by Beth Mikell
But it wasn’t Jennifer that answered the door.
Mari, one of their Penn State crew, stood tall and sleek in yellow stilettos, fitted blue jeans and a yellow halter-top. She was a total African-American goddess with straight hair down to her curvy breasts, her dark skin perfection under skillfully applied makeup. The woman could be a model.
Brooke inwardly grimaced, thinking about her rag-a-muffin appearance. She still wore her unflattering Ascent puller, old jeans and walking boots with her hair pulled up in a simple ponytail and no makeup. No comparison toward beauty vs. beast. Thank God, she was not wearing her Ascent hat; otherwise, she may have died seven deaths of mortification.
“Brooke!” Mari scooped her into a deep hug, squeezing her tight. She pulled back with a dazzling smile. “I’m so happy you’re here! I’ve missed you so much.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Mari. I didn’t realize everyone was meeting here.” Brooke said, pulling at the collar of her unflattering shirt, her eyes darting around her beautiful friend, thinking she should have gone home to shower and change before coming.
Mari waved off the comment. “Girl, you just got off of work, don’t worry about that. Get in here and let us work our magic. You’ll be rockin’ hot before we leave.” She pulled Brooke by the arm into the penthouse, dragging her into the middle of the posh apartment.
“Everyone, Brooke is here!”
Several young women were in various stages of dress—some in only lingerie, others in jeans and a bra or a robe. The smell of perfume, hair products, and fingernail polish filled the air with an overpowering aroma. Determined strains of Rihanna pumped over the sophisticated stereo system; something about please don’t stop the music, while the place was covered in excessive clothes, shoes, and other paraphernalia.
The place bowed to the retro 60’s with accents in green, orange and browns over plenty of metal and glass. There was an L-shaped, white sofa with alternating black and orange rugs thrown in many directions on the tiled floor. The full glass-topped dining room table was next to an ultra-modern kitchen. Black and white photos of Jennifer graced the walls in a mural to her beauty.
At Mari’s announcement, everyone descended on her, and she found herself hugging each girl, Yasmine, Kiera, Beth, and Brittany, but no Jennifer. Everyone gushed and smiled in rapid happiness, and she managed the right replies directed her way. Despite her nervousness, she relaxed and allowed her unease to fall away.
“Where’s Jennifer?”
“In here sweet-ums!” Jennifer called from down the hallway. “Get your sweet-self down here!”
The Penn State crew spun away, dancing to the music, while Brooke made her way down to Jennifer’s room. She found her friend bent over her laptop, laughing at an open chat box on the screen before firing off a reply with her perfectly manicured tips.
Jennifer glanced up as she entered, squealing in delight and rushed over. “Baby doll!” Wrapping Brooke in a petite bear hug, her red hair brushed the top of her shoulders. She pulled back, eyeing her. “What? Why are you—oh, I don’t know—so doom and gloomy? Rough day?” She yanked her into the room and slammed the door. Pulling Brooke over to the bed, she plopped down beside her and pinned her with her dancing blue eyes. “Spill.”
Leave it to Jennifer to notice and Brooke winced. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Jennifer’s lips formed into a mulish line. “Uh-huh. Try again, baby doll. It’s me, remember? I can smell a lie a mile away and I love you enough to care.”
She shrugged. “What’s not alright? Business is slumping—tragically—and I haven’t told Harry yet. Uncle Duck’s debts are choking me and I am just tired of it all. While part of me is almost thrilled to get rid of the whole thing, the other part of me is miserable because it was Uncle Duck’s life’s work. I feel like I’ve trashed it with my mismanagement.” Tears stung her eyes, as she absorbed the pain.
Jennifer reached up to push small tendrils behind Brooke’s ear. “That’s not how I understand it, baby doll,” she said softly. “Your Uncle Duck had troubles before you took over.” Her voice as gentle as if cajoling a small child. “I know you, Brooke. You have a tendency to beat yourself up over stuff that’s not your fault. You’re too young to worry over all this—giving yourself anxiety and stress. At this rate you’re gonna need Botox by twenty-five. Talk to Harry—tomorrow. Please?”
