She handed the envelope back to the man before her. “You can tell your employer that I won’t be going.”
She heard a chuckle from the hallway, and Doctor Baker walked up behind her. “What did the card say, Sandra?”
“Brandon wants me to meet him at the Space Needle.”
“Oh? That sounds nice.”
“Nice? It’s ridiculous! That’s in Seattle—at least a two-hour drive away! Besides, I have work, and you have appointments, and I have all these insurance papers to deal with, and…” she trailed off, glaring at Doctor Baker. His eyes all but twinkled with mirth as she spoke! “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
“Somebody may have called to make me aware of your upcoming absence.”
“And you didn’t tell me?
“Sandra, relax. It’ll be good for you. You haven’t had a day off since I hired you.”
“I need the money, and—”
“It’s paid. You’re overdue for a vacation. You have the rest of the week off.”
“But… what are you going to do?”
“I managed in here just fine before you came along.” He smiled. “I’m not completely helpless.”
“Well, I’m not helpless, either. And I’m not about to be whisked away to some faraway city at the whims of a man!”
Doctor Baker didn’t even acknowledge what she said. He just laughed, his great belly shaking. He addressed the man in the tuxedo, “She can be headstrong, this one. She’ll go.”
Sandra looked at the doctor incredulously. Had he not heard a single word she said? Maybe he could pretend to ignore her, but she knew he couldn’t argue with logistics.
“I don’t have a car,” she announced, crossing her arms. “The Space Needle’s in Seattle. So. There’s no way I can go.”
“I have a limo waiting for you outside, Miss,” the unnamed man offered cordially.
A knowing smile appeared on Doctor Baker’s face. Sandra glared at him. She glared at the man in the tuxedo. She glared again at Doctor Baker. But she knew that, for the second time in under a week, she had been cornered by two men in her office.
Infuriating animals!
So, Brandon wanted to send her shopping, did he? And he wanted to see her at the Space Needle? And he’d arranged things with Doctor Baker beforehand, just like it was some game for the two of them?
Fine. She’d be up for it. But only because the presumption he could beckon her when he chose was so galling that she had to set him straight. If he expected her to fawn all over him just because he’d sent some flowers and a card, he was far wrong. Not a word from him for six days, and he expects me to come running at his whim?
She’d go to Brandon, alright, but only to see the look on his face when she told him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t some toy to summon when he got bored. His reaction to that would be worth the trip alone.
What happened afterwards would depend on him. After all, she admitted reluctantly, I have been wondering what happened to him. And his name may have slipped from my lips in the shower last week…
But no matter what, she intended to make one thing very clear: she was no doll.
Chapter Eight
Sandra couldn’t help but stare out the window of Brandon’s hired limousine as it wound its way through the packed Seattle traffic. She’d lived in a big city before, both as a child and as an adult, but after two years in the tiny hamlet of Ocean Shores the allure of a metropolis seemed fresh and new to her.
There were so many people on the streets. This was the downtown core, and bluish-gray skyscrapers shone clear in the sunlight and towered so high above her that Sandra had to press her face to the window to see the tops. Then there was the traffic. So much traffic! Every street was busy. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as New York or Boston, but after Ocean Shores, more than four cars on any street seemed like a jam.
Sandra couldn’t believe this was the first time she’d been to Seattle, despite having lived nearby for two years. It was no Chicago, with its grand buildings and immaculate city layout stemming from the great fire at the start of the century, but it was still very much a huge urban center.
When the limo turned into an underground parking lot, Sandra asked her driver where he was taking her.
“Shopping, Miss,” he replied.
Right, Sandra remembered. She leaned back in her seat. She’d nearly forgotten about Brandon’s plan to have her dressed up for the very unusual date tonight. If it even was a date. She’d never heard of a man summoning a woman he barely knew, via a glorified postcard, to be taken shopping. With his assistant, no less. In any case, Sandra was one hundred percent ready to decline the handout. She wasn’t about to spend the man’s money without him even being there. The only reason she had come to Seattle was to tell Brandon, to his face, tonight, how juvenile this entire ploy was. But, she had to admit, she couldn’t help but be a little intrigued by Brandon’s unorthodox way of doing things.
