A Winter's Seduction (A Winter's Tale Series Book 5)

by Kristi Tailor

  Rachel’s bright blue eyes widened at the boldness of Charlotte’s words. Not knowing how to respond, she nodded her head at her superior’s advice and quickly left the office, accidently leaving the door ajar as she exited.

  Dean glared at Charlotte, his pale blue eyes holding a look that could only be described as hatred. “You know,” he began, taking a step in her direction, “I underestimated you.”

  Charlotte’s dark browns were steady on his frail face. “Oh?”

  “Getting Fissicle, himself, to make an appearance on your behalf . . . I had no idea how much power you wielded in those manipulative fingertips of yours,” he shook his head sneeringly. Taking another small step in Charlotte’s direction, he continued, “To have the owner of the magazine, himself, come to your defense is quite impressive. You must have told him all sorts of lies about me . . . said whatever you could to poison his mind against me.”

  Charlotte glared at him. “I don’t have to say anything to anyone to disparage your character,” she said curtly. “Just a few minutes in the same room with you and anyone with good sense can see that you’re incredibly off balance.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Dean yelled at her. “Just shut your mouth, you stupid little cunt,” he spit through thin, cracked lips. “You brought him here to humiliate me in front of my subordinates− to make a mockery out of me in front of everyone.”

  When Charlotte didn’t respond, Dean snickered harshly. A wolfish grin twisting his already menacing features, making him look every part of the predator Charlotte knew him to be. “I warned you not to antagonize me, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? No, no . . . it’s not in your nature to be satisfied, enough is never enough for women like you. You’ll never stop, and you’ve corrupted everyone around you with your cunning nature,” he said, taking one final step to close the small space between them.

  Charlotte stiffened at the assault of his sudden closeness. Silently, she stood fixed in place as a cold shiver ran up her spine, as the fine hairs on her arms stood on end, as a tingling sensation sprinted through her bloodstream causing a shudder to rip through her. Standing a mere breath away from the sinister man, made Charlotte’s skin crawl. Cutting her deep browns at him, she took a step backward. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” she uttered, her tone guarded.

  “Is that what your instinct tells you?” he asked, reaching out to remove an invisible piece of lint from her thin, floral chiffon cardigan. Laughing softly when Charlotte slapped his hand away from her already tense frame, he imparted, “You know Charlotte, I was told by an old woman, long ago− many, many years ago that basic human instinct can prevent devastation if it is listened to, and respected from the start.” Dropping his hand to his side, Dean shrugged his thin shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t think you were taught that valuable lesson.” Warning. It was there, in the paleness of his eyes. She gazed upon what could only be described as an unfiltered and unmistakable hatred for her. In the hollowness of his ominous stare, Charlotte felt herself falling forward, into a pit of desolation. Indeed, the man was a hunter who had every intention to annihilate his prey− to annihilate her. The intensity of his erratic eyes on her less powerful frame distressed her in more ways than words could ever express; still, she held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was intimidated.

  “Careful, Dean. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were threatening me.”

  Dean’s insipid blue eyes shot daggers at her, attacked her. “I’m simply making you aware that actions have consequences.”

  Swallowing her alarm at his words, Charlotte folded her arms across her chest. It took every effort to keep a brave face− when the man standing so close horrified her beyond what words could describe. “Well, I’m taking it as a threat,” she said, her voice slightly weaker than before.

  His answering smile was a malevolent one. “Good.”

  A light tapping sounded at the door, causing Charlotte to jump. “Y-yes,” she stammered, her gaze leaving Dean’s face for the first time since he had entered her office. Blinking rapidly, Charlotte let out a quiet breath of relief when Patricia Foster opened the door and poked her head in. The woman’s bright smile quickly disappeared with one look at Charlotte’s masked expression. She knew her friend well, and from the look in her eyes, she knew something was wrong. “Am I interrupting something?” Patricia asked as she made her way into Charlotte’s office.

