Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  I’ll try.

  Save you a drink?

  Save me five.

  I refused to let this ruin my whole night so I sucked it up and prepared to finish my task quickly. I did the best thing you can do when in a hurry, I waited.

  Five minutes passed and nothing had come through even though I clicked refresh eighty-eleven times. Maybe I’d lost internet connection? Wifi? Nope, five bars stared at me from the corner. After twenty minutes, I checked the connection to the wall and restarted the computer. Thirty minutes and I went to get a snack out of the refrigerator. Forty-five minutes later my email chimed. Finally! I clicked the print button. Impatiently, I snatched the papers as they rolled out, making sure they stayed in order. Once they were all printed I quickly ran out the door to drive to the copy store. There was a 24-hour shop a couple of miles away. I glanced at the clock on the dash as I darted out of the car. It was 6:30. Plenty of time to finish, go home and change and get to the bar.

  Since it was Friday night the store was not very crowded and my hopes soared. The university being on summer break made it even better. I took a place in line behind an older man with a small stack of papers. My hope was short lived as I watched the 16-year-old behind the counter approach the customer in front of me. He had ear buds hanging over his shoulders, a dirty T-shirt peeking out from behind his crumpled blue vest. It became immediately clear he did not have a date later that night so he would not understand my rush. I crossed my arms and waited. Again.

  According to my watch, their exchange lasted a full 38 minutes. I listened over and over again as the customer explained repeatedly that he needed the paperwork enlarged, but not too large and not too small. They had to make countless copies before the perfect size was agreed upon. I almost clapped when he finally walked out of the store.

  I rushed the counter, smiling brightly at the surly teenager in front of me. "Hi." I said, hoping he would put some pep in his step if I was nice.

  He barely glanced at me as he said, "Hey. What do you need?" Hmmm, I may need to up the charm.

  "Oh, I need some copies made and then bound. Here." I shoved the paperwork in front of him with the directions I had written down. "Sorry, I know, but my boss really needs it. Ugh, working on Friday night sucks, right?"

  He picked up the directions and grunted, turning to the copiers behind him.

  I sighed and stole a glance at my watch. It was 7:15. There was no way I could make it home to change but I looked okay, well I thought I did, even if Copy Boy didn't think so.

  He could do this and I would get it notarized and then leave it on the desk and race to meet Drew. No problem.

  I spent the next 25 minutes pacing the store. I made a bracelet out of paper clips, and wrote my name in White-Out on scrap paper I found in the trash. Just when I thought I was going to completely lose my shit, Copy Boy walked back over. I considered punching him when I noticed hands which were empty.

  "Finished?" I asked, hopefully.

  He shrugged. "The binding machine is kind of messing up so I had to make new copies for the one that got jammed."

  “Does that mean you’re not finished?”

  He shrugged again and walked away. Okay then.

  Twenty minutes later I had my binders and had paid with my shiny silver credit card. I sat in the car and realized I had no idea where to get something notarized at this time of night. I ran back in and asked Copy Boy if someone there could do it.

  He thought for a minute and said, "Yeah, Sarah my boss can do it."

  I almost leaped over the counter and gave him a kiss. Probably his first one, but I was willing to make the sacrifice.

  "Great! Can you give them to her for me?" I asked.

  "Uh, no. She’s on the over-night shift. She won’t be here until ten. Sorry." Stupid Copy Boy. He would die a virgin, I was sure.

  Pissed, I walked back to my car. I had no idea what to do. I was banging my head on the steering wheel when my phone rang.

  I answered with little enthusiasm. "Hello."

  "Amelia, are you finished?"

  It was Drew. I could hear the thumping music behind him signaling that he was already at the bar.

  "No, I have everything but the paperwork has to be notarized. I have no idea what to do. It's Friday night. Not only am I not going to be able to meet you I will probably get fired since I failed at my first assignment given to me directly by my boss," I whined, on the verge of genuine, freak-out tears.

