by Lily White
Creeping up to the door while being careful not to make a sound, I gave in to my curiosity and looked through the peephole. An older gentleman stood on the opposite side, his eyes looking this way and that, his hands filled with a large blue box with white lettering. Narrowing my eyes as if that would make the image come into better view, I attempted to read the script, but was unable. The man was dressed in a black on black suit, his hair a light silver and his face lined with age. From what I could see, he wasn’t a threat, but you never knew in this day and age.
Unlocking the deadbolts, I kept the chain in place and opened the door enough to peek out and ask the man what he wanted. He smiled as soon as my eyes appeared around the crack in the door.
“Hello. I know you weren’t expecting me, Ms. Jennings, but I was asked to deliver this package to you as early as possible. My name is Theodore.”
My eyes narrowed more. “Who sent you?”
Perhaps the question came out more suspicious than I’d intended, but with the current situation in my life, I couldn’t afford to make one wrong step. There could have been a bomb in that package. Some kind of powder that would knock me out and make me an easy target for a stranger wanting to cart me away. There could have been a severed hand, or worse, some dead, mutilated animal with a message attached to it claiming I was next.
“Mr. Stone sent me, ma’am. He said he wanted this in your hands before he sent his driver for you this evening.”
Widening my eyes at the reference to Donovan, I relaxed just enough to look at the box again and read the name scrawled across it in white print. Carlisle’s Boutique was a well known, pricy clothing company in town – a company that required a background check, financial review and quite possibly a person’s first born in order to be let in the front door. Curiosity got me again as to what Donovan had sent.
Speaking more pleasantly now that I knew why Theodore was here, I asked him to hold on while I shut the door, unlatched the chain, and opened the door again wide enough for him to hand me the package.
It wasn’t heavy, but it also wasn’t light. I gave it a good shake, much to the dismay of the man now staring at me like I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
“If that will be all, ma’am, I should get going. Mr. Stone has other errands for me to run.”
My gaze lifted from the box to his face, my lips pulling into a forced smile. “Thank you for delivering this to me.”
He simply nodded and practically ran off down the hall, most likely wanting to get as far away from the crazy lady as quickly as possible.
Shrugging off that horrible first impression, I stepped into my apartment, shut the door, locked the locks and secured the chain before carrying the box to my bedroom and setting it on my bed.
After a minute or two of simply staring at the box, I reached to lift the top, my breath catching in my lungs to see the contents.
Silver-blue fabric filled the confines of the box, a handwritten note addressed to Ms. Jennings sitting atop. Grabbing the note, I opened it to see masculine script filling the page, the black ink in sharp contrast to the white paper.
Ms. Jennings,
I’ve decided that low key is not the proper way to celebrate the new contract. As such, I’ve changed our plans for the evening and realized you may be unprepared, especially if your work attire has anything to say for your fashion sense. Please accept this gift as my token of appreciation for your help today at the presentation. My driver will be there promptly at eight to escort you to our destination.
Donovan Stone
Shaking my head, I had to laugh at how Donovan didn’t fail to deliver his criticism of my fashion choices while doing something that should have been considered a good deed. After setting the note on a bedside table, I lifted the material from the box to discover it was a formal gown, the beaded bodice shimmering beneath the single bulb light fixture above my bed. Strapless and with a slit that appeared to run up to the hip, the dress was too much for me, a piece of clothing that didn’t belong hanging in the same closet as all the bargain apparel that filled it. The gown must have cost a fortune, and I was unsure of how Donovan had guessed at my size. Not wanting to give that question too much thought, I carefully laid the gown on the bed. After showering, I approached it again wrapped in a towel, my breath blowing out on a single gust as I dropped the towel and prayed the gown fit.
Not only did it fit, it fit perfectly, as if the design had been intended for my body alone. Running into the bathroom, I wished I had a better mirror to see the full effect, but I was stuck with standing on my toilet in order to see what the bottom half looked like, and then jumping down again to stare at the reflection of the top.
I felt beautiful for the first time in my life – truly beautiful – and I couldn’t help the smile that stretched my lips.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity to live one night in the type of lifestyle I would never be able to afford, I was careful in my application of makeup and the styling of my hair. Because the dress was strapless, I decided on an updo, small bits of hair purposely left loose to curl softly at the sides of my face.
The hours must have moved faster than I realized because by the time I was done setting the last soft curl in place, the doorbell rang from the living room. However, this time, I was filled with excitement for the evening, rather than dread that whoever stood on the other side of the door intended me harm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Escorted to the car by Carl, I climbed into the backseat expecting to travel to whatever destination Donovan had chosen by myself. But when Carl opened the door and I ducked my head to enter the car, I caught sight of a beautiful man who appeared even more polished and astute in a charcoal grey suit with a white shirt, blue tie and shoes so well polished I could see my reflection in them. Shocked by Donovan’s presence, I ignored the smirk on his lips when he saw my eyes widen.
