Stop That Wedding!
Chapter 4
It was a very different Zenith who stood in Brad’s empty office the next morning,
ready to start the assignment her grandfather demanded of her, with the required
resume in her hand. She’d dressed conservatively, in a dark blue skirt and jacket,
sensible pumps and her hair raked back in a tight bun at the base of her neck.
She wanted to look professional while keeping Brad at bay. After that
uncharacteristic loss of control with him yesterday, she didn’t plan on repeating
that same lapse of judgment.
She and Chadwick belonged together. She knew that. They shared an
agreement, an understanding. That was the civilized approach to marriage, a
strong guarantee to happiness. Much more comfortable than the ache Brad set
loose in her bones, that churning in her gut that had kept her up most of last
night. She didn’t want to take off on a roller coaster ride just to find out the tracks
ended mid-ride.
She fiercely ignored the nagging thought that she was marrying Chadwick just
to fulfill her desire to be needed. She didn’t have time for that kind of doubt; she
needed to concentrate fully on the tasks before her. She had to learn the
business from every facet. She had to resist the inexplicable pull that Brad
erupted in her with just one kiss. Getting involved with him didn’t fit her plans.
She hated waiting alone in Brad’s office. It felt dull and lifeless without its main
occupant, who, his assistant assured her, would be here any moment. It was hard
for her to admit that a few minutes with Brad made her feel more alive than anyone
else. It wasn’t a good thing, she told herself, not good at all. The man infuriated
her with his constant baiting. And the way he looked down his nose at her – why,
she didn’t want to put up with that every day! The fact that she even thought of
him as a daily part of her life bothered her.
She gazed around, admiring the dark wooden decor. She was seldom here;
Brad unsettled her, so visits to him were rare.
Some photos decorated one wall. She smiled at Aunt Lydia’s wedding photo;
the love and joy that beamed from bride to groom was blatant. She enjoyed a
shot of Brad, his hair long and shaggy, posing in front of his first car. She recalled
that his father, Michael, a self-made millionaire, made him earn that car. Brad
never received a free ride; everything he possessed got the hard way. That
included his current position at Somersbee’s. Zenith respected that.
One photo that caught her attention was of Brad as a young man. She lifted it
off the wall to study it. He stood with his father and Aunt Lydia during a summer
break from college. They’d been at her family’s waterfront estate near
Monterey. The gangly teenager standing next to him looked so young. It was
her, sandwiched between Brad and Lydia, before she’d bloomed into a young
woman. She’d smiled at the camera, her eager zest for life evident in that smile.
Brad wasn’t looking at the camera, however. He gazed down at her, tenderness
softening his masculine features. Her fingers reached out in wonder to touch the
glass covering the picture. Was that look a fluke, or did he...?
“Good, you’re here.” Startled, Zenith whirled to see Brad entering, his attention
focussed on the open file in his hand. Shutting the door behind him, he crossed to
his oversized desk and sat down. She surreptitiously replaced the picture; she
didn’t want him to see what interested her so much. She then sat down opposite
him. Without looking up at her, he began.
“I’ve listed several jobs that I feel are appropriate for you to begin with. When I
did this training, I was expected to stay with each job a minimum of three months.
However, since your timeline is much shorter that mine was, we’ll try to change jobs
about once a week at first. When the jobs become more difficult, you’ll have to
stay in them longer. May I see your resume, please?” He gazed at her
expectantly. She didn’t see any of the passion from the night before in his remote
and impersonal expression. Well, that suited her fine, she told herself; she could
handle him better that way.
She passed him her resume, neatly typed. Their fingers brushed together; she
jerked away, but he gave no sign he noticed the accidental contact. Holding the
papers in front of him, he began to read, while she barely retained control over the
urge to fidget, examine her nails, or straighten out her skirt one more time. She
longed to do anything, rather than sit here waiting for his judgment to fall.
Finally, after what were only minutes but to her felt like hours, Brad lifted his
dark gaze to her. “No real job experience here. I see you list a lot of charities; did
you spend eight hours a day for five days at any of them?” At her reluctant shake,
he flipped back to the first page. “Your college is impressive, but the skills you
learned there won’t help you much here.” He dismissed her art degree with a
negligent flick of his wrist. Letting the page drop, he pushed it back towards her.
“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s going to be a lot of hard work, and some
physical labor. Nothing you’ve really tried before.”
