by Marie Astor
“Janet, I wanted to thank you personally for your contribution to the investigation. Without you, we would never have gathered the evidence for the case. Dennis spoke very highly of you…”
“Dennis?” Janet cut in.
“Yes, Dennis – the gentleman sitting next to you. The two of you worked together, didn’t you?”
“Errr - I think there’s a need for a slight clarification…” The man Janet knew as Dean Snider flushed bright red under Janet’s wide-eyed stare. “You see, Janet, while I was working undercover at Bostoff, I couldn’t very well use my real name, so I used a pseudonym, Dean Snider. My real name is Dennis Walker.”
“And you waited to tell her this until now, Dennis?” Ham shook his head. “I dare say your real name stopped being a secret after your undercover work at Bostoff ended.”
“Somehow it had not come up, sir.”
“Well, never mind. I hope you won’t hold it against Dennis, Janet – he can be overly diligent when it comes to sensitive matters. But most importantly, I hope that this little misunderstanding will not affect your answer to the question I am about to ask you now.” Ham paused. “How do you feel about employment with the Treasury? I could use an investigator like you.”
Janet swallowed, too stunned to speak. She had expected a request for her testimony or additional evidence: anything, but an employment offer. This was her first time meeting Hamilton Kirk. Up until now, she had submitted all of the evidence for the investigation to Dean. “Don’t you want to interview me first?”
“I just did.” Ham grinned. “The materials you submitted to aid the investigation told me all I needed to know about your investigative skills, and meeting you face to face confirmed my opinion. Well, I’m not going to put you on the spot now.” Ham picked up a letter-sized brown envelope from his desk. “The details of the offer are inside; I had HR put it together ahead of time. I hope that you will say yes. By the way, Treasury offers excellent health and retirement benefits. These things may not seem important to you now, but they do come in handy as one gets older,” he added.
“Thank you, Mr. Kirk. I very much appreciate your offer. It’s just that it comes as a bit of a surprise.”
“I understand that. I don’t expect an answer today, but I wanted to make you an offer in person rather than sending it by mail. I hope to see you again soon, Janet. And please call me Ham.”
“Thank you, Ham.” Janet rose from her chair. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a big decision to make.”
“By all means.” Ham nodded. “Dennis will walk you out.”
Dennis rose from his chair.
“No need – I can find my own way,” Janet retorted.
“I know you can, but it’s office policy. Visitors must be accompanied at all times – a rule that I hope you won’t be subjected to much longer.” Ham winked.
“Thank you, Ham.” Without another glance at Dennis, Janet walked towards the door. Her head was spinning. She needed to get out of there quickly.
She walked brusquely down the hallway, mechanically making a turn for the elevators.
“Janet!”
She kept walking, ignoring Dean’s – oh, wait, Dennis’s – voice. Miraculously, an elevator opened, and she jumped inside, hitting the door close button.
“Janet!” Too late. The doors closed shut, and the man she knew as Dean Snider was left standing in the elevator bank.
When the elevator doors opened, Janet walked out quickly and returned the visitor badge to the security guard. Then she turned for the exit.
A moment later she was outside, leaving the Treasury building behind her.
“Janet! Would you wait a second! You can’t just run away from me!” A male hand touched her shoulder.
She turned around. “What do you want, Dean? Oh, wait, it’s Dennis, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but somehow I never got around to it.”
“Or maybe you thought you didn’t have to since you already had gotten everything you needed out of me.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Look, aside from my occupation and my name, I am the same man I was when I was working at Bostoff.”
“And who is that man? I for one have no idea who he is.”
“He is the man who would like to take you out to dinner. How does tonight at eight o’clock sound?”
“I have plans.” This, of course, was a lie, but she was not about to let him know that she had no social life to speak of.
“Break them.”
“Why should I? To hear more of your lies?”
“To hear the truth.” He paused, the blue-gray of his eyes locking in on her face. “Janet, I messed up. People make mistakes. That’s what makes us human. Please, give me another chance. Even Jon Bostoff got a concession from the investigators for his cooperation, and surely, my transgressions are not nearly as bad.”
Janet smirked. The man was funny. It was one of the first things that drew her to him – his wit and his blue-gray eyes.
“All right, eight o’clock tonight. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” Dennis grinned.
“Then how will I know where to meet you?”
“You won’t – I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Oh, right – you already know the address.”
“That’s right. See you tonight. And Janet?”
“Yes?”
“I hope you’ll accept Ham’s offer. I think you’ll be great at the job.”
“I need some time to think about it. It’s a big step.”
“All right. We can discuss it over dinner tonight.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
Once Janet walked away from Dennis, she could no longer suppress a wide smile spreading over her lips. Dating a coworker could certainly get complicated, but then life was never simple.
About the Author:
Marie Astor is the author of contemporary romance novels Lucky Charm, On the Rim of Love, This Tangled Thing Called Love, romantic suspense novel, To Catch a Bad Guy, and a short story collection, A Dress in a Window. Marie is also the author of fantasy adventure novel, Over the Mountain and Back.
