by LeCoeur, Ami
"I’m not—" I was going to say I didn’t know much about sales. I doubted my experience as a waitress qualified as sales, and I was suddenly distinctly aware of my lack of a college degree. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. "I don’t think—"
He laughed softly, which made me even more conscious of my stammering.
"I realize you're probably new to this. And I wouldn't expect you to step into the position without training. However, you would be paid a generous salary, plus commission. Once your probation is over, you would receive a suitable raise, depending on your performance, and the typical annual raises thereafter. Your family's debt would be deducted from your wages, and I would require you to commit for four years. But I guarantee, if you are satisfactory, there will be adequate cash for you and your sister to live comfortably. I propose to start you here." He jotted a note on his pad and pushed it towards me.
I snapped my mouth shut when I realized I was gaping at him, speechless. He just watched me with his slightly amused gaze.
I held his gaze and lifted my chin as I asked him the question on the tip of my tongue. "But why? Why are you offering me this job?"
"I have my reasons. Now, does this sound like an acceptable arrangement, Miss Tilson? Or do you need time to consider the offer first?"
Chapter Eight
That night at the restaurant was even more mind-numbing than usual. It didn't help that I was preoccupied with my earlier conversations. I tried to be grateful for having a job at all, but some days were just worse than others. Too bad I didn't have enough of a photography clientele to be able to just walk away.
I moved around like a drone, completely lost in my thoughts. When I'd told Maria about the offer, she couldn’t believe I hadn’t said "Yes!" right then and there. Certainly, the money Mancini was offering would be more than enough to take care of us, and to work off Dad’s tremendous debt.
But then, I hadn’t told her about the mortgage or the paying-off-the-debt part. I meant to, but the look on her face made me stop. She became so animated, and I hardly ever see her look that way any more. It’s like she saw this as some sort of fairy tale opportunity—but that’s exactly what scared me. This all sounded too good to be true, and I wondered where the evil troll-goons fit in.
But, try as I might, I couldn’t help thinking about that handsome face with the piercing eyes, and those slightly smirking lips…
"I ordered the chicken salad with NO almonds," complained the elderly woman at the table in front of me.
"What? Oh, I’m sorry," I said, reaching for the plate I’d just placed in front of her. It wasn't like me to make careless mistakes. "I’ll have that fixed right away, ma’am."
"I very specifically told you almonds upset my stomach and you deliberately ignored me," she snapped loudly. "Are you trying to poison me, young lady?"
"I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I’ll get you a new salad right away."
"Give her a break dear," said the man across the table. Her husband, I guessed, by the exasperated yet understanding expression he gave me. "She looks like she’s having a hard day."
He smiled at me and I smiled back, grateful for the moment of understanding. At least, until he reached out to pinch me on the ass. As I twisted out of his reach, I hit the edge of the table. That’s when I dropped the bowl of salad right into his wife's lap. In my shock, I almost slapped the man across the face. Fortunately, my boss arrived just then to see what all the commotion was about, and that stopped me just in time.
"Angela!" he yelled, his pudgy face a bright red. "What the hell are you doing?"
I looked from my boss to the angry old woman, who was still yelling at me as she plucked lettuce off her floral dress, to her husband who apparently thought all of this was hilarious.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am," my boss said to the woman. "I don't know what's wrong with this girl, her head hasn't been on straight for months. And you, Angela," he turned to me, "Get back in that kitchen and make this right. Right now!"
It seemed impossible, but his face grew even redder as he glared at me, his eyes growing menacing as they stared at me from his livid face. I looked from him to the older man who was now leering at me, clearly enjoying the scene before him. Finally, my gaze landed on the woman whose face was now a mixture of anger and smugness.
Something inside me snapped.
Lifting my chin, I pulled off my apron and threw it at my boss. "I quit." I told him. "Nothing could make this right."
Chapter Nine
Maria was surprised to see me home so early that night. Her face lined with worry when I told her what had happened. "They don't deserve you!" she declared. "But what are we going to do now?"