Zenith’s chin raised at his words, but his tones were neutral. Neither
condemning nor pitying, he stated her situation succinctly. She mentally smoothed
down her bristles, and answered his question in the same manner he’d given it to
her: businesslike, impersonal.
“I can do this. It’s important to my family that I succeed. And I will,” she stated
with determination. “So tell me what you want me to do. The sooner we start this,
the sooner it will be over.” She pushed the resume back towards him.
Silently, he nodded. Pulling the resume to him, he began to make notes on a
paper in the open file. After a few minutes, he handed it to her.
“Choose one,” he told her, leaning back in his padded chair. “That’s what we’ll
start with.”
It was a list of positions that Brad felt would be good starting points for her.
Several were crossed out. An accounting assistant he’d crossed out, adding the
comment ‘questionable math skills’. She bristled at that: she might not be a whiz
at math, but she could do the basics very well. Another, desk clerk, he’d scratched
out as well. No explanation was given. Likewise with mail clerk and receptionist.
The ones that remained she studied for several minutes.
Waitress. Chef’s assistant. Golf course groundskeeper. Beauty salon
assistant. She glared at the list. None of these were going to teach her the inner
workings of Somersbees! Her cheeks flamed in anger. She knew what he was up
to: he wanted her to fail. He wanted to see her humiliated.
The thought stung, and she didn’t question why it pained her so deeply. A
fleeting memory of his lips on hers, her blood pounding through her veins in
response, she sharply shoved away. She didn’t feel anything for him, not at
all. Okay, so that was a lie. But she couldn’t let her attraction to him control
her life. That felt better. She admitted the truth and could deal with it. Pleased
with herself, she made a decision. She wasn’t going to let him know that she was
drawn to him and that he was getting to her.
“I want to try the receptionist job,” she declared, deliberately choosing one that
Brad had crossed off. She wasn’t going to settle for a menial labor position that
would teach her nothing. She needed to recognize the pulse beat of Somersbee’
s. She wouldn’t get that mowing the lawn at a gold course.
No, a receptionist’s job was more fitting. She would see the comings and
goings of people. Answer a few phones and smile prettily at visitors. That would
suit her nicely.
Once she proved herself there, that would make Brad Pearce rethink his
demeaning choices for jobs and give her something with more teeth.
“No,” Brad stated flatly. Zenith expected this answer, yet she still bristled.
“And may I ask why?”
Brad sighed imnpatiently. “The receptionists here don’t just answer phones
and greet visitors.” He slanted a mocking grin at her, as if he knew exactly what
she’d been thinking. “They also keep records, do a great deal of typing and
handle basic questions from the public. On top of that, they schedule all the
meeting rooms and the equipment in those rooms, such as overhead projectors,
televisions, computers used for presentations. They help coordinate large events
such as the formal presentation of a new hotel to the public. They also coordinate
with the maintenance and computing departments when good down-time is for
those departments to maintain sensitive equipment and the facilities.
“It’s a very demanding, fast-paced job, Zenith. I don’t think you’re quite up to it.”
His flat declaration of her inadequacies angered her immensely. Sucking in a
deep breath, Zenith fought to channel her emotions into a positive
solution.
Except that ‘positive’ and ‘solution’ didn’t fit her image of Brad Pearce.
“You want me to fail!” She flung the words at him, then groaned inwardly. Great,
Zenith. Aggravating him will solve everything.
She could have easily predicted his reaction. His eyes rolled, his mouth
tightened, and she could almost feel a wave of anger building up between them.
“It doesn’t matter to me one way of the other.” But his blunt words didn’t deter
her.
“You chose all menial jobs, nothing that needs any intelligence. You figure that
way you can show Grandfather that I’m not capable of anything harder so he’ll
declare the whole thing a miserable failure and boot all of us off the board! Then
you’ll be home free, won’t you?” She sucked in a deep breath, battling for control.
“All that from one short list of possible positions?” His lifted brows reinforced
his air of disbelief.
“And your mocking attitude. And the fact that you’ve never found any use for
my family.”
Placing his hands palm down on his desk, Brad leaned forward, reminding him
of his great size compared to her slim form. “Does the fact that your family has
never exhibited any usefulness escape you?”
Gasping her outrage, she forgot all about her desire to maintain her distance.
“Just because we don’t fit your definitions of ‘useful’ doesn’t mean you’re right! We
help out at many charities and are responsible for the raising of hundreds of
thousands of dollars each year. That might not mean anything to you, but it does
to the people we help!”
