Somebody's Knocking at My Door

by Francis Ray

  “I agree, they’re gaudy. But beggars can’t be choosy. You mind?” he asked, pulling out the chair in front of her desk and sitting without her permission. Removing his shoes and socks, he rolled up his pant legs.

  His face pained, he glanced up at her. “You can stop me anytime, you know.”

  She stuck her tongue in her cheek and tried to compose herself. “Since you went to all that trouble it would be a shame not to at least try them on.”

  “I didn’t think you’d let me off,” he said, but there was no rancor in his voice as he bent down.

  Angelique peered over her desk to see what he was doing. All she saw was broad shoulders. She rounded the desk and burst out laughing. Damien had one long, wide foot in the open-toed shoe.

  “The things a man has to do to get a date,” he said.

  Her laughter abruptly stopped. Her heart and knees started their symphony again. “That’s a poor joke.”

  “Do I impress you as the type of guy who’d go to this extent to pull a joke?” he asked, his gaze boring into her.

  She swallowed. “No.”

  Nodding emphatically, he put on the other shoe, then started to rise and promptly toppled back into the chair.

  “Damien!” Angelique squeaked, rushing to him.

  “How about it? Can you forgive an obnoxious, overbearing, and opinionated man and go out with him?”

  “You forgot bigoted.”

  His hand swept her hair away from her face. “Go out with me.”

  Straightening, she moved behind her desk and took her seat. “Why?”

  “I’m attracted to you,” he told her without hesitation. Then he added, “You’re attracted to me, too.”

  “I was attracted to poison ivy as a kid. The doctor said it was the worst case he’d ever seen. I’ve got scars to prove it,” Angelique told him. “Attraction doesn’t always turn out for the best.”

  Removing the heels, he came around the desk and placed his hands on the arms of her chair. “From what I can see, your skin is beautiful. Of course, if you want to show me a scar or two to prove your point, I’d be willing to look.”

  “I bet you would.” She pushed against his wide chest.

  Chuckling, he straightened. “Just trying to present my case.”

  “What kind of lawyer are you, anyway?” she asked, wishing he were sitting in the chair instead of on the corner of her desk.

  “Corporate. I’m chief counsel for Thibodeaux International.”

  Angelique’s dark brow shot up. “Small world.”

  Damien’s body went taut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She reached for the papers on her desk. Damien’s large hand landed on top of hers.

  “Do you know Maurice Laurent?” he asked.

  Angelique had seen rage before, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen it so tightly controlled. “By reputation, and that’s more than enough.”

  “What kind of reputation?” Damien asked.

  “You figure it out.” She jerked her papers from beneath his hand. “Now if you don’t mind, please leave so I can get back to work. My next patient is due shortly.”

  Lazily, he stood. “The receptionist mentioned you haven’t had lunch. Where would you like to go?”

  “I’m eating a tuna fish sandwich I brought from home. Alone.”

  “Speckled Trout Amandine tastes better.”

  Her salivary glands agreed with him. “You can waste your own time, but not mine. Leave.”

  “I will once we decide where we’re going tonight. Dinner, dancing, theater or all three?”

  Temptation, thy name is Damien. “I’ll be at home doing my nails. Good-bye. I’m two seconds away from calling security.”

  He stared down at her a long time, then replaced the heels in the bag and put on his shoes and socks. “Is that your final answer?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation. So what if something inside her protested.

  He tipped his head. “Then I guess you leave me with no choice. Good-bye.” The door closed softly behind him.

  Angelique slumped back in her seat. That was the last she’d see of Damien. She should be happy instead of miserable. So why wasn’t she?

  * * *

  Damien arrived back at his office building, after being out all morning with appointments and his visit to Angelique, to find the place buzzing. Claudette had called a meeting of all the executives. Entering the conference room with portraits of members of the illustrious Thibodeaux family mounted on the wall staring solemnly down at them, Damien saw Maurice sitting next to Claudette and grinning like he’d just won the lottery. So much for him getting the boot. Any other man would be knee-deep in dung, but Maurice always managed to come out smelling like a rose.