She nodded. “Okay. I will.” Part of her wanted to ask her advice about Damon Sinclair, but decided not to bring him up. He probably wouldn’t even show up and then that would just be another disappointment to add to her crappy list.
The redhead beamed. “Really? So easy?” She blew on her perfect nails and rubbed them on her shoulder. “Must be magic in the air.” Her laptop dinged with chat messages, interrupting the serious moment and she leaped off the bed with a giggle.
Brooke leaned back on the bed, watching her friend with a smile. She tried to lose her bad humor and get into a party mood. “Who are you talking to?”
Jennifer gave a throaty laugh. “Well, Skydiver Mike is wound up and he wants another go at me and Bartender Carlos down at Looney’s is flirting—both are total horn bees and I’m driving them wild.” She shrugged. “Ya know, my normal web of man-crazy.” She tapped out more replies, still laughing.
While Jennifer continued with her chat conversation, Brooke stood. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” she said, thinking of the cola she spilled on herself earlier—another fine moment to add to her anti-graceful list.
“Go ahead. I put the purple halter in the spare room for you. Oh, and Ginger is here, fixing everyone’s hair. Go see her when you are done. Britney is doing makeup.”
Brooke was not ready to play dress up. “Yes, mommy,” she complained with a bit of a duck face.
But Jennifer wasn’t the least bit fazed and flashed an indulgent smile. “Beat it, baby doll. Time’s ticking and we have a hive full of testosterone horn bees to stir up!”
“Has anyone ever told you—you are controlling and bossy?” A sense of playfulness rolled over her, which happened in Jennifer’s presence.
Her friend nodded with her smile still in place. “All the time. Now off with you.” She chased her away with an elegant flick of her wrist.
An hour later, Brooke stood in front of Jennifer’s full-length mirror. Heck, the Penn State crew should receive a medal for the metamorphosis they managed in such a short time. Gone was the tired, stressed-out, gawky girl replaced with… someone else.
Her light, brown hair hung in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back—full and luxurious. The light purple halter emphasized her breasts, and brought out the deep violet of her eyes. She wore designer blue jeans and black, high-heeled boots. Her makeup was everything next to perfection, nearly old Hollywood, complete with skillfully applied eyelashes for a bit of drama with a neutral lip-gloss. She had to admit, she rocked some kind of hotness.
“Baby doll?”
Jennifer appeared beside Brooke, wearing a light blue halter and black stilettos and hugged her shoulders. “Who am I?”
“You’re very beautiful,” Jennifer whispered.
She shook her head in amazement. “I can’t believe it.” Brooke turned this way and that in the mirror, noting she actually filled out the jeans in the right way.
“Believe it. The horn bees are gonna love you!”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I don’t want them to love me. I’m quite content—”
“Bite your tongue!” Jennifer grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room. “You are under orders to drink, dance, and find at least five horn bees to drink body shots off of you! No excuses!”
She paled. She could not imagine anyone doing a body shot off her, especially a stranger.
****
The halter-top brigade, as labeled by Jennifer, arrived at Looney’s by ten. The place was crowded and out of control by Brooke’s estimation, though a pizza and a movie would make her happy, but Jennifer was not having that.
Sk
ydiver Mike met the group at the door with several of his buddies, but Brooke wasn’t interested. Sure, they claimed handsome in the surfer, extreme sports kind of way, wearing skateboard logo T-shirts and jeans. However, her eyes roamed the room, looking for any sign of Damon Sinclair.
Pushing their way through the crowd, they commandeered a table and Jennifer went with Mike to get some drinks. One of the skydiver’s buddies angled close to Brooke, yelling over the booming music.
“I’m Jason. What’s your name?” His messy, russet hair stuck out in disarray, while his too bright brown eyes indicated he had already had a few drinks. His heavy alcohol breath firmly backed up her guess.
“Brooke,” she shouted, but he only nodded with a smile and she silently pleaded for him to go away.
