Categories > Original > Romance > A Garrett for Christmas
CHAPTER THREE
The next day, a loud rapping at my door caused me to flinch. I had forced myself to work and get caught up with my current clients. A few had done business with me for years, keeping me on retainer through renovations and staff expansion periods.
“Open up, wheel girl.”
I rolled back from my desk and went to answer. She blew pass me with something in each hand. “Come in,” I said wryly.
“I have gold,” she announced.
I made an about-face, shutting the door as I did. Pierce wore her customary blue-black eyeliner and very shiny lip gloss in pale peach. In one hand, she held an envelope, the other a little brown leather book of some sort. “What’s that?”
She grinned. “Jerry, the maintenance guy left Sex Walking’s door open. While Jerry worked on the thermometer, I snuck in and swiped these off the table.”
“You did not.” Her brazen thievery scandalized me.
She winked, brandishing her ill-gotten booty with a distinct, but somehow admirable lack of shame. “The proverbial little black book.”
I couldn’t follow her fast enough over to the couch. She sprawled in her usual fashion. I parked next to her and leaned in close. His neat, clean handwriting filled the lines.
“Mostly business and people with the last names, Garrett, Gamboa or Seaton,” she observed, flipping through. “A few that look like potential booty call numbers.” She handed the book to me and began ripping open the letter. “Your boy is very discreet.”
“He’s not mine.” I flushed as I held the very personal item. I remembered how he had smelled as he loomed over me in my car. “How will you return this?”
“Jerry never gets anything fixed first try. He’ll be back. I’ll stash it under a chair or something. Your fellow will never know.”
“He isn’t mine,” I repeated, studying the pages. I gathered he had a very large family and many friends. Someone like him would never find themselves isolated or lonely.
“This is a bill,” she said.
I turned my attention to it. The amount jumped out at me almost violently. “$47,326!”
“For dive equipment,” she murmured, sounding contemplative. “This is an invoice from a purchase last month.” She tapped the paper with her fingertip. I noticed she had changed her polish to a dark metallic green. “Sub-Surface Ventures, based in the Bahamas. Made out to him personally, not a company. Wow.” Her gaze met mine. “Sex Walking is lo-o-o-o-o-oaded.”
I caught myself rubbing my thumbs over the book’s soft cover. Feeling foolish, I handed it back to her. Immediate separation anxiety gripped me. “You better make sure you get that back to him, too.”
She surged to her feet. “No shit. With the way my credit card company calls me about a three hundred dollar balance, they must send the Men In Black for that kind of cash.”
I sat, seeing myself as if from a distance, a small solitary creature with no excitement in my life. “I guess so, “I managed.
“Cheer up, Wheels. Christmas is coming and I know you’ve behaved yourself enough to ask for something big.” She wiggled her brows. I blushed.
Pierce blew out of my apartment with the same tornado-like force she had entered with, leaving me in the wake of the storm.
The next afternoon, I decided to roll myself down to the corner store. They sold subs, and I loved their Big Daddy. A monstrosity of Italian and Latino meats and cheeses, it probably weighed ten pounds. Thoughts of the vinaigrette sauce made my mouth water as I locked my door. Rolling backward down the ramp, I turned myself and nearly suffered a coronary.
He stood at the bottom of the steps from the upper level. Dressed in those worn boots, jeans and a Mandarin collar buttonup shirt in faded denim, he looked like an ad for some rugged men’s cologne. “Miss Taylor,” he said, “I hoped to catch you.”
For some reason, the phrase made me nervous. “Why?”
“I wanted to ask you to the concert in the park with me tomorrow night.”
I knew I stared, jaw slack. “Why?” I had officially adapted a vocabulary of a single word.
He regarded me with those pale eyes and I feared they cut straight through me. “You interest me.”
My lungs could not seem to take in air properly. Swimmy little colored dots danced in my vision. “I can’t.”
“You applied for special seating,” he replied, “and were approved, by the way. What’s the problem?”
His knowledge of that brought me back from the edge. “How do you know?”
He walked a little closer, loose hair moving like living silk in the breeze. “From the note city council sent you.”
“I never received it.” Suspicion nagged.
“I took it from your box.”
Shocked, I all but sputtered. “What?”
Deep voice lowering and his gaze moving over me, in what I could only consider a predatory manner, he replied, “You’ve stolen my mail, so I stole yours.”
“I … I never …” My tongue apparently had ceased to work as well. Never had such guilt ravaged me. He knew. How pathetic must I appear to him? The crippled plain girl obsessed with the beautiful dream man? Tears threatened, I turned, arms rubbery as I tried to go up the ramp and unlock my door.
“Annabella, wait.”
Desperate now, I fumbled with my keys. “Go away.” A big, dark hand entered my line of tear-blurred vision. It plucked the keys from my grasp and plied them. Then, opened the door.
I felt the impetus as he pushed me inside. “May I come in,” he asked. “Let me talk to you for five minutes. After that, if you order me out, I’ll go.”