“You’re not the assistant, are you?” she asked.
The driver chuckled. “No, Miss, I am not. You’ll meet her soon.”
Her? Interesting.
The limo drove through a gated entrance and pulled into a corner of the parking lot. Sandra spotted a woman in high heels waiting by a glass door.
The driver turned the engine off, hurried out to open Sandra’s door, and offer her a hand. She debated not taking it for a second, but decided she had nothing against this man, and that he was only doing his job. She took his hand and smiled graciously. “Thank you.”
The woman Sandra noticed before was striding up to them, long legs flashing beneath a dark, knee length pencil skirt. Sandra had never seen a woman wear so much makeup before. Her eyes were painted blue, her lips a carmine red, her long, dark lashes extending well past her face. She must have been at least fifty, but she’d aged well. And her figure hadn’t suffered the least bit over the years. She was skinny and fit, with beach-blonde hair that clashed against the black pinstripe blazer and matching skirt. She was the very image of a consummate executive assistant. Her French accent only added to the presentation.
“Really Charles, I expected you to be better than that,” she derided the driver. “You were supposed to be here a good forty-five minutes ago! Oh, but we hardly have any time, now. And this must be Sandra. How lovely to meet you, dear. I’m Clarisse.” She extended her hand to Sandra and spared a dismissive glance at the driver. He seemed to take her derision in stride. In fact, Sandra saw that he was hiding an amused smile. Clarisse’s words had no edge to them.
Sandra took Clarisse’s hand, and the woman surprised her by pulling her in and landing a kiss on either cheek.
“Oh, Sandra dear, I’ve been dying to meet you! How good it is of Brandon to have thought of having you come to me. Without even a word on my part, you know. Oh, you certainly couldn’t have gone to him dressed like that tonight.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Where are my manners? Of course you knew that you were coming shopping. Well, come on then. We have plenty to do, and not plenty of time.” She paused to glance at her watch. “Charles, you really should have known better! Come along dear, we simply must get you ready for tonight.”
Sandra felt a little self-conscious about her outfit after Clarisse’s dismissive remarks. It certainly wasn’t flashy—nothing like what Clarisse wore—but it was conservative and dignified and fit her mood well, she thought. Apparently, Brandon’s assistant did not share the sentiment.
Sandra glanced back at the car as Clarisse led her away—her things were still there. Charles saw the direction of her gaze and assured her, “I’ll be waiting right here to take you to your hotel once you’re done.”
That was when the fun began.
Clarisse was a hurricane. Sandra did not manage to squeeze a single word in as they raced from high-end department store to high-end department store. They ran through Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdales, and a whole splattering of boutique shops that Sandra had never heard of. Clarisse knew t
he mall like the back of her hand, and she knew exactly where she was taking Sandra. The hours flew by.
Sandra felt like she was being pulled from all sides by invisible strings. Brandon wasn’t there, but he’d engineered her demise well. Clarisse claimed that she knew exactly what his tastes were because she’d known him for years. Despite that, she had Sandra try on dozens and dozens of outfits. Over and over again, they ran from store to store, and Clarisse inundated Sandra with selections. I wonder how many women she’s dressed up for Brandon in her lifetime.
Sandra’s parents hadn’t been poor, but she’d never had a chance to splurge on so many clothes. Every protest she made was met with a dismissive click of the tongue from Clarisse, at which point the blasted woman would continue blabbering like Sandra hadn’t even spoken.
Sandra lived in a flurry of colors and fabrics and dyes and hues. Things she’d never felt touch her skin before—things she never thought would touch her skin—were thrown on and off in a hurry. Sandra spotted some of the price tags, but didn’t even have time to gape. A thousand dollars for a simple white blouse? Fifteen hundred for a skirt? Insanity! Brandon was crazy, and his assistant was crazy. Sandra couldn’t afford any of it. Of course, Clarisse didn’t blink at that comment. She knew her gracious employer would cover everything.
