Undisclosed Desire (The Complete Box Set

by Falon Gold

  “Believe me, Lucinda, when I say there isn’t a woman, man, or psychiatrist in this world who can straighten that man out. His ways are set in stone,” I reply dryly as the doors slide open, trickling light into the dimly-lit garage.

  Gently, I pull my hands from hers. “It was nice meeting you. Introduce yourself again soon.”

  “I will, sweet girl.” She lifts her gnarled fingers to cover the door pockets. “And watch out for Camron Powers. He’s well known in this city. Rarely does a man like your boss let a beautiful girl like you go without a fight. You can trust me on that too.”

  I’m sure that I can trust her on a lot of things. This just isn’t one of them, even when she couldn’t have gotten to the age she is without fielding most of what life throws at everyone. Sure Mr. Powers wants me to make his existence orderly, just not straighten him out, particularly not romantically.

  ********

  ~Camron~

  Sitting at my desk with the contract from this morning crumpled in my fists, I stare out of the glass wall without seeing Candleton’s skyline. The mirage of Amari shimmers on the pane. So, I’m seeing what I want to see. That doesn’t make me a candidate for schizophrenia when it’s not a good daydream and solely based on reality. She’s just as furious as she will be when she learns what I’ve done, but when she shows up here, she’ll have to let me explain why. I simply want to get to know her through and through, not destroy her good name. It’s squeaky clean.

  “Who could pull that off in this day and age anyway?” I scoff. “Should’ve known she’d be able to.”

  Oddly, I’m proud of her for it. She’s more prone to do the right thing than I am, which is why I’m convinced she can teach me a thing or two about life, and I’m going make sure she does… one way or the other, while I take things slow with her.

  Chapter Three

  ~Amari~

  I nod at Lucinda and walk onto the concrete lot. She holds the elevator doors open until I reach my car. When I drive out of my assigned space, she drops her hands. I wave while creeping by. When the doors close, I pick up speed. Suddenly, I’m not in a hurry to get home. My family’s going to demand the details of why I left my job. I’m not relishing the telling of what bought me to such an extreme choice.

  At the first gas station I see, I stop to fill up. Could get used to having time on my hands. Hopefully, I won’t find another employer to swallow it up like Power Enterprises did.

  I get out at the pump and breeze into store, looking for a healthy snack to finish up my drive. A bag of chips and soda is what I haul to the counter where a grizzled, scowling, pale old man stands behind the register in overalls. I get the nagging feeling he doesn’t like for black women to enter his store. Then the chime above the entrance resonates through the franchise. Glimpsing back at a haggard-looking blonde with black roots, she carries two small children on each of her hips inside. His head swivels to her, and his scowl deepens. Okay, I take it back—he doesn’t like for anyone to come into his store.

  I deposit my stuff on the counter before him and tug free my credit card from its slot in my wallet. “Forty on pump one, please.”

  He scans my purchases, swipes my card, and then glowers at the machine. “It’s declined, ma’am.” That’s not right. I never pay late or go over my limit.

  Now irritated, I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Today is supposed to go better than this.

  “I haven’t used this card thirty times since I got it four years ago. Swipe it again.”

  “Fine,” he fires back, blowing tobacco breath in my face. Then he gives me the card along with a scrap of paper. “It’s declined again.”

  One glimpse at the slip confirms what he’s told me twice.

  I panic. “I haven’t maxed out this card!”

  “Ma’am, even if that’s true, there are identity thieves who’ll do that for you without even removing your card from your purse. Give me another card or cash. It’s up to you.”

  Suspicious, something tells me to go with cash, not my bank card. It’s attached to my credit card account. If a crook has gotten to it, how hard can it be to get to my banking info since the internet lets anyone into your business? What if I hadn’t withdrawn the cash yesterday for moments like these?

  I unearth two twenties and a five out of my wallet. After tossing the change in the bottom of my purse, I pump the gas and eyeball my cell phone on the passenger seat. Shoving the gas pump back into its compartment, I drop into the car and call up my credit card company. When the automated system asks for my info, I punch it in as fast as I can, and request a customer rep.

