by Amari, Nina
He lowered his head to hers. The soft hairs on the top of his head feathered out over his forehead and brushed against her skin. His touch felt so sensual and kindled a sultry desire to kiss every hollow of his spicy redolence. It was so delicate. His hair tickled her lashes, from his touch that was so smooth and gentle.
His strong hands glided up and down her back as he stroked her textured tweed, mowing the coarseness between his fingers. Danielle creased a smile when she'd felt his hand moved toward the nape of her neck, massaging her little hairs that perfumed a floral bouquet.
The pulsing of his fingers melted her tension and threaded an impulse to lose all sense of time and place.
Her long dark curls shifted wherever his hands sought to caress her neck and shoulders. Swaying breezy waterfalls, Roman rolled his eyes closed for a moment when he'd felt a silky strand brush across his mouth. He could've taken hold of her with a passion right then and there. But, his brain clicked on the gravity of the situation.
Just then, he whispered, "Tonight. Part two to yesterday?" The kindness in his voice smoothed over the ache in her heart. She sighed, and then she instinctively arched into his hand and nodded. "Yes."
Somewhere in her mind, everything seemed all right in his arms, and her qualms were put to rest. But in her gut, something cautioned her not to trust anyone. Although with caution, she could assume that tantalizing lust wouldn't suck her into its sensual trap, prickling her flesh inside a mired mushy mess.
He brushed his palm against her cheek, drawing his fingers slowly around her lips, as he smiled and said, "Okay. Tonight then." She creased a smile, when suddenly the warmth left her flesh sooner than she was ready, with only the chill in the air and a hint of leftover arousal.
She could have sworn there was something else on his mind, smoldering in those marbling eyes that suddenly drew away from hers.
As Roman walked toward the door, Danielle stood in awe wondering what would come next. She'd had her share of surprises and the looming militia outside would take no chances on her avenging the wrongdoing.
Danielle spun the desk chair and pricked her nails into the leather, arching toward the lower drawer as Roman guarded the doorway.
She flung open every drawer and cabinet from floor to ceiling in a feisty frantic. Every corner nook was swiped clear. She could hardly believe any of it. How it all happened so fast. Danielle darted her eyes to every niche covered in a piece of history--from her industry plaques, to cubbyholes of research, to bookshelves full of archival statistics.
A flurry of boxes spilled onto the carpet. Stacks of active case files towered one end of the L-shaped desk.
Danielle's office held over ten years worth of her life she'd had to cram in a small box with a few minutes time. She'd watched from her desk, both of the uniforms squirming impatience by the second. She'd known it was only a matter of when--and not how long, as the task seemed nothing short of monumentous.
Everything was carefully organized in her own manner of speaking. It would take a team, weeks, if not months to sort through it all.
Soon she would know just how her life turned on a dime with career as the focal point. Danielle would have to face the reality that work wouldn't be the sole of her existence anymore.
Suddenly, her eyes trickled only smeared mascara as the sky domed a gentle luster to her hair. At that moment, she was awakened by a tingle that calmed and silenced the fury of nerves that provoked her.
She reached for a small box near the foot of her desk and tussled the papers in it aside. Barely a moment later, her hand shuddered the box to its side. Everything she'd just jammed into it, rolled to a scanty mound.
A blend of potting soil and fertilizer leaked inside a watering can, and a wet violet suckling vintage terra cotta sprung from its saucer. Jutting a matching set of turn of the century Zen-statues and hurling an oriental tea set off kilter.
With increased focus, the husky man sighted Danielle's palms shellacking file folders and sifting what appeared an infinite mountain of paperwork. As her pores trickled sweat, she could barely squirm the leather without going unnoticed. Just then, she tucked a folder into the box, brushing her hand against a feathery velvet petal. And then the very next moment, he shouldered past Roman with his mechanized pace rising toward her.
Before she could slip her hand from the box, the man all but rushed over quicker than a heartbeat, as he stood shadowing her eyes. "Ma'am, all the files are property of Finch Young." As he spoke, a permanent crease in his forehead framed his piranha face. His heavy bearded jaw line was grizzled and inexplicably pale.
