It was a beautiful home, like a palace to a girl that had grown up as poor as could be, almost made homeless and forced to live on the streets. But Sawyer had saved her, in so many ways. In more ways than she could count. She had been alone, so terribly lonely, convinced if she could just be strong enough that she would be happy. But he had shone her what true strength was. The strength to take risks, the strength to trust, and above all, the strength to love.
She pawed through the armoire, searching through fabric and clothes she could scarcely believe belonged to her. The dresses were cut in styles that were the height of fashion in Paris, and the material was expensive silks and satins. Charlotte still frowned at such extravagances even though Sawyer had insisted. She had to admit to herself that she felt a certain thrill when she donned one of the gown, although at the moment she was wearing a serviceable cotton frock covered in dirt. They had spent the day digging in the cave.
She blushed at the memory of what else they had done in the seclusion of the cave, but firmly pushed the thought away. She knew at the moment Sawyer was downstairs trying to feed Joselin, who thought it was more fun to play with her food than eat it, and she also knew that any moment now Sawyer would admit defeat and she would walk into the dining room to find a complete mess.
Charlotte loved her husband desperately, but their little girl had him wrapped around her little, chubby fingers.
Aha! There it is! It was wrapped in a silk printed scarf and hidden away. Her fingers finally caught on a long gold chain, so fine it almost looked like a work of art itself, but the true treasure was the time piece. Made entirely of gold, from the first vein they had dug out of the side of that mountain over a year ago, and hand worked by the finest craftsperson she could find. Intricate scrollwork curved lovingly around the front plate, continuing seamlessly around the entire circumference.
It looked like one solid piece of metal until you press the hidden latch. Charlotte had thought Sawyer would like that bit. Then it opened to revel something incredibly special. The clock, ticking away with its rhythmic swinging motion of the hands, also inlaid with gold. But there was a second secret latch that, when pressed, swung the back portion away to revel the sinner workings of the watch itself, all encased in glass.
Hopefully, with this one, he wouldn’t feel compelled to take it apart to see how it worked like the last two. He could watch it through the glass. See exactly how the cogs and wheels fit together, moving seamlessly together. And then there was the other bit, the engraving on the back.
“Ah, there you are, my wife.” She quickly hid the watch behind her back. Sawyer’s voice reached her just a moment before he burst into the room, the remnants of Joselin’s meal splattered down the front of his shirt. “The beast has been fed, and is now sleeping the dreamless sleep of the angels.”
“Angels, huh?” Charlotte asked with a raised brow. Their little girl had inherited Sawyer’s curiosity and her own quick temper. Angel probably wasn’t the most fitting description, although sometimes she could be. Other times, Charlotte was convinced she was a little demon, but no matter what she was certainly loved.
“What is that?”
“What is what?” She said, trying to sound innocent as Sawyer tried to peek behind her back.
“What are you hiding?”
“Hiding? What, whose hiding?” Holding it with one hand, she raised the other as if to say, see, nothing here. But he wasn’t buying it. Quickly, he tried to duck behind her, but just as quickly she turned.
He advanced towards her, sudden heat flaring in his green eyes as he did the one thing she could never evade, never resist. He kissed her. It seemed to go on forever, and was over much too soon and Charlotte blinked her eyes open hazily to see him staring gloatingly down at her, the object, wrapped in one of her scarves in his hand.
“Hey, that’s not playing fair.” Charlotte said with a pout that had him laughing, and then kissing her all over again.
“Who said anything about playing fair?” He grinned at her, “It is Christmas after all.”
“Well, Christmas is exactly the time to play fair. Santa’s watching, you know.” She grinned up at him. “Oh, all right. Go ahead and look. Just know that you’re spoiling the surprise.”
He laughed again, but eagerly set about unwrapping the scarf wrapping. He was struck silent as he stared down at the magnificent pocket watch.
“Charlotte, this is…this is beautiful. Extraordinary.” He peered closer.
“And look at this,” quickly she showed him the hidden latch to unlock the glass piece that showed the inner workings before he could try and take it apart. “Hopefully, you’ll leave this one intact.”
He stared, his eyes wide in fascination and excitement. “That’s incredible! Absolutely incredible.”
“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” She said with a sly smile, and he glanced over at her distractedly. “Look on the back.”
Curious, he flipped it over, his eyes widening again as he read the inscription. Their initials sat at the top, entwined in gold scroll work, and below that was Joselin’s. And then, at the very bottom, sat another set of gold initials. He looked at her, and then at the watch, and then back at her.
“Really?”
“Really.” Charlotte smiled. “Merry Christmas, Sawyer.”
Sawyer let out a laugh, throwing his arms around her and spinning her around in a circle until she landed dizzily on her feet, smiling up into the face of the man she loved.
“Merry Christmas, my love.”
Russian Roulette
Chapter 1
Evie was growing nervous by the time she arrived at the party. The top floor of the Ezra Hotel was reserved for only the elite among the super-rich. She knew what that meant without really having to think about it: that she and everyone else that was going to be there was being shown considerable favor by even being invited to this party.