  “How may I help you today, Ms. Spencer?”

  “You can tell me why a card I use sparingly like I’m supposed to is maxed out.”

  “It isn’t maxed out, ma’am. You cancelled it online and had your account flagged for identity theft. Any fraudulent claims, we take seriously, and will prosecute whoever opened this account under a false name.”

  My blood runs cold. My credit limit hasn’t been jacked. I’ve been hacked.

  “Fraudulent! I’m Amari Spencer. I’ve always been me. There’s nothing fraudulent about that or my account that I’ve had for years. I didn’t cancel my card or make a fraudulent claim. There is no suspicious activity on this account. And if it is, it isn’t on my end.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing I can do until we can prove who opened this account and who closed it.”

  “You can track the IP address to whoever stole my information and cancelled this account. Why would they steal my info to not buy things, just take my financial stability from me instead?”

  “Ma’am, I’ve never heard of something like this happening either, but we had to honor your request to close the account and open a case.”

  “Well, close the case and open the account back up then. I didn’t do this.”

  “Before we can reinstate your credit privileges and issue you a new card, you need to prove who you are.”

  “I need to prove who I am?” The range of my voice rises with my rage. “No, you need to prove who’s pretending to be me!”

  “It’s required by law for you to send in documents so we can clear up the matter, or we can prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “What? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “We didn’t either, ma’am, and I’m sorry if someone has misrepresented themselves as you online, but you need to get those documents to us as soon as possible. The company is required by law to investigate the matter thoroughly since terrorists are using every institution available to funnel money to their organizations.”

  Haranguing the customer rep for doing her job isn’t going to make her be any more accommodating to me.

  “You think I’m a terrorist?” I ask with a calm I don’t feel.

  “Someone does, or they’re making sure you appear as one.”

  “Who? I haven’t made anyone that angry with me.”

  Yes, you have.

  But would Mr. Powers launch retaliation of this magnitude to keep his promise of making me pay, by robbing me of my ability to pay for anything? Maybe even cost me my freedom.

  Being his personal assistant is not this damn serious.

  Or is it to him? I won’t find out sitting here halfway between my home and my parents.’

  “I don’t know who’s this angry with you, Ms. Spencer. You have one week to send the documents to me. I’ll reinstate your ability to upload documents to your account, but that’s all I can do at this point.”

  “I can do a lot more from my end. I think I know who did this.”

  “If you can prove they did it, we’ll give them over to the authorities.”

  “Thank you.” I hang up and peel out of the store’s yard.

  When I arrive in downtown Candleton, traffic is still light and moving at a fast pace. I can’t be grateful for it. I’m too busy being afraid that two hundred and ninety-seven grand is gone from my savings account, six thousa
nd from checking. If it was him who did this to me, he would’ve went after it all, and there’s no point in calling my bank. A waking nightmare is what today is turning out to be.

  Before I stumble upon anymore of Mr. Powers’ criminal activities, I need him to fix what he’s already done to me, and make him promise to never cross my path again. How could anyone do something this crazy?

  I guess you’ll find out when you get to his office.

  A mile away from Powers Enterprises, a cop wearing aviator shades passes by. He glances at me from his partially-rolled down window. For all I know, there’s a warrant out for my arrest, and he’s going to recognize my car and flip his sirens on any second now. It’s not as if the customer rep would’ve told me they were already pressing charges. Terroristic acts are the most hated crime in this state right now, the judges throwing the book at anyone who dares to break those laws, and getting terrorists off the streets is a priority.

  I grip the steering wheel until my caramel knuckles turn white. By the time the cruiser disappears from my rearview, I’m even more convinced of Mr. Powers’ guilt. It’s no coincidence this is happening to me right after his threat. I deliberate on the notion of seeing if his money is as vulnerable as mine is. Destitution won’t sit well with the elite status he enjoys so much. I’m not a tit-for-tat kind of girl, however, choosing to believe in an honest day’s work, integrity, and karma.