He stood woodenly as a soldier intensely focused on her every move. His eyes narrowed as he grimaced a gesture toward the desk, "They stay here. I have orders that all files and paperwork remain here."
She'd barely had time to grab her new pair of pointy-toed black slingbacks and a few other knick-knacks. The second she ladled a handful of ergonomic stress balls atop the file cabinet, the slender man ordered, "Miss, you have to exit the building. Now."
The brashness took a turn for the worse when he shrieked, "Now!" His brusque shook a sudden tremor in her hand and sent the stress balls tumbling over her boot, wedged in a gap between the wall and the cabinet's footing.
Danielle twisted her torso as she fumbled over the last bit of decor stashed in a corner cubbyhole. Suddenly, both of the security men bolted closer within arms reach and turned a uniformly scornful expression.
"We have orders that you are no longer allowed on the premises," said the men. The words were brash and sharp as they gestured her to follow in heed of their warning.
Jackasses. She muttered, bracing herself on the desk.
Danielle stood, rooted to the carpet behind the mammoth desk at the "L" shaped juncture. She'd already dared to discount their presence entirely, or so she thought. They watched her try to slip a ten-year plaque into her handbag, but it didn't quite fit. She was barely aware that none of the company accolades mattered anymore when she poised herself one last time to sift it all to memory.
The two men whispered words floating, just as she ripped a Cézanne calendar off the wall. Roman's eyes met hers in the brief second before she'd left the office, and he mouthed, "Later." She nodded.
She'd barely had a moment to catch a breath, as both men shadowed behind her out of the office. A light breeze feathered Roman's hair as both she and the two men dashed past him to the corridor.
Then quickly a crowd closed in, and the questions began. "Danielle what's going on--" a man spoke, stunned by the two men shadowing her.
But she could only shake her head, as the rest of her body continued to tremble. "What does it look like Josh, I'm--" Before she could get a word in edgewise, the men shouldered her onward with over ten years of a career in one box--sized up to swell the contents of four modest shoeboxes.
She'd just realized her value was idealistic and shallow. Years of spirited dedication meant nothing in her vain attempt to reconcile what mattered most. She could only tear through the tenacity to move on.
Josh stopped cold in his tracks. His jaw-dropped into a blank stare, as he watched the spectacle from around a hall corner.
Josh Beckham, the bright-eyed enigma who'd been her colleague ever since interning at Finch over ten years ago. He'd always been the quizzical one around the office that kept everyone laughing. The one who'd tone down the seriousness and follow every joke up his sleeve with a "no pun intended." He was a jokester but when it came to management, he ran the audit team like a well-oiled machine.
Josh's wired spectacles followed her trail as the three headed toward the elevators. He'd been stunned by the sudden raucous diverting his attention when Roman sprinted toward him, towering over the crowd.
Roman shimmied and twisted through the crowd pouring into the hall. He flung his arms to part his way through, as half the office had come out en masse. A throng of worried faces and watchful eyes cupping piping hot java, as "caffeine central" was the epitome of the forty-fi
rst floor office.
As Roman bolted down the hall harrowing Josh into a tailspin, he'd sprinted back toward the conference room to find Finch. The instant Josh turned his head, there wasn't a sole at the elevators, but Roman had already rounded a corner vaporizing into the maze of corridor.
"Do you guys know what this is all about," Josh asked a small crowd hovering in a corner alcove, as he slid his glasses to the ridge of his nose.
"She's been fired," said a woman who emerged from the crowd. Josh was looking at the woman quizzically."
Amanda, what are you doing spying out here?"
"It's all around the office...haven't you heard?" Amanda's saucer-shaped blue eyes widened, but her voice was calm as she said, "Danielle's been accused of embezzlement, fraud, corruption...you name it," she explained quietly and straightened.
From the rumors they'd heard, no one was surprised to learn the scandalous meltdown would shatter Danielle's career to collapse. And Zeckler was more than motivated to stir the volcano that had already quaked the office.