Thankfully, Jennifer arrived and shooed Jason away, flopping down in his chair. She leaned close to Brooke’s ear. “You okay, baby doll?” Just like a mother hen protecting her baby chick.
She nodded, but deep down, the urge to run home hit her. “Fine.”
Jennifer pulled a face. “Good fine? Or angry fine?”
Brooke shrugged, receiving a grin from her friend. Mike arrived with their drinks, a pitcher of beer for the guys and Red Silk Panties for the ladies. She liked the taste of them, but she hadn’t eaten dinner, so she wasn’t too interested in being sick later with a vodka based beverage. She wisely sipped slowly.
After a while, most everyone hit the dance floor, and Brooke ducked away, wandering up to the bar. Carlos flashed a smile as she sat on a barstool, pushing her melted drink toward him.
“Can I get you anything else, sweetie?” he asked, dumping her drink down the sink. His Latino heritage blazoned from the top of his jet-black hair to his darkly tanned skin. His sinewy muscles were bulky and tough under his Looney’s T-shirt.
“Club soda on the rocks,” she said.
He winked, turning to serve up her drink, and then moving to other patrons. She searched the bar, but there was no sign of Damon anywhere. It was just as well. It was not as if she really believed he would show, but she had hoped. Brooke imagined him in her mind, remembering his Cosmo good looks and smooth manners—yeah, he wasn’t coming.
Her eyes found Jennifer, shaking her moves on the dance floor with Skydiver Mike.
Then, Brooke felt someone brush up against her left shoulder, and she turned to find herself reflected in green eyes.
Air punched out of her lungs fast, as she stared dumbly into Damon’s incredible eyes and handsome face. The man was beyond gorgeous. Stunned, she could not move. He had changed into a dark shirt and black jeans—still hot—and his manly scent shouted another masculine high five to her feminine senses.
Due to the booming music, Damon moved closer. “Hello, Ms. Stone.” His smile radiated intrigue, warmth, and utter sexiness. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
She smiled, as her eyes glittered with pleasure at his arrival. “No, not long, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Since this is our second meeting, please call me Damon.” His eyes held a deep intensity, burning and vivid.
Unconsciously, she bit her lower lip, tilting her head to the side. Her hair spilled over the opposite shoulder, exposing her bare shoulder. “Damon.”
“Have you been enjoying yourself this evening?”
I am now, she wanted to say, but refrained. She shrugged. “A drink in a noisy, crowded bar is the perfect backdrop, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Touché.”
She did not really answer his question because until he arrived, she was not having a good time. She used his words from earlier today—a sense of playfulness inspired her to a level she never thought to obtain with a man—flirty.
Carlos leaned over and asked Damon what he wanted to drink, interrupting their magnetic pull. With a draft beer served up, he gave her a smoldering look, but did not say another word.
She picked up her club soda, swirling the straw in the glass. “What do you do, Damon?”
He flashed another hideously, disarming smile. “Many things. Mainly security ventures. What about you, Brooke? Is your life all about flying hot air balloons?”
She never thought so until Uncle Duck passed away. She knew how to fly and had a degree in aviation to support her experience, but honestly… it was not her dream. Lately, the only thing demanding her undivided attention was debts and stress.
“It’s all I’ve ever known. But I’d like to branch out and discover other possibilities.”
Damon did not respond right away as if chewing over her words, but before he answered, he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I have to take this. Will you stay here? I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Reaching up to twist the hair at her ear, she nodded. “Yes.” Smooth and sleek, she watched him glide away with panther like grace toward the exit and sighed deeply.
He still unnerved her.
****
With his phone in hand, Damon moved out of the bar, weaving out through the crowd. He could not contain his irritation. He was angry. Strange occurrences were happening at his business locations. At first, he passed it off as wild kids, spray-painting obscene graffiti, but it went further. His telecommunications center found themselves in the middle of a major outage. He lost hundreds of thousands because someone deliberately cut into the fiber optics, and by deliberately—they tore up mother earth. No team from S-Comm. was close to the region and it took days to repair.
