by Mara Lynne
If he was, he would not just leave like this.
One word from him would be enough. One word even if it’s rejection or re-acceptance. Just one word was all I wanted, but I got nothing.
He’s such a coward.
Chapter 12: Harm and Protection
I will have to meet Ray in Starbucks at nine today because he insisted on accompanying me to Jones-Paulsen, a new law office downtown, but because Mom was ten minutes late in arriving at the hospital, I have to call Ray and tell him I might come late. This won’t annoy Ray, for sure. He’s been telling me about this cute waiter in Starbucks for days now, and I’m pretty certain entertainment won’t be a question.
“So will I get you Blonde Roast or Flavored Latte?” he asks over the phone.
“Macchiato will be fine, Ray,” I answer while I wait for the traffic lights to turn from green to red and the walk signal to appear. Starbucks is just down a few blocks from the corner across the street.
“Hot or cold?”
“Cold, but might I remind you that I have a ten o’clock appointment with Jones-Paulsen?”
I hear him chuckle.
“I know. Don’t worry. Mr. Cute Guy is fine. I have not raked my claws around his neck yet,” he quips.
“And remind me to call Charles,” I counter, my head laughing.
“Angel!”
I could very well imagine Ray bouncing his feet off the ground.
As the walk signal flashes, I quickly cross the pedestrian lane and walks toward the Maple Street where the coffee shop is.
“I’ll be there any minute now.”
“Hurry up! I’ve got something to tell you.”
The boutiques in Maple are all on holiday sale, crashing off prices to almost fifty percent. There’s this simple denim winter coat on display that is roughly one hundred dollars, reminding me of how I badly need a new one.
I shake the enticement off my system and continue walking down the street.
“Where are you now?” Ray asks.
“I’m almost there. I can see you now.” Ray is sitting comfortably near the window with a newspaper on his table. I wave my hand at him, and he smiles back as soon as he catches a glimpse of me.
As I put my cell phone back to my bag, I push the door and step into the shop. It’s morning, and people are jamming Starbucks for a late breakfast or for a twenty-minute work break. I find my way to the table near the window, and I see Ray beaming at me.
“We have barely thirty minutes, so tell me what you have to say,” I say while I place my bag on the seat next to me. Once I am settled, the heat from my cup of Macchiato eases my almost frozen fingers. I just love how it travels smoothly through my skin.
“Here, take a look at this.” He pushes the newspaper on the table toward my direction.
My eyebrow arches.
His lips form a comforting smile, and he tells me confidently, “Do not fret. It’s not about him.” He follows it up with a wink. “It’s about Colin.”
“Colin?” Why would Colin be in the newspaper?
My gaze goes straight to the huge picture on the fashion section.
“That is Colin Verne, the chemist who frequents Max’s because of you!” Ray’s finger points at the man in a high-fashion editorial photograph of Roberto Cavalli printed with a kaftan and a sleeveless Cubana shirt.
I am dumbfounded. I don’t know what to say. Should I even continue staring at this unfamiliar man in front of me like some fool?
There’s just no way this man in the newspaper is Colin Verne. I remember he said he quit being a chemist and that his new job requires him to move from one place to another all the time. I thought he would be some pilot or something, but I did not expect he would be a fashion model.
Colin, a model?
I remember him to be this shy and passive little kid in grade school who had a gap in his teeth, causing him to be the center of mockery most of the time. Right now, a very different Colin just shook me to my core.
“So hot, right?” Ray states, grinning. “No wonder he looks different now. When he came to your house a few nights ago, I just thought there was something really different about him.”
I thought so, too.
My eyes are still fixed on the man in the photo.
“Angel, you’re drooling,” he teases.
No, I am not. Pure disbelief causes this weird congealing of my limbs and my face.
“Colin is good-looking. I’m sure it didn’t take him long to take this job,” I say while folding the newspaper into half with Colin’s photo safely kept hidden.
“Seriously, you ought not to say that. The man deserves more than praises.”
“And what do you want me to say then?”
Ray right away frowns and shifts his attention back to his coffee.
I know what he has in mind, and I can’t just let him continue thinking that way. I have been through a terrible relationship with the most terrible man on earth, and my best friend wants me to press the love button again. It has not been twenty-four hours after I legitimately erased Damien out of my entire system, and here goes Ray shoving me to another one.
“I just thought dating a hot supermodel will hasten the recovery phase,” he murmurs. “You know, while we all think it will take an eternity to forget one hell of a male specimen like Damien, I thought another hell of a specimen like Colin will make infinite finite.”
“I wish I could find the funny part there, Ray.”
“Alright, you’re pissed. I’m sorry. I’m not going to talk about Colin Verne again.”
“Good!”
My phone starts to ring, and I pick it up from my bag.
“It’s from Ms. McNamara,” I say. For a moment there, I thought I felt my heart skip a beat.
“Who’s McNamara?”
“Jones-Paulsen.” Trembling, my fingers slide the lock key of my screen.
Ray holds his hands together as though he is praying.