Taking my seat, I turned to him and was instantly shy. Prior to this moment, I’d decided on witty quips I could use during the evening and sensible subjects to discuss when Donovan’s silence became unbearable, but looking at him where he was seated across from me in the spacious car, I suddenly forgot what those quips and subjects had been. I’d practically forgotten how to talk.
His hair was stylishly disheveled, enough to say he was a young man in the prime of his life while also denoting that he was a force to be reckoned with. His crystal blue eyes shimmered beneath the low lighting of the car, his lips curled at the corners in such a way that I wanted to reach out and run my fingertips along the soft skin just to trace the set of his mouth that was distinctly him.
Due to my voice being stuck in my throat - a large knot of desire, anxiety and insecurity blocking the pipes – I was happy to use my hands to communicate the thoughts in my head. At least, with them, Donovan wouldn’t be able to hear the mix of emotions that were overtaking me.
Thank you for the dress. I’m not sure I deserve it. Please tell me it’s just a rental and you didn’t come out of pocket to give me something I will most likely only wear once in my life.
His eyes swept down the length of my body with appreciation, the expression on his face making me fidget in my seat. It was difficult to be studied in such a way, damn near impossible to hide how my body warmed in response to his acute focus. I could feel the way my cheeks blushed, and I balled my hands on the seat at my sides in an attempt to hide the way they trembled. Being stared at by Donovan Stone was a lesson in patience. Either he was going to say something that cut your ego to shreds, or he would surprise you with some other observation that sent you soaring into the atmosphere.
Lifting his hands from his lap, he used those long, elegant fingers to express his appreciation, the unspoken words coloring my cheeks a darker red while pulling every last drop of moisture from my mouth.
Looking the way you do in that dress, I’d say you deserve a dozen more.
My heart stopped for a quick second, my head dizzy with the rush of blood that came once the m
uscle remembered how to beat again. My tongue peeked out to lick across the crease of my lips, Donovan’s eyes fixating on the movement, the blue darkening until I felt the heat of that stare over the entire length of my body.
Thank you, I signed back, my hands suddenly as speechless as my mouth.
The car jolted forward immediately after the short conversation, my eyes staring out the window because I was too nervous to continue making eye contact with Donovan. I didn’t feel like I belonged in his world, felt so shy that I had to remind myself how to breathe evenly. The desire to run back home and hide was so strong that I fought against the urge to scream at Carl to pull over.
While driving down the road, soft music played through the speakers of the car, the melody calming me despite the knowledge that Donovan was still watching me, that he was recording to memory every expression that flit across my face, every movement of my body over the seat while I attempted desperately to ignore him. But then the realization hit me, a voice from my past that curled my hands into fists and made my heart hammer just a little bit stronger from the anger and pain that voice created inside me.
For years, my father had told me that I would be a failure in life. He’d warned that nothing I said or did would help me navigate a world that only paid attention to the smartest, the most beautiful, the people who by wealth or talent were deemed more worthy that the rest of the poor souls left scampering the streets begging to be noticed. I’d attempted to talk back at first, to argue my worth, but his strong hands left their impressions on my skin in black and blue, years of the unwanted touch teaching me to avoid the powerful, to avoid the strong willed.
Yet, here I was with a man that, although not as violent as my father had been, still judged me for every decision I made, for the way I looked, for the questions I asked when he’d left me floundering in a career with no instruction or discussion. Somehow, Donovan’s type of cutting remarks hurt less, especially when I paid attention to the hidden humor in his expression, in the way he silently dared me to strike back at him with an equally cutting response. I hadn’t yet grown into my role as his administrative assistant – I hadn’t yet found my place and gained a good grip on what was expected of me – but somehow I’d managed to muddle through, at least enough to earn some semblance of his respect. That had to be why he’d invited me out to dinner, out to the celebration of his success, especially after the subzero cold that he’d introduced to me during the interview for the position.
Glancing his way, I met his gaze, noticed his hands move quickly to ask me why I still refused to look at him.
Struggling not to look away again, I hated the way my cheeks heated, how my casual indifference had been called out. I didn’t know what to say to him, so I decided to hell with the games he played, I’d just be honest.
“I feel awkward as hell around you, Mr. Stone. And I don’t know what to say about your sudden interest in inviting me to this celebration, or the expense you must have put out on this dress.”
Observant, his gaze couldn’t be described as anything more, anything less. A lesser man would have come up with some excuse as to why he went from cold, calculating boss to pseudo-friend, but not Donovan. Instead, he smiled, the expression not quite meeting his eyes.
You intrigue me, Mia. And you can stop calling me, Mr. Stone. I only demanded that when I wasn’t sure you’d make it through your first day at my office. Jackson and I had a bet going. He won five thousand dollars from me the second the clock hit five and you were still employed.
Jaw dropping in response to his confession, I bristled at the humor in his expression. Suddenly, Jackson’s good will lunch made sense.
Narrowing my eyes on him, I asked, “Were you really the one who bought us lunch on my first day?”