I slammed the door behind me. No way could I bear pity from Him.
The next day, a loud rapping at my door caused me to flinch. I had forced myself to work and get caught up with my current clients. A few had done business with me for years, keeping me on retainer through renovations and staff expansion periods.
“Open up, wheel girl.”
I rolled back from my desk and went to answer. She blew pass me with something in each hand. “Come in,” I said wryly.
“I have gold,” she announced.
I made an about-face, shutting the door as I did. Pierce wore her customary blue-black eyeliner and very shiny lip gloss in pale peach. In one hand, she held an envelope, the other a little brown leather book of some sort. “What’s that?”
She grinned. “Jerry, the maintenance guy left Sex Walking’s door open. While Jerry worked on the thermometer, I snuck in and swiped these off the table.”
“You did not.” Her brazen thievery scandalized me.
She winked, brandishing her ill-gotten booty with a distinct, but somehow admirable lack of shame. “The proverbial little black book.”
I couldn’t follow her fast enough over to the couch. She sprawled in her usual fashion. I parked next to her and leaned in close. His neat, clean handwriting filled the lines.
“Mostly business and people with the last names, Garrett, Gamboa or Seaton,” she observed, flipping through. “A few that look like potential booty call numbers.” She handed the book to me and began ripping open the letter. “Your boy is very discreet.”
“He’s not mine.” I flushed as I held the very personal item. I remembered how he had smelled as he loomed over me in my car. “How will you return this?”
“Jerry never gets anything fixed first try. He’ll be back. I’ll stash it under a chair or something. Your fellow will never know.”
“He isn’t mine,” I repeated, studying the pages. I gathered he had a very large family and many friends. Someone like him would never find themselves isolated or lonely.
“This is a bill,” she said.
I turned my attention to it. The amount jumped out at me almost violently. “$47,326!”
“For dive equipment,” she murmured, sounding contemplative. “This is an invoice from a purchase last month.” She tapped the paper with her fingertip. I noticed she had changed her polish to a dark metallic green. “Sub-Surface Ventures, based in the Bahamas. Made out to him personally, not a company. Wow.” Her gaze met mine. “Sex Walking is lo-o-o-o-o-oaded.”
I caught myself rubbing my thumbs over the book’s soft cover. Feeling foolish, I handed it back to her. Immediate separation anxiety gripped me. “You better make sure you get that back to him, too.”
She surged to her feet. “No shit. With the way my credit card company calls me about a three hundred dollar balance, they must send the Men In Black for that kind of cash.”
I sat, seeing myself as if from a distance, a small solitary creature with no excitement in my life. “I guess so, “I managed.
“Cheer up, Wheels. Christmas is coming and I know you’ve behaved yourself enough to ask for something big.” She wiggled her brows. I blushed.
Pierce blew out of my apartment with the same tornado-like force she had entered with, leaving me in the wake of the storm.
The next afternoon, I decided to roll myself down to the corner store. They sold subs, and I loved their Big Daddy. A monstrosity of Italian and Latino meats and cheeses, it probably weighed ten pounds. Thoughts of the vinaigrette sauce made my mouth water as I locked my door. Rolling backward down the ramp, I turned myself and nearly suffered a coronary.
He stood at the bottom of the steps from the upper level. Dressed in those worn boots, jeans and a Mandarin collar buttonup shirt in faded denim, he looked like an ad for some rugged men’s cologne. “Miss Taylor,” he said, “I hoped to catch you.”
For some reason, the phrase made me nervous. “Why?”
“I wanted to ask you to the concert in the park with me tomorrow night.”
I knew I stared, jaw slack. “Why?” I had officially adapted a vocabulary of a single word.
He regarded me with those pale eyes and I feared they cut straight through me. “You interest me.”
My lungs could not seem to take in air properly. Swimmy little colored dots danced in my vision. “I can’t.”
“You applied for special seating,” he replied, “and were approved, by the way. What’s the problem?”
His knowledge of that brought me back from the edge. “How do you know?”
He walked a little closer, loose hair moving like living silk in the breeze. “From the note city council sent you.”
“I never received it.” Suspicion nagged.
“I took it from your box.”
Shocked, I all but sputtered. “What?”
Deep voice lowering and his gaze moving over me, in what I could only consider a predatory manner, he replied, “You’ve stolen my mail, so I stole yours.”
“I … I never …” My tongue apparently had ceased to work as well. Never had such guilt ravaged me. He knew. How pathetic must I appear to him? The crippled plain girl obsessed with the beautiful dream man? Tears threatened, I turned, arms rubbery as I tried to go up the ramp and unlock my door.
“Annabella, wait.”
Desperate now, I fumbled with my keys. “Go away.” A big, dark hand entered my line of tear-blurred vision. It plucked the keys from my grasp and plied them. Then, opened the door.
I felt the impetus as he pushed me inside. “May I come in,” he asked. “Let me talk to you for five minutes. After that, if you order me out, I’ll go.”
I slammed the door behind me. No way could I bear pity from Him.
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