Why would Ms. McNamara call when I have an appointment with her fifteen minutes from now? It’s just odd.
“This is Angel Mohr speaking.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Mohr!”
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I swear, the throbbing in my chest is getting louder.
“There seems to be some misunderstanding, Ms. Mohr,” she answers, sounding so resolute. Or is it just me hearing something else because of the fear of the inconceivable. “We found some irregularities in your documents. I fear it’s falsified.”
“Falsified?”
“Yes. You wrote here your surname is Mohr.”
“Yes. My name is Angel Mohr.”
Upon hearing me say my name, Ray’s eyes show fear.
“But we found out that you are Angel Grant, the fiancée of Mr. Hunter Stone.”
“What?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Stone personally verified to us that you and the Angel Mohr in your resume is one and the same,” she says.
Oh, God.
I feel my face turning white and my hands growing cold despite the warm coffee that I have in grasp.
“What did Hunter tell you?”
“Nothing specific, ma’am.”
What should I tell this woman to save me the job? Can I just say that Angel Grant is fake? It’s at the tip of my tongue, just waiting for the right dose of courage to push it out.
“We’re very sorry, Ms. Grant,” says McNamara, and she hangs up.
Now, I am doomed. How could Hunter even have the audacity to barge into a law office’s business? Is this how powerful he is?
“What now?” Ray questions, leaning over the table.
“Ten o’clock appointment canceled.” I let out a sigh to free all the frustration this egotistical Hunter Stone is causing me.
His eyes enlarged.
“What? What happened?”
For all I know, I think Ray knows it’s all because of Hunter Stone.
“Hunter again?”
&n
bsp; “Who else?” Perhaps my macchiato could help me minimize the abhorrence I currently feel for the man.
“He’s one of a kind.” Ray rolls his eyes in annoyance and lets himself be drawn once more to the cute waiter four tables away from us, allowing me to grieve on my misfortune once more.
There’s nothing to do today but wait for the other companies to contact me. The classifieds nor the local employment center don’t have anything for me. All available jobs they have there are for gardeners, carpenters, male sales agents, and public accountants.
“I’ll look for another one, Mom,” I say while I fill in the plastic cup with coffee from the vending machine. Mom likes her coffee black, so she won’t need sugar or milk.
She crosses her arms together and shakes her head.
“Angel, I think it’s time for me to do something.” She takes the cup from my hand, and we walk along the corridor to the benches just outside Dad’s room. This will be another long conversation about her getting a job. She continues, “You can’t do everything for us. I have to do something.”
“Mom, everything will be fine. Just stay with Dad. I’ll provide for the family.”
Mom just doesn’t look happy about what I said. Her face washed off glow and vigor. Dark circles around her eyes indicate she has been depriving herself of sleep. She might have spent all night thinking about a way out of this.
“Listen, darling.” She reaches for my hand and grabs it tightly. “There’s an opening for a housekeeper in the Thompson’s. I applied there this morning, and they summoned me back for an interview at two this afternoon.” Her eyes tell me how much she wants this job.
“I don’t know, Mom.” I just think it will be too much of a job for her cleaning houses, doing laundry, or even running errands. Yes, she had worked in a hotel before, but it doesn’t mean she has to continue cleaning things as her job forever. Besides, nobody will be watching over Dad if she goes to work.
“Pay is good there. Remember the Thompson’s? They are good people.” Mom tries to amuse me by tickling my cheeks with her finger.
Who will ever forget that rich, old couple? They live in an expensive subdivision in Old Town Street, and when I was a kid, I frequented their home for fresh baked cookies and to play with their pet dog. Mom was babysitting their youngest grandchild who was just a baby then.
“They are kindred spirits, I know,” I answer.
“And I will do some babysitting, too. Remember Martha, Mrs. Thompson’s daughter? Her only daughter gave birth two years ago to triplets—all boys! Martha will have to leave for Texas for her work, so old Mrs. Thompson will need someone to help her and her granddaughter with nursing the toddlers.”
She seems pretty happy talking about the babies.
“Alright, Mom.”
The moment she heard me agree with her, she flings her arms around me for an embrace and showers me with kisses.
I just worry over who will watch after Dad by the time I find a job. One of us will have to cut our working hours short. Either way, that won’t be a problem now since I am jobless. So it will be me sitting with Dad all day while I wait for phone calls.
At thirty minutes before two, Mom bids farewell to both Dad and me and hurries to the Thompson in her best clothes. It’s the printed blue dress that I bought for her on her birthday. It’s not the only decent dress she has in her dresser, but it’s her favorite. She looks lovely as always, and Dad is smiling the entire time Mom is giving us directions about how to cook the Chinese noodles she bought.
After Dad has consumed his unsalted Chinese noodles, he calls me to sit beside him on the bench near the huge window. It’s already past eight in the evening and Mom must be running after the triplets now, changing their diapers and feeding them as well.
What a respite to see Dad being able to sit by himself and so peaceful looking out the window. The view is great, but to see Dad calm and smiling is a better view.
