Determined not to notice how good he looked, “Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Interesting neighborhood.”
He just said it like an insult. I lived in the eclectic south Oroville neighborhood of Oak Cliff. My street was full of funky, aging houses, some of which—like me—were being carefully renovated, and others of which hovered in a state of negligent disrepair. This part of town had a terrible reputation, although it was far safer now than it had been a couple of decades ago.
“Thanks.” I smiled, pretending to mistake his comment for a compliment, as I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.
&nbs
I swallowed my coffee, grimacing at the taste. It had gone cold. And I knotted my silk tie with one hand, finished up the cold coffee, and headed out of the door. A quick glance at my Rolex watch confirmed that with luck and good traffic perhaps, I could make it to the airport to meet Roxanne’s flight and still be at my desk by ten—a very late start for me, but being the boss did have certain privileges. There were people who considered my life as one long privilege. A son of a Conde, and the only person who doesn’t want to inherit the title that my father was still holding right now. People would say that I am lucky that I was born with a silver spoon. And some people went further, like the actress I had been meant to escort to a premiere the previous n
I was famed for my power of analytical deduction, but I had not seen this one coming! “You are shocked. I knew you would be,” my old school friend announced with darkly pessimistic gloom. “I am surprised,” I corrected him, cause honestly, that is how I feel. “But if I was shocked, would it matter? Roxanne has not been my wife for quite some time. You do not require my blessing or my permission.” “I know, but the thing is, I think she feels guilty about finding her happiness.” “I think you are imagining things,” I said, wondering if I ought not at some level to feel a
Beatrice Walker “But I need you here tonight!” He shouted. I was not surprised to hear the aggrieved note tinged with truculence in my boss’s voice. Benedict Walker had not made his millions by allowing little things like air-traffic controllers’ strikes to stand in his way and he expected his staff to display an equally robust response to such obstacles to his wishes, even when that member of the staff was his own daughter. Actually, especially when that employee was his daughter! “I am sorry, dad.”&nbs
A loud announcement on the speaker system drowned out my wailed protest of, “Oh, God, no, don’t do that!” half protest, half yelling at my father. And yet he didn’t hear me. “I’ve lost touch since Alejandro Sancho retired from the business world. This could be the perfect opportunity to reconnect, and I’m sure Preston could arrange accommodation for you.” “I wouldn’t want to trade in our relationship.” Ignoring the sarcasm of my retort, my father mused thoughtfully, “The Sancho family has strong South American connections, connections that could be very us
“Mr. Sancho,” I muttered. “I was just talking about you.” And I raised the phone that I still held in a white knuckled grip.He just fucking kissed me.Two years didn’t change him. He looked perhaps a little leaner, a little harder, the angles and planes of his incredible face perhaps more sharply defined. But basically, he was still the same.But I am not the old Beatrice. I’ve moved on, and became wiser. I reminded myself.He just kissed you. My brain keeps on saying this.Preston is just standing in front of me waiting for his breathing to return to something approximating normal and watched me, fascinated to see denial this up close. Yeah, he may brand me as a denial queen. But I don’t mind, I’ll keep doing this is I want to.I was just addressing my remarks to some point over his shoulder, and my attractive contralto voice had an audible edge of hysteria. Though, the open neck of my
I wanted to slap his hand away. I wanted to tell him that I had no desire to know him. I wanted to tell him to stop looking at me like that. I never thought that his eyes could be this expressive, and it’s drowning me. “Stop looking—” As his mouth covered my own for a second time, my strength left my body in one whoosh. If his one hand had not curled like a supportive steel band around my ribcage, dragging my body up against his iron-hard thighs, I would have slid to the ground. His kisses always make me weak.&
I turned my head. The woman standing there was tiny, barely an inch above five feet. The last time I had seen the petite brunette, the older woman had been wearing a ring; but today her hand was bare, but nothing else, it seemed, had changed. Roxanne Sancho was still the most beautiful woman I had ever met. Never a hair out of place, she looked like a porcelain ornament with big brown eyes, a rosebud mouth, and a delicate nose. She had this sort of delicate fragility that aroused the protective instinct in men. And she is Preston’s ex-wife. “I did call, but you were...” Roxanne raised her darkened brow and lifted her inquiring gaze to Preston as she teased “... occupied.&rdqu
I was so angry with myself; I was a fool who fall for his trap again. I know he manipulated me to accept this ride—a two-year-old could have seen through his tactics—I maintained my tight-lipped, frigged silence until Preston had negotiated the congested traffic around the airport. “I think you owe me an apology.” “You do? For what exactly?” he said, and it seems I got his interest. “You kissed me,” I said, annoyingly. I could not say it without blushing. I just hoped he was too busy avoiding some suicidal cyclists to notice. Preston arched an eyebrow and flashed a quick wolfish