  “Gentlemen, please be seated.” Claudette stood at the head of the long, oval table. Maurice sat confidently to her right. “Thank you for coming. I know this meeting is on short notice, but I felt it was important.”

  Her hands splayed on the polished cherry tabletop. “This company has been in business for eighty years, growing from two employees and a payroll of one hundred dollars a week to over a hundred employees with a payroll in the millions. This was not accomplished without hard work. Your hard work and those who came before you. Many of you worked beside my father to build this company into the nationally known insurance brokerage firm it is today. I thank you.”

  Claudette paused as the men and women seated around the table acknowledged her thanks with a nod of their heads. “With the passing of my father, I’m sure many of you wondered about the direction and leadership of Thibodeaux.”

  Damien saw Maurice’s grin widen. Please, no! Damien thought. Don’t give that asshole any power.

  “Thibodeaux will continue as my father would have wished, with honor and integrity.” She placed her hand on Maurice’s shoulder. “My husband and I ask your cooperation and diligence in this matter. We pledge to work tirelessly to assist you in any way possible.”

  Damien put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud at the perplexed look on Maurice’s face. Whatever he’d been expecting Claudette to say, it wasn’t a pledge for him to work hard.

  Claudette smiled serenely down at Maurice. All eyes centered on him.

  “Of course,” he finally said.

  Claudette patted Maurice’s shoulder as if he were a little boy who’d just said his Easter speech all the way through without faltering. “That’s all, ladies and gentlemen, and remember, my door is always open to listen to any concerns you might have.”

  The executives left much happier than when they had arrived. As soon as the door closed, Maurice turned to Claudette, his face mottled with anger. “I thought you were going to tell them that we were going to work together.”

  “But I just did,” Claudette said, her brow puckered in puzzlement.

  “Not as your partner!” he almost yelled. Damn it, he wanted that partnership.

  “That will come later. If I made you a full partner when all the executives are aware that you’ve been less than energetic with your accounts, it would not have gone over well.” She placed a hand on his tense shoulder.

  “Thibodeaux was founded and has grown because of a strong work ethic and the principle of employees being rewarded for their dedication. Unfortunately, your actions in the past weeks have tied my hands. But once you show them how hard you’re going to work, they’ll accept your partnership and, more importantly, your leadership. Don’t you agree?”

  “I guess,” he said reluctantly, his expression belligerent.

  She continued to smile at him. “Simon will pick us up at six. I’ll make reservations at Brennan’s, if that’s agreeable.”

  “All right, I’ll see you then.” Maurice left with a vague sense of unease, which he quickly shook off. The woman hadn’t been born who could outsmart him.

  fourteen

  No matter how much her mind wanted to wander, how badly she wanted to get up, Angelique sta
yed glued to her chair. She was getting two pages done tonight if she had to sit at her computer until morning.

  She twisted in the padded seat, her fingers poised over the keyboard, ready when her brain decided to gift her with some eloquent words that would make Dr. Jones, her advisor, nod his gray head in approval and marvel at her wisdom.

  Nothing came. As for wisdom, as she’d told Kristen, she didn’t feel very wise. And again, it was all Damien’s fault.

  What she was feeling was antsy, restless, and very annoyed. It had been building all afternoon. He could have tried harder. What kind of man looked at a woman like he wanted to make a feast out of her, then calmly accepted her not going out with him?

  Her hazel eyes narrowed. He probably did it on purpose. He knew she was attracted to him; he’d faked her out. “The bastard!”

  Too angry to sit any longer, she came to her feet. She’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. He was probably laughing with some scatterbrained bimbo who’d been born with a platinum spoon between her perfectly capped teeth. Well, Angelique didn’t need him. She could forget him like that! she thought, with a snap of her fingers.