  Dean turned away from Charlotte to face the other woman, his once dull eyes alive and cheerful. “Patricia,” he grinned. “It’s good to see you. I am delighted to have you back with us.”

  Seeing past Dean’s weak façade and sensing the thick hostility in the room, Patricia’s dark brown eyes met Charlotte’s, seeking reassurance that everything was okay.

  “I was just leaving,” Dean announced, interrupting their silent conversation. Turning his attention back to Charlotte, he stretched his thin lips into what could only be perceived as a smile. “Charlotte, think about what I said,” he smirked. “It would be in the best interest for everyone involved if you took our conversation seriously.”

  When Charlotte didn’t respond, Dean let out a soft chuckle, and then nodding at both women, he left the office, allowing the wooden door to slam shut behind him.

  Frowning, Patricia asked, “What was that about?”

  Charlotte shook her head, and then exhaling dramatically, opened her arms to her estranged friend, inviting her into the most welcomed embrace. “It was just Dean, being Dean,” she said, giving Patricia no hope of hearing the truth. “God only knows how much I’ve missed you,” she sighed when her friend was in her arms. “It’s been a long time.”

  “That it has,” Patricia concurred. “That it has.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Glancing around Café Bruno, Lower Manhattan’s renowned Italian teashop, Charlotte couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Feels like ages since we’ve been here,” she said to Patricia. “Months.”

  “And their menu proves it,” Patricia groaned. “They’ve changed the drink options . . . I don’t see their Teavana Samurai Chai Mate anymore.”

  Charlotte gasped. “Really?” With quick fingers she flipped through the menu, scanning every glossed page with deep concentration. Not seeing her friend’s favorite drink on the list of options, she sighed, “That sucks.”

  “That’s the cycle of life,” Patricia shrugged. “Nothing stays the same forever.” Closing the menu, she sat back in the tall wooden chair and glanced at Charlotte from across the table. “I heard about your asking Hayward Fissicle to bring me back to the magazine, thank you. Honestly, I was shocked to hear it . . . the last time we spoke . . . was the last time we spoke. And after you didn’t answer my texts or calls, I didn’t know what to think.”

  Charlotte leaned forward, and reaching across the table grabbed the other woman’s hand. “I apologize Trish,” she said, truly meaning it. “You dropped a pretty heavy load on me about Nicholas, and honestly, I was annoyed that you knew more about him than I did. Well, that, and I was embarrassed.” Sighing, Charlotte squeezed her friend’s hand for emphasis and then sat back in her chair. “I used to judge women who abandoned friendships because they couldn’t handle the truth, completely mocking them for hating the messenger. Ironic, that I did the same thing to you . . . you unknowingly told me the truth about Nicholas, and I couldn’t face you afterward.”

  Nodding her head at Charlotte’s words, Patricia rested her elbows on the table. “I get it. I understand you,” she exhaled a reassuring breath. “It’s a difficult thing for a woman to hear the truth about her man from another woman . . . even if that woman is a friend.”

  “There was so much more to the story than what you confided,” Charlotte frowned, “. . . and to this day, I still don’t know everything.”

  “I didn’t know Nicholas to be a man who kept so many secrets.”

  “Neither did I, Trish.”
Staring at the other woman thoughtfully for a moment, Charlotte paused before continuing, “We were separated for a while . . . are still separated . . . well, kinda’ separated . . .” she mumbled in a rush. “We are working to get back on track. It’s complicated.”

  Patricia’s mouth fell open, her full lips formed a perfect O. “Charlotte,” she began, but then abruptly stopped. Considering her words carefully, she cleared her throat and began again. “Charlotte, you were just married . . . what could he have done to justify a separation so soon?” she asked.

  Charlotte’s almond browns regarded Patricia closely for several seconds, then narrowing her eyes resolutely, she shook her head at the other woman denying her a response.

  “Reticent as ever,” Patricia gaged, outwardly discontented. “You and your husband are at least similar in this respect.”

