Enticing An Angel

by Leo Charles Taylor

  Enticing An Angel

  Leo Charles Taylor

  Published by Jokat Publishing

  Copyright by Leo Charles Taylor 2014

  Chapter 1

  "I still think you're up to something," Michael said to his mother as he pulled the car off the city street and into the small office complex.

  He took a minute to look for a parking spot, frowned, and then audibly sighed. The lot wasn't large, as it was surrounded by several city buildings of various age and construction, but he would have to park away from the entrance and closer to the street and sidewalks.

  A big deal attorney and he can't have spots reserved up front, he thought.

  "Michael, why must I always have a secret motive?" his mother asked.

  "Cause it's you, Mom," he replied casually. "Besides, you have a tell. You always get overly descriptive when you have a secret agenda. You didn't just tell me that we had to sign papers for your estate. You went into all the reasons why it had to be me, why it had to be today, and why it had to be at this time of day." Michael paused, thought for a moment, shook his head, and then had to ask a question.

  "What's her name?"

  While his mother thought about her response, he pulled the car into a spot adjacent to the street just under a large overhanging tree. He put it into park, shut off the engine, and turned to her. They stared at each other for a moment.

  "Jennifer," she said finally.

  "Ah, Mom," Michael said as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  He should've known this was the case. Actually, he did know. It was just disappointing for him to have the confirmation. He sighed and fumbled about for his cell phone and prepared to get out of the car.

  "Michael, don't give me that attitude. You're thirty-five years old, and it's about time you settled down," she commented.

  Michael looked at his mother skeptically, and once again, shook his head. She wasn’t a cruel woman, but she was nearly sixty and had gotten to a point in life where she meddled a little too much into the lives of her adult children. At least she was holding up well. She was healthy, certainly mobile, and her hair was mostly white, but that was usually the case with natural blondes as they aged. However, while she was not cruel, she was determined.

  "I am settled, Mother," he responded. "It's not as if I'm getting drunk every night."

  "You know what I mean. I have five sons and not one of you is married; and I want grandchildren," she replied in a firm tone.

  "You have grandchildren," Michael replied with an eye roll.

  "Yes, and I love those two kids dearly, but I want more. Besides, it pains me to see my boys without women in their lives."

  "I think Nathan and Joshua would disagree with that notion," Michael said as he hung his head and thought about the pain his two younger brothers had endured. His youngest siblings were ten years his junior and had been through more hell with women than any man should have to endure.

  "Watch yourself, Michael," his mother said coldly; she did not like being reminded of the torment her youngest children had experienced.

  Michael looked up suddenly and realized he had just taken a caring and concerned woman and angered her. It had momentarily escaped his mind, but he now remembered the hell his mother had gone through with those two sons—one a widower with children, the other turned cold and aloof from the mental abuse of a sick wife. Michael didn't respond verbally to his mother's request to behave, but he did rein in his animosity.

  "Which building is it?" he asked as he looked through the car windows.

  "The one on the left," she said as she pointed across the lot to a two story red brick building with large tinted windows. The front doors were constructed with matching glass and brass accents. Michael pursed his lips and nodded with respect.

  Pretty spendy, he thought; his job as an architect allowed for a finer appreciation of the expensive and subtle additions to the building.

  "All, right. Let's get this over with," he said as he tried to get out of the car.

  "Hold it, little Angel," his mother replied sternly. "You better behave in there. I need my estate paperwork finished correctly. I also need you to perform your role as executor and fill out your documents properly; and when you meet Jennifer, I expect you to be polite."

  "I'm always polite, mom. If you wanted someone to be rude you'd have invited Brian."

  "Brian's not rude, he's just..." she paused for a second, and then held up her hand as if she were a police officer attempting to stop traffic."You know, I'm not going to get into this with you."

  She put her hand down and returned to topic. "Jennifer's a nice girl. She's your age, she's a paralegal, and I think the two of you would hit it off. I’m not demanding that you ask her for a date. However, I am asking you to take a good look at her and consider her as a candidate. I was impressed with her, and I think you might be as well."

  "I already said 'all right.'"

  "Yes, but I need you to be nice and give her a chance," she said, and then sighed with exasperation. "Honestly, Michael, I have no idea why you're not married. You make good money, you have your own home, and you're a good-looking man. Most women drool over men who are six foot tall and muscled."

  "Well, my looks do get me a big discount with the sex workers," Michael replied in a teasing tone.

  He figured if his mother was going to force this situation on him, then he might as well find some way to enjoy it. His mom was not impressed and scolded him. She did not like the idea of any of her boys seeing hookers.

  "Sex workers, mom. They're called sex workers," he corrected her with a smile, and the look she gave him told him he needed to back off once again.

  "Okay," he finally said in order to placate her. "I'll be nice."

  "You'd better be," she said sternly. "Or else."

  "Or else what, mom?" he asked curiously.

  His mother didn't even pause.

  "Or else we will finish this paperwork, get my estate in order, and I will make certain your four brothers know that I want to spend my golden years living with you and no one else."