The last thing she expected was Brad to applaud her, which he did loudly.
“Bravo, Miss Somersbee! Spoken like a true blueblood used to scattering crumbs
before the needy masses!” Before she could explode, he continued.
“Fine, I’ll arrange a receptionist’s position for you. Give me a few minutes.” Not
sparing her another glance, he left the office the same way he’d entered: swiftly
and with purpose.
Zenith let out the breath she’d not been aware she’d held. She could be
around him and handle this, she told herself, regaining her composure. Her
reaction to him was just a fluke. Her world, including her engagement to Chadwick,
remained secure, and once this ordeal ended, she’d go back to her well-ordered,
comfortable life.
^^^^^^
“Somersbee’s,” the woman spoke into the headset perched on top of her thick
red curls. Her fingers flew through the file drawer, quickly finding one. Scooting in
her chair towards the counter, she handed the folder to a waiting secretary. Zenith
watched her in awe, foreboding filling her. She had thought, like Brad mockingly
stated, that a receptionist would simply sit behind a desk smiling cheerfully,
directing visitors and manning the phones. But this...superwoman who moved like
an energized dynamo through her tasks wasn’t what Zenith had in mind.
She felt Brad’s presence beside her, her skin tingling as his gaze slid over her.
He not doubt waited for her reaction. Containing her emotions, she held still. He
wanted her to fall flat on her face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Jerri, this is Zenith Somersbee, who I told you is going to take over your job for a
week.”
Jerri smiled at Brad, her eyes sweeping over him in appreciation. Zenith knew
women found Brad attractive, but couldn’t this woman control herself a bit more?
To his credit, Brad didn’t respond to her; the busty redhead appeared to have no
affect on him, and Zenith’s heart lightened. She was too cowardly to think about
why.
No, not cowardliness, she told herself. She had nothing to face. Brad was
merely an old childhood crush, and one always felt a bit of residual emotion for a
first crush. She sighed with relief. That explained it. She felt the remnants of a
simple adolescent fantasy.
She shook the receptionist’s hand, her mask of cool welcome firmly in place.
The other girl nodded at Zenith, then turned her attention back to Brad. Heavens,
she practically drooled.
“Jerri will show you the ropes for the next few days, then you should be able to
handle it on your own.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Zenith informed Brad coolly. “I’m certain I can get
the hang of it today. Her services won’t be needed after that.” She wasn’t about
to spend more time than necessary with the snooty woman. After all, how hard
could answering phones and handing out files be? Sure, she’d be busy, but she
could keep up.
Brad frowned at her. “This can be a fairly demanding job.”
His lack of confidence in her irked her. “Brad, I’ve run charities for years; that
involves quite a few of the same skills. This doesn’t look much different.”
She didn’t miss the look of derision Jerri gave her, but she didn’t give her the
satisfaction of a reaction. She’d perform all the tricks her grandfather demanded
of her, wipe that little smirk off of Jerri’s face, and show Brad Pearce that not all
blondes were dumb.
^^^^^^^^
“Somersbee’s,” she repeated for the probably the fiftieth time that day. “How
may I direct your call?”
“You’ve already directed my call by hanging up on me!” a very irate male voice
told her. “I can’t believe that Somersbee can’t find someone who can transfer a
phone call.”
His anger chilled her. “I’m sure it was just a fluke, sir. Where may I direct your
call?” The other line lit up, and she seethed in frustration. She couldn’t believe
how many times the phone had rung in the last two hours. Files were piling up,
and she hadn’t been able to retrieve any for the last half hour. Plus there were no
more copies of the building map to help visitors find their way. Zenith was familiar
with the top floor, but not any of the others.
“John Roberts, please, and don’t mess it up this time.”
She didn’t answer, but instead pressed the key on the hand piece in her lap
next to John Roberts’ name, then hit the button for the other line. “Somersbee’s,
how may I direct your call?”
“May I have the Curtis file, please?” A very tall familiar-looking gentleman stood
at the counter, staring at her expectantly with more than a hint of impatience.
She transferred the call, then looked at the man. “I’m sorry, but I’m behind on
pulling files. Could you write it down and I’ll get back to you?” Snatching the pile
of notes that held about a dozen file names, Zenith scooted in her chair to the filing
cabinet, headpiece firmly in place.
