DESTROY
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
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Chapter 1
Practically running into the washroom on my way to the departure lounge, I noticed the last sink along the row begging me to rush in front of it. I let go of my carrying case, parked it against the wall, and took my make-up bag out of my purse. Before getting on with the job, I had to take my anorak off. There was a blizzard out there and I didn’t want to freeze on the way from the parking lot. Besides, Nebraska—where I was going that day—is not a place where you leave your coat home in the winter. I passed my fingers through my hair. It still felt soft and silky to the touch. Having long, auburn hair is truly a chore. But there was no way I would let just anyone with a pair of scissors near it. My hairdresser knew exactly what to do. “A trim is all I want. And please don’t try anything else,” I usually told him. I spent too much time and effort getting it to look half-decent for some guy to try satisfying his artistic impulses with it.
As I looked at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I no longer wondered why people near the check-in counter were trying not to look at me. Fluorescent lights are not friendly on one’s features. They’re horrid. Look at that. I’ve tried covering it up, but it’s still there, staring back at me. It’s like that bruise wanted to remind me how I got it. And I didn’t bump into a door either.
As I was examining the colorful damage around my eye, a woman came in. I wished she hadn’t. But let’s face it; airport washrooms are no place for privacy. Of course, she came to wash her hands at the sink beside mine. She pumped a blob of soap into the palms of her hands and threw a glance at my face from the corner of her eye. While I was applying some more foundation around the edge of my eyelid, she stared at me through the mirror. I knew she wanted to say something, but probably didn’t know how to broach the subject of my, I hoped, not-so-obvious black eye.
“That’s a doozy you got there, girl,” she finally told me, as I was trying to flick some mascara on my eyelashes.
I smiled and returned to my repair job. What could I have said? “Oh yeah, and if I could get the rest of my face re-done, too, I think you’d approve,” or some such idiotic remark. Truth be told, I was in no mood for a joke of any kind. Aside from the fact that I was looking awful, that eye and cheek of mine hurt like hell.
Here I was, on my way to spend some time with my family before starting my internship, and I looked as if I had just had a three-round bout with Joe Frazier. I could already hear my dad. “Oh my dear child, what have you done to yourself?” As if I had run into someone’s fist for the heck of it. As for Mom, she’d probably giggle–she does that a lot–and tell me that it’s okay. “No one is going to notice it. I’ll dim the lights when we sit down for dinner.” Always the practical one, my mother.
“You know, dear,” my washroom mate went on saying, “I’d stay well away from what ever gave you that shiner, if I were you. Make-up is too expensive as it is to be spent liberally on damages like these.”
“Thanks,” I replied, closing my make-up case after brushing my hair once again. “And I can assure you, I have no intention of having another tête-à-tête with that mule.”
Laughing, the elegant but chatty woman, turned away and walked out, and I followed after I slipped into my anorak again. My carry-on luggage was the only thing I packed. The flight from New York City to Omaha, Nebraska was already expensive enough without having to pay for excess luggage. As a Christmas gift to the thousands upon thousands of holiday travelers, the airlines take great pleasure in jacking up the fares on every possible flight. A fare that usually runs you into a couple of hundred dollars suddenly triples. And then there are the endless delays, the unnecessary stopovers, the stale cookies, and the awful coffee they serve on board these days, to “make your trip more enjoyable”.
Grumpy as ever, and still trying to hide my eye behind a strand of hair, I rolled my carry-on to the departure lounge. Since all of the seats were taken, I went to stand beside the window, looking out at the aircrafts making their way from the runway to the terminal through the storm. Then it dawned on me. If this blizzard did not quit soon, we would be staying in this lounge for a few more hours. No doubt of it. As I took a book out of my bag, for some odd reason my eyes fell on this hunk of a guy. He was looking at me, looking at him. If I had a paper bag to slip over my head at that moment, I would have done so. Talk about bad luck. Here I was, coming face to face with one of the most wonderful human specimens God had generously put on this earth, and I was looking like…the dirt beneath my feet, I was sure.
He had his shoulder leaning against the glass pane and kept staring at me. I rummaged through my bag, making sure that my hair would cover the damaged part of my face, and pretended to ignore his gaze. But how long could I do that? I raised my head and threw a furtive glance in his direction. I could not stay there. I had to find another spot. Maybe he wouldn’t follow me. At least I could turn away.
Book in hand, purse strap over my shoulder, I grabbed my carryon case and rolled it away behind me in quest of another spot where I could hide from this gorgeous hunk’s piercing gaze. I felt his eyes on my butt all the way to the opposite wall. When I turned, he was there, within touching distance of my luggage. He had followed me. Incredible! The very day I wanted to hide from everyone, I had a guy on my tail who didn’t want to give up. Maybe trying to hide my black eye had been a mistake. The moment he would have seen it, he would have run away—wouldn’t he have? Now that he was standing in front of me, I made sure to show my face and return his gaze. He smiled. Good Grief! Is that all he’s going to do? Just smile? What’s the matter with this guy; is he blind?