It must be such a pleasure for a lowly pee-on like me to be welcomed to a place like this, she thought as she rode the elevator up to the top floor.
Despite what she thought she felt a small pang of nervousness inside of her. She felt as out of her element as an ice cube among a flow of magma. Functions like this occurred at least once a month and she was fortunate enough to have been on call when they usually happened and she had a perfect excuse not to have to come and pander to people she didn’t even care to know.
But tonight she had known no such luck. Tonight, the rotation of staff was such that there was no way for her to really escape it. And on the night when she was due to be rotated off for a couple of days was enough to make her think that it was no coincidence that she had been told to come to this function tonight.
As the elevator doors opened up she found that the hallway beyond was mercifully empty. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of polished marble and the lighting was soft, almost reminiscent of the old fashioned candle lights. There were potted plants that marked the archways of the doors and she followed each until she found the room where she was supposed to be heading.
Suite 200 was marked by large oaken doors and covered in old fashioned brass knockers that were formed in the likeness of old lion heads. The large cats stared at her almost daringly as she reached to knock… then held. Not because of the eerie detail of the cats’ eyes as they stared at her, but because of the ridiculous circumstances that had brought her here.
She shook her head and walked around a nearby corner, seeking a few final moments of solitude. She hated that she had been pretty much ordered to come here. Her job wasn’t a soldier’s job… she wasn’t supposed to take orders. She was supposed to help people because traditionally that was what doctors were supposed to do. But the words of her supervisor rang in her memory as clearly as if made by crystal bells in a silent room.
“We need to put on a good show for the benefactors of the new wing tonight. It’s everyone’s duty to show a little appreciation to the money-holders. It’s your turn to do that. Be there.”
/>
It wasn’t really an order but she understood the subtle message behind it clearly enough: show up or you’re fired.
Shit.
She paused nervously in front of a nearby hall mirror to check her appearance and gave herself an appraising look.
Her chocolate colored skin was a shade darker from the recent time she’d spent under the sun. The highlights in her hair had faded somewhat though her hair itself had grown down to the length of her shoulders. Her figure wasn’t exactly the ideal for events like these, but she hadn’t cared for social norms since she was a child. Being plus-sized had both advantages and disadvantages alike.
Tonight it was feeling more like a disadvantage.
“I didn’t get into this line for the looks,” she said to her reflected twin.
Her dress was black with golden sequins sewn in along the curve of her left hip and a matching patch across her chest on the opposite shoulder. Her shoes were covered in the same reflective material and she wore her best rings on her fingers. Altogether she didn’t think that she was too much to look at, but it was the best that she had. And the downside to being a doctor was – as her supervisor had put it – sometimes one had to swim with the sharks if one wanted calm waters.
An overt statement if ever there was one. It was a fact of life that everyone seemed to accept that people with money made the rules. And when they didn’t get their way they made waves. Feeding the sharks was indeed the best way to make sure that they got what they wanted and went away. At least until they got hungry again.
Christ, she thought as she looked down the length of her body in the mirror.
Outwardly, she was as flattering to the eye as she could make herself though she had never really considered that to be her strong suit. Inwardly she hated functions like these. Others of the doctors at the hospital in which she worked held varied beliefs about functions like this. Unsurprisingly some of them lived for the chance to show off their bodies and social graces in a place outside of the workplace. Some of them had managed to find husbands or on/off again playboys that would shell out large checks for the occasional horizontal bop. That was their thrill and Evie didn’t care one way or the other for it. But the others, like herself, hated parties and wondered what the point was in kissing the asses of the rich and powerful who would probably never end up on her operating table when they could afford superior treatment.
Most of the people that would be here tonight were people that she could read about in a magazine or see on the news. They were rich enough to afford their own private doctors and enough medicine to keep a small town in Africa comfortable for a decade. But they contributed money to public hospitals – like hers – for the tax right off. And they had the audacity to call it a “Charity Function”. She shuddered inwardly at the thought.
It’s business, she thought.
She didn’t care for it, but there it was. Meadow Grove hospital didn’t run on prayers and wishes. Like everything else in the world it ran on money. And in order to get money one had to be willing to sit up and beg for it like a trained dog. Though she scowled at the thought when she realized that for functions like these, begging would sometimes need to be done while she was flat on her back.
Not that it ever happened that way.
Not for her.
Her only solace was that benefactors at parties like tonights never really gave her a second look when there were skinnier and more appealing women to be had. The doctors and nurses and other medical professionals from Meadow Grove of the female persuasion were of a variety that Evie had never really associated herself with. They were slim, athletic, and fit enough to be the kind of women that wound up on calendars. They were just the kinds of objects that the rich and overreaching would be interested in playing with, even if only for a night. But she had never strived to be that way, nor did she care to. Between those other women and her she knew that the more horny benefactors would be going for those women the same way bees went after the most fragrant of flowers.
