by Nia Arthurs
“Is that a threat?”
I folded my arms and planted my feet in response. I was twenty years old and had been through way too much in my short stay in America to lose my job over some jerk that bumped me in front of an elevator and his persnickety receptionist-body guard.
“I’m not going anywhere until you help me.” I spelled out to her, in case she missed the message in my body language.
Smiling all the while, she said, “suit yourself,” before gesturing to two big burly security guards standing watch over the door. Panic bubbled in my stomach but I held it down with false bravado. As the men drew closer and loomed larger, I hurriedly tried to appeal to her once more.
“Please! I’m not kidding. He has my notes!”
She ignored me. The officers were upon me now. Miss Sunshine beamed as she spoke. If anyone would judge the situation from the outside they’d think she was giving me a birthday gift. But unless those two big security guys were strippers, I highly doubted that Ms. Perky and I would be exchanging presents any time soon.
Ms. Sunshine addressed the officer who stepped forward, “Simon, would you escort this young lady outside. Thank you.”
Simon, the burly guard to my left dared to put his hand on my arm. I felt the power in his big paws and felt frightened down to my toes. Okay, now I knew these men weren’t exotic dancers. Simon and I stood stock-still, locked in place as he, Burly Guy #2 and Ms. Sunshine waited to see what I would do next. Our little four person soap opera was beginning to draw attention. People were staring, Ms. Sunshine’s gaze bore through me with that clinically insane grin of hers and all I could think was: I am so going to get fired.
Finally deciding that I wasn’t a threat, Simon loosened his hold on me and tilted his head toward the door, “Come with me, ma’am.” He commanded in a gentle tone.
Scared and embarrassed, I turned to follow him until Burly Guard Numero Dos decided it was his turn to put his hand on my arm. Like as if I hadn’t gotten the message.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” I ground out between gritted teeth. Simon and I had a connection going. At least he offered his name before trying to manhandle me. I didn’t even know this guy! Technically, I didn’t know Simon either, but that’s beside the point.
Shrugging off Guard Two’s heavy hand, I continued toward the door with my head held high. I would have walked through those automated doors too. I would have left and figured something else out, and I would have done it with grace, class, and dignity. But at that moment, Mr. Hunky Businessman entered. This time, he was dressed in a white long sleeved button down shirt, no tie, black pants, and expensive looking brown loafers. When I saw him, grace, class, and dignity indeed went out the door, but they left without me.
Before the guards could react, I dashed toward Hunky Pants.
“Woah, hey!” Simon yelled recovering quickly and racing after me. America really had done a number on me. This was my second time sprinting away from the law in less than 48 hours. Unfortunately, Simon and his muscled friend were in good shape unlike El Mullido from the Subway station. My short legs were no match for their leggy stride. Plus I had on my zebra print strappy heels today so I wasn’t exactly sprinter ready. Simon quickly caught up to me and grasped me around the waist as if to restrain me.
Woah, at least buy me dinner first, dude.
I saw Mr. Hunky Pants walking confidently toward the elevators on the other side of the room. He was getting away!
Frantically, I elbowed Simon in the hoinky-toink, wincing apologetically as I did so. He let me go in order to nurse his manliness, and I took that opportunity to wiggle free. I zigzagged through the crowd until I stood directly in front of Sir Hunky.
“Sir,” I called, out of breath, feet throbbing. Before I could continue, Burly Guard #2 grabbed my arm roughly and tried dragging me away. Hunky Pants surveyed the scene with disinterest, as though short Belizean women chased after him every day.
“Ma’am, you need to come with us.” Burly Guard #2 commanded gruffly.
Ha, as if I were falling for that one again.
I rushed to explain as Burly Two hauled me away,
“Yesterday, you knocked into me. Our papers got mixed up!”
I wriggled one arm free and stuffed it into my purse to pull out his papers as evidence.
“She has a gun!” One of the onlookers yelled.
