DANIEL'S GIRL: ROMANCING AN OLDER MAN

by Monroe, Mallory

  And he let her toss away. He leaned back against his desk and watched her challenge every one of his responses. She was nervous as hell. She tried hard not to show it, but he could see it in the tremble of her notebook whenever she lifted it off of her lap, or the very slight flutter of her bottom lip. She was a trouper, and she asked the tough questions, but she was having a real time controlling her nerves.

  And he was having a real time controlling his libido. Which surprised him. Ever since his messy divorce just over two years ago, he rarely even went out on dates. To be turned on like this was something he certainly wasn’t expecting. Especially since females her age almost never turned him on. They were too inexperienced for his taste, and usually too silly. But this one definitely did turned him on. He, in fact, found her most attractive. From that flawless skin and those big brown eyes, to her nicely stacked breasts and slender body, he was pleased with the view. Although her hair, which appeared to be shoulder length, was in some sort of unattractive ponytail, he was certain if she took it out of that band, it would only enhance her beauty. Because even with a ponytail, he thought, she was striking.

  And her lips. His eyes kept roaming down to those lips. They were small, but naturally puckered lips, and he found himself thinking about sucking as he looked at them. Mainly about her sucking on him. Repeatedly. But also about him sucking her at a place much lower than those lips, but undoubtedly just as warm.

  Then he caught himself. He couldn’t believe it. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t been this horny in years! But just looking at her had him aroused. Seriously aroused. So much so that he found himself unfolding his arms, and placing his hands across his midsection.

  Yet, despite his erection, she kept on making her case. She kept on asking question after question, until they were the same questions, until she started to sound redundant. Why would the human rights commission lie? What would be their motivation? Why would an international organization single out Dreeson? Aren’t you concerned enough about the allegations to at least find out if they contain a kernel of truth? Why won’t Dreeson at least look into the allegations?

  Of course he’d looked into those allegations personally when they first surfaced. And although there was some minor truth to them, and he was correcting those issues even as she sat there, he wasn’t about to share that information with her. And he also decided, given her youthful tenacity, that he wasn’t going to be sharing her body either.

  Although he was tempted. For the first time in a long time he was seriously tempted. She seemed like she would be such a sweet piece of ass to have that he considered setting something up with her. Maybe a one-off in some nice hotel somewhere. He used to do so regularly before his marriage, but after his divorce he rarely bothered. Even one night stands weren’t worth it to him after that. Yet he was actually considering it now.

  But ultimately he decided against the bother. She was so young, and probably so easy to take any act of lust and try to turn it into love, that he knew it would be a fool’s errand to even think about going there with her.

  He was wasting his time.

  He stood to his feet.

  She had been asking, and he had been denying, and they were going nowhere fast. She had her story. Even though, unfortunately for her and perfect for Dreeson, it was a non-story. “I’m afraid I’ve run out of time, Miss Graham,” he said, forcing her to rise too, even though it was obvious she still had many more questions to ask. “We’re going to have to consider this interview concluded.”

  She was disappointed. She felt as if he was listening. She thought that she might have even gotten him to admit errors by Dreeson. “Yes, sir,” she said, “but I actually had more to ask.” She started flipping through her notebook, amazed at just how many questions remained unasked.

  She looked up at him. He sighed when she looked those large sad eyes up at him.

  “There’s so much more,” she said.

  “I don’t know what more there could be,” he said. “I’ve answered all of your questions.”

  “About Beijing, yes, sir, you have,” she said. “But I also have questions about Dreeson’s stateside plants and their questionable environmental records. I haven’t asked any questions about that.”

  That was what she got for asking the same questions fifty different ways, he thought. “We’ll have to discuss your remaining issues another day, I’m afraid. When I have more time.”

  “You mean I can call and set something up?”

  “Of course.”

  Nikki smiled. “That would be excellent, sir. Thank-you so much.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” He extended his hand. Yes, quite attractive indeed, he thought, as they shook. “And have a nice day,” he added.

  Nikki left Dreeson feeling as if she was on top of the world. Although Daniel would later not even remember mentioning anything about a second interview with her, Nikki left believing that little throwaway comment of his to be the defining moment of the interview. The first session netted next to nothing in terms of news. But maybe the second interview, where she would be more prepared, would be far more fruitful. She even told her editor that he had agreed to a second interview.

  “In exchange for what?” the editor had asked her.

  “In exchange for nothing.”

  “Oh, come on, Nikki! He didn’t try to ask you out or anything like that?”

  “No, nothing.”

  The editor was skeptical, but pleased.

  And Nikki was pleased too. Until she phoned Dreeson that very next day to schedule that follow up interview. They wouldn’t let her speak to him. And when she finally did get one of his actual assistants on the phone, and not just some secretary, she was told in no uncertain terms that Daniel Crane would have no further comment for her or her newspaper.