  “A seemingly undesirable esteem, I’m−”

  “Shoes,” came a familiar deep voice from the left of them. “I thought that was you.”

  Santiago. The man’s name intruded her thoughts before her eyes had the chance to gaze upon his face. Charlotte turned her head in the direction of his voice, a slight smile curving her lush lips. “Fancy seeing you here,” she smirked at him.

  “Yeah,” he said, returning her smile. “I hardly ever run into anyone I know here.”

  Raising a perfectly arched brow at him, Charlotte tilted her head to one side. “Uh- huh, so you come here often?” she asked, her tone interrogative.

  “Every now and then.”

  Staring at him thoughtfully for a moment, she said flatly, “For some reason, I can’t say that I believe you.”

  “No?” Santiago laughed.

  “No,” she returned. Her dark eyes narrowed at him. “I think you’re stalking me . . . and that you followed me here . . . watched me from a distance . . . waited a respectable amount of time to make your presence known to us, so that I wouldn’t suspect you to be a creep, and now after all that . . . here you are, casually standing to the left of our table . . . where you happened to notice me.”

  Santiago’s chestnut brown eyes widened from the amusement of her words. Smiling broadly, he glanced at her sideways. “One of two assumptions can be made from what you just said,” he laughed again.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “The first being that you have an incredible imagination, and out of sheer boredom you came up with that elaborate theory just for the hell of it. Though, I don’t see that being the case, considering that you’ve come off as rather mundane since we’ve been acquainted.”

  “So, you find me boring,” she mused, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. The man amused her, and his endless teasing was entertaining.

  “Uh, more like routine . . .” he clarified.

  “Boring.”

  “O-o-rdinary?” he offered with a crooked smile.

  Shaking her head at him, Charlotte asked, “And what’s the second theory?”

  “The second, and most likely of the two is that you think very highly of yourself− so highly in fact, that you presume that I have enough time in my schedule to stalk you . . . follow you to this well- known, quaint teashop . . . idly sit in a hidden corner where I pitifully count the seconds, the minutes, just to walk up to your table and say hello,” he said, failing to keep hilarity out of his voice. “Personally, I believe it’s the latter of the two.”

  “Wow. So, I’m dull and conceited,” she mused. Running her tongue across her lower lip, she tasted his opinion of her. “Interesting.”

  Patricia cleared her throat, interrupting their sparring match and making her all but forgotten presence known. “Charlotte, you’re being rude,” she said, dramatically batting her mascara covered eyelashes. Her chocolate eyes scanned the length of Santiago’s muscular frame, slowly roaming from his deeply tanned face to his chest, and then back again. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your handsomely available friend,” she beamed. “Mm-t, mt, mt,” she sighed, “Correction, handsome is an understatement. Your gorgeous friend.”

  Santiago laughed softly. “You’re funny,” he spoke to Patricia, offering her a warm smile.

  Shaking her head at her friend’s antics, Charlotte extended her hand between the two strangers. “Patricia Foster meet Santiago Martinez, Santiago Martinez meet Patricia Foster.”

  “Santiago Martinez,” Patricia purred the man’s name, pronouncing every syllable with care. “What a beautiful name for a beautiful man. Cuban?” she asked, making a guess at his ancestry.

  “Colombian,” he corrected.

  “Colombian,” she repeated. “Even better. How are things below the border?” she smiled, stealing a glance at his pants.

  “Trish!” Charlotte scream whispered her friend’s name.

  “What?” Patricia frowned. “He’s not wearing a ring.” Turning her attention back to Santiago who was watching them both closely, she asked, “Am I wrong? Are you not single?”

  “I am currently unattached,” he confirmed, his smile widening, revealing two deep dimples on either side of his cheeks.

  “Be still my heart,” Patricia fanned herself. “Well, Mr. Unattached, why don’t you join us?”

  “No, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “We openly accept the intrusion,” she flirted.

  Santiago grinned at her. “Shoes, would you mind if I joined you?” he asked. “I can only imagine how uncomfortable it might be to have your stalker sitting beside you.”