“I did that a half hour ago,” he replied, his strident tones making his irritation
blatant. “I need that file now!”
Okay, fine, she told herself. He repeated the file name, and with a hiss of
exasperation, she opened a drawer up and ruffled through the files. The
headpiece cord caught on the drawer’s corner; she tried to tug it loose, but it
refused to budge. Frustrated, she whisked the headpiece off and set it and the
handset aside and continued to look for the file.
No, wrong drawer. Slamming it shut, she opened the lower drawer. There it
was! She grabbed the file, and slid in her chair over to the counter.
“Here you go,” she said, sending him a dazzling smile guaranteed to unruffle
anyone’s feathers.
It had no affect on him. “Don’t I have to sign it out?”
Sign it out? She stared at him, lost. She’d not asked anyone else to sign out
files! The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach grew. “Ummm, yes, could you
please?”
He looked up and down the counter. “Where’s the clipboard?”
Scurrying over to the messy desk, she located a likely clipboard and placed it
before him. “Here you go.”
He frowned at her. “Shouldn’t you be supervised or something?” Signing the
clipboard, he strode off.
Zenith bristled with resentment. How dare he say she needed a keeper. It
might be true she was struggling a bit, but it wasn’t that bad. If only the phones
would stop ringing for a few minutes. She sighed, then returned to finding the files
that matched the notes still clutched in her hand.
“How’s it going?” Zenith didn’t need to turn around to know who spoke to her.
No, the very timbre of it sent shivers of desire down her spine and her blood to
race through her veins. Her eyes closed as a wave of anticipation coursed
through her.
Being a virgin, the emotions frustrated her, as she couldn’t act on them. She
forced her lips into a cool smile, hoping he wouldn’t see the frustration of the last
two hours in her eyes.
No such luck. Brad’s amusement was evident on his face as his eyes traveled
over her. He no doubt took in the shanks of hair escaping the once neat bun, and
the lipstick she knew was missing on her bottom lip, caused by teeth raking over its
flesh in concentration. She tossed him a glare as she turned back to the filing
cabinet, pulling another file and adding it to the growing pile.
Slamming the drawer shut, she picked up the folders, stood and crossed over to
the counter. Setting the pile down, she coolly retrieved the folders waiting to be
filed.
“I’m doing fine, thank you.” There was no way she’d tell him that she was
struggling. She couldn’t handle him laughing at her incompetence.
Tilting his head, he studied her carefully. “I don’t think I believe you.” His dark
eyes danced merrily, and those delicious lips curved into a trance-inducing smile.
Except she was immune, Zenith told herself sternly. She wouldn’t fall into the same
stupor Jerri displayed the day before.
“There have been several calls to my direct line, complaining that the new
receptionist has been hanging up on them. Do you have an explanation?”
Her stomach churned at the question. He was here to gloat, to declare her a
failure. Shards of anger, mostly at herself, shafted through her.
“The phones must be malfunctioning,” she declared coolly. “I handled those
calls exactly how Jerri showed me.” But a tiny kernel of doubt grew. She hadn’t
paid very careful attention to Jerri’s instructions. It seemed so simple at the time.
“Are you certain?” he asked doubtfully.
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” she informed him stiffly. Turning away from him,
she started towards the filing cabinets when the phone began to ring. She
glanced at the phone base, and her eyes widened: the headset wasn’t there!
Where was it? Twirling around, oblivious to files falling from her arms, she hunted
for it frantically.
She ignored Brad’s shout of laughter as her eyes found the thin cream cord
that led from the phone base to wherever the headpiece was hidden. Papers
scattered before her as she grabbed the cord and followed it with her eyes. It led
towards the filing cabinet. Rushing to it, her spirits lifted. Yes, it was in the
drawer!
Grasping the handle, she used her thumb to slide over the lock, but it refused
to budge. She tried several more times, but it remained stubborn. No! A shriek of
frustration escaped at the same moment a browned hand shot past her, pulling her
fingers off the handle while his other hand took its place. Effortlessly he slid the
drawer open and grasped the phone. Pushing the button, his eyes bored into her
panicked stare.
“Somersbee –” She could hear a faint dial tone. “They hung up,” he stated
flatly. His mouth twitched slightly, but she couldn’t tell if it was from anger or mirth.
His eyes darkened as he studied her. “That’s it, Zenith. Playtime is over.”