It was the same question that had haunted me from the moment I'd flung down my apron and walked out. We both knew my photography gigs wouldn't support us. They helped, and certainly I loved the creativity, but at this point they seemed more like a hobby than anything else.
Except for the occasional wedding. But those were few and far between.
"You could always take that job with Mr. Mancini," Maria had suggested, trying her best to cheer me up.
I groaned. She was right, of course. And in a way his offer was a god-send. Maybe it was part of what had given me the strength to turn and walk away from my job at the restaurant. But if we weren't in this situation with the mortgage and Dad's debt—and the diminishing Uncle Benito Educational Training Fund—it would certainly not have been my first choice.
I awoke the next morning from an unsettling dream of having been chased by a pack of wolves. They had pursued me relentlessly into the forest, finally pinning me to a large tree, circling me and growling deep in their throats. Then, stepping through the two wolves at the front of the pack, there he was.
Tall, dark, intense eyes pinning me as securely to the tree as he had pinned me to the chair earlier in his office. He reached out a hand, running a finger down my cheek, as sparks of desire ignited inside me. All the while, he watched me with those beautiful, intense eyes, a hungry smile spreading across his lips.
The dream had freaked me out more than just a little. As I'd slipped into the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes, I heard sobbing coming from Maria's room.
"Sis," I looked at her crumpled form on the bed. "What's the matter? Bad dreams?" It had taken nine months for the nightmares of the accident to go away. I hoped the recent events hadn't unleashed them again.
"Oh, Ange," came the muffled sob.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled her into my arms, offering her comfort the best I could.
"It all came back. Every bit of it," she said, tears streaming down her face. "The angry way they were yelling at each other, Dad insisting he wasn't in trouble. Mom threatening to leave if he didn't straighten up."
I smoothed her hair, not knowing what to say. But I imagined talking about it in the morning light might help to ease the pain of reliving the experience through her dream. That much I could do.
So I listened.
"Then the awful squealing of brakes, and being flung across the back seat. Hearing her screams and everything going black!" The anguish in her voice tore at my heart.
"It's okay, honey." I rocked her back and forth, "I'm here. You don't have to worry about that any more. It's been a while since you've had this dream."
She sniffled. "Three months."
I brushed a damp lock of hair off her moist forehead. "Sis, you're feverish."
"Just anxious," she said, taking a gulp of air. "I wanted to tell Dad to watch out for that car, but I didn't have time! I never have time!"
I held my sister and smoothed her hair. What could I say? What could I do? What could anyone do?
Chapter Ten
With the memory of the dreams fresh in my mind, I called Antonio Mancini—against every instinctive sense of survival in me. There didn't seem to be another answer.
To his credit, Mancini wasn't rude or condescending. He didn’t gloat in any way. I kind of wish he had. Then maybe I could hat
e him, even just a little bit.
That afternoon, as I sat there waiting outside of Antonio Mancini’s office again, I continued to argue with myself, but realistically I knew I had no choice. The door to his office opened, and two men stepped out, each with shoulders almost too wide to fit through the door. The taller of the two glanced my way and I felt a shiver run down my spine when he locked his icy gaze on me. Wolves! I tried not to imagine where he’d gotten the jagged scar across his swarthy cheek. The other guy had the same rough-around-the-edges appearance, complete with a nose that had been broken one too many times.
Antonio Mancini followed them out of the office, and the two men turned to shake his hand. I stared at the incongruous image of the two goons hovering over this man, but Antonio never once glanced my way until the men disappeared around the corner. Then he nodded to his secretary and stepped back into his office.
"You can go in now, Miss Tilson," said the woman with a cheerful smile.
"Good morning, Angela," Antonio said as I entered his office. He was dressed impeccably as usual, in a sharp gray suit, a hand-painted blue silk tie.
I accepted his handshake. "Good morning, Mr. Mancini," I said, determined to keep this formal, despite the way his touch set off flutters in my stomach. "Thank you for seeing me again."
