Jeannie remembered hearing Brent utter something about her wanting some action. Had Brent eavesdropped on private coffee break conversations? She recalled complaining to Debbie about being single, and 30, with no relationship prospects on the horizon. How had Brent construed her innocent comment to mean ‘craving a little action’? The thought that his obviously warped mind considered date rape a feasible solution triggered a renewed batch of tears.
She could still smell his aftershave on her body. She raced into the bathroom, pulled the nightgown over her head and stood in the steaming shower for several minutes, all the while sobbing uncontrollably. Would the shame she felt wash down the shower drain with her attacker’s scent?
Mr. and Mrs. Davidson had suggested she sleep at their apartment in the guest bedroom tonight. “I shouldn’t…have declined…their offer,” she whispered aloud between sobs. “I won’t… sleep a wink.”
An hour later, she dried her body, her hair, and her tears and then snuggled under the quilt in a clean pair of sweats and a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt. She purposefully neglected to switch off the lamp.
“Maybe you’re over-reacting, Jeannie,” she scolded herself.
When she’d thought about it, she questioned whether a crime had been committed? Was scaring the bejesus out of someone and tearing some clothing a serious crime? The incident report recorded the episode as an ‘attempted’ date rape. Could someone be convicted of an attempted crime? Attempted didn’t sound that serious to her.
“You were almost date raped,” she reminded herself. Her deceased father’s expression about ‘close only counted in horseshoes’ popped into her mind. If that was true, then logically, close calls shouldn’t count either. So why was she being such a crybaby?
Almost doesn’t count.
And then she groaned aloud.
How would she face her co-workers in the morning when everyone learned the up-and-coming new attorney Brent Masters was incarcerated, and it was all her doing? Would anyone believe her versions of the evening’s events?
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks!” she shouted into the empty apartment. She hated Brent Masters for what he’d done, what he’d taken from her—her sense of safety and security in her own home. She hoped he rotted in jail forever, or better still, she wished someone would just shoot him dead. Maybe then she’d feel safe again.
****
At six o’clock sharp the next morning, Jeannie stepped into the elevator in the tower housing the law offices of Donahue, Charles and Bennett. While she rode to the executive top floor, she glanced into the elevator’s mirrored wall and realized she looked like death warmed over. Dark circles under her eyes from no sleep and a blotchy face from crying an ocean of tears reflected back at her. Thankfully, she shouldn’t encounter anyone except Mr. Bennett at this hour. She could sneak into her office and bury herself in a mountain of work.
She rounded the turn in the hallway and froze in her tracks. All three partners in the law firm, dressed for the day in suits, white shirts and ties, stood outside Mr. Bennett’s office. At first, the gentlemen didn’t notice her, deep in conversation. And then, Mr. Donahue spotted her.
“Miss St. James!” he shouted.
Jeannie grimaced. Oh no, she thought, now you’ve done it. You’re in trouble girl.
Mr. Donahue silently strode down the carpeted hallway and stood before her blocking her way. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I…Mr. Bennett…wanted me to start work…at six o’clock,” she stammered. Was Mr. Donahue, the firm’s senior partner, intent on firing her? Maybe calling the police would prove a mistake, if having Brent arrested cost her the job she loved.
“You shouldn’t have come to work…”
“Am I fired?” blurted Jeannie. And then she felt herself blush, realizing she’d interrupted her superior in midsentence.
“Why on earth would you be fired?” Mr. Donahue led her by the shoulders into the nearest office, guided her toward an upholstered chair. “I received a call from a close friend with the police department last night, informing me one of the firm’s lawyers was arrested. I rushed down to help the fellow out. But then I learned what he’d done.”
“What Mr. Masters attempted to do to you is unforgivable,” stated Mr. Bennett. “Brent Masters has been dismissed from this firm, effective immediately.”