  "Okay, calm down. We can totally figure this out," Drew assured me. I took a deep breath, trying to make myself focus.

  Clutching the phone I said, "The notary at the copy place won't be back until 10 pm. The bank is closed and any other official place would be too by now."

  There was a long pause on the phone and finally Drew said, "Well, what would his old PA have done?"

  "Drew! Yes! Let me call Genevieve and find out what she suggests to do."

  I scrolled though my phone, thankful Genevieve had suggested I save her number in case of an emergency. I sighed in relief when she picked up in the third ring. "Genevieve . It's Amelia. I need your help."

  Chapter 6

  Grant

  To my surprise, it was almost ten o’clock when I arrived home. I had spent the better part of the day in Black Mountain taking care of some family business.

  Well, they called it family business. I called it an intervention. For the twentieth time in as many years. Seriously, I had a feeling they looked forward to it, like a normal family would look forward to a reunion.

  Due to all this, I was behind on my work and my nerves were shot from all the talking and guilt and the non-stop chatter. I'd spent all these years avoiding them for this exact reason, except they still felt like it was their business to get into my business. Or rather, my personal life. Or my lack of one. Regardless, they were nosy and pushy and it only confirmed the reason I left all those years ago.

  I approached the door, but stopped, fingers paused on the door knob.

  Thump

  A deep, muscle-rattling vibration shook me to the core.

  Thump, thump

  I looked around and even leaned out the door of the garage facing the alley. Nothing. Silence. Not even a car in sight.

  I walked back to the door and pressed the button to the garage door before walking in the kitchen. As I closed the door I was assaulted by a wave of that blasted perfume.

  Damn. I swelled with irritation. Earlier in the week I left her a note about the perfume and unbelievably, it actually seemed worse. Was she bathing in it?

  Thump, thump

  The smell rattled my head, causing it to pound, which was the least of my problems as I felt my hunger growing even though I was well-fed.

  thump, thump, thump, thump

  I held my breath as I walked through the kitchen to her desk with the intent to simply grab the binders. Then I could retire to my room, away from the obnoxious smell and rest my throbbing head. That was my plan. I always had a plan. Three moves ahead of the other person. How? Because I could always anticipate the next move.

  Always.

  Except, in the absolute silence of the room I realized, three moves too late, there was a person standing five feet away. Unaware. She was unaware that I’d seen her.

  Thump, thump

  Five feet.

  How did I miss it? Her?

  I heard nothing. Not a whisper. Well, that wasn't entirely true.

  I’d been so distracted by the smell and intense pounding of my head that I’d failed to see her standing right in front of me until it was terribly, unfortunately too late.

  Thump, thump

  My reaction was a defensive, low growl rumbling through my chest. I’d broken a fundamental principal. Never let down your guard.

  thump, thump, thump, thump

  Louder and faster the thumps came. I took a deep breath.

  Lemons.

  thump, thump, thump, thump, thump

  She still hadn’t seen me, at least I had
that advantage, and I assessed her quickly. She had pale hair and an even fairer complexion. Her hair was braided in a long plait down her back, and I zeroed in on the grayish vein near the curve of her exposed neck. I sucked in a gasp of air. She turned, her very green eyes wide with surprise.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her shoes. "You scared me! You must be Mr. Palmer. I'm Amelia."

  thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump

  Her heart beat faster and her ears burned red, adding another pulse point to the rattling noise in my head. I stared at her face and then down at her hand.

  She held it there for a moment, floundering in the air, until she finally withdrew it, surely remembering the rules Genevieve had told her about touching me. Or, rather, never touching me.

  I had mere seconds to pull it together, to maintain composure for the woman in front of me.

  I squinted, focusing on her face—not her heartbeat, not her scent, but her face—and looked her in the eye. As calmly and softly as possible, I made direct eye contact and said, "Ms. Chase, I think you need to leave."