"I’m glad you accepted my offer," he said, leaning back against his desk. "We can start your apprenticeship training immediately. In fact, I have need of your services tonight."
"Tonight? For what?" I stared at him. This was an evening job? What had I gotten myself into?
"A local art gallery is hosting an event highlighting the more elaborate and artistic elements of fashion as an art form. As my associate, you will be expected to attend many such industry and charitable events."
I frowned. "You know I’m not exactly familiar with the fashion industry."
"Which is why you will accompany me. In order to learn what you will need to know. Turn around, please."
"Pardon me?"
"Turn around, please, Angela. I would like to see you walk."
I stared at him, trying to comprehend what it was this man wanted from me. I had accepted this offer of employment, expecting to be a sales clerk in his store. But this didn't sound like a normal job interview, let alone a "normal" job. What did he expect of me?
My chest tightened as nervousness turned to anger. He had been giving me orders from the moment we first spoke on the phone. Thanks to Dad’s debts, I owed this man, but he did not own me, and I wasn't about to let him control me.
"I am not some… cheap… escort, Mr. Mancini," I said, biting each word.
He watched me for a moment, then stepped toward me. I tilted my chin defiantly, resisting the urge to take a step back. He gazed down at me, his expression unreadable, his eyes searching mine. I could smell the subtle scent of sandalwood and citrus, could feel the warmth and power that emanated from him.
My mind raced back to my dreams and I felt my body respond, in spite of my determination. I tensed, suddenly fearful that he could read my thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak and my eyes were drawn to the soft lines of his lips, watching them move as he spoke.
"No, Angela," he said, his voice low, "you are my associate. And I expect you to look the part. Now," he said, stepping back and gesturing to the empty area of his office, "if you would kindly walk for me. I would like to determine how best to outfit you for this evening."
I exhaled slowly, not realizing I had been holding my breath. My cheeks were burning with anger and embarrassment … and with a sudden, strange desire to please this man—a desire I was trying hard to resist.
My eyes fell on one of the framed photos on the wall. It was an image of a tall, ebony-skinned woman with legs that went on forever. "I—I’m not one of your models," I said.
"But you are no less beautiful," he said, casually tucking his hands into his pockets. "Now, please. Walk for me."
"Fine," I said, my cheeks hot as I shuffled forward awkwardly.
"No," he laughed sharply. "You are capable of far more grace, Angela."
I rolled my eyes and sighed, trying to relax. One foot in front of the other, I thought to myself. The office was big, but it certainly wasn’t a runway. After seven or eight steps, I was at the wall and had to turn back to face him.
"Much better," Antonio said, as I approached him. I tried to ignore the way his eyes roamed over my body, examining me with cool appraisal. "That will do. Hilary," he said, pressing the button in his intercom.
His secretary popped in, her blond curls bouncing along with her cheery smile. "Yes, Mr. Mancini?"
"Miss Tilson will be accompanying me to the gallery event tonight. She’ll need to be properly attired. Size seven. Something from the Black Rose line, I think." He tilted his head, eyeing me. My cheeks grew hot under his scrutiny, I seriously had to resist fanning my face. He took my arm, pulling me gently to him as he stepped around behind. "Yes, the fabric will go well with her skin tone."
A shiver ran down my spine as I felt his hands sink into my hair, lifting it into a pile on top of my head. "I want something that will accentuate these elegant shoulders," he said, letting one hand fall down to trace the line of my neck. I trembled at his touch. "You can choose the jewelry, Hilary."
"Wonderful!" Hilary said brightly. "I’ll have Priscilla help me with the shoes."
Antonio moved to face me, glancing down at my feet. "Size seven and a half, I believe?" he asked.
I nodded mutely, impressed by how well this man knew his business.
Antonio reached up, tucking a knuckle under my chin, and turned my head to the left as his examination continued. "You will make a lovely companion this evening, Miss Tilson," he said softly. A small smile played on his lips and his eyes glinted. "My driver will pick you up at eight. Please be sure to wear your hair up."