  Michael had joked with his mother just a moment ago, and she had taken him seriously. He could only hope that she was joking with him now, but being a prudent man, he decided not to take a chance. He just smiled and reached for his door handle.

  "Mrs. Angel, I’d be happy to have you live with me. However, you may not enjoy the living arrangements. I plan to have a wife by that time."

  "Good, boy," she said as she reached for her own handle.

  They exited the car, and Michael smiled as the warm sun hit his face. Seattle often had sunny days that offset the more common overcast ones, and he was happy to be out of the office today to enjoy the pleasant weather. He took his mother's arm as they made their way to the offices and once again assured her that he would behave. It was then an easy walk through the building lobby, then a suite door, and into a small but pleasing reception area.

  The reception area was nothing ostentatious, but it did have leather furniture, a few ferns, and the magazines were up to date. Michael grabbed a Seattle City Guide and perused the upcoming events; he wondered if there was a new symphonic performance or odd theatre group in town.

  "Mrs. Angel?" Came a soft and pleasing voice; Michael looked up at the request for his mother. To his left, and halfway through an open door, was a well-dressed and smiling woman hanging onto the doorknob as she leaned into the reception area.

  "Jennifer," Mrs. Angel replied. "It's good to see you again."

  "Thank you," Jennifer replied. "We're ready for you, if you want to come on back."

  "Of course," Mrs. Angel replied as she stood to join the woman. "Oh, and this is my son, Michael." She pointed to her son as he stood t
o greet the paralegal properly.

  Jennifer took the time to fully enter the reception area and shake Michael's hand. He had to raise his eyes in admiration as she did so. Whatever his mother's motives, he had to admit that she had good taste in women. Jennifer was neat in appearance, possessed a warm smile, and genuinely appeared to be a pleasant person. She also appeared to be business oriented, and he could read very little about her other than a sense of professionalism. Jennifer finished her greetings and then led them into the main offices while speaking on simple matters such as the weather and local culture.

  "Michael, I saw you reading the city guide," she said. "Do you go out much?"

  "From time to time," he answered. "I enjoy the Act Theatre and the musicals throughout the city."

  "Oh, then you might enjoy Jazz Alley. Have you ever been?" she asked as she opened the door to a stylish conference room and motioned them inside.

  "No, but I've been meaning to go sometime. Is it nice?"

  Jennifer nodded her head, and then offered him information regarding shows performed and the food that was served. Mrs. Angel took her seat at the oak conference table, discreetly nodded her head in Jennifer's direction, and widened her eyes.

  See, I told you so, she seemed to say to Michael as he took a seat opposite her.

  Michael and Jennifer conversed for a few minutes, exchanging notes about restaurants and theaters. They seemed to have quite a bit in common; each of them was familiar with many of the same places, and they had to wonder how they had never met before. Mrs. Angel smiled when she heard that comment.

  "Ah, sorry to keep you waiting," a man said as he entered the conference room and closed the door.

  "You must be Michael Angel," he stated as he extended his hand. Michael stood and took it politely.

  "I'm Thomas Lane," he said, "and I'll be handling your mother's estate. I'm glad you could make it today."

  Michael was about to reply when the door was pawed from the outside and then gingerly opened. He looked over to see a woman making her way into the room with arms so full of files that she had to open the door with her hip, or her foot, or something. The only thing that Michael was certain of was that she probably didn't use her hand.

  "Other room, Melanie," Thomas said, and Michael could hear the frustration from the man. He could also see the eye roll as he had spoken to the woman entering the conference area.

  "Oh sorry, Mr. Lane, I thought I was at the correct door," Melanie said as she turned about and tried to make her way back to the hall.

  As she left, she attempted to use her foot to close the door, and Michael stared wide-eyed at the woman's efforts. He almost laughed aloud but held in his reaction. To him, the scene was hilarious.

  Melanie was a little squeak of a woman, perhaps five feet and a few inches with medium length brownish-red hair. She was dressed oddly—not bad, just odd—and seemed out of place in a lawyer's office. Her clothing had an artistic flair to them, and while the colors blended well, they didn’t speak of absolute professionalism. The task she currently chose to tackle appeared to be an attempt to make one trip instead of two, and she was determined to succeed. It was the ultimate determination to be lazy; and as she fought the door with her foot, she hopped backward. It must have been an effort to hook the door and then hop into the hallway in the hopes that the door would follow; it did not.

  "Here, let me get that for you," Michael finally said with a chuckle. He had tried to keep his mirth in check but failed. Fortunately, the other three people in the room were too dumbfounded by the actions of Melanie to notice his amusement.

  "Oh, thanks," Melanie said as she turned on her heel and left quickly.

  She didn't even seem to care if the door was actually shut, nor did she care to make much eye contact. Determination had taken hold of her, and she left to continue with her mission.

  Before Michael could shut the door, Thomas called out, "Melanie, bring coffee back here when you get a minute."

  Michael could hear a chirp of a reply; he wasn't sure if it was even English. However, when he looked back into the room, Mr. Lane seemed satisfied; Michael just chuckled and shut the door.