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t mean to be rude.” I kept my voice even, pleasant, even though my head was about to split. Had I blinked? Did she? I made sure to maintain eye contact this time, and added, “It’s very late and I’ve had a tiring day. It would be best if you left. Now.”

  Her eyes were filled with confusion and a slight edge of fear. She gaped for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together. “Um, sure, I can leave. Sorry to inconvenience you.”

  Again she frowned, fluid glistening in her eyes. She didn’t seem compelled but simply affronted. Scared? Whatever her reaction, it wasn’t normal. I clung to the edge of the desk, the wood splintering under the pressure. Clarity struck and she took a quick step back before dashing for the front door where I heard her pull something off the hook on the wall and slam the door.

  Her motion caused a waft of familiar lemony-scent, laced with the delicious hint of fear, to hit my senses. Within seconds of the door closing, I raced down the hallway intent on stopping her. No, not stop her. To catch her.

  A brief moment of discipline overruled my instinct, and I pressed a black button next to the security box. Bolts engaged, locking all of the doors tight. Nothing I couldn’t get out of if I tried, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

  Or could I?

  Even under the most stringent resolve, I crashed hard into the wood and glass door with my body. The glass splintered into a spider web of cracks, threatening to shatter beneath my strength. I spread my palms flat, pressing against the wooden surface, bracing myself. I couldn’t open it. I wouldn’t. I fought the instinct, the hunger and desire.

  I leaned my back against the door and slid to my knees, clutching my hair in my hands and groaned loudly. What. The. Fuck. Was. That?

  Chapter 7

  Amelia

  "Blow," Drew commanded as he handed me a tissue.

  I took it from him and wiped my nose. After I'd been told to leave by Mr. Palmer, I ran to my car and inexplicably cried all the way home. I wasn’t a big crier, like, ever, but something about our exchange unnerved me. I felt sick to my stomach and my head hurt. My reaction made no sense. Drew found me a short while later curled up, in my pajamas, eating peanut butter out of the jar. Now we sat on the couch together with my feet tucked under his body. He had brought over his own spoon along with a pack of crackers. When the jar was half empty he said, "Tell me exactly what happened after we hung up."

  I sniffed. "I called Genevieve and she hooked me up with a friend who works in an attorney's office who is happy to help out when needed. Needless to say, I have him on speed dial now."

  I dipped my spoon into the jar and came up with a hulking scoop of peanut butter. Before putting it in my mouth, I continued. "After that I booked it back to the office trying to salvage part of the night. I was standing at the desk when I heard something, I mean, someone, behind me."

  I ate a chunk of peanut butter off the spoon and Drew smeared his on the crackers. I took a huge gulp of milk to wash it down.

  "Drew, you know when you get that feeling, like the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Intuition, your sense of self-preservation."

  "Exactly. That's what I felt except it was weird. One minute I was alone and then the next I instinctively knew I wasn’t. I mean, it was only Mr. Palmer, so I was relieved, but at the same time he was not happy to see me. The look on his face was totally bizarre.”

  “Define bizarre.”

  “Like weird. Creepy as hell. How did he sneak up on me like that? Why did he look at me like I was a freak? I mean, he’s the freak.”

  “Right? It’s not like he didn’t tell you to work late.”

  "That's what makes this even more infuriating, he is the one who made me do all that crap after hours! Why was he acting so strange?"

  My tears were gone and now I was beyond upset and had moved onto pissed. Not only was my boss obsessive-compulsive and pretentious, he was a jerk, too. I shouldn't be surprised. That closet pretty much explained everything about him.

  Drew glanced at me and suggested, "Maybe he was having a bad day? Even hot jerks have a bad day every once in a while, right?"

  I rolled my eyes at him and he stuck his tongue out in return. "I don't care, Drew. It is not okay to treat people like that. Even if you are a rich, hot boss."

  Drew narrowed his eyes and made a face.

  “What?”

  "Was he really as hot in person as he was in those photos?"