Chapter Eleven
"You look amazing!" Maria exclaimed as I twirled in front of the mirror in my bedroom. The floor length black dress shimmered in the lamplight, its slinky fabric coming to rest against my curves as I came to a stop. I fingered the material, loving the sensuous way it caressed my skin and hugged my body.
I was a bit nervous about the bodice. The intricate web of lace roses stretched across the plunging neckline, barely covering my exposed cleavage. And of course, my shoulders remained bare, just as Antonio wanted.
I’d never worn anything this elegant and revealing before. It made me feel luxurious and sexy, maybe even a little wanton. But I couldn’t deny that Maria was right. I really did look amazing.
"Sis, what would I do without you? I could never have gotten my hair up like this, let alone put on all this makeup!" I looked away from the mirror, reaching for Maria's hands.
"Good thing I’m the artist," she laughed. "Now put on the shoes," Maria said, reaching down to hand me the stilettos.
I eyed them skeptically. "I swear if I fall on my face tonight," I muttered, putting them on and wobbling around for a moment before I finally got the hang of the spiky heels.
"You’ll be fine," Maria shook her head at my antics. "It’s almost time to go. Let’s work on those final touches."
I sat on the bed beside Maria. "I think you’re more excited about this than I am."
She smiled, opening a small box and pulling out a sparkling necklace. Our eyes went wide and we both gasped. "Are these real diamonds?" Maria whispered, laying the delicate necklace across her palm with reverence. "Look," she said, "the design is almost the same as the lace on your dress."
"Matching earrings," I said, pointing in the box.
"Turn around," Maria ordered.
I twisted around on the bed and watched our reflections, feeling the coolness of the gems as they settled around my neck. I held out my hand and Maria carefully dropped the dangling earrings into my palm. She plucked at my hair as I put in the earrings, adjusting the sweeping updo she’d pinned in place earlier.
"You look simply amazing," Maria repeated when I stood before her o
nce more, my outfit complete.
"Thank you," I whispered, and found my voice catching with emotion. I felt different in this dress, this jewelry. I felt like a princess going to a ball, just like when I played make-believe as a kid. And I could tell Maria was thinking the same thing. But I couldn’t forget what this was really about. This wasn’t a date. This was about a debt that had to be repaid.
I looked away from Maria, not wanting her to see my sudden hesitation, the frown that surely was playing in my eyes.
Fortunately, the doorbell's ring distracted her. "I’ll get it," she said eagerly. She dragged her wheelchair closer and I helped her into it. I took one last peek at myself in the mirror, then followed her down the hall and into the living room.
Maria opened the door to find a large man dressed in a tidy black suit. "I’m here to pick up Miss Tilson," he said with a scowl that looked permanently etched in his face.
"That’s me," Maria grinned up at him. I chuckled as I gathered my purse. I was so happy to see Maria in such a good mood—especially after last night's dream. It had been ages since she’d smiled so much, and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d joked around with anyone.
"No thank you, ma’am," I heard the chauffeur say, and I looked up to find him shaking his head. His scowl had turned into a look of confusion and I could see his dark face turning darker.
"Maria, are you giving this man a hard time?" I said, coming to his rescue. "Don’t mind my sister, she loves to tease…."
"Mr. Thompson—" Maria began, turning to me with a wink.
"It’s just Thompson, ma’am," he said.
"I was just inviting Thompson in while you finished getting ready."
"I’m all set," I smiled, winking back at her. "Maybe next time Thompson should drop by a bit earlier."
"I’ll be waiting at the car, ma’am," he frowned, then hurried down the driveway.
I watched him go, then turned back to Maria. "Are you sure you’ll be okay?"
"Absolutely," Maria replied. "I'm not totally incapable of taking care of myself, you know! Besides, I checked with Mrs. Jenner next door. She'll be home all evening in case I need anything."