A Special Obsession
Page 32
Now, the time to tackle that damn closet had come. It was no use putting off the demon any longer. Pushing all thoughts of debt, and other unpleasant things aside, I pulled the door open and stood there.
Just as I suspected, she had saved everything.
Hanging right in front of me were uniforms, more than a dozen of them. Navy skirts and plaid vests in God knows how many different sizes, along with the required white blouses that had yellowed with age, beckoned to me. Reaching in, I grabbed one, and held it up to me. I’m not sure which year it was from.
My weight had fluctuated so much during the time I attended school, but this skirt was pretty damn big. Maybe it was from my junior or senior year. The scratchy wool had always annoyed me, even though everything was lined, but it seemed the waistline always dug into my skin. It was more likely that I would gain weight and the skirt would get too tight, but I despised these things. The pleats always made me look like I swallowed a gigantic balloon, and all the girls would whisper about me behind my back. No, that’s not true. They would tell it to my face, too. ViviBoom, they called me. Then they’d laugh, stomp their feet, and hang their hands in front of their heads pretending they were elephants. Girls are so fucking mean. No wonder it was always difficult for me to develop deep friendships. Trust didn’t come easy because of what I’d been through.
Sticking the skirts back in the closet, I noticed there were boxes and boxes of things, each labeled by year. I’d started Crestview as a sixth grader. It was a boarding school, but it also offered the option for locals to attend as day students. I was one of those kids—a townie. That was another reason I was picked on by the girls. They all were roommates and stayed up at night, hanging out, chatting about the boys. I was an outsider. There were a few of us, but the other townies were rich, cute, and could do things for the boarders that I couldn’t. I was the outcast.
Still, Mom worked her ass off to send me there, so I pretended to love it, even to the point of having her drop me off for school functions, then slipping off and hiding somewhere, until she picked me up to take me home. I swore when I left that place I would never look back, or ever have anything to do with it again. And here I was, going through the stuff I hated.
The boxes weren’t going anywhere so I had to get a move on. I started with my early years because those were the least painful. After seventh, eighth, and ninth, the only things I saved were a few photos. Then I got to tenth grade. After I combed through the contents, I wanted to get a gun, and find Felicia Cunningham and shoot her. First off, she should’ve been named Felatio Cuntingham. Her sole purpose at school was to blow every boy on the football team and yes, she was indeed, a cunt. I wasn’t making up the blowing part either. I caught her more than five times with some dude’s dick crammed down her throat. Not only was she proud of it, she was mean as hell too. She left graffiti on my locker every day, from tenth grade until I graduated. If I could bitch slap her right now, I would love every second of it and I’m not even a violent person.
In anger, I dumped the entire contents of the box in a garbage bag.
On to eleventh grade and that’s when I found them. All the notes he wrote. Sweet notes thanking me for doing his homework. I scanned my class notes and thought back to those days. He sat next to me in chemistry class. We ended up as lab partners and that was when he struck the deal. He was a jock and didn’t have time to do homework, or so he said. Could I please, oh please, with hot fudge on top—he probably threw that one in because I’m pretty damn sure he figured I loved chocolate—help him out? When I didn’t respond, he said he’d pay me. I was desperate, broke, didn’t have an extra penny to spend.
“I know you don’t have any cash. I watch you at lunch. You eat cheap junk. Not even high dollar junk. You like Oreos but you eat those shitty fake kind. I’ll pay you. I have a lot of money, Vivi. Please?”
And his eyes, oh, God, his golden irises, nearly buckled my knees. I caved and said I’d do it. But it was only for the money. That’s when it started. We’d traded homework for cash. I did it for every single class we had together. The truth was, the money was great, but I would’ve done it for free. He was that kind of guy—so persuasive, it was difficult to say no. My job bled into senior year. He wrote cute little notes on my paper as I listened to the teacher talk. He was sneaky about it, funny, and captivating too. I dreamt about how he didn’t mind that I was fat and unpopular, but he fell for me anyway—me in my too tight skirt and pudgy thighs that rubbed together. Why? Why did I torture myself like that? Why did I let myself believe a guy like him could fall for a girl like me?