  Sighing, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her frayed cut-off jeans. It wasn’t working. Positive thinking only went so far. What she needed to do was focus. Nothing had ever stopped her from doing so before.

  Pulling out her chair, she was about to sit down when she heard the doorbell. She didn’t have to look at the computer clock to know it was a little after nine. She’d been watching it like an anxious mother hen waiting for her chick to hatch. The chime came again.

  Could be another grad student or Kristen. They hadn’t seen each other that day. Angelique started toward the door. Hopefully, Kristen was having better luck with Rafe. One of them deserved to be happy.

  Reaching for the lock, she put her eye to the peephole. She frowned on seeing a young, blond woman in a white uniform with a train case. Angelique’s hand paused on the lock. “Yes?”

  “Miss Fleming, I’m here for your appointment,” said the young woman.

  “You have the wrong apartment,” Angelique said.

  The woman referred to a three-by-five-inch card in her hand. “Angelique Fleming. River Place, apartment number 267. Isn’t that you?”

  Angelique didn’t know whether to be concerned or not. Was this some type of scam? “What was the appointment for?”

  “A manicure and pedicure,” came the reply.

  Damien. Fumbling with the locks, Angelique jerked open the door. “Who set up the appointment?”

  “I did.”

  Angelique whirled to see Damien, arms folded, lounging against the wall, looking positively mouth-watering in a black suit. And she looked like crap. Her cut-off jeans were frayed and faded; her black Xavier sweatshirt had bleach stains splattered all over it from an unfortunate laundry debacle months ago; her hair was piled on top of her head like a schizophrenic bird’s nest.

  He came upright. Casually, he picked up her hand and studied the oval shape of her short, unvarnished nails. “What color did you have in mind?”

  Angelique came out of her stupor and snatched her hand away. These days she didn’t have time to get her nails done. “What are you doing here?”

  “Seeing that you get a manicure.” His mouth twitched. “I thought of a pedicure after my experience in your office. You wear heels all day.”

  She would not be swayed by his thoughtfulness. “I can do my own nails.”

  “But why not indulge in some pampering?” he coaxed. “My gift to you.”

  “Because I pay my own way,” she said. It was extremely important that he understood that.

  He reached in his pocket and handed the silent, watchful woman several bills. “It seems your services aren’t needed, after all. Thank you.”

  She stuffed the money in her pocket without looking at it. “Thank you, Mr. Broussard.”

  “Aren’t you going with her?” Angelique asked as the woman walked away.

  “What do you think?” he asked, his gaze searing her.

  She could be incensed or sensible. “Well, come on in. We’ve given the neighbors enough to talk about.”

  He stepped over the threshold, stopped, and stared at the books and periodicals scattered over the room.

  “Sorry.” She closed the door. “Since I started working on my dissertation, they seem to multiply.”

  “Don’t apologize. Reminds me of my law school days. I work best in chaos.”

  She nodded, folding her arms across her chest. “Would you like something to drink?”

  He shook his head, his hand lifting toward her face. She stilled, but his hand went to the clamp on the top of her head and released it. Hair tumbled down her back. He caught the lustrous strands in his hand, then threaded his fingers through them.

  She shivered. “Uh … you want to sit down?”

  His hand massaged her scalp. “No room.”

  She moaned, feeling her eyes drift closed. “I can … I can…”

  “Yes.” His mouth touched hers, heat and hardness, demand and patience. She felt herself tumbling, whirling in the storm of his kiss as it swept her up.

  His hand closed over her bare breast beneath her sweatshirt. Her body quivered. She moaned. “Damien.”

  “Yes.”

  He bowed her over, his mouth kissing her harder. Her hand clutched his head, pulling him closer even as her legs wobbled. She knew she should be pushing him away but she couldn’t.

  He lifted his head, his breathing ragged. “I want you.”

  Need clamored though her. Her nails bit into his shirt. “I can’t.”

  “Your body says differently,” he said hoarsely.