Pandemonium broke loose. High-heeled professional women kicked up their feet, picked up their skirts and rushed for the exits. Impeccably pressed business suits got wrinkled as men pushed their way to get out of the line of fire from the crazy woman with the gun. Mr. Hunky Pants stood stock still, but his eyes were wide. I noticed Simon barreling toward me with a strange looking stick. I struggled against Burly Guard #2, “It’s not a g-”
My words slurred as I convulsed with the dance of the Tasered.
CHAPTER THREE
A warm hand gently pulled my hair from my face. I smiled in the hazy in between of sleep and consciousness. The gentleness of the touch reminded me of when I was little and my father would tuck me and my sisters in for the night. He’d tell us “supposedly” made up stories about three princesses who lived with their kingly father and queenly mother in a beautiful castle. Daddy always described the adventures these princesses would have in such detail that we knew he was speaking about us. The princesses went to Faith and Grace Primary; they had Belize’s Next Top Model competitions on Saturday afternoons; they cried when the baby alligator that lived in their drain moved away. Those events were pretty unique to Eryn, Alexi and I. After the story, Daddy would strum a song or two on his guitar, rub our heads in that tender way, and kiss us good night. It made me sad to think that I’d outgrown such sweet ministrations. I wonder when I’d decided I was too grown up to be Daddy’s princess.
I heard a rustling of fabric, the thud of shoes on a hardwood floor. The sounds tugged me toward consciousness. As I began to regain my faculties, I noticed a throbbing pain from the meatiest part of my calf. My eyes fluttered open and the events of the morning flooded back. I shot up, quickly and instantly regretted the action. Nausea swept my gut.
“Wh-where am I?” I groaned.
Footsteps hurried back in my direction. Through my fog of pain, I saw a pair of fancy looking Oxford shoes. Then the shoes’ owner stooped down to eye level.
It was Mr. Hunky!
My breath hitched.
“You!” I accused, though it came out as a croak. My body flooded with anger. This entire fiasco was his fault. If he hadn’t been so darn attractive and arrogant, I would have noticed the switched papers. I never would have marched in here looking for him. I wouldn’t have been tasered, for Heaven’s sake, an unbelievably unpleasant experience. And I wouldn’t have fainted. I am not a fainter. Until today, I had never fainted a day in my life.
“Miss, you should calm down.” Hunky Pants instructed. His voice, when it wasn’t full of rudeness and condescension was extremely deep and velvety. I hated myself for noticing that.
“Don’t-don’t tell me what to do.” I voiced stubbornly.
He only looked at me with those deep, deep brown eyes. I hoped I hadn’t drooled during my brief bout with unconsciousness. If I was anything like Missy, I’d be sporting a string of saliva from here to Antarctica. Quickly, I licked my lips just to be sure, noticing how his eyes dipped to them when I did so. Um… okay then.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
Eyes up here mister, I meant.
He shrugged and rocked back on his feet as if to move away from me.
“No more than a few minutes.”
“How did I get here?”
I questioned as my eyes surveyed the room. I was reclining on a plush black futon sofa in a moderately large office. The walls facing the city were made of glass and displayed the majesty of downtown L.A. in all its frenzied glory. A large wooden desk with a plush black leather swivel chair stood in front of those windows. Slanted at an angle were two facing wingback chairs. All in all, a ver
y nice set up.
Mr. Braden looked uncomfortable when he said, “I carried you.”
A shiver ran down my spine at the thought of being in his arms. Even unconsciously. I sat up, feeling a bit less hazy. A knock came at the door.
“Mr. Braden?” (Ah that was his name) A stylish twenty-something woman walked in holding a cup of water.
Mr. Braden –not Hunky, Braden- accepted the cup from her.
“Thank you, Tiffany.”
Tiffany shot daggers at me with her eyes. What had I ever done to her? I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue at her well made up face.
Mr. Braden (see I’m getting it) handed the cup of water to me. As I grasped the glass, my fingers brushed his long tapered ones. I shivered again. Probably side effects from the Taser. Why did these crazy things keep happening to me?
