[The Shifters Committee 01.0] Time Shifters

by Rebecca Foxx

  Nodding in apparent agreement with his mother’s words, Royce rose abrupt from his seat and engaged a shocked Tabitha in a friendly but officious handshake.

  “Mother is right, I really must be going,” he affirmed, adding as he turned away, “I would see you out, but I do have some notes to review before my next meeting. Thank you so much for a great interview, and I can’t wait to read the results!”

  With these words the apparently in a hurry Von Erich family cleared the sitting room in jig time; leaving in their wake a confused reporter who stared after them with curious eyes.

  Suddenly Tabitha sat alone in a room that seemed cold and lonesome; not to mention more than a bit mysterious.

  “What is it with this family?” she thought, looking around her as if seeking the answer to a mystery that captivated her entire community.

  “A mystery that will not be solved by way of this article,” she gritted her teeth, wondering as to what on earth she would write in the article that her editor eagerly awaited. “What will I tell people about our mayor, beyond the fact that he is a hardworking businessman and devoted philanthropist who truly cares about his people. Folks already know that much!”

  She paused here, adding as she stroked her chin in a show of deep thought, “In the wake of an excruciatingly brief interview, what do I know about his personal life? Except, of course, for the convenient fact that he is a mighty good kisser?”

  It simply would not do, she believed, to explain to her editor that her all-important interview had been derailed by an even more important—and, at the very least, infinitely more pleasurable—make out session. So in light of that fact, she now would have to engage in a bit of good ol’ investigative journalism.

  “Or as my mama would say, time to get sneaky!” she declared.

  After continuing to inspect the ebullient interior of the plush Von Erich sitting room, her inquisitive gaze came to rest on a smooth black leather bound journal that rested on the surface of a fresh polished cherry wood end table.

  In a moment of impulse she grabbed the book and flipped open its mysterious cover; revealing immediately a handwritten title page that read, “The thoughts, musings and reflections of Royce Von Erich.”

  “Ohmagod,” she expelled aloud in a single deep breath. “The dude has a flippin’ diary.”

  She froze then as she once again heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway; a sound that drew closer and closer as she made yet another impulsive move.

  Unzipping the sizable white pleather satchel that usually held her pen and notebook, she slipped those two items smooth into its depths—along with the diary that just might contain the key to Royce Von Erich.

  Chapter three

  Back at the corporate offices of Lexington Life, Tabitha sat frozen in front of a silver tinted computer in a far corner of the magazine’s main newsroom; trying in vain to concentrate on the completion of a movie review that was due to her editor later that afternoon.

  Her thoughts were consumed by another story that loomed large on her professional roster; one whose subject had more than captured her interest, her curiosity, her very imagination.

  She shut her eyes tight as she recalled with sensual relish the sheer resplendence of Royce’s kiss; cherishing the memory of his tender advance as he outright seduced her, without shame or reservation.

  “I’ve never experienced such an immediate, electric attraction to any man,” she mused, almost purring outright as she wriggled in her seat and savored the sensation of their heated fascination.

  Her eyes snapped open moments later as she came to terms with some harsh realities. For one thing, she realized that—by taking the diary—she had committed a serious breach of journalistic ethics; if not an out and out act of criminal theft.

  “And it seems so ironic that I breached all manner of professional ethics in the name of saving my job,” she mused, heaving a deep sigh as she turned away from her keyboard and folded her hands before her. “That brief and unrevealing interview, after all, did not give me enough information to make a good in depth profile in Lexington Life. If I wrote the story based on the info that he gave me, I might be able to come up with a serviceable press release for the mayor’s office, detailing the good deeds and societal contributions of our beneficent leader. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, won’t sell mags.”

  Unzipping the purse that lay subtle and undisturbed just beside the computer, she withdrew the troublesome diary from its place in the satchel and leafed through its pages; wondering just what mysteries and secrets lie inherent in its pages.

  “What is he hiding?” she whispered aloud, her review and her deadline long forgotten as she focused on the lush lines of long flowing script that filled its voluminous pages.

  Her thoughtful meditation was disrupted by the loud beep of her office intercom; a disarming noise that was followed immediately the sound of a soft, lilting voice.

  “Tabitha?” she immediately recognized the dulcet tones of Ava Mirren, head receptionist at Lexington Life magazine. “You have a phone call from the mayor on line one.”

  Tabitha froze, gasping outright as she dropped the diary unceremonious to the floor beneath her.

  “He’s just too good, blast him. He has figured out already that I made off with the diary,” she gritted her teeth, her thoughts racing as she continued, “So now I probably will lose my job anyway, and—as an extra special bonus—go to jail for theft. And good luck on getting a mayoral pardon, as he is the dude from whom I snatched the diary. Good show, Connelly. Good. Show.”

  With a hefty sigh she retrieved the receiver from the cradle of her office phone; raising it to her ear as she delivered a very low-spirited greeting.