If you would like to find out more about Marie’s books, please visit Marie at her website: www.marieastor.com.
This Tangled Thing Called Love
By
Marie Astor
Claire Chatfield has everything a girl could possibly wish for: looks, a promising career, and an engagement ring from one of New York’s most eligible heir-bachelors! Life should be a dream and yet, it does not feel like one… When an enigmatic new neighbor, Alec Brunell, moves into an apartment above from Claire’s, Claire is surprised to find herself wondering whether the choices she has made in her life are worth following through.
In order to secure his place as his father’s successor, David Lawson must settle down with a wife befitting the future head of Lawson Enterprises - and who could fit the prerequisite better than lovely Claire Chatfield? There is just one glitch – David Lawson is in love with another woman.
Alec Brunell has never lacked for women’s attention, but he finds himself at a loss when faced with his downstairs neighbor, Claire Chatfield. Still, her iciness only adds fuel to his fire, as Alec is determined to change Claire’s view of him.
This Tangled Thing Called Love follows the story of four people searching for love – will they have the courage to find it?
Chapter 1
It was barely eight a.m. when Claire heard the sound of music emanating from the ceiling. For a moment, she had a scary thought that she was late for work, but then she remembered that it was Saturday. She curled her legs and pulled the comforter up to her chin; she was dreaming, and the sensual music had to be a part of the dream. She snuggled against the pillow in anticipation of what the dream would bring next, but as she attempted to drift back to sleep, the music kept growin
g louder. After tossing and turning, Claire finally awakened, aware that the persistent sounds were very real.
Claire lay back on her pillow, staring into the ceiling in bewilderment as the sultry sounds of Argentine tango filled her bedroom. Who in their right mind would blast tango music at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning? Obviously, the new tenant of the upstairs apartment, Claire answered her own question. She was wide-awake now. Building rules explicitly stated that there was to be no noise until 10 a.m. on weekends, and she would make it her business to educate the new resident.
Claire kicked off the comforter and slid her feet into her slippers. Then she pulled on her bathrobe and headed out the door.
She pressed the elevator button, but saw that the elevator was out of order. Had she been in a calmer state, this might have been enough of an obstacle to postpone her mission, but at present this circumstance only added oil to the fire.
As she walked up the stairs to the top floor apartment, Claire felt the onset of a hangover. She had been out late with the girls last night, and she was bound to pay for it now. If only she had been able to sleep it off. Claire frowned as she stoically climbed the rest of the stairs. Saturdays were supposed to be relaxing, but this Saturday promised to be anything but.
The music grew even louder once Claire had reached the next floor. Now it was a milonga waltz: a slow, sensual melody that made her shiver right down to her slippers. This music lover must be quite a connoisseur of tangos, Claire thought, about to ring the doorbell. She stopped halfway, remembering that in her fury she had forgotten to brush her teeth and comb her hair. Her hesitation was brief, as she decided that this grooming lapse was irrelevant at the moment. In fact, she thought that it might serve the purpose of her visit – her disheveled state should be enough of a deterrent to stop the culprit from further misconduct. She pressed the bell and waited.
Several minutes passed. The music continued, but nothing else happened. Frowning, Claire rang the doorbell again. Her lips drawn and her hands crisscrossed on her chest, she geared herself up for the speech she planned to deliver to the offender, but she was disappointed yet again as the door remained closed.
This time her finger nearly sank into the rickety doorbell as she kept the button pressed for almost a minute. Whoever was inside had to hear that, but apparently, she was mistaken again. Exasperated, Claire clenched her fingers into a fist and pounded on the door, but to her surprise the door creaked open under the impact. The blasting music seeping through the opening enveloped her, and under its spell, Claire made her way inside the apartment.
What she saw next defeated all of her expectations as she froze in place, mouth agape. The apartment consisted of one giant room. It must have been a one-bedroom at some point, but the dividing wall had been knocked down, leaving a vast loft. The room was empty save for a frumpy couch in the corner, a scant table and two chairs. Several large bags, presumably with clothes and other possessions, were planted on the floor sporadically.
But this disarray had nothing to do with Claire’s paralyzed state as she stared at the back of the man who was too absorbed by his task to notice her presence. He was shirtless, and his muscles rippled as he moved with feline grace to the sound of the mesmerizing melody. His feet were engaged in complicated dance moves, but his hands were busy with a paint roller as he coated the wall in front of him in red paint. His longish hair touched the nape of his neck, and Claire found herself swallowing uneasily as she stared on, hypnotized.
The music lover – that was how she mentally called him – lowered his paint roller into the paint bin, and Claire caught his striking Roman profile. He was about to go on with his task, but he must have spotted her from the corner of his eye, because he abruptly turned around and stared right at her. Claire blinked and began rattling off the cause of her visit, at which the music lover signaled for her to stop and glided over to the iPod speakers on the table, which were the source of Claire’s initial indignation. Gliding was the only word Claire could think to describe his graceful way of moving.