His shoulders shook with laughter, his head falling back against the headrest as his smile deepened. When Donovan was happy, he was truly stunning.
No. That would have been Jackson’s idea of shifting the odds to his favor.
Blinking at the honesty, I couldn’t help but laugh myself. “Well, crap. If I’d known he’d be walking away with five grand in his pocket, I would have splurged for dessert.”
Our laughter filled the car, mine soft while his was silent, but somehow I still heard him, still felt the warmth that radiated between us during a moment of shared amusement. Normally, it was Donovan who was amused over some stupid thing I’d said or done, but, for once, we could both laugh at the joke, could both feel the levity of the past few days I’d endured. Did it make my time in his office any easier? No. But I was learning to stop judging myself so harshly, to stop hearing my father’s constant judgment overshadowing every small accomplishment I achieved.
Not wanting to waste the openness in a man who had been so closed off to me in the past few days that I wondered if he was even human, I asked another question.
“Why have you been so hard on me? I’ve spent the past few days wondering if there was anything I could do that would please you.”
Heat flashed behind his eyes, a secret thought that I knew he wouldn’t share. But still that heat shot straight to my core, lighting me up in places I’d long considered dead. Being around Donovan made me feel more alive, regardless of whether it was anger, or dread, or even desire flaring to life inside me. The simple truth was he affected me in ways no man had affected me before. I was a stupid woman for thinking he would have any interest in me in return, but a girl could dream, and at least for one night - this night - a girl could pretend. The trick would be not to let the fantasy take me over, not to end up in his bed just to be fired when our working relationship became awkward over a stupid mistake. I promised myself right then that I wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t allow my mind to become scattered in any way while in the presence of a man who held my entire life in the palm of his hand. Losing my job would end me. It would send me right back to my childhood home where the man who raised me could dig his claws in with the knowledge that I’d failed once again.
His eyes scanned me from head to two once more before he finally answered. I’m hard on you because I know that beneath that frightened exterior lies a woman who could make demands of every person around her and expect those demands to be met. I’ve known it since the day I interviewed you and I let you walk out of the office because you refused to let go of your fear and tell me about who you are and how you could benefit my company. Your resume was sorely lacking for someone with your education, and after thinking it over, I decided to give you a chance. But I couldn’t let you continue to be a push over. It wasn’t until this morning that you finally started pushing back. I hope you’ll continue to do so. I like women who know how to make demands.
Wait…what?
Turning my head to hide the surprise behind my eyes, I hoped I’d looked away fast enough to prevent Donovan from knowing exactly what I was thinking. What did he mean about liking women who made demands? Why would it even matter what he liked and disliked? Before I could even begin to understand what he’d meant by that statement, the car pulled up outside of Castigio’s, one of the trendiest restaurants in town that was impossible to get reservations. It was the same restaurant Rachel had wanted to go to the other day, the invite I’d turned down because I was too busy arguing with a stranger online.
As soon as the game came back to the forefront of my thoughts, a rush of panic tore through me. Shaking it off, I smiled politely as Carl opened our door. Glancing at Donovan, I waited for him to step out of the car, but he tilted his head to silently tell me ladies first.
If Carl noticed the blush on my cheeks as I accepted his hand and stepped out, he was kind enough not to say anything about it, but I didn’t miss the slight twitch to his lips as he looked between Donovan and me. Donovan stepped out and straightened to his full height, his presence drawing the eye of every woman who was waiting in line to be escorted inside. Feeling out of place among the wealthy and beautiful, I questioned myself again, questioned my worth, only to have Donovan lock my gaze with h
is, his brow arching in concern.
He somehow knew what I was thinking, somehow intuited the inward retreat I was making back to a place where I was invisible and safe from scrutiny. His words echoed in my ear, booming now instead of silent.
I like women who know how to make demands…
He liked women who were the type to own a room just by stepping into it. He liked the heat of inner fire rather than the chilling cold that came with insecurity and self-doubt. I wasn’t sure his assessment of me was accurate, but there was no better time than now to find out.
I knew I wasn’t as put together as the other women waiting outside the restaurant, knew I didn’t fit in with the beautiful and popular, but Donovan, for some odd reason, believed I did.
After a minute of silently arguing with myself, I turned to look at him, a smile stretching my lips to see him crook his arm in invitation for me to wrap mine through his. Electricity sparked off my skin the instant I accepted his offer, my heart beating dangerously fast as I allowed him to escort me past the long line of waiting patrons to enter the restaurant.
I’d be a liar to say it didn’t make me smile brighter to see the jealousy on the other women’s faces. I already knew Donovan was a recognizable presence, and now I was learning what it meant to be the woman on his arm.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The interior design of Castigio’s was opulent and warm, the chandeliers above our head casting rays of dancing light over the polished dark wood furniture and deep red cloth seating. Having skipped the line of people outside, Donovan and I entered a front lobby that was larger than the office where we worked, the seating sparse as if the establishment preferred for patrons to wait on the sidewalks rather than clutter the ambience of a restaurant built around finery and poise.