^^^^^^^^
Sitting dejectedly in a chair outside Brad’s office, Zenith felt like a penitent child
waiting for the principal to call her name. He sat in there, trying to figure out what
her next job would be. While here she sat, wondering why her life was suddenly in
such turmoil.
Her back ached, her feet throbbed; the smooth skin on her hands was covered
in paper cuts. She was tired, beyond cranky, and she needed a long soak in a hot
tub. But Brad seemed determined to have her set up on her next job before she
went home. She’d been too distraught to argue with him.
Now she endured the knowing looks of Brad’s secretary, an efficient woman in
her late forties. Zenith sighed, leaning her elbows on her spread-out knees and
resting her aching head on the heels of her hands, a position that would have sent
shivers of horror through her instructors at her fancy boarding school. It wasn’t
fair, she thought miserably. That job had looked so simple. Who would have
thought you needed to be Supergirl to handle such easy tasks?
The cushion next to her moved, and she glanced over to see her grandfather
seated next to her, beaming a smile of understanding her way. She felt too
depressed to smile back.
“Hi, Grandfather,” she said, dispiritedly.
“Hello yourself. Was it that rough?”
She smiled grimly. “Worse, but I’m optimistic they can find some of the files I
didn’t have anyone sign out.”
Chauncy stroked her hair casually, a caress reminiscent of her childhood. “I’m
sure that Brad will find something more suitable for your first taste at holding down
a job,” he consoled. “That one was a bit too fast-paced for you. In a few months, I’
m sure you can come back and handle it perfectly.”
Her pessimistic gaze captured identical green eyes. “You really think so?”
He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Oh, yes, I really do. I just don’t know
what he was thinking putting you there.”
Zenith felt a warm rush of blood to her face. “Well, actually, Grandfather, I –“
An affronted gasp filled the air. “Zenith Priscilla Somersbee! Sit up and no
slouching!”
Years of training leapt to the forefront and without thought Zenith’s spine
straightened, her knees slammed together and her head whirled around to face
the shocked gaze of her mother.
“Mother! What on earth are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you. Your grandfather called and told me you’d had a
rough day. I thought I’d come cheer you up.”
Zenith forced out a slight smile. “Thanks, Mother, but I’m doubtful there’s anything
you can do.”
Camille sat daintily on the other side of her daughter. “Of course there is!” she
exclaimed. “Since you’re working so hard to save your father and I from financial
destruction, I’m going to take over the planning of your wedding.” She sent a
conspiratorial wink to Chauncy, a gesture totally missed by the prospective bride,
whose rib cage froze in shock. Zenith’s eyes widened; the lovely landscape
gracing the opposite wall became blurry as she tried to focus her thoughts.
Slowly turning towards her mother, Zenith stared at her. “What are you talking
about? I’m perfectly capable of organizing my own wedding!”
“Nonsense. Trying to handle your new responsibilities and your wedding is just
too much. Why, the wedding itself is a full-time job. So no worries, sweetheart. I’ll
take care of it from here on out.”
Camille’s tastes were exactly opposite of her daughter’s. While Zenith
preferred the understated, her mother chose elaborate and ornate. Zenith’s
clothes were elegant; Camille’s were fussy and loud, accented with too many
expensive jewelry items. They’d clashed just a week ago over the flowers for the
wedding corsages: Zenith wanted soft white gardenias with accents of freesias and
sweet pea, while Camille demanded deep burgundy roses and sprays of ruby red
orchids.
If her mother took over, Zenith could see all sorts of battles ensuing. “Mother, I
don’t need any help,” she repeated. “I have an excellent wedding planner, and at
this late stage-“
“I’ve already talked with Millie,” Camille informed her, “and we have a meeting
for tomorrow morning. Oh, honey, relax. I’ll honor your staid, boring ideas; I’ll just
tweak them here and there. Oh,” she clasped her hands together excitedly, “this is
going to be so much fun! I have to go.” She kissed the air beside Zenith’s cheek
and leapt up. “I have an appointment with the florist – there’s some trouble with
their supply of gardenias.” While Zenith’s mouth worked in an unwitting imitation of
a flounder, her mother made good her escape.
“Oh, Grandpa, what am I going to do?”
Chauncy circled his arm around his granddaughter’s shoulders, pulling her
against him. “I’m sure everything will work out fine,” he murmured.