Finally—mercifully—the expedition ended. She and Clarisse left the mall, hauling with them a dozen bags each, all bursting with clothes and all worth more altogether than Sandra’s salary for a half a year. Hell, a whole year.
She had no desire to spend Brandon’s money like this. She’d never even asked for it! Sandra knew some women would be thrilled with the prospect of a rich man sending them on a limitless shopping spree, but it didn’t feel right to her, no matter how emphatic Clarisse’s insistences were. It was sleazy. It made her feel like a gold digger.
And, despite being caught in a maelstrom of glitz and glamor, with barely enough time to breathe, much less think, Sandra had not forgotten the real purpose of this trip. She was there to tell Brandon in no uncertain terms that she was not his doll.
But Clarisse had enjoyed dressing her up oh-so-much.
I’ll leave the clothes untouched in my room, Sandra decided, and that blasted, hurried woman will have quite a handful returning everything tomorrow.
After getting Charles’s help loading the bags into the trunk, Sandra sat in the back. She was surprised when Clarisse came in with her.
“I need to be in the same area,” she explained. “You don’t mind terribly if I come along, do you, dear?”
“No, not at all.”
The drive to the hotel was the first moment Sandra had shared with Clarisse where she didn’t feel rushed. As Charles pulled the car out of the underground lot and onto the street, Sandra decided to make conversation.
“So, how long have you worked for Brandon?”
“Oh, about five years, no. But I’ve known him from before then. In fact, I remember when he was just an ambitious young man in Chicago…” she trailed off, frowning. “What’s the matter, dear? You look like you’re getting carsick. Shall I ask Charles to pull over?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Sandra said quickly. I’m just surprised, that’s all. “Brandon’s from Chicago? He never told me that.”
“Oh. Oh, my. In that case, I’ve probably said too much. He must have his reasons for keeping it from you. Be a dear and don’t mention it to him, will you?”
“Sure,” Sandra agreed, but her mind was buzzing. Brandon knew she was from Chicago, but had neglected to mention being from there himself? Strange. Was he hiding something from her? Then again, I barely know the man. She had no idea where his money came from, what line of business he was in, or what he did during his free time.
He can kiss, though. The stray thought rose from the depths of her mind, surprising her. Not that it wasn’t true—she could still remember his smoldering passion that night—but no, she was not about to be taken in by him. She was here to set things straight. He could not send for her and expect her to come running like some lost puppy dog!
Except, wasn’t that exactly what she was doing by coming to Seattle?
No, she told herself forcefully. She was here for a reason, and that reason was entirely her own. She would relish the look on Brandon’s face when she told him exactly what she thought of the way he’d sent for her. For someone like him, someone who obviously assumed he could have whatever he wanted with a single word, to witness him being set straight, well… that was worth her entire weight in gold.
By the time the limo stopped in front of an enormous, towering hotel in a very prominent area of town, Sandra knew better than to be impressed. Yet, she couldn’t help but stare at the exorbitant luxury of the place.
She spotted a Porsche, a Ferrari, and a Maserati along the row of cars lining the street. All were terribly expensive. She knew that since she’d taken an interest in her dad’s car magazines when she was a little girl. Bellboys stood at the ready in front of the lobby, where gold-trimmed glass panel doors shone in the waning light. Sandra stepped out of the car, and instantly a bellhop was on her, inquiring about her tastes, her trip, her preferences, and a dozen other things. She was overwhelmed by the questions. Before she had a chance to react, Clarisse stepped in and directed the attendant to get the bags from the trunk. Sandra let herself be led into the hotel, where an impeccably dressed receptionist greeted them. He handed Clarisse an envelope, which she then passed to Sandra.