Amanda Zeckler was Danielle's adversary. Always the showiest and most backstabbing and ruthless gossip around that more than proved she could swing with the gentleman. She had her ways of moving to the top, with her bottle-ginger highlighting her auburn hair artfully swooped over one cheek, and full lips painting a tantalizing tart crimson.
She wore a scarlet shantung suit that shellacked the roundness of her curves, and the slim skirt sported a slit at the side to the middle of her shapely thigh. This was not the first time she'd sported her outrageously sky-high glittering stilettos either, that boosted her eye-to-eye with clients.
But Danielle never resorted to the disgusting lengths Amanda had the audacity to defy in order to make a living. Unfortunately, Amanda envied Danielle's success, zest and rebel determination. Suddenly, this woman had amazingly increased her status in the office as Director of New Accounts and Client Discovery. Whatever that was--surely meant that she'd have an excuse to hobnob with the elite and frequently married prospects.
Holding her by the arm, Josh waded right in. "So, what's the word on Danielle's job?" he asked, needing confirmation.
"There's word that Finch's second pick's up for it," Amanda said, but again stopped short of the question.
"And who might that be?" Josh rallied.
"Beckham," she said. "I'm pretty sure it's you Josh. But, we'll know in a few days." Smoothing a crease from her sleeve, "That figures. Finch finally came to his senses." Amanda's lips swept her grin into an audacious smirk. She poised a hand to her hip and waved a phantom goodbye with the other. Good riddance.
Glancing over the crowd, Josh wondered what had become of the lanky young man who nearly shuddered his spectacles.
A few seconds after Roman bolted down the hall toward the boardroom, the door flung open, "What's the meaning of this?" Roman said, as Finch looked up and yawned from his doodling.
Finch sloped in his chair, threading his fingers behind his head saying, "Procedure--just procedure. We've got to follow protocol," he insisted. Finch swiveled toward the empty seats, despite Roman's outburst.
"That's it. That's all you have to say for yourself. You can simply move on after what just happened?" Roman's sharp eyes skewered Finch again, as Finch's crinkly stare braced listlessly for the inevitable.
Finch gazed up at Roman's towering profile in silent answer with a half-lidded expression and yawned again before saying, "Listen. If you're going to work for me, you're going to have to roll with the big boys and stop playing it soft."
Roman's eyes daggered as Finch spirited his resolve.
Suddenly, Finch gave the table a pat, and then he stared at his watch. His impassive eyes narrowed, as he paused on a buoyant note.
"Now, for the next order of business."
Chapter Five
The weather defied its familiar February bleakness. Shattering leafless trees and spiny shrubs. Coursing thick dark emeralds, silvery evergreens and shiny bronzes.
Danielle navigated midday's tangled web through a sea of yellow cabs and brazen pedestrians, with the breeze curling the hairs on the back of her neck. Along with something that still had her twitching her toes in her anklet boots. A resolve and spirited determination to right the wrongs--heed her mistakes--and live life differently.
As she meandered the streets in a keyed up huff, sirens sang rhapsody to horns blaring in a sea of urban sprawl and frenzy, quickening the rise of a sprawling metropolis. The more she'd kept moving, the more she'd kept herself from playing into that mind game of nerves--and the more she'd kept herself from focusing on what had just happened.
But why shouldn't she let her hair down. She'd worked way too hard for too many years to allow embarrassment to strangle her senses into a searing panic. Why shouldn't she enjoy a little unemployment bliss in the making?
Stretching her arms from the core, as she walked, she forced herself to unclench her jaw, rolling her shoulders as she pounded the pavement. Her shoulders were hunched and her back stiffened with every step of her walk skirting past vented grates and foot traffic. But with every step, she'd found her muscles steadily loosening.
Maybe it was the cold whipping a quiver up the long pleat in her wool overcoat that simmered her nerves into a reposed blend of calm and humiliation. But the air felt good, like heavy burdens lifted off her shoulders. By the time she'd gotten far enough, she wasn't shaking anymore, as pure golden sunlight melted the hazy gloom of morning into baby blue sky. The city was a stirred calm.