He never did. I only set myself up for major heartache over and over. Instead, he chased after all the pretty girls, the ones like Felatio Cuntingham. I should’ve known better. But I told myself I needed the money, so I kept doing the homework, and getting paid, until the bitter end. Enduring his smiles, his eyes, hearing his voice, and sitting next to him. It was worse than anything I could think of, and each day, he was with another girl, laughing, hugging, holding hands, and kissing in the hall. And I was still ViviVoom, the girl they all mocked, the one who could barely fit into her uniform.
Pulling my shit together, I nearly growled as I dumped everything into garbage bags. Why had I even bothered looking at this crap? All it did was pull up painful memories, which wasn’t exactly what I needed. I had enough shit on my plate as it was. What I did need was a high paying job, like the one I left behind in California. And I needed help in getting things cleared out of here. This house required a thorough cleaning for the people who bought it and I had to get my shit together and fast. All this town offered me were the most horrible memories. It was time for me to dump them all and go forward in life. The time had come for me to start all over.
CHAPTER ONE
Vivi
New York is freezing already and it’s only October. The cold razors straight through my coat, chilling me to the marrow and no matter how many layers I add, it never keeps the wind and dampness away. I am already sick of this weather and it’s only been a couple of months since my move. Why the hell did I decide to make a new life here? Why not Texas, or South Carolina? I walk the rest of the way to work, huddled deep into my too thin coat.
And speaking of work, my job sucks. My boss is a deceitful bastard. When I interviewed for the position, he made it sound as though in no time, I would be in charge of IT and that the business was on the cusp of exploding. And I foolishly believed him. My lack of research into Java Beans and More should’ve had me tying up my running shoes and hightailing it faster than the space shuttle at launch, but all my energy had evaporated after Mom’s death.
Cleaning out the house, putting it up for sale, and taking a loss, put a toll on me. That and the mountain of debt I was currently facing, which was why I snapped up this job, thinking it was a great opportunity. Breaking away from Virginia, getting a new start, making a new name for myself had me pretty damn excited about moving to the Big Apple. It didn’t matter I would be living in a nothing more than a closet, cooking on a portable countertop burner and microwave, and using a space heater to keep warm because my fucking landlord was a crook. I also didn’t care much that there were sketchy people hanging out in the building and on the stairways at all times of day and night, doing drug deals and prostituting themselves. Okay, maybe I did care a little. Make that a lot. But I would hurry past them and keep to myself. They didn’t bother me much after I made it plain I wanted nothing to do with them. I still want to beat myself over the head, though. I should’ve been more diligent when the offer came through, instead of leaping at the first offer like a yapping puppy in search of its mother.
The bell rings as I push the door open. Vince greets me cheerfully and I wave back at him, still shivering and hunkered down in my jacket.
“You in there, Vivi?” I hear him laughing from behind the counter.
“Y-yeah.” My teeth click together as they chatter from the cold.
“You need a warmer coat. Like one of t
hose Canada goose coats.”
“Haha, aren’t y-you th-the f-funny one? Th-they o-only c-cost a w-week’s s-salary.”
“Not quite, but close. Maybe you need some fat on your bones. That’d warm you up.”
If only he knew. I’d spent my entire life trying to get rid of the layers of fat. “Nah, I just need thicker blood.” Rubbing my hands together, I hug myself for a few minutes. Then I unwrap the scarf from around my neck and face, but refuse to take my coat off. “Was the early morning busy?”
“Uh huh. We’re in the lull now. But it’ll perk back up in about,” he glances at the coffee cup clock on the wall, “ten minutes or so.”
“Good. I’ll get to work then.”
I’m upgrading all the software in the shops integrating everything to one system. Whoever originally set them up was an idiot. Each shop had its own package and nothing synced. It was a nightmare. I designed a new program for the company so now I’m implementing it.
“How do you like working for Joe?” Vince asks out of the blue.
I hedge, answering, “Why do you want to know?” I can’t tell him the truth. Joe is a fucking pervert asshole.
“Just wondering. You seem to have your shit together. I would think someone of your caliber would be working for a bigger company.”