  “Shoes?” Patricia raised an eyebrow.

  Santiago shrugged his muscular shoulders. “Just an inside joke.”

  “Uh, huh. Well, sit across from Shoes,” Patricia demanded. “I want you next to me.”

  “Shoes?”

  “She’s fine,” Patricia answered for her friend. “Now, sit.”

  Santiago rounded the table taking the seat beside Patricia. Reaching for an unclaimed menu, he flipped to the end to skim the desserts. “The pastries here are exquisite. Have you tried their Semifreddo?” he asked, looking up from the glossy paper to meet Charlotte’s gaze from across the small wooden table. “It’s a semi- frozen dessert with a texture similar to frozen mousse. It’s addicting,” he stated, his voice low− his tone suggestive. “It’s amazing how certain tastes are hard to forget.”

  Is he flirting with me? she wondered. I think he’s flirting with me. Blinking to hide her surprise, Charlotte turned her attention to the other woman. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Trish, have you decided what you wanted yet?”

  “Mhm,” she moaned, her eyes still on Santiago. “I know exactly what I want.”

  Combing her fingers through her thick black hair, Charlotte pursed her lips. “Okay,” she muttered. Glancing around the brightly lit café, she searched for an available server. Smiling when she and the woman standing behind the pastry counter made eye contact, she cleared her throat once more. “Someone is coming to take our orders,” she told them, and then quickly looked back at the menu to avoid Santiago’s intense gaze.

  “So, where did the two of you meet?” Patricia asked, her dark brown eyes watching him closely− studying his exotic features.

  “Uh, work actually. I am a member of the accounting team at Gizzelle Bridal.”

  “You don’t say,” she giggled, flirtatiously. “Then I gather we will be seeing a lot more of each other.”

  “Oh?” he smiled at her.

  “You’re looking at Gizzelle Bridal’s Advertising Director. I’ve been away from the magazine for a while, but today was my first official day back. Thanks to Charlotte.”

  “Hello, my name is Tajah and I’ll be your server this afternoon. Today’s specials include Aguantadora, a soft tea that naturally energizes, Bonomelli, a chamomile tea that is very relaxing on the body, and finally, we have San Benedetto, which happens to be one of my favorites, it’s a fresh fruit juice tea made with mineral water and you have the option of enjoying it chilled, or hot. Today’s fresh out of the oven pastries include, Cannoli’s, Sfo
gliatella’s, and Amaretti di Saronno’s. All very tasty− all very decadent.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot to take in,” Charlotte exhaled. Smiling up at the younger woman, she huffed, “It all sounds so amazing, I’m at a loss for what I want.”

  “I would definitely go with the San Benedetto, chilled, and the Sfogliatella. Both super yummy,” the server noted.

  “Okay, you’ve sold me. I’ll have both.”

  Quickly jotting down Charlotte’s order, the waitress glanced from the small tattered pad in her brown hands to Santiago and Patricia. “And for you two?”

  “I’ll also try the San Benedetto and Sfogliatella,” Patricia ordered.

  “I, too, will have the San Benedetto; however, for my dessert I would like two servings of your Semifreddo, please and thank you,” he said, giving the curvy woman a quick wink.

  He flirts with everyone, Charlotte mused. Handing the cluster of menus to the waitress, she nodded her thanks and then turned her attention to her acquaintances. “I didn’t do much,” she said, continuing the conversation from where it left off. “I’m just happy to have you back in the building with me. Aside from Nicholas, you were my only friend at work.”

  “I’m happy to be back,” she beamed. “Working as an accounts clerk at a law firm all but killed me. The workload was hectic, and what’s more, there was so much drama with the firm.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Drama? She gasped. “Really?”

  “Oh chil,’ drama for days. Lawyers sleeping with lawyers . . . lawyers sleeping with clerks . . . lawyers sleeping with clients. I tell you the drama never ended.”

  “That’s insane,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “I never would have thought.”