Jeannie’s shoulders slumped. The firm’s partners fired Brent, and everyone would blame her. Would anyone believe easy-going, fun-loving Brent was capable of acting so out-of-character? Or would her co-workers assume she led him on, sent him mixed signals? She should never have let Mr. Davidson call the police.
“Brent didn’t….I mean nothing actually…” Jeannie unwound the scarf from around her neck and opened the buttons on her black wool coat.
“Miss St. James, we’ve read the police report. The man maliciously assaulted you! He tore your clothing, manhandled you in your own apartment. That bruise on your neck speaks volumes.” Mr. Bennett’s face reddened with anger.
Jeannie’s hand flew to her neck. She’d forgotten all about the bruise, or she would have worn a turtleneck top this morning.
“This firm intends to prosecute to the fullest extent of the law. We’d never tolerate such behavior from an employee, especially toward a co-worker. Please go home. We insist you take a week off, with pay of course. Rest up and recover from this ordeal. A professional counselor will be provided at the firm’s expense.” Mr. Donahue stood behind the chair, rubbed her shoulders in the same affectionate manner she’d seen him doing with his daughter Cassidy on numerous occasions.
“I’d just as soon forget the whole incident ever happened. I don’t require a counselor, sir,” Jeannie stated, bravely, but the tremor in her voice belied her conviction.
“We cannot sweep the matter under the rug, Miss St. James.” Mr. Charles, the third partner piped up. “We’re pressing charges on your behalf. Mr. Masters will be duly punished, if we have any say in the matter.”
At her bosses’ insistence, Jeannie buttoned her coat and rode the elevator back down to the ground floor. She wandered out to the parking lot and climbed into Cassidy’s Porsche—her friend loaned her the car after her own ancient vehicle died. For several minutes, she stared out the windshield, seeing nothing. And then she locked the doors, covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
Her employers insisted she take the week off. Unfortunately, being sequestered in her apartment was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
But what could she do about it?
About the Author
Brenda Sinclair is a writer of historical American West and contemporary romance, a member of her local chapter of Romance Writers of America, a healthy lifestyle advocate and past leader of her TOPS weight-loss group, a gardening enthusiast and dog lover. She is young at heart, regardless of what her driver’s license says.
Brenda was raised on a farm in southern Manitoba and taught school on a semi-remote reservation in northern Manitoba where, during frequent visits to a nearby town, she met her husband, a Treaty Cree member of the local First Nations band. She worked in the accounting field for over twenty-five years. A few years ago, she retired and traded in numbers for words when she decided to be a writer when she grew up. The latter part of the previous sentence is still up for debate.
Brenda and her husband have been married for forty years, and during that time they managed to raise two sons who are totally normal, productive members of society. She is extremely proud of her three wonderful, fun-loving grandchildren.
She is currently putting the final touches on a contemporary novella project, the “Escape to Alaska Trilogy’ and completing book three of a historical American West trilogy. During writing breaks, Brenda enjoys walking the beautiful Fish Creek Park trails near her home in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with her little dog, Kelly, checking out what Jack Abbott is up to on today’s installment of The Young and The Restless, or snuggling with Kelly on th
e sofa and enjoying a good book.
Brenda believes life is good, and for days that life isn’t so good, just get over it. There’s always tomorrow.
Thank you for reading NOT WHAT IT SEEMS. Watch for Book Two in the Escape to Alaska Trilogy, ALMOST DOESN’T COUNT, being released September1, 2012.
Check out http://www.banditcreekbooks.com to learn about all of the books in the Bandit Creek Books Series, including my Bandit Creek release, A BANDIT CREEK MIRACLE, available on Amazon http://amzn.to/KgZu6U and on Smashwords http://bit.ly/JdQC05.
You can find Brenda at:
Website: http://www.brendasinclairauthor.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/brendasinclairauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/bsinclairauthor
Email: mail to: [email protected]
###
Table of Contents
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Excerpt from Almost Doesn’t Count
About the Author
You Can Find Brenda At
Not What It Seems (Escape to Alaska Trilogy) Page 20