As Zenith let out a tiny groan of frustration, the door to Brad’s office flew open
and he emerged, declaring, “I’ve found something. It wasn’t on our original list, but
at this short notice, it’s the best I can do. You start in the morning.” He handed her
a note, his handsome face looking very smug.
Z enith was afraid to look. Taking it from him gingerly, she noted with relief
that the job was rather simple really, something she could breeze through. Gone
were thoughts of stunning Brad and her grandfather with her achievements. She
needed one success under her belt, then she could concentrate on proving she
herself more than capable to complete the challenge.
The paper read: Dog-walker.
^^^^^^
The office was quiet; everyone but Brad had left for the evening. The single
brass lamp adorning his desk was the only illumination in the otherwise dark room.
He pored over the report on his computer screen. Profit margins were spiking at a
particular store, and he wanted to figure out why, so it could be repeated at other,
slower growing markets. This was one of the good things about his job: helping
the successes bloom and spread.
A knock reverberated at the open door; Brad looked up to see Zenith's younger
sister, Luna, entering the office. His brows lifted in surprise. As far as he knew, the
girl had never stepped foot in corporate headquarters before.
Brad raised a brow at her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Luna's enigmatic smile widened at the light sarcasm in his tone as she grazed
her fingers across the photo display.
"I have something for you," she stated, her voice full of mischief. He felt her
eyes slide over him; the girl was fast becoming a tease, he thought sourly.
"I saw the way you and Luna looked at each other at the dress fitting," she told
him coyly. She gazed at the photo of Brad and Luna; apparently liking what she
saw, she tapped the glass while her feline smile grew.
"Oh?" Brad kept his voice reaction free; she was fishing for a tidbit, he was
sure. But he wasn't about to play her game. Instead he leaned back, gazing at
those green Somersbee eyes that on another member of her family captivated him
so. On Luna, he always felt wary when that too-intelligent gaze studied him.
Luna's smile only deepened at his withdrawal. "Is that all you can say, cousin?
You two practically sizzled that dress right off Zenith and all you can think of to say
is 'oh'?" She sighed. "I wish someone would look at me like that. And neither of you
are going to do anything about it, are you? You're just going to let her marry the
wrong guy."
Brad didn't realize that anyone had picked up on his reaction to Zenith in her
wedding gown. He’d have to remember the teenager saw more than most gave her
credit for. He didn't rise to the bait she tossed at him. He kept his silence, letting
Luna run the show. For now.
She shrugged nonchalantly, her every move reminding Brad of a kitten playing
with a mouse. Except he didn't see himself in the role of the rodent.
"Well, hopefully my 'gift' will put some sense into you." Pulling out some loose
sheets of paper, she tossed them on his desk. "Take a peek," she challenged him.
He didn't react as the papers skidded across the smooth glass surface. "And
what is here that I would want to 'peek' at?"
"It's Zenith's diary," she told him baldly.
This made him sit up. He eyed the top paper with suspicion. "And I supposed she
just let you -?"
"Of course not," she scoffed. "I stole it, and copied the juicier parts."
He pulled his eyes from the tempting pages. "I don't think I need to see this,
Luna." He flicked at the pile, sending it twirling back towards his visitor. "But thanks
for thinking of me." With that, he turned back to his computer screen, dismissing
the teenager.
She didn't take the hint. "I only copied the juicier parts," she repeated. "The
ones that contained all her thoughts about...you." With an evil grin, she watched
his fingers pause over the keyboard. "If I were you, I’d read it." She laughed
saucily; turning smartly, she flounced out of his office.
Brad picked up Luna’s gift to him, holding the sheets loosely in his hands. He
really shouldn’t read these, he told himself. What Zenith did or didn’t think about
him was none of his business, unless she told him to his face, which she did with
regularity. But the words on the pages leapt out at him, and he found his
resistance fleeting.
The handwriting was rough and a bit childish, but he figured that a woman of
her wealth probably didn’t get many chances to practice penmanship.
His eyes! I could drown in his eyes. They are so dark and mysterious, they are
hypnotic. When he smiles, I feel it all the way to my toes. That dimple of his – a
movie star would kill for that dimple! And his hair – dark and sexy. I’ve imagined
my fingers in his hair so many times.
I caught him gazing at me, like I was something of interest rather than
something to ignore. Oh, if only he would look at me like I was a real woman. I
want him to see me as someone he could fall in love with. If he could do that, I’d
be in heaven!