“It’s nearly six,” Clarisse noted, pointing at the elevator in the far reaches of the lobby. “That means you have about ninety minutes before you need to be ready. Brandon said he wanted to see you at eight, right? Don’t be late.”
“What about—” the clothes, she was going to ask, but Clarisse seemed to have read her mind.
“I’ll have some attendants bring your bags up. Now, go on up to your room and enjoy yourself.” She leaned in, and for the first time, seemed actually genuine as she confided in a lower voice, “You’re too uptight for a girl caught in the whirlwind of an adventure. Don’t think I don’t know how overwhelming this can be if you’re not used to it. Just act like you are used to it, and you’ll be ninety percent of the way there.” She leaned back, resuming her prior authoritative air. “There’ll be a tub ready in your room. Soak in the water a bit, let yourself relax. By the time you come out, your clothes will all be waiting for you.” With that, she turned and directed her attention back to the bellman.
Might as well go up, Sandra thought. She found herself curious about what her room would look like.
She got in the elevator, opened the envelope, found her room number and key. It was on the eleventh floor. She hit the button, and the elevator catapulted her up to the right level. She had no trouble picking out her room. It was the only one with a pair of French doors for an entrance.
Honestly, does Brandon do this for all his dates? Maybe I should try to show him some goodwill later tonight. After all, he had sent the flowers. And the card had an apology for being MIA. And he’d sprung for the hotel, plus there was the kiss—
No! Don’t lose focus, she told herself. You’re not here to indulge, or splurge, or do anything Brandon expects you to do. You’re here to set him straight, and that’s all.
Then she opened the doors.
Chapter Nine
The suite was epitome of indulgent luxury. Sandra could find no other way to describe it.
The double set of French doors opened onto a grand foyer covered with rich, dark red tiles. Chandeliers adorned with sparkling crystals hung from the high ceiling, and modern impressionist paintings decorated the walls.
Sandra closed the doors and started down the long, airy hallway to her left. The breezy scent of budding Convallaria filled the air. She extended one hand to trail her fingertips along a cool marble wall. The foyer felt like the entrance to a palace, and Sandra was half-dazed in disbelief at finding herself there.
Giddy excitement bubbled within her as she e
ntered the living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city, arcing around the enormous room in a concave shape to give a spectacular fisheye view of the city. A dark red, leather couch that matched the foyer tiles was positioned off to one side, each of its sections nearly as big as her bed at home. In front of it, hanging from the ceiling, was an enormous flat screen television, quite possibly bigger than one of her apartment walls, and thinner than her little finger.
Sandra walked over to the windows and put her head against the glass to look down. Her suite was right above the hotel entrance. She could see the movement of cars and people below as they came and went. She noticed Charles’s limo rolling out into traffic, smiled, and turned around.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much space to herself. She’d never had this much space, in fact. In college, she’d shared a small dorm with two girls. The Dallas apartment she’d had with Henry hadn’t been very big because it was temporary. Obviously, her decrepit flat in Ocean Shores was no comparison to this place. She looked up at the high ceiling. She knew she couldn’t reach even if she climbed on the couch and jumped up.
She reminded herself that she was here to tell Brandon he couldn’t expect her to come running at his call… but if he gave her this much, well, she was willing to take a little advantage!
Sandra flew to the couch and flung herself onto it, giggling as the cushions propelled her back in the air. The musky leather scent wrapped itself around her, enticing her senses. She was inexplicably reminded of furniture shopping with Henry and all the showrooms they had gone through.
At least this time I’m not pretending to be in love with anyone.
Sandra noticed the stereo system and bolted over. A vast collection of CDs stood beside it in a tower, which was kind of old fashioned, but cute. She trailed her finger over them, spotted a classic Madonna album, and immediately popped it into the player. Her sister Chloe used to love Madonna; Sandra did, too. Their taste in music had been the one thing they’d always shared. Since the fire, Sandra had taken every chance she could to surround herself with things that evoked positive memories of her sister.
Yours to Savor Page 9