  She was disappointed that he didn’t keep his word. She didn’t think of him as somebody who would make a promise he wouldn’t keep. But he had done just that. And it bothered her. She didn’t know why it did, but it did. She had somehow thought that Mr. Crane was different; that he was the kind of man where his words were his bond. But they were just words. Empty words. The kind of words she’d been hearing all of her life, from guys who wanted to get inside her panties, and from businessmen who wanted to get her, and her crusade, outside of their offices.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two months later, Nikki stood near the entrance of Mocasey’s, a high-end restaurant in east Wakefield that was frequented by the city’s elites, passing out flyers. She was so busy handing out flyers, in fact, that she barely bothered to look at the recipients, especially since almost all of them were either taking the flyer without breaking their stride, or refusing it altogether.

  Daniel parked his pearl-white Jaguar in a rare vacant spot across the street from Mocasey’s, got out, and then made his way to the restaurant’s entrance, buttoning his Armani suit coat as he did. Mike Olsen, his lunch companion, who had also just arrived, greeted him on the sidewalk. The two men shook hands and began a conversation as they headed for the entrance. That was when Nikki shoved flyers in their faces. Although Mike refused the offered flyer, Daniel did accept it. But he was too immersed in his conversation to even bother to look at it, let alone to notice who it was that had handed it to him.

  “Free the Newsome boys,” Nikki shouted as she handed him that flyer. “Help us free the Newsome boys, mister.”

  Daniel didn’t break his stride as he and Mike made their way inside. They had business to take care of. Nikki remained outside in the scorching sun and continued handing out as many flyers as people would accept them, but after about a half hour later the crowd had thinned to a trickle.

  She looked toward the opposite end of the sidewalk, at the older woman who was also handing out flyers, and the crowd on that end was beginning to thin out too. They had been there for nearly three hours, and had netted very little money and no offers of support. They did better, Nikki realized, when they stood on the corners in the hood.
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  But when she saw two well-dressed gentlemen emerge from Mocasey’s, she hurried toward them. And once again, since she was unsure if she had accosted them before, she shoved flyers into their faces.

  “Free the Newsome boys,” she said as she offered them flyers. Daniel once again accepted the flyer, and his companion once again ignored her. But after his companion shook his hand, promising to consider his offer and get back with him, and then left, Daniel decided to read the flyer this time. The previous one was still in the restaurant, on his table, ready to be trashed along with the half-empty plates of food, and near-empty glasses of wine.

  And it was only then, while he stood there fishing his reading glasses out of the pocket beneath his coat lapel, did Nikki realize who he was.

  “Help us free the Newsome boys, mister,” she said almost by rote, and then she blurted it out: “You’re Daniel Crane,” she said, as if she was finally certain herself.

  Daniel looked at her just as he pulled out his glasses. And he remembered her too, but it was a vague remembrance. And the only reason he remembered her at all was because of her eyes. He remembered those eyes. They were golden-brown and large, almost overwhelmingly so, and they seemed to hold within them every emotion the young woman ever felt. If she smiled, her joy showed in her eyes. If she looked puzzled, her confusion showed in her eyes. If she was enlightened, her brows knitted, and her eyes danced. Daniel remembered those eyes. He glanced down, at her small, petite body, at that thick ponytail she wore that made her look about twelve, at those breasts. There was a general sadness that seemed to cloak her, and he remembered that sadness too. He remembered her.

  “Hi,” he said, staring at her now for clues to when and where their paths had crossed. “And yes, I’m Daniel Crane. But I’m afraid your name escapes me.”

  “I’m Nikki. Nikki Graham. I interviewed you---”

  “For the Brannon University Press,” he said with a smile, suddenly remembering.

  “That’s right,” Nikki said, unable to smile. He had let her down. She didn’t see what there was to smile about. “You had promised to give me a follow-up interview to discuss questions about Dreeson’s environmental record.”

  Daniel certainly didn’t remember that. “Did I?”

  “Yes, sir. But you didn’t keep your word.”

  That didn’t sound like him. He rarely made promises he didn’t keep. “Did you try to contact me about this follow-up interview?” he asked her.

  “Oh, yes, sir. Several times. But finally one of your executive assistants came on the phone and told me that you wouldn’t be available for any more interviews. Ever, she said.” Then Nikki looked up at him with those expressive eyes of hers. He could see her disappointment. “You didn’t keep your word,” she said again.

  Daniel studied her. She seemed genuinely hurt by that fact, as if she had thought he was better than that. Truth was, Daniel had so much on his plate that he barely remembered being interviewed by her, didn’t remember promising a follow-up interview, and word of her constant phone calls never made their way up the chain to him. Not once. But that was no excuse. “I apologize for that,” he said.

  Nikki was surprised by his apology. Most people in his position always found a way to blame it on their lowly staff, or even the person leveling the complaint.

  She also was surprised by his hazel eyes, and how they sparkled so brilliantly in the sun. And that suit he wore, which was undoubtedly expensive, fit him so well that he looked far more buff than she remembered him looking a couple months ago. And he didn’t look as old as she remembered either.

  But what did that have to do with anything? she thought. Who cared how his eyes looked, and his suit!

  She got back down to business. She remembered how he said he used to work in the law profession, and how he was once a judge.