I was about to turn around to return to the window, when he said, “The name is Jeff Aldridge.”
Oh what the heck? “Hi! Heather. Heather Williams,” I replied awkwardly, extending a hand for him to shake.
His smile broadened into a grin as he grabbed my hand and gave it a firm and honest shake. “Nice meeting you, Heather Williams.” He stepped over my carrying case and came to plant himself beside me. He looked down at my book. “Stephen King, eh? Are you a fan of his?”
“I like to read a suspense novel when I have to sit on a flight for several hours. So, yes, he comes with me every time I fly home.” I paused to look into his enticing brown eyes. I had been so preoccupied with my own looks, I forgot to look at him. I mean, “really look” at the guy. His tanned face attested of some days spent on a beach somewhere, probably not in New York unless he liked getting under a sunlamp at the nearest spa. “What about you? What sort of reading do you do, if any?”
He chuckled. He knew I was mocking him. “I don’t have much time to read anything, but when I do, I like something complex and full of intrigue. Something like Robert Ludlum’s Parsifal Mosaic.”
I had to admit, Mr. Aldridge was no jock and if he was, he certainly had good taste in masculine literature. “That’s nice,” I said demurely. I had read a couple of Ludlum’s books, but they’re more a guy type of stories.
He laughed. “You’ve not read it, have you?”
“No. Stephen King is as fa
r as I go when it comes to suspense. But, don’t get me wrong, I do like to read.”
“What about movies?”
“What is this?” I blurted, giggling. “Are we on a match-making show of some sort and there are some candid cameras hidden somewhere?”
This time, he tried to hide his laughter, but didn’t succeed. “No, Ms. Williams, there are no hidden cameras, no hidden microphones anywhere. It’s just me trying to find a pretext to sit beside you in the plane so we could watch a movie together.”
“And you think I want to sit beside you?” I frowned, trying to hide my anticipation.
“Of course I do. You look like you could use some company…”
“What about the nice guy who’s meeting me here in a few minutes?”
“I guess I’ll retreat politely when or if he shows up.”
“Okay, okay, you win,” I said quickly enough not to sound as keen as I was to get to know this guy a little better. He looked delectable–more than a little ravishing, in fact–and I needed someone to keep me from thinking about my bruised cheek.
“Good!” He was visibly all together pleased and relieved somehow. “So, what kind of movies are we watching?”
“Have you seen Selma yet?”
“Oh, is that the story of Martin Luther King’s campaign to secure equal voting rights during a march from Selma to Montgomery in ’65?”
I stared. This guy was getting more amazing by the minute. I nodded.
“No, not yet,” he replied, plunging his hands in his jeans pockets. “But judging from the reviews, I think that would be a good pick, except it might not be available on this flight yet.”
I sighed. “You’re right. We pay top price for lousy seats, lousy food–if any–and three-year old movies, I forgot.”
We were about to choose another topic of conversation when, as if on cue, the voice of the flight attendant at the desk came over the PA system.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are terribly sorry, but we’ve just been told that all flights out of New York are grounded for the night. Again, we are sorry for the inconvenience.” A wave of grumbled disapprovals passed over the departure lounge.
“I have to phone my parents,” I said to Jeff, taking my phone out of my bag.
“And I’ll have to get a room for the night. It’s too long of a drive for me to go home.”
I nodded my understanding. We each had to deal with the unexpected news. However, Jeff was not alone in trying to find a hotel room. I was, too, as were thousands of stranded passengers in the airport.
I tried every hotel I could think of, but none had even a broom closet or a couch for me to spend the night in a modicum of comfort.
My prospects were grim. I was going to have to spend the night on the floor of the airport’s lounge, along with hundreds of other people.
When I looked up, Jeff smiled at me. Truly, there was nothing to smile about. This situation was deplorable as far as I was concerned. Why was he smiling anyway?
“Have you found a room?” he asked, knowing very well that I hadn’t.
I shook my head and looked at the carpet beneath my feet, which was going to be my bedding for the night.
“Alright then,” he said, as I raised my gaze to him. “I’ll ask you, but feel free to say no. Okay?” I nodded, searching his face for a sign, something telling me that I could trust the man. “I found a room, a suite actually, and if you want we could share it. What do you say?”
“No, Jeff. I’m sorry. I can’t,” I blurted, quite embarrassed. “I can’t. I mean I can’t accept because I can’t possibly pay for half of a suite in a New York hotel.”
“And who said, I wanted to share the cost with you?”
“If you don’t I would feel like I owe you something. And that’s not on either,” I flared. “Sorry. I just can’t accept the offer.”
“And what if I sign a contract with you stipulating that you owe me nothing, zero, nil, nada, naught, zilch....” He peered into my eyes. “Come on, what do you say?”
Honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I looked down at the carpet again. “Oh alright, but I take the couch, and please don’t start arguing!”
“Feisty, aren’t we?” he joked, taking my carryon case from my hand and leading the way down the hall toward the exit.