She hardly felt like the most choice of flowers. More like a dandelion among a rose garden. Something to be seen among a more beautiful variety but not the kind one would want to pluck. That was fine with her. She was content to let the others have their fun while she went on with her life.
She gave her dress one final smoothing gesture as she pushed the wrinkles from the fabric with her hands and gave a brief exhale. She was as good as she was going to get and the sounds of laughter, music, clinking glasses, and the general sounds of revelry in the dining room beyond the hall were unmistakable. There was no escaping this and if she didn’t go in then for certain the wrong ears would hear about it tomorrow. She didn’t care to be on the wrong end of that kind of conversation.
“A few drinks… some fake laughs… a dance or two… an hour and a half tops and we go home,” she said to her twin in the mirror. She gave an affirming nod. “We can do this. We can do this.”
She turned and followed the sound of the party.
Chapter 2
She was greeted inside the door by a young girl who recognized her right away as soon she passed through.
“Dr. Barret, good evening,” the young girl said brightly. “Did you come alone tonight?”
Evie nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid that I did.”
The young girl nodded understandingly and with a tone that sounded obligatory she replied, “I’m sorry to hear that. But feel free to help yourself to the bar and anything on the food table… everything is courtesy of the hospitals new patrons.”
“Thank you,” she replied mechanically and proceeded further in.
She passed deeper in the suite and found that the place wasn’t really much of a suite at all; it was more like a palace. But only a fraction of the scale she would have imagined that it could have been. There were high vaulted ceilings, wide hallways, and marble floors that were covered in plush carpets. Expensive paintings hung on the walls and statues or busts sat in alcoves along the walls watching over her and the assortment of guests. There were crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling that illuminated suits of armor and the velvet seats of chairs and couches both.
There was an upper level and a lower level and she felt certain that whoever had booked this soiree hadn’t skimped on money. It was, after all, the policy of the rich to make a grand impression on those less wealthy than them. In that regard Evie felt that someone had certainly succeeded.
The suite was packed with throngs of people. At every turn she found some new room that was populated men in tuxedos and women in evening dresses. Some of them were so resplendent that she became a little self-conscious of the more simple dress that she had chosen to wear for the evening but tried not to show it.
Everywhere she looked, flowing through the rooms like bees on honeycombs in a bustling hive, were the assorted patrons for the evening. Some of them she recognized easily enough as people that she knew from work, men and women both. Some were doctors and others were nurses, orderlies, and even a few people that she knew only worked the hospital cafeteria. It was clear then that everyone from the hospital had been “invited” to attend tonight. Each of them was dressed in whatever it was that they considered to be their finest, but compared to the people whom they socialized with they stood out like weeds among roses.
Here we go, she thought as she put on her best smile and began moving with the flow of people wherever the fleshy current took her. It was going to feel like a long night, so she might as well get started on getting the unpleasantness out of the way.
Evie did what she knew was expected of her as the minutes rolled by. She gave acknowledging nods to coworkers when they looked up to see her and gave a smile to everyone she didn’t know as they said hello to her, though few did. She stopped by the bar and ordered a vodka martini, showing that she was embracing the hospitality of those that had thrown the party. She ate a few of the delicacies off of the food tables, some of which she didn’t entirely recognize, and mingled where she could.
She engaged in a few small conversations when people she didn’t know bothered to speak to her. She thanked benefactors that she recognized for their generous donations and laughed at a few jokes that weren’t funny. She spoke and praised the people that had donated time, money, workers, resources, equipment or anything else to build the new wing of the hospital. She did everything that someone less fortunate but in a demanding and necessary line of work should have said.
She met men and women from different fields and from across the country that worked in banking, industry, for newspapers, frontier technologies, and a dozen other disciplines that somehow found themselves associated with hospitals or at the very least worked to improve them. She met people that got Meadow Grove new radiology equipment, new EKG machines, upgraded the defibrillators, brought in a fleet of new ambulances, replaced decade-old wheelchairs and gurneys, got the helipad on the roof upgraded, or even replaced the vending machines with the new models that took credit cards and like that. All were things that she knew she should have been thankful for, but she wasn’t feeling an overabundance of gratitude for it.
At least not when the effort to make improvements was being flaunted around like it was. She didn’t know much about the world of fashion but a few of the benefactors that she recognized – men and women both – were adorned in clothing that was worth more than what they had contributed to the remodeling of the hospital. And the smiles that they wore as they posed for pictures were worth infinitely more, yet still seemed incredibly fake.
Charity should not demand recognition for one’s actions, she thought as she sipped at her second martini.
The laughter of guests and patrons could be heard from every room that she visited and it reminded her of an internship she’d worked during her undergrad days in a sanitarium. To be able to hear people laughing at something that was funny only to them, or to be surrounded by people with illusions of wealth, intent, or modesty that was anything but possible certainly smacked of insanity.
REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) Page 44