The music stopped, and Claire shivered uncomfortably, terrified by her current predicament. What had she been thinking, wandering into some stranger’s apartment? He could have her arrested for trespassing, and that was the least alarming of the possibilities. Handsome or not, he could be a serial killer for all she knew, and now she was stuck there at his mercy.
“I’m Alec, Alec Brunell.” The music lover smiled at her as he held her gaze with his dark brown eyes.
Claire made a mental effort to stop calling the man before her the music lover. His name was Alec, and she knew absolutely nothing about him except the fact that he was inconsiderate enough to blast tango music at eight in the morning on a Saturday, which was why she found herself in his apartment in the first place. That’s right, her visit had a purpose, and now she would make it known.
“I’m Claire Chatfield. I live in the apartment below yours…”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Claire. Thank you for coming over to welcome me to the building.” Alec reached for her hand, and Claire felt his warm fingers encircle her palm. “Would you like some coffee, Claire? I was about to have mine…” He half-turned to the tiny kitchen.
“No!” Claire heard herself shouting.
“Well, if you don’t like coffee, I have some orange juice…” Alec went on, clearly taken aback by her reaction.
Get yourself together, Claire thought as she folded her arms on her chest, pinching her forearm. “Actually, the reason I stopped by is the music.”
“You love tango, huh?” Alec’s gaze travelled along her bathrobe. “It is beautiful…”
“No, I don’t love tango,” Claire snapped. This Alec character sure had his act down pat. Granted, he was a looker, but in Claire’s book that did not give him the right to be so blatant about it. Sure, there must be plenty of women hungering for his mouthwatering flesh, but she sure as hell was not one of them. She had a boyfriend, and she had come there for a reason.
“You don’t like tango?” Alec stared at her in frank bewilderment.
“I don’t like any music blasting through my ceiling at eight a.m. on a Saturday. The building rules say no noise until ten a.m.” Claire glared at him. She was in control now.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry.” To her surprise, Alec blushed. “I used to rent a loft in a warehouse, and I forgot how thin building walls can be.” He grinned apologetically. “I promise you that it will not happen again. Now, may I offer you a cup of coffee as a peace offering?” He winked at her, catching her irate gaze.
“No, thank you. I think I’ll head back to bed and try to catch up on some sleep.” Claire turned to leave. “And by the way, you need to have a building permit to do any kind of handiwork,” she blurted over her shoulder as she shut the door behind her.
Back in the safety of her apartment, Claire locked the door behind her. Her face was burning crimson red; she had never lost control like this before.
She stumbled into the kitchen and put on the coffee pot. She was too rattled to go back to bed now. Mechanically, she poured cereal into a bowl and splashed some milk over it. Taking a bite of her cereal, she cringed as she replayed the encounter in her mind. She could not remember the last time she had been this flustered. She liked to think of herself as a fairly rational person, and yet, just now she had behaved like a complete maniac. First, she had burst into a total stranger’s apartment, and then she had ogled his naked, incredibly muscular torso – at this thought Claire cringed again, hoping that her new neighbor had not noticed this lapse – and then, after he had tried to make small talk despite her unexpected appearance in his apartment, she had nearly screamed at him for playing his music too loud. And to top it all off, after he had sincerely apologized, she had snubbed his perfectly good-natured offer of a cup of coffee.
Reliving the memory of her embarrassing behavior was enough to make Claire burrow her face in her hands and pull on her hair. She was a grown woman, and she knew how to handl
e tough situations. What on earth made her act like this? Sure, Alec’s devastatingly handsome looks could have been an explanation, but Claire knew full well that it was not the answer. A part of her wished it had been the answer. That would have made things so much simpler. Claire was in love with David Lawson, and she was not the kind of woman who got smitten by a six-pack, no matter how hard, or dark eyes, no matter how piercing. No, the true reason was in the music - the sultry, maddening tango music.
You love tango, huh? She remembered Alec’s question, which was more of a statement really, as though it were a given that everyone on earth adored the heart-wrenching melody. Well, in his defense, Alec could not have known how loaded the question was for Claire. His innocent remark took her back to a time she did not care to revisit, so the only natural response was to snub him and run for cover. Well, she was all grown up now, and she knew how to deal with unwelcome recollections of the past: lock them up in a “do not open” memories compartment, where they belonged.
Alec put down the paint roller and wiped his forehead on the back of his arm. Man, he was beat. He had forgotten how grueling physical labor could be. Sure, he worked out six days a week, not to mention daily dance practice, but painting walls made him discover muscles he did not know he had. Every bit of his body throbbed, but at least he had gotten the job done. The south wall was painted red, and the other three were white. Now, all he needed was to wait for the paint to dry so that he could add a silhouette of a tango couple against the red background. That ought to complete the ambiance.
He opened the small fridge and reached for a bottle of orange juice. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat. Holding the now half-empty bottle, Alec walked over to the window to check out his new view. All in all, he was happy with his new digs. The rent was reasonable, and the view was not bad either. From the top floor he had an unobstructed view of Second Avenue. Not exactly the poshest of locations, but it would do. In a couple of days, once the paint smell aired out, he could move in.