  I can’t wait for that bitch to get her hands on him.

  Finally, I arrive at the yellow bar barricading the entrance onto Powers’ premises. Positioned in between the in and out lanes, a guard shack spits out Grady, who’s overweight, heavily-tanned, and smiling. There’s no returning the simple greeting, too numb from the explosive rage that built during my drive. I’ll unleash it on Mr. Powers, if he hasn’t revoked my access to the building already.

  “Amari, why aren’t you here working? Are you sick?” He makes it seem painful to lower himself down off the curb, halting at my window.

  “No, ah, I’m late, Grady.” Uneasy with lying, the backlash for it comes back too soon for my tastes.

  Grady should know I’m no longer an employee by now, and will probably be asking me to drive the U-turn around his station right about now.

  “Go right on in. Mr. Powers is probably having a fit that you’re not already up there. He drove out of here like a bat out of hell this morning. Came back even faster. He usually takes great care with that car, so stay on his good side and have a good day, Amari.”

  “You too, Grady.”

  He disappears into the shack. The bar rises. If only he knew just how far I’ve traveled across Mr. Powers’ ‘bad side’ today, and him mine.

  I ease forward, park quickly in the first vacant space underground, and scramble to get the badge out of my purse for the elevator. Then I run for it. Once inside, it moves too damn slowly upwards, doesn’t open fast enough for me when it stops. I bang on the doors until it opens a millisecond later.

  Outside Mr. Powers’ office, I bang on that door too, causing several heads to peep out of their workplaces. I rather feed the gossip mill, even when pissed to the highest point of pisstivity, than get an eyeful of anyone’s bare ass in his office. However, he’ll let his current date go long enough to reinstate my financial status, or I’ll create a ruckus that’ll have the national news camped out on his property until he does. He can have me escorted away afterwards.

  He flings the door open. The palm of my hand almost smacks him in the face. I lower it to my side as a fist, which I will use on him if he doesn’t fix what he’s broken.

  He has the audacity to smile while stepping aside. “Come right in, Amari, although I wasn’t welcomed into your home. I don’t mind showing you how to be hospitable.”

  I storm pass him. “You probably can spell hospitable, Mr. Powers, but you sure as hell don’t know the first thing about it.”

  I look for extra bodies that must leave. No one is cowering at my vacated desk yet. All the walls are in place. We’re alone. That’s new, well, not quite. It has been awhile since he’s had someone in here.

  Who gives a flying flip? He stole from you.

  He closes the door deliberately slow, then swivels to face me on genuine, black leather loafers from his home country that cost a fortune.

  “Why did you do it, Mr. Powers?” I seethe and shake.

  He knots his hands in front of him and widens his stance in front of the only way out of here. “Sweetheart—”

  “Sweetheart! No one treats people they call by that name like you’ve treated me. You had my card cancelled. Reported me as an identity thief. God knows what else you’ve done. All for what? So, you can molest other women in front of me? What about that is so appealing to you? Never mind. I don’t want to know. What I do want is absolutely nothing to do with you. So please, for Pete’s sake, give me my money back and let. Me. Go.”

  “No,” he says simply.

  Pure hell breaks loose within me. My hands raise themselves in the air and make a choking gesture near his neck.

  “Why? You don’t even like me! I’m nothing to you!”

  He eyes my hands that’ll cheerfully kill him if I think it’ll get my money back.

  “That’s not true, Amari. I—”

  “Yes. It. Is. I’ve been nothing but décor around here, and there’s someone you can hire who doesn’t want a life outside work and can stomach your dating habits that are disgusting… just like you are.” I want to hit him where it hurts, devastating him, like he’s doing to me.