Danielle spent the afternoon in unemployment bliss. Sashaying down to Fifth Avenue's Museum Mile and to the Upper East Side corner ice cream parlor. It was a haven for sweet-a-holics. The guy behind the counter remembered her from months ago. It wasn't often she'd taken the time to enjoy her favorite scooped a concoction of butterscotch, peanut butter and strawberry maple walnut oozing decadent hot fudge.
This was when she'd realized she hadn't simply taken the pleasure of doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Despite her fury at Finch, she didn't want to wrestle her mind about it. He'd given her reason to finally sever the hold--the reason she'd come to New York City. But now she'd had to revisit that conversation with herself.
Danielle, there is more to life than your career. Love is what you've been denying yourself for far too long. Love can find you, if you keep an open mind to find it.
It had taken her firing to convince herself that actually there was more to life that she'd been missing behind a desk and mountains of paperwork. Danielle stared at the guy squirting another smooth creamy layer of whipped cream. Her eyes were in a trance following his hand as he'd circled her huge sundae until it domed a tower with a sweet cherry on top.
She shook her head, and her eyes lit as she murmured, God, that looks so delicious.
Suddenly, she was starting to shatter the temptation to drudge up the memory, as her expression had changed from a heated upset to absolute purely sated pleasure. Amazingly, she was rallying a zest for "Freeeedom!" She shouted a silent scream at the top of her lungs that tore anxiety and worry for blissful moments. After all, Freedom, she thought, was something career never allowed time for.
She savored every sumptuous meltdown and silent moment of brain freeze. With every luscious taste, Omigod, this is so delicious--she closed her eyes to evoke memories of calm, sand and breeze. As sweet icy foam trickled her tongue to quiver once it kissed mountains of whipped cream, she was in heaven.
But there wasn't any room for one of those tantalizing and crisply sautéed almond butter prosciutto and melted brie sandwiches. Danielle was still in the habit of insidious consumption.
Food filled the void, and shopping filled the desire for reward. After all the hell and back pitfalls of corporate life, heck--employment as a whole had been just that--a means to supply what never seemed to end--bills, payments, taxes.
She'd beat down the pavement at Finch. She'd made sacrifices. Heck, she'd had absolutely no love life, in exchange for a career that was
sucking her bone dry. Starting at seven or eight most mornings, hustling twelve or even fourteen-hour days. Often weekends if need be.
Her demanding, tightly organized schedule allowed no time for a social life.
It wasn't natural. For a woman in her prime, it just wasn't natural to spend more than half of her life chained to her office. When would she have awakened from the mirage and stood in front of the mirror and faced her naked self. She was born with a desire to love and be loved. But, love couldn't electrify a woman caught in a ceaseless maze of bureaucracy.
Afterwards, Danielle zigzagged the maze of traffic when suddenly her heart flip-flopped in her chest. Without warning, the pulsing evened out and she began to pick up speed. Lots of speed, when she'd noticed the old neighborhood. Not just any neighborhood--Her ex fiancé's neighborhood.
Visually, it hadn't changed much in the last few years--Rows of regal brownstones, tree-lined streets, and quaint courtyards ample for raising a family. It was a haven for women in their thirties and forties, who traded career to be full-time moms, simply because they could afford to.
Realizing that it had been too long since she had seen the facade of the brownstone she and her ex shared just after their engagement, Danielle sighed. Her expression was sentimental.
It seemed like ages ago, when Danielle thought she knew what love was. When in fact, she didn't really know love at all. A thirty-year old woman's clock was ticking, and Jack was the first steady guy in her life that she'd managed to find, apart from her workaholic life.
Well, actually they found each other through a business meeting. Her firm was battling negotiations with a prospective client -- his high-profile litigation firm--and the rest was history. Although, sometimes she'd wondered if he was more interested in her upwardly mobile status, feeling threatened by her success, rather than the love she brought to their relationship. Maybe he'd wanted a sexy doormat, but common sense said--he should've known Danielle better than that.
Suddenly, her eyes darted to the sounds of languid cries lacing a nearby garden. As she waddled closer, the spirited zest of children layered a laugh that infused her memory with fantasy.