  Files were then opened and papers were handed around the table. It was all very boring to Michael, but he played the dutiful son, paid attention, and interacted when needed. When the passing of his father was mentioned, along with the settlement of that particular estate, he reached across to his mother and squeezed her hand. She gave him a kind look, and Michael knew she felt reassured.

  Melanie soon returned and the occupants looked up to the newest member of the room. Michael was able to get a better look at the woman and had to approve. He had a good eight inches on her, but she was light of foot, had a quirky smile, and seemed to almost dance. If he hadn't seen her trying to close the door with her foot a few minutes before, he could almost believe that she was barefoot; she just seemed to have a quality that demanded one should walk around without shoes.

  "You wanted something else?" she asked Mr. Lane.

  "Yes, Melanie, coffee please. Bring me sugar packets and cream as well," he said.

  "I'll have the same, Melanie," Jennifer chimed in as she stared at some legal document. "Black coffee, and bring sugar and cream."

  "Make that three, Melanie," Mrs. Angel said as well. "Black coffee, with sugar packets and cream."

  Michael raised a brow and looked at his mother. She usually drank her coffee black, and when she didn't, she only added cream. Something was odd, and he couldn't quite place it. When Melanie looked at him with expectant eyes, he could only reply with some confusion.

  "Oh, I'm fine, thanks," he said casually, and waved his hands to signal that he didn't want a drink.

  After Melanie left, he had to ask his mother about her odd order.

  "Melanie is a sweetheart but a little…" she paused and didn't want to say anything improper. There was no need as Jennifer spoke up.

  "Flaky," the paralegal said while still studying her papers.

  "Well, she is a sweetheart," Mrs. Angel said in reply to Jennifer's comment. "However, she does have a habit of getting confused. So, it's much easier to just order the same thing and make the coffee to our own liking."

  "Ah," was the only thing Michael could say in reply. "Is there a restroom?" he asked as everyone began to return to their respective documents.

  Jennifer didn't look up but gave him directions. Michael watched her as she did so, and then thanked her when she was finished. She didn't respond to his comments with any real emotion; she just continued to analyze her document as he got up and left the room

  Heading down the hallway, Michael was forced to stop and laugh. Just off the way was a little kitchenette, and Melanie was busy making coffee or a mess; Michael couldn't tell which. Her back was turned to him, and he knew she hadn't heard him approach, nor had she heard him laugh; her Smartphone was in her hand, she had ear buds in her ears, and she was bouncing her head back and forth while tapping her feet to the left and right. For the life of him, Michael couldn't remember ever seeing a woman behaving so carefree. The fact that she was in a lawyer's office just made the scene all the more cute.

  Feeling a bit mischievous, Michael tapped her on the shoulder, and Melanie turned around quickly while removing one of her ear buds.

  "Oh, hi," she said, and then stared at him as if wondering who he was.

  The first thought that came to Michael's mind was to wonder why she had not asked what he wanted. Most people, after being tapped on the shoulder, would want to know what the person desired. This idea didn't seem to occur to Melanie; she just stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

  "What are you listening to," he finally asked with a smile.

  "It's Steampunk," she replied.

  "Hmm, I've never heard of them," Michael stated thoughtfully.

  Melanie's eyes widened slightly and her face turned odd. She looked at Michael like he was the idiot.

  "Steampunk is not a band, it's a style," s
he said, and when Michael became confused, she smiled and shoved an ear bud in his face.

  "Here," she said.

  Michael looked at the small hand offering him what was most likely some germ infested listening device, and an image of a schoolyard friend offering ABC gum came to mind. However, when Melanie wiggled her hand back and forth as if to say she didn't have all day, Michael took the ear bud and placed it in his ear. It was only a second later when he realized he could have just held it near his ear, but Melanie didn't seem to care, and she moved in close so the cord wouldn't stretch.

  The music that assailed Michael was odd, and Melanie took a moment to cycle through variations. She found a light and festive piece, and Michael could understand the allure. She then changed tracks and odd sounds assaulted him.

  "What do you think?" she asked with a smile.

  "I think there's a beat in there somewhere," he replied with a teasing look.

  Melanie eyed him warily, and Michael found himself hoping she wouldn't understand his comment. Whether she did or not, she didn't admit to it. However, she did take her ear bud back.

  "Well, I better get this coffee made," she said. Whether or not she was insulted remained to be seen, but she still smiled at him, and Michael returned her smile before his face contorted and became oddly confused.

  "Aren't you supposed to put the pot under the spout?" he asked as he looked past her into the kitchenette.

  Melanie turned to the coffeemaker that was in the process of brewing. The pot, which was supposed to be in position, was on the counter doing nothing but mocking them.

  "Oh, damn," she said as she grabbed the container and put in under the spout. "Thanks for that," she called back to him.

  "Not a problem," he replied with a smile as he left her to clean up a small mess.

  It wasn’t long before Michael was back in the meeting and going over his mother's estate—it was still boring. He was pleased when Melanie came in to deliver coffee and cream. Each person got a cup, the cup was filled, and then a tray was left with cream and sugar. She appeared very proficient and Michael smiled, even more so when he saw those ear buds hanging out from her pocket. Before leaving, Melanie turned to him.