Brad’s breath hissed through his teeth. She certainly wasn’t writing about
blond-haired Chadwick. And since she and Chadwick were engaged, why would
she be wishing Chadwick fall in love with her? No, she definitely wasn’t thinking
about her fiancé. A possibility struck him: could Luna have written this as some
sort of strange prank?
I still remember that time we spent on the beach, running across the hot sands
holding hands. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life than I’d been at that
moment.
Brad recalled that day on the beach long ago, laughing with her and enjoying
her pure beauty. No, Zenith must have written this; Luna hadn’t been there that
day. She’d been home with her parents. He doubted Zenith had shared that
memory with her sister.
He’s a bit older than I am, but that’s no problem. After all, isn’t it better for a
woman’s first time to be with an older, more experienced man? Brad’s fingers are
so sensual. Any time he touches me I tingle all the way through. I imagine his
hands on my skin. I close my eyes and feel him.
Brad could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. She wanted him to be
her first? The mere thought of her being a virgin, of her fantasizing about him,
caused him to feel a surge of arousal.
Then he thought more seriously about the implications. This didn’t happen to
be some woman he’d met at a bar. No, this was Zenith, his stepmother’s grand-
niece, his old childhood friend. To be the one to introduce her to sexuality –
I t was daunting.
He stared blankly at the pages of her secret thoughts for several minutes
before leaving the office, forgetting to turn the lamp off as he left.
He needed to know if she truly felt this way.
^^^^^^^^^
It had been a miserable day, and Zenith decided that she’d just curl up in her
favorite PJ’s and watch a movie. Chadwick declined to see her, claiming he didn’t
want to go out in public with unsightly lips. She’d unplugged the phone, turned off
her cell, and chained the door in case her little sister decided to drop by. She
could be all alone with nobody bothering her.
So she took a hot bath, then climbed into her favorite flannel PJ’s: a long sleeve
button shirt with matching shorts, all done is raspberry, white and blue. She’d
scrubbed her make-up off, and plaited her hair into two braids. Big fluffy red
slippers adorned her feet.
She chose the movie ‘Ever After’ to watch. She loved the scene where the
heroine picked the hero up over her shoulder to save him. It never failed to make
her laugh.
She hoped it would work tonight. With a bowl of hot buttered popcorn, it could
do wonders to improve her outlook on life.
She curled up on the couch as the movie played, a chenille throw draped over
her legs. The edge of the popcorn bowl pressed into her tummy, and Buffy
perched on her hip, watching each buttery kernel travel to her mouth. Every once
in a while Zenith would break off part of a piece and hand it to her. The little dog
would take the treat eagerly, then gobble it swiftly. Too polite to beg, she’d follow
Zenith’s every movement with a small jiggle of her tiny front paws.
She spared a smile for her pet, scratching behind the dog’s ears thoroughly.
Buffy licked her wrist, then returned to staring at the popcorn bowl.
The heroine was beaning the hero with an apple when the doorbell rang.
Heaving a sigh, she pressed pause on the remote control, placed the growling
Buffy on the arm of the couch and went to the door. She didn’t want company; she’
d tell whomever it was to go away. Probably h er mother, she groused, wanting to
discuss dyeing white roses blue once more.
However, one look through the peephole sent her leaning light-headedly
against the door. Her hand pressed against her chest in a futile attempt to settle
her hammering heart. It was Brad. Brad, with an intent look in his stunning dark
eyes. The memory of his kiss still sent tingles across her lips.
She didn’t want to see him. Not now, when her world tilted out of control and
she felt particularly vulnerable to soul-scorching kisses like his.
He rang the bell again, obviously not giving up easily. For a fleeting moment
Zenith’s cowardice came into force, and she contemplated just ignoring his
summons until he went away. However, fate wasn’t above pulling a few dirty tricks.
Buffy reacted boisterously to the noise, yapping with enthusiasm as she ran to
the door. Without thought, Zenith ordered, in a firm voice, “Buffy, quiet.” The
sounds barely died down when her mouth snapped shut in resignation. Standing
less than a foot from the door, Brad couldn’t not have heard her.
Heaving a deep sigh, she jerked open the door, planning to tell him to go away.
His opening statement shot her intentions down immediately.
He gazed deeply at her, capturing her skittering eyes easily. His firm voice
dripped with sensuality as he stated, “I want to discuss your feelings for me.”