Chapter 2
Before going anywhere, I had to get my ticket validated for the morning flight. Jeff did, too. We both made our way to the airline counter, smiling at each other awkwardly. Since all that was required was a date stamp and a new boarding pass, the horde of disgruntled passengers was soon disseminated in various directions throughout the airport.
I looked at Jeff inquiringly. “So, where’s this hotel suite of yours?” I asked, hoping it was not going to be some fifty miles away from the airport, in a winter resort of some sort. I was not relishing the thought of getting up at five in the morning, catching a cab, and running through the airport again.
“Around the corner,” he replied. “They only had a suite left and most people didn’t want to fork out the big bucks for it.”
“Just tell me this,” I said, walking toward the door and the taxi rank beyond, “Have you got a rich uncle somewhere?”
He erupted in laughter and shook his head while re-adjusting his garment bag over his shoulder. “No, I just have a credit card that I use in case of emergency. And I think you would agree this is some sort of emergency, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Why is there a need for a ‘but’?”
I stopped walking. He did too, and turned to face me. “Because I object!” I said with a degree of fluster. “Like Martin Luther King, I’ve got the right to object.”
He chuckled. “Okay, go ahead, object all you want, Ms. Williams, but remember: you have agreed to share a suite with me. You made a verbal commitment as I recall, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
That was it. Both of us exploded in loud laughter.
“Come on, let’s get a cab, before we have a debate over your ‘butting in’,” Jeff told me, taking my free hand and dragging me, my carryon case, and my bruised face out of the darned airport.
When we reached the hotel, I knew it by reputation only. My wallet was never bulging with the dough it would take to pay for a room in that luxurious residence.
Jeff went to the desk to register while I stayed in the foyer where I took a seat on one of the posh sofas furnishing several mini-salons around me. I flicked through the magazine left on the coffee table and looked at the impressive décor. I wondered if I would have enough money on me, or even on my credit card, to order a sandwich in this place.
I was lost in thoughts of McDonald’s burger and fries, which were available at the airport, when I saw Jeff come back to fetch the luggage and me. He handed me a keycard, saying, “Just in case you feel like taking a stroll in the middle of the night.”
I took the plastic card from him, stood up, and smiled. “Thanks for that, Jeff. I know you said that you wouldn’t hear of me sharing the cost of the room with you, but you cannot expect me to be quiet about it all. I am sincerely grateful for the gesture. I mean it.” I peered into those beautiful brown eyes of his. I saw a flicker of genuine happiness in those eyes. That’s all I needed.
The suite was as splendid as we both expected it to be; a large bedroom, king size bed, a comfortable sitting room, a dining corner, and a fantastic bathroom. And that shower–you could have stood eight people at least in that space. The deep tub and double-sink vanity were reminding me that I would have to bare my damaged face some time–not too soon, I hoped.
Once Jeff had freshened up and changed into an elegant pair of slacks, open neck shirt and jacket, I took my turn in the bathroom. I opened my case and the only decent thing I could wear that evening in this hotel was my little black dress, the one I was going to wear on Christmas Day. I exhaled a sigh of dismay and went to turn on the taps in that enormous shower.
I was as quick as I could be,
and dried myself even quicker. I knew a wonderful man was waiting for me in the sitting room, and I had no intention of disappointing him at this juncture. Once I got into my dress, I had to address the most prominent problem staring back at me from the mirror: my bruised cheek and black eye. Swearing under my breath, I re-applied some cream and foundation on the damaged half of my face, dabbed a little make-up on the other half and finished the job rapidly. I had to admit; I looked the best I could under the circumstances.
After all the hurrying, to my utmost disappointment, no one was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom. My eyes zoomed-in on the note left on the coffee table.
“I’ll be in the bar. Let’s have a drink.”
I shrugged, flung the strap of my purse over my shoulder, and marched out of the room. If I needed to go back to the airport to grab a hamburger for dinner, I could always come back to get my anorak.
When I entered the bar, as packed as it was, I noticed Jeff sitting on a stool at the far end. I made my way to him. He had saved a seat beside his.
He smiled and said, “Looking good, Ms. Williams, very good indeed!”
“Thanks,” I replied, climbing onto the stool and depositing my purse onto the counter.
“Good evening,” the bartender said to me. “What can I get you?”
“A dry martini,” I replied, throwing him a nice smile. I looked at Jeff’s beverage. Scotch and soda, nice!
“I had a look at the On Demand movies available in the suite,” Jeff said, “and guess what?”
“What?” I asked.
“We can watch Selma tonight.”
“Already?” I was surprised. “Wow! It’s only been out for a few weeks, hasn’t it?”
“Sure, but this is New York, remember?”
“Oh yeah; sorry, I almost forgot. In this hotel, I feel like I’m somewhere else. Like it’s not real.” I looked around me. I had seen pictures of these sorts of establishments on the internet, but never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be stuck, literally, with a gorgeous guy at my side in one of them.
Destroy (A Standalone Romance Novel) Page 1