The latest attack? Someone had found his top-secret warehouse outside the city, which housed his satellite technology for the government. They had laid a few charges around the perimeter, enough to scare the heck out of the civilian employees and make a mess. That was when Damon realized someone was targeting him, and his security team was nowhere near solving the unanswered questions.
“What do you mean the mausoleum was desecrated?” A cold chill settled over Damon as he spoke to Kirk Mitchell, head of S-Tec security. Olivia was buried along with her parents in the Kindell mausoleum. “What the hell? How do you even know that?”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “Well, sir, we received a call from the cemetery grounds keeper and was informed that they found the door to the mausoleum busted in, the walls were spray painted with derogatory words and the vaults bashed.”
Anger cascaded hard through Damon. “Were the caskets opened?” He hated to even ask—just the thought of someone defiling any part of Olivia’s resting place made him sick.
“No, sir. The vaults prevented access. But the thing is… the call didn’t come from the grounds keeper. They went off duty at nine. Whoever did this, made the call.”
“If they called S-Tec, then the call should be logged and investigated. Where do you stand with that?”
“Untraceable. They used a disposable phone. They knew exactly what they were doing.”
Damon ran a hand through his hair. “Get a crew over to the mausoleum, and clean it up. Reinforce the doors while you’re at it. Keep me apprised of any other developments.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as possible, he had to tell Brooke the truth about herself, Olivia, and hope to God that he did not lose her in the process. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but how weird would it be for her to learn he was her deceased sister’s widower?
****
“Hey!” Jennifer leaned close, her face bright with excitement and beaded with a light sheen of sweat from her dancing exertions. “What’s up, baby doll? How do you know Damon Sinclair?” She inclined her head in his direction.
Brooke’s eyes widened. “You know him?”
Her friend flashed a grin. “Of course. I do work for a large advertising firm, baby! I know all the bigwigs. He owns S-Tec, a large computer satellite company—a total Gazillionaire! The man is loaded. We have a contract for his telecommunications pie, but I haven’t been able to get in that action yet. I have seen him a few times. Stop stalling! How do you know him?” she insisted.
Still twisting her hair, sh
e met Jennifer’s gaze. “He was my sunset ride.”
Her friend threw back her head and laughed. “Oh my God! Do you know how that sounds? So, poetic, baby doll! The man is one sexy piece of meat and you should go for him!”
Brooke flushed bright red, and practically yanked the hair from her scalp. “Jennifer!”
The redhead held up her hands. “Just sayin’! He’s dreamy! The way he was leaning close to you, I think he’s crushing on you too.”
Suddenly, gruff hands descended on Brooke’s shoulders, whipping her around. She gasped. Skydiver Mike and his cronies stood in a semi-circle, leering at her, obviously blitzed from their booze intake.
“C’mon, sweet thing! Jennifer said you needed some excitement! I think body shots are in order, eh boys?” His buddies cheered in response.
“Hey Mike, wait!” Jennifer protested and pulled at his steel grip. “She’s not interested!”
The tall maniac flashed a smile toward her. “No? But we are!”
“No! Please stop!” Brooke protested, but hands pulled her deep into the crowd of people away from the bar.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jennifer arguing with Mike, but he was not listening to her. The man was too wound up. Before Brooke knew it, she was shoved back on top of a table, and held down by several guys. She fought their hold, but they would not let go. The deafening music continued to blare, while a sea of faces jeered. She continued to struggle, but closed her eyes against the shame of her position, laid out like a sacrifice upon the table… helpless.
Brooke struggled to breathe, fear pounding in her chest. Rough hands, flipped the thin material of her shirt up, exposing her stomach. Her eyes popped open.
“No! Please don’t!” Her screams were not heard above the loud music, and her eyes misted with tears, completely shamed and powerless to move.
Commotion ripped through the gathering and Damon appeared. He shoved Mike aside, grabbing Brooke up against him, holding her in a death-grip.