  “Hello?”

  Her heart lightened seconds later, as her greeting was met by the sound of a sweet sonorous voice.

  “I miss you already,” Royce told her. “Care to have dinner with me?”

  Tabitha blinked.

  “Dinner?” she queried, tone vague and disbelieving.

  “Dinner,” Royce repeated, muffling a chuckle as he explained further, “You know, that meal after lunch and—if all goes well—before breakfast?”

  He said these last words on a sultry purr that sent tingles down Tabitha’s spine. Even so, she managed to release an indignant snort as she considered his words.

  “I well know the meaning of the term dinner, Monsieur Smarty Pants, and I happen to enjoy it quite a bit. I have this bizarre habit of eating it almost every night, in point of fact,” she revealed, adding in a softer, more inviting tone, “As far as what happens between dinner and breakfast, well—that all depends on as to whether or not the gentleman I’m dining with plays his cards right.”

  “Ah,” Royce purred, adding after a long pause, “Well what if I send a beautiful, very special black polish car to pick you up for our date?”

  Tabitha pursed her lips.

  “A very special, black polish car,” she repeated in a thoughtful tone, adding as she settled an uneasy gaze on the diary that lay unopened in her lap, “Are we talking a cop car, perhaps? Mayhap a paddy wagon?”

  Royce chortled.

  “You funny girl,” he teased her, adding in a more serious tone, “No, actually I was thinking of a vehicle more along the lines of a limo; a luxury car that will deliver you straight to the doorstep of a deluxe eatery known as Chez Royce.”

  Tabitha gaped.

  “Oh Dude, you’re killin’ me now,” she exhaled, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “Not only do you run this town and own its most successful business, you also feed it as well? You claim ownership of your own flippin’ restaurant?”

  Royce chuckled.

  “Well I like to think of Chez Royce more of a private supper club, as opposed to a family restaurant open to the public,” he told her, adding in a whisper, “Let’s just say that it’s a highly intimate venue that I work hard to keep afloat.”

  Tabitha grinned.

  “Well OK then you go
t me. Now I am officially intrigued,” she relented, adding as she checked her watch, “I live downtown at the Eagle’s Gate apartment complex and can be home in about 20 minutes. Then I’ll need just a bit of time to freshen up; so what’s say you send the car at about 5:30 or so?”

  “Perfect,” Royce purred, adding in a whisper soft tone, “Can’t wait to see you, Tabitha.”

  After saying her goodbyes in what she hoped would be a sufficiently flirty and pouty voice (“Can a voice indeed be pouty?” she mused. “Oh never mind….”), Tabitha hung up the phone and took another long look at the mysterious diary; wondering if its contents would answer some of the questions that she had regarding the man who she was beginning to regard as far more than an interview subject.

  Finally, though, she stashed the journal in her purse and arose from her desk; deciding for once to place pleasure ahead of business.

  “I just hope that I’m not doing something now that I might regret later,” she thought, adding with a slight smile as she headed for the door, “Even if I do regret it, though, I’m bound to have a whole lot of fun.”

  Chapter four

  Within an hour Tabitha found herself standing before a brass bordered mirror, facing the image of a woman transformed.

  Fishing her sole date dress from a far corner of her closet, a garment that she figured was as old and as infrequently used as a typical mummy’s shroud, she slipped into the glittery fabrics of this ebullient party dress and took just a moment to admire the results.

  A sleek knee length jacquard frock the hue of jade blue, this floral patterned knee length wonder boasted a deep scooped neck as well as a shimmery flaring skirt that served to accentuate her rubenesque figure.

  Piling her soft ebony hair atop her head and applying just a touch of ruby red lipstick, Tabitha grabbed her favorite clutch purse—a seashell satchel that also shone in its deep blue tones—and headed for the lobby of her apartment building; stopping stock still before the double glass doors that formed the entryway of Eagle’s Gate apartments.

  Parked at the front curb was a long ebony limo that shone in the glowing golden rays of imminent twilight; one graced with tinted crystalline windows that gave no indication of the occupants inside.

  Making a halfhearted attempt to walk with casual strides in the direction of the car, she felt a vague sense of disappointment when the vehicle’s distinguished silver haired driver waved her into an empty back seat; one adorned with plush lavender cushions and matching upholstery.

  “Mayor Von Erich awaits you at Chez Royce,” the driver told her, flashing a mysterious smile over his velvet clad shoulder as he pulled away from the curb.

  Tabitha frowned confused moments later, as the car delivered her to a resplendent but most familiar looking home; a residence that she had visited earlier that day.

  “I was under the impression that we were going to a private club,” she told the driver, adding with an awkward shrug, “Now I know this place is gigantic, but I do not foresee a full service eatery being lodged in between the breakfast nook and the rec room.”

  The driver chuckled.