  “The Newsome boys can really use your help, Mr. Crane,” she said.

  Daniel realized he was staring at her, and was wondering why there was such a sadness about her, but when she got back down to business, he caught himself too. “And who are the Newsome boys?” he asked, as he put on his reading glasses and turned his attention to the flyer.

  “They’re two brothers who were arrested and thrown in jail over in Clayton for allegedly killing a school bus driver.” Clayton was a small, bedroom community outside of Wakefield. “One is seventeen, and the other one is nineteen.”

  “And you want me to help them how?” he asked, glancing at her over his reading glasses. In the glare of the afternoon sun, her smooth, brown skin was radiant. And again those expressive eyes.

  She was a looker, all right, he thought, but her look was so serious, and so intense, that whatever attractiveness she did possess was lost in the sheer gravity of her concern. She was so committed to her cause, it seemed to Daniel, that he suddenly felt petty focusing on her looks.

  “We need funds to hire adequate representation for them,” she said, answering his question. “Their trial starts next month and the lawyer they have now, an overworked public defender, isn’t worth sweeping out the door.”

  Daniel smiled at her phrasing. “Public Defenders are usually excellent lawyers,” he said as he began to walk toward his car. Nikki walked with him. “Are you sure it’s not that the attorney might have a bad case?”

  But Nikki would have none of that. “It’s not the case, it’s him. He’s really terrible. He’s only seen the boys two or three times since they’ve been arrested, and he keeps trying to get them to make a deal with the prosecution and plead guilty for a crime they insist, with everything within them, that they never committed.”

  They began walking across the busy street. “And I take it you’re certain they’re telling the truth?”

  Nikki frowned. “I have no idea if they’re telling the truth.”

  Daniel nearly stopped in the middle of the road. He didn’t expect that response. “I don’t understand,” he said, as they continued to head toward his car. “Why would you be out here defending two young men who might be guilty of murder?”

  “I’m defending their right to adequate representation. They’re poor boys, Mr. Crane, and I know what poverty is like. They don’t have a dime to their names. If they were rich and could afford a good lawyer, they probably wouldn’t have been arrested in the first place.”

  “And why is that, Miss Graham? Simply because they’re two poor, black kids? Do you think our judicial system is that arbitrary?”

  “I didn’t say our judicial system was arbitrary,” Nikki said. “And I definitely didn’t say they were arrested because they were two black kids. Because they aren’t black. They’re white. The only point I’m making is that they’re poor, and a lot of times poor people get caught up in the judicial system and don’t get that fair shake.”

  For the first time in a long time, Daniel Crane was taken aback. He spent most of his days making all kinds of assumptions about risk and reward and if this was best for Dreeson or that wasn’t best for Dreeson, based solely on past market behaviors alone. But then this young lady, this slip of a girl really, woke him out of his almost robotic stupor. She wasn’t some stereotypical black woman who only cared about black issues. She wasn’t some stereotypical bleeding heart liberal who accepted the word of two alleged murderers just because they were poor. Both of those assumptions he had made about her were wrong. All she wanted was to give those boys a fair shot. She didn’t care what race they were, and she wasn’t taking their word for anything. She wanted them to have a fair chance.

  They made it to his Jaguar. Nikki glanced at the fancy car, and felt a little out of her depth, but she kept her focus, and it was exclusively on getting help for Miss Newsome’s boys.

  “You do realize, Miss Graham,” he said, a little embarrassed that he had prejudged her, “that those boys can still get convicted even if they have adequate representation?”

  “Yes, sir, I realize that. They might very well get convicted. But I also realize that if they don’t get excellent rep
resentation, and get it real soon, they will definitely be convicted. There’s no might in it. They won’t stand a chance. I’m asking you to help give them a chance.”

  Daniel exhaled as he leaned against his Jaguar. He looked at her. She was so intense, he thought, as if the very future of those Newsome boys were solely in her hands. And it disturbed him for some reason. Why wasn’t she out at the beach on this beautiful, sunny day? Why wasn’t she at the mall with her friends, or at a museum? Why was she so damn intense?

  “They’re in custody in Clayton you said?” he asked her.

  “Yes, sir,” Nikki said, a sense of hope welling within her for the first time all day.

  “Any bail set?”

  “No, sir. The judge wouldn’t grant them bail. They’ve never been in trouble a day in their lives, but she still wouldn’t grant them bail.”

  Daniel had no intention of getting involved with anything like this when he stopped to read that flyer. But he also had no idea that he’d run into such a passionate advocate like Nikki Graham either. He therefore found himself reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

  “Would you care to talk to their mother?” she asked him. “She can give you a lot more details. She’s right over there. Miss Newsome!” she yelled before Daniel could respond. But the traffic was so loud that the woman couldn’t hear her. She therefore stepped off of the curb, to move closer, and yelled again.

  But just as she stepped off of the curb, a car was speeding by so fast that Nikki almost stumbled forward trying to move out of its way. Daniel’s strong hand pulled her back so hard that she slammed against him. And the car sped by, laying on its horn in anger as it did.