I drank silently, feeling awkward and shy as Mr. Braden studied my face and said nothing at all. I had no idea what he found so fascinating. Of my three sisters, I was the most plain. My parents had obviously improved the batch with time, for the first one had come out of the oven quite unadorned. My mocha brown skin was still recovering from my teenage bout of acne. When I was in my teens, I never went anywhere without foundation and powder to cover up the dark marks. The humidity and heat in Belize meant the makeup always came off with sweat so I’d learned to embrace my flaws and go face-naked. My eyes were a regular shade of brown that grew a bit lighter in the sun. I had a slightly big nose and regular sized lips. I did have a dimple but it was in an awkward position on my jaw. Freaky, like God was playing darts with my face when He was dishing out the dimples and mine landed at that awkward place.
Probably the only thing remarkable about me was my hair. I’d relaxed my hair when I graduated primary school at twelve. When I was fifteen, my aunt convinced me to cut off my relaxed ends and return to my true hair texture. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. I loved my loose curls and my hair had grown quickly. It now almost reached my waist when straightened. Of course, natural hair is a pain in the butt to maintain so today I’d simply thrown my misbehaving mane in a bun and called it a day.
Still, Hunky-Mr. Braden, I mean, studied my face.
“Uh-” I finally spoke when I could take no more of his perusal. Clearing my throat, I continued, “I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday.”
He nodded, “I do.”
That stumped me for a bit. I powered through the awkwardness of this entire experience and pointed out, “Well, when we collided, the contents of our bags got mixed up. It seems you have some very important documents that I need.”
He blinked at me.
“Like now.” I stressed, suddenly feeling tired. I’d been yelled at, tasered, and carried in the arms of one of the most spectacular male specimens in the history of the world. I so needed a nap.
Hunky-Man stood. I craned my neck to peer at his face.
“It’s not here.”
Now it was my turn to stare at him.
For the love of stilettos.
“What do you mean they’re not here?”
He shrugged and walked to his desk. He picked a frame from the surface then put it back down.
“Your documents, they’re not here.”
I could feel the heat building in my chest.
“Well then, where are they?” I bit out.
He rounded the desk and sat down in his swivel chair.
“At home.” His calm, fluid tone paired with a feeling of impotency over this new turn of events gave my temper enough energy to run away from me. I rose and stomped over to his desk. Slapping my hands on the table, I leaned over so he could hear my every word,
“Look, Mr. Suit, I am a Belizean woman who has just been tasered, rough-handled and yelled at. I am so close to going full crazy on all of you today. And if you cause me to lose my job so help me I will explode right here in your swanky office.”
I expected a witty comeback. An argument. A surreptitious call to Simon the Security Guard’s cell phone. Something! Instead, one side of Mr. Braden’s lips tilted in a ghost of a smile. It was the most attractive thing I had ever seen. I simultaneously wanted to slap the expression from his face and make the grin grow. The guy planted his hands on the desk inches from mine, and stood to meet my stance.
“Come home with me and get it.” He said softly. His warm breath washed over me. It smelt like mint. He was even more handsome up close. I tried not to think about all of the acne scars he could see from his proximity. Then my brain registered his words. The way he’d said them. This man couldn’t possibly be… flirting. Could he? No, that couldn’t be right. People who looked like that didn’t flirt with people who look like me. Unless they were in high school and got dared to do it. Don’t get me wrong, everyone is beautiful in their own way. But this man was beautiful in every way.
“No.” I blurted hoarsely, but it sounded like a squeak.
His eyebrows shot up. “No?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“No.”
He frowned.
As shame crept up my neck and infused my cheeks, I began nervously babbling.
“You could be a serial killer. I don’t even know you. So going home with you isn’t a good idea. At all. And anyway, even if you’re not a mass murderer, I’m not that kind of girl, you know. Well, I guess you don’t because you don’t know me. I mean, I’m sure you didn’t ask me that as a come on to have sex with you. Not that I wouldn’t want to have sex with you. But I just believe in marriage and all that jazz. Not that I want you marry me. Unless you want to marry… me… I think I’m going to shut up now.”