  “The restaurant is actually located out back,” he informed her, waving her out of the car before closing the door behind her. “Somehow I get the feeling that the two of you are going to have a blast.”

  “A bloody confusin’ blast,” Tabitha mused in silence, adding aloud, “Thanks for the ride! Do I tip you or anything?”

  The driver shook his head.

  “No thank you, Miss,” he told her, adding with a reassuring wave, “Da boss pays me good.”

  “That I don’t doubt. Thanks again and have a good evenin’!” Tabitha returned with a smile, waving her goodbyes as she rounded the corner of Royce’s palatial residence.

  Her thoughts scattered moments later, as she realized that her date’s impressive estate actually doubled as waterfront property; fronting as it did a sparkling bay that grew a radiant shade of azure indigo in the light of a newborn moon.

  Floating at the heart of this ethereal waterway was a seaborne vessel that seemed a natural extension of the water itself; a long ivory hued yacht that boasted two levels and an expansive front deck.

  Long and angular, the ebony bordered yacht boasted a high flying golden pennant that bore the image of a scarlet hued wolf; one etched out in brilliant relief against a lush backdrop of crystalline stars.

  True to this symbolic trademark, the name of the boat also reflected a decided lupine theme.

  “Le Loup,” she recognized immediately the French word for wolf. “Always knew those high school French lessons would come in handy, someday.”

  All coherent thought scattered moments later, as a man appeared on deck; one who seemed the very embodiment of wild but elegant beauty.

  Dressed this evening in a lush black silk jacket with matching pants and a crisp white satin shirt underneath, Royce appeared the very picture of gentlemanly sophistication; while still expressing his wild side through the untamed mane of lustrous golden hair that flowed free down the surface of his planed back—and through the flash of bronzed skin and hard corded muscle left visible by virtue of a shirt only partially buttoned.

  “Quite a tease, that Royce,” Tabitha smirked in silence, adding aloud, “Good evening, Mayor! So this is what you meant when you said that your eatery was a private club you were trying to keep afloat. Yuk, yuk, yuk!”

  Royce chuckled.

  “Hey, it’s not a bad attempt at humor for a boring rich guy,” he reasoned, adding as he beckoned her down the length of the pier that would allow her access to his majestic boat, “Care to come aboard, Beautiful?”

  Soon Tabitha found herself seated at a lace covered table situated on deck, one further adorned with luminous vanilla candles, floral print china, and a sparkling magnum of French champagne; a luxurious vessel of liquid refreshment whose label Tabitha translated in full--her skilled interpretation garnering applause from her audience of one.

  “You conduct brilliant interviews, write amazing articles, and speak a mean French tongue to boot,” Royce praised her, adding as he made a broad graceful gesture in Tabitha’s direction, “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  Tabitha grinned.

  “Well thank you kindly Royce,” she acknowledged his compliment, adding as she tipped her crystalline goblet sharp in her direction, “And speaking of interviews; since our little chat this morning was cut short somewhat, I was wondering if I could ask you a few additional questions for my story.”

  Royce smiled.

  “Nope. Absolutely not,” he rejected her request, softening the blow by grabbing hold of her hand and cradling her fingers between his own. “Tonight, my dear Tabitha, is all about you. I want to interview you—about your life, your writing, and why on earth a radiant, bright, hilarious woman such as yourself is still single and unattached.”

  Tabitha shrugged.

  “Well in an odd way, all of those questions are interrelated,” she explained, adding as she looked him straight in the eyes, “I didn’t exactly come from money, Royce. And a lot of people made a point of telling me that nobody makes a living as a writer these days; so I had better either marry money, or develop another skill.”

  She paused here, adding as she sat up straight in her seat, “I was bound and determined to prove them wrong. And in order to do so, I gave up any hope or semblance of a personal life and studied my way through high school and college; then writing my way through free-lance feature writing jobs at small indie newspapers and smaller, even indie-er, if that is indeed a word, websites. I went through, not only ink, but blood, sweat and tears just to make it in this business, and I was not about to take my eye off the ball and focus it in the direction of some man—no matter how handsome or tempting he may be.”

  Royce nodded.

  “Well judging from the excellence and high quality of your articles, you have more than accomplished your goal,” he praised her, adding as he raised her hand to his full moist lips for a wa
rm, ardent kiss, “Have you ever stopped to think, though, that perhaps the right man could be a help to you—not a hindrance?” he paused here, adding as he leaned forward across the table and stared deep into her eyes, “What if you were to meet a man who just happened to be your biggest fan—but who longed to be so much more? Perhaps he could buy you your own newspaper or magazine, where you could serve as editor in chief. Then when you come home to him at night, he could pamper and relax you, spoiling you rotten even as he treats you to long, relaxing sensual massages and—well—anything else that might serve to ease your tensions and bring you the most incredible pleasure.”

  Tabitha took in her breath, his softly spoken alluring words setting fire to her senses.