“Did Eric say when I’ll be leaving this prison?” he jokingly says.
“You are really bored, aren’t you?” I button his jacket all the way up to his neck.
“This place is not helping at all, sweetie.”
I know what he means.
Then, I see Dad reach for something in his pocket. With his other hand, he takes my hand and opens it with my palm facing up.
“I have something for you.” A small smile grows on his face. His hand makes contact with my palm, and there, he lays down a necklace with a little girl dangling as an ornament.
“An angel that is fit for you.”
The little girl on the pendant has wings of gold like the rest of the necklace.
I feel my tears on the edge of my eyes.
“Keep it safe, my darling.” Dad plants a kiss on my forehead. “She will guide and protect you.”
Chapter 13: Wingless Angel
Classical music fills my almost dim room. I don’t know why, but listening to soft and mellow classics helps me battle out the growing depression. Honestly, if it weren’t also for Dad’s gift to me, the necklace, I would have probably lost self-confidence and totally start seeing myself as a hopeless loser. Just knowing that it is with me wherever I go, makes me feel strong and hopeful.
It is painful to see Mom leave in the morning while I do nothing for the family. Since the day Dad has returned from the hospital, all I did was watch him finish his meals and accompany him in the living room every eight at night, waiting for his favorite crime series. He’s already well as per Eric Martin’s words, though we still have to be careful with his activities and the food he eats.
The wheel of fortune has turned again, though, and I’m a hundred percent sure it won’t be against me this time. Four days in complete wilderness was barely tolerable. However, I am fully armored to face anything that goes against me this time.
I have found a job!
Yes! I have found a job in a magazine publishing house. It’s a small one, but it’s better than being jobless. MediaOne was in need of a female Publicity Assistant two days ago, so when I found their ad on the internet, I quickly e-mailed them my application. Just this morning, I was interviewed and immediately hired.
Of course, both Mom and Dad are delighted. It’s farewell forever to depression.
Before I climb into bed, I pull out an envelope from my drawer. I know I should have gotten rid of this contract the very first time I laid eyes upon them. It’s nothing but pure rubbish.
My eyes scan for the part where I stopped reading.
Should I even be reading this? I ask myself.
Great! My hands seem to have minds of their own, skipping the pages until I arrive at page three where I stopped.
Silly me.
I sit on my bed with my back resting on the head rest. There is enough light from the lamp on my nightstand, so it’s not impossible for me to read whatever nonsense is on Hunter’s head. I quickly turn off the music on my tablet. I think I need absolute silence to comprehend the piece of garbage.
So I stopped at the job title and description. I scroll down and find the following clauses.
The employee agrees to be employed on the terms and conditions set out in this agreement. The employee agrees to be subject to the general supervision of and act pursuant to the orders, advice, and direction of the employer.
The employee agrees to abide by the employer’s rules, regulations, and practices including those concerning work schedules and vacations, as they may from time to time.
Employment Compensation
Compensation paid to the employee for the services rendered by the employee as required by this agreement will be 20,000 USD, payable once a month excluding special bonuses and will directly be transferred to employee’s bank account in which only the employer and employee has direct access with.
No deductions will be applied to employee’s income or from any other form of compensation.
The employee understands and agrees that any additional compensation paid to the employee in the form of
bonuses or other similar incentive compensation will rest on the sole discretion of the employer.
All expenses for clothing, food, health, travel, and entertainment are shouldered by the employer and shall not be deducted to employee’s monthly and incentive compensation.
Place of Work
The employee’s primary workplace will be at the following locations:
9.1. Marriott Hotel, Trenton, New Jersey
9.2. Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Pennsylvania
9.3 One Carnegie Hill, New York, New York
9.4 The Langham, Chicago
9.5 Mandarin Oriental, Las Vegas, Nevada
Okay, enough!
My head’s going on circles just by reading this ridiculous “agreement” that only highlights Hunter Stone’s domineering character, overwhelming pride, and conceitedness, and most of all, the narrowness of his mind. It is presented in the most condescending manner. I can already hear his bossy voice screaming at me, demanding his wants and needs endlessly. Anyone who agrees with him is certainly a fool, and I am no fool, so I will steer clear of him and this junk.
Immediately, I crumple the document—all five pages of it—making it into a ball and tossing it to the floor. I am mad. I feel that with this contract, Hunter Stone sees me only as an item easy to be bought, owned, and even ordered to do things for him.
Just what kind of a man is he? I can’t even believe that such a man exists.
Fury raging through me, I shut off the lights and cover myself with a blanket. I can only hope sleep will make me forget about Hunter Stone and his stupid contract.
One. Two. Three.
I went up again and turn on the lights.
I need to do something about this rage, or I might dream about this monster and never wake up tomorrow.
From my nightstand, I reach for my phone and start dialing for Hunter’s number.
It takes him about five seconds to answer the call, and he sounds like he just got up from bed.
“Angel, what a surprise.” His voice remains rasping and cold.