I don’t talk about my personal life with anyone. Even though Vince is a nice guy, he’s young and I don’t trust him. He’d probably get drunk and run his mouth to his guy buddies about how I thought the boss was a dickface.
“Thanks. I do have my shit together. This job presents a challenge which is why I’m here.” I go back to working, hoping my answer sufficed. I’m busy, my nose buried in the screen, keyboarding away, when the bell rings at least a dozen times, but I pay no attention to it.
Vince interrupts me and asks if he can log on. Without breaking concentration, I tell him it’s okay, and keep working. I’m on the back end of the program so it won’t affect anything he’s doing.
I reach over with my left hand to grab my coffee and accidentally create an epic miss. I knock the cup over, and quickly scramble to clean it up. When I finally glance up, because I need to find some more napkins to mop up the spill, I’m staring into his eyes—the ones I always dreamed about and made me do things I told myself I wouldn’t do.
“Vivi? Vivienne Renard?” He squints. It’s the same face he sees but definitely not the same body. Tall, dark, and insanely sexy, it pisses me off that someone can look so damn edible. Dressed to kill, he’s wearing a lovely black coat, which I’m sure is toasty warm and probably cashmere. Peeking from beneath is it a crisp white shirt and striped blue tie. He’s come a long way from his Crestview uniform.
My face remains impassive, or I hope it does, as I answer. “Um, yes?” Maybe if I pretend not to remember him, he’ll go away.
“It’s me, Vivi. Prescott. Prescott Beckham. From Crestview.”
“Oh, yes. How are you?” Now I’m stuck.
“Fine, but wow. You look … amazing.”
And then I notice him for the first time. He doesn’t look so good. Or at least as good as he used to. Rough. That’s it. Prescott, who was always perfectly put together, looks rough and … edgy. The years seem to have taken a toll on him.
“Thanks.” I jerk my gaze away from him, because suddenly I’m uncomfortable. I don’t want to talk about anything to do with my personal life or me.
“So, you work here?”
“I do.”
“You live here now, too?”
“It would seem so.”
“How about we go out for a drink some night?” He runs his hand over his face, which is covered in sexy scruff.
“Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think so.”
He takes a step back, as though I’ve pushed him. My guess is he doesn’t get turned down much.
“Then how about dinner?”
He’s still persistent. I remember that about him from Crestview.
“No, but I totally appreciate the offer.”
Those damn bourbon-hued irises rimmed in gold latch onto mine, and I almost, almost give in. Shaking my head instead, I confirm what he heard, “Honestly, I can’t, Prescott.”
About The Author
A.M. Hargrove
One day, on her way home from work as a sales manager, USA Today bestselling author, A. M. Hargrove, realized her life was on fast forward and if she didn't do something soon, it would be too late to write that work of fiction she had been dreaming of her whole life. So she made a quick decision to quit her job and reinvented herself as a Naughty and Nice Romance Author.
Annie fancies herself all of the following: Reader, Writer, Dark Chocolate Lover, Ice Cream Worshipper, Coffee Drinker (swears the coffee, chocolate, and ice cream should be added as part of the USDA food groups), Lover of Grey Goose (and an extra dirty martini), #WalterThePuppy Lover, and if you're ever around her for more than five minutes, you'll find out she's a non-stop talker. Other than loving writing about romance, she loves hanging out with her family and binge watching TV with her husband. You can find out more about her books at http://www.amhargrove.com.
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For Other Books by A.M. Hargrove visit www.amhargrove.com
For The Love of English
A Special Obsession
Obsessed With Vivi (July 2017)
The Wilde Players Dirty Romance Series:
Sidelined
Fastball
Hooked
A Beautiful Sin
The Cruel and Beautiful Series:
Cruel and Beautiful
A Mess of a Man
One Wrong Choice
The Edge Series:
Edge of Disaster
Shattered Edge
Kissing Fire
The Tragic Series:
Tragically Flawed, Tragic 1
Tragic Desires, Tragic 2
The Hart Brothers Series:
Freeing Her, Book 1
Freeing Him, Book 2
Kestrel, Book 3
The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart
Sabin, A Seven Novel
The Guardians of Vesturon Series