ass. He tried hard to recall her name. It was something stupid. Diamond or Jewel. Sapphire? Yes, Sapphire! Come on. Typical rich folk. He laughed to himself, louder than intended.
“Hey,” she mumbled, opening her eyes and pulling on the cover to wrap it around her.
Damnit. “Hey.”
“What time is it?”
“Six A.M. You can go back to sleep if you want to.” Please go back to sleep.
“I’m already awake, so…” she sat up, letting her eyes sweep across his stacks of unopened moving boxes in the morning light.
“So, do you live close by?” He asked. Had Aston not been who he was, this question might’ve been put into the catego
ry of polite small talk. Of course, Aston didn’t do polite small talk, and the question was merely one in a series which was meant to make her realize she was not welcome and needed to leave a-sap.
“Up there,” she pointed out the window and towards the upper mansions on the hills. “One of the perks is the view. If you go to one of the lookouts I swear you can see all the way to Orange County.”
“I don’t do heights,” he said, in case her plan was to lead the conversation somewhere it definitely shouldn’t go.
“Alright.” She smiled at him. Why, he had no idea, but it looked so sweet and genuine, Aston almost wanted to do the deed again. He refrained; mixed signals were no good in situations like these.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked, jumping up and wrapping the entire sheet around her.
“Good, like a rock,” Aston said, meaning bad…had a clingy girl pasted to my back all night.
Twenty awkward minutes and several of Aston’s strategically placed questions later, they stood by the door in silence. Aston was just about to open the door and boot her out when she cleared her throat.
“Do you wanna get some breakfast or…?” she asked him.
“I don’t really eat breakfast…I’m one of those people,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t look above the fridge where several packs of his All Bran and Raisin Bran cereals sat next to his pre-prepped breakfast bowl. Mostly because he didn’t want her to figure out he was lying; partly because she’d know he was irregular.
She stood there silently for a minute looking down at the floor, like she wanted to say something.
Aston leaned forward and reached for the doorknob. She must have thought he was leaning in for a smooch because she kissed him. He didn’t kiss her back and she seemed to realize that she had misinterpreted him. She pulled back so violently that she knocked over a stack of boxes.
He watched, somewhat entertained, as she scrambled to get them back in place.
“Um,” she said as her cheeks blossomed up in red. “So…”
“I’d take the stairs,” Aston interrupted. “There’s this annoying guy who hangs out in the elevator and insists on pushing the buttons for you.”