  Leaning back into the side of the couch I groaned before answering, "I only saw him for a second, and I thought I may pee myself, but I have to say hotter. Definitely hotter."

  Drew snorted, amused by my plight. I found myself laughing back, enough to break out of my wallowing. I grabbed the peanut butter jar and scraped out the last glob. Just my luck. I'd finally gotten a job with a really hot, young boss, and he was a total ass.

  Chapter 8

  Grant

  Vermeer.

  Monet.

  Renoir.

  Van Gogh.

  Mondrian.

  Dali.

  Picasso.

  I listed the names and conjured an image of each one—taking a breath to calm my nerves. It worked, barely. At the very best, time slowed and my mind wandered, while I pressed my back against the crumbling wall.

  It was strange how time moved differently at different phases of life. When I was a school boy the day would go on endlessly. Each minute felt like an eternity. Yet, summer vacation would pass in the blink of an eye. Later, hours passed by like seconds, days like hours, and weeks, like days. In the blink of an eye I would realize a month had passed and while I could recall every instance, the actual time had slipped away with little notice. That was not the case this weekend. From the moment Amelia Chase ran out the front door on Friday evening, my life came to a screeching halt.

  Well, this wasn't entirely true. I had one slip where I actually attempted to get out the door. I stopped myself, but not before ripping the security system out of the wall in utter frustration and disappointment. My anger was as much at myself as it was letting Ms. Chase go. I regretted both.

  I was better than this. Infinitely better. Stronger. More disciplined. I had control of my…well, I had control of everything. My life, my house, my work—everything was perfectly managed. At least until the unfortunate encounter between me and Ms. Chase.

  I forced myself back inside and lay on the floor until I calmed down. Physically I was fine, at least for the most part. The scent still bothered me but that was the least of my concerns at the moment. The girl had changed things for me. I realized I’d been living recklessly and therefore had exposed myself to a great vulnerability. Professionals would call this a ‘relapse’.

  Matisse

  Degas

  Cezanne

  In my life there was no room for error. Any breach to my personal property would
be catastrophic. An intruder in my home was unacceptable. And although Ms. Chase was not actually an intruder, the fact she surprised me to the point that I was unaware of her existence in my own home was more than concerning. It was alarming and quite frankly suicidal.

  Around dawn, I managed to contain myself, finally convinced I wouldn't do anything rash. I left the foyer, leaving the mess of the broken door and security system to deal with later. Right now, I needed to figure out how to deal with the problem of Ms. Chase. I hadn’t had an impulse like that in decades. Why her? Why was she different? And how had she rebuffed my directions so easily?

  Before anything else I retrieved a container of blood from my quarters and ripped off the seal, consuming the contents in a single gulp. Then I opened another. And another.

  I hadn’t had the need to feed like this in many years—hunting was my preferred method. I deprived myself of many things—the thrill of the hunt was one of the few basic desires I still pursued. But I was always prepared for a potential emergency.

  Steadier, I went to her desk. I placed the container next to her keyboard and lowered myself in her chair, looking for something. Anything.

  Unlike Genevieve or the PA before her, there were no personal photos or trinkets on the desk. She’d only been here for a week. Was that too early for desk decorating? Possibly. I opened the center drawer and pushed aside the pens and pencils. I found a receipt in the corner of the drawer. I picked it up and began reading.

  Ted's Tofu Hut

  1-Falafel Wrap….5.99

  No Onions

  1-Large Herbal Tea (decaffeinated)...$1.99

  1-Slice Carrot Cake….3.99

  I felt my eyes narrow in concentration. Tofu? She must be a vegetarian. One who didn't eat onions or drink caffeine. But she wasn't totally healthy. Even I knew carrot cake was still cake.

  I shut the drawer and reached for the tablet near the phone with curled girlish writing on it. I felt a wave of humor looking at her handwriting. It reminded me of the pathetic love notes sent to me by various girls when I was a student at school.

  Apples

  TV Guide

  Apple Sauce

  Socks