  It’s doubtful if my pitiful punches will indent his shirt, even less his ethics, so I yell so more. “I’m not your property! You’re not my owner! Your money gives you privileges over material things! Not people, jackass! And here’s a piece of advice: if you like being watched during intimate moments, go to a BDSM club where it’s acceptable!”

  His shoulders lift almost to his ears, chest expanding and collapsing as if he’s breathing fire. Immediately, I regret my insults and losing all rationality. This isn’t the way to get what I want out of people like him, so I turn my palms out, signaling for a truce.

  “Look, Mr. Powers. I don’t want to work here. I feel physically ill sometimes when I get off. If you persist with trying to get me back as your PA, you’ll be jeopardizing your company. I have no loyalty to it, or you. Please undo whatever it is you did to my credit and return all my money. It’s all I have,” I plead to his compassionate side, just not sure if he has one.

  “No, Amari,” he murmurs.

  I’m right—he doesn’t have compassion and I’m flat broke since he didn’t deny emptying all my accounts. Can’t be swayed to put back what he stole without me returning to work for him. That pushes me past my breaking point. Crazed, I capture two handfuls of my hair and pull, spinning in aimless circles, trapped by a man who’s impossible to deal with.

  “Stop, Amari, and listen to me. I want you here because I—”

  “Because you think you should have what you want!’ I scream, and whirl around to him. “Because you’re self-centered and no one else’s wants, feelings, and needs matter to you. Does that sound about right, Mr. Powers?”

  He sighs. “You’re not going to let me explain why I did it, are you?”

  “Explain? Hell no, you can’t explain. You had no right to do it period. Nothing you say will justify what you’ve done.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Fine, have it your way then… and I’m keeping your money.” This isn’t how this visit is supposed to go.

  Feeling as if I’m in a tunnel, I gravitate toward the sunlight that’s warming my backside, mumbling under my breath, “I don’t know why I came here, thinking I could reason with the same insatiable monster who’s punishing me for exercising my rights to not be driven insane. I’ve really gone nuts.” And totally spiraling.

  Nothing left to do but hit rock bottom now.

  Hands grip my shoulders and twirl me around to face him. His expression i
s a mask of fury. Good. He’s as angry as I am, and he probably wants to do something violent too. Right now, I’m only hurting my scalp. Assaulting him probably won’t get me back what’s mine either, so I prepare to wait him out. Hopefully, he’ll see things my way, and soon. He becomes blurry first. I realize my hopelessness is building up in my eyes and coursing down my cheeks, teetering on the edge of my despair, which he might find a way to take from me too. Well, he can’t have it.

  You should stop it from leaking from your face then.

  I swipe the tears away and blanket the worse of my emotions. It’s difficult, but I’m stubborn, even while I’m a certifiable basket case.

  His expression dulls. “Amari,” he calls too softly, as if he’s worried about me.

  I sniffle. “No! You don’t get to pretend you care about me. You’re incapable of acknowledging I’m in the room, even less my feelings. I’m calling the cops and telling them everything you’ve done to me.”

  “What have I done, Amari?” he asks too damn nonchalantly.

  “You sick bastard! You know what you’ve done. How could you? I’ve never asked for anything from you, and if you think I’ll sit behind that desk meekly after you’ve treated me like this, you have another thing coming.”

  His head shifts to the side, appearing meek when he’s anything but. “You didn’t say what I’ve done.”

  “I did! You ruined me. The credit card company is going to prosecute me after a week, if not already. I didn’t dare call my bank. They’re probably about to do the same thing. I came straight here stupidly, hoping you’d straighten this out because you had a conscience somewhere.”

  “You can’t prove I took anything from you.”

  “Yeah, no one will suspect you when you’re the only one who’s promised to make me pay for quitting on an A-1 jerk, and now I’m barely legal in the state I was born in,” I spit. Just being run out of New York on a rail by him must’ve been too much to hope for.

  “My point is that you need evidence, sweetheart.” Point made, and there isn’t one to calling the cops. This case will be deemed a ‘he said, she said’ complaint and filed at the back of the precinct’s database.