I slapped a hand to my mouth in horror. I knew I had a brain-to-mouth filter problem but geez, you’d think I could keep it together now. I was twenty years old for heaven’s sake! It was past time to get over my social anxiety symptoms from high school.
But Mr. Hunky Pants did the weirdest thing. He laughed. Rich and belly deep. I tried to chuckle along so I could fit in, but I still wanted the earth to swallow me up.
I am the most pathetic, embarrassing, shameful…
By the time Hunky-Monkey stopped laughing, I had successfully berated my mouth into submission.
“Please, I only want to help. You can wait here, while I get your stuff from home. But I would greatly enjoy it if you’d come with me.”
“Ugh…” I wavered. I knew nothing about this man besides the fact that he was incredibly hot. Plus I was in the breeding ground for the craziest psychopaths and serial killers in the history of Lifetime Movies. I wasn’t stupid. But again, he was hot.
“I’ll come if my boss comes too.”
He agreed readily, “Sounds good to me.”
I nodded, noting hesitantly that something in the room had shifted… somehow. I undoubtedly was physically attracted to this man, but I sensed that he sort of liked me. Not in the physical, I-want-to-eat-you-with-a-spoon way or in the sleazy way that the Maladon Resorts man had tried to come on to me. But somewhere between getting tasered and blurting that I wouldn’t mind sleeping with him if we were married, Mr. Braden opened up to me a little. The realization filled me with a heady sense of privilege. I got the feeling this stoic businessman didn’t laugh with just anyone.
Mr. Hunky Pants straightened to his full impressive height. He had to be above six feet. I was a measly 5”3’ but even with my heels on it was still a stretch to look him in the eyes. He held out his hand,
“I’m Spencer Braden, by the way.”
I grasped his palm and a shock of electricity travelled up my arm. Ridiculous. I hope that was only in my head.
“Melody Reyes.”
“Melody,” he repeated, but the way he said my name, like he had tasted it with his tongue made me look away.
“It suits you.” His voice rumbled. I quickly snatched my hand from his. His touch, his voice… it was overwhelming. I need some space.
“Yeah, okay, let me just call her.”
I pu
lled out my phone but I was so off kilter, I accidently pulled out the stop assisting my brain filter as well. I just started talking and I couldn’t stop. My brain retrieved all the Missy information I’d stored over the last year since she came to work at BTB.
“You’ll love her. Her name is Missy. Much prettier than me. She has like this amazingly straight black hair and she’s all tall and willowy. She won like fifty pageants back home. Total beauty queen. Literally. I think she was Miss February in the Belikin calendar…”
Mercifully, Missy picked up before I could convince the man to propose to her. Unless I’d accomplished that one already.
“Missy, hey,”
“Did you get the notes?” She shrieked.
Well, hello to you too.
“I’m working on it.” I responded instead.
“You only have a few hours left to get this done, Melody.”
“I know. I know. It won’t take me long. Listen, I need to pick you up. Get dressed.”
“What, why?
“Just do it.”
“Fine. I’m not at the apartment though. I’m at Target.”
“Target? Really Missy?” I hissed.
“If they’re firing us, I might as well make the most of this trip.”
I have no words.
“Stay there and we’re going to pick you up.”
“Wait. Who’s we-”
I ended the call. That woman… ugh.
I turned to Hunky… Spencer.
“She’s at the Target near the Maladon Apartments.”
He nodded.
Okay, Mission Get-Notes-Back involved an extraction from Mr. Braden’s house, summaries in hand to e-mail to my supervisors, and finally to rescue my job from the hands of the cold Mr. Thomas.
My mind already in spy zone, I barely heard Hun-Spencer until he was right behind me.
“Hey,” he touched my arm lightly and I turned to find him closer than I’d expected, “Whoever she is and whatever she’s won, I doubt she’s more beautiful than you