  “I don’t let my body rule me.” Drawing on all her strength, she managed to step back. “And if that’s all you came for, you can leave.”

  His dark eyes went flat, then he pulled her back into his arms. “Trust is going to be hard for us and it’s my fault.”

  After a second, she put her arms around his waist. “If you’re expecting an argument, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  He kissed her hair. “I disagree. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  Angelique melted a little more against him. “You must be a dynamite lawyer.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, his hand making slow, lazy strokes up and down the curve of her back.

  “That persuasive tongue of yours.”

  She felt him smile. “So where are we going for our first date?”

  “I’m supposed to be writing my dissertation,” she told him, enjoying the erratic beat of his heart against her cheek.

  “I’m supposed to be going over contracts for a multimillion dollar deal.”

  Her fingers stroked his chest, toyed with the buttons of his shirt, then regrettably moved on. “Damien, I don’t know if we’re good for each other.”

  His thumb and forefinger lifted her chin. His dark gaze bore into her. “The same thought entered my mind, but here I am.”

  “Here we are.”

  His head drifted down and he kissed her, his mouth persuading her, then he stepped back. “Since you can’t decide, how about dinner tomorrow evening? I’ll find a place that’s quiet and you won’t have to worry about dressing up.”

  “Damien, I’m not going to your place.”

  “Couldn’t get that one by you, huh?”

  She smiled because he was smiling. “Pick another place—one more public—with the same features and I’ll be ready at eight.”

  “I’d better leave before you change your mind.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Get back to writing.”

  She walked him to the door. “Good night.”

  “Good night and just so you know, I wanted the manicure to be something nice for you, nothing more.”

  The sincerity in his eyes and voice pulled at her. “I guess I over-reacted.”

  “See you tomorrow night.”

  She closed the door and wondered—what had she do
ne?

  * * *

  Angelique desperately needed to talk.

  Just after Damien left, while her heart was still beating wildly, her body still tingling deliciously from his touch, Angelique called Kristen. The man had scrambled her circuits and made a mockery of her plan to dislike him.

  It was quickly agreed that they’d meet for breakfast at Angelique’s place. She’d cook. Her housekeeping might be the pits, but she could cook her behind off.

  Shortly after seven Wednesday morning, Angelique and Kristen sat down to a huge breakfast of grilled ham steaks, scrambled eggs, hash browns, grits swimming in real butter, and biscuits light enough to float off the plate.

  “Where do you think Damien plans to take you tonight?” Kristen asked, slicing into the ham.

  “I haven’t the foggiest.” Angelique grimaced, her spoon poised at sprinkling brown sugar over her grits. “I spent an hour last night after he left trying to find just the right outfit. I’m still undecided.”

  “Black is always in order,” Kristen told her. “Or wear that white satin wrap blouse over cropped black pants or a sexy black skirt, lots of gold or silver jewelry, heeled sandals. The barer the better, but that’s not what’s bothering you.”

  Angelique propped her elbows on the small kitchen table. “I like him. I really like him. I know this could end badly, but it’s like I’m rolling down a hill toward a precipice and I can’t stop myself.”

  “I’m rolling right beside you.” Getting up, Kristen topped off their coffee cups, then retook her seat. She was as comfortable in Angelique’s kitchen as she was in her own. “But I have to admit, even if I could stop, I wouldn’t. Rafe needs me.”

  “At least you have an altruistic reason. All I want to do is jump Damien’s bones,” Angelique said, disgust in her voice.

  “If that’s all, why didn’t you?” Kristen asked. “You had the perfect opportunity last night.”

  Angelique opened her mouth, then closed it. “Beats me.”

  “I’m the last one to try and analyze what you’re feeling, but I’d say you want something a little more meaningful with Damien, something that’s built on mutual respect and trust,” Kristen told her. “You got off on the wrong foot and you’re smart enough to realize that jumping into bed with him at this point will just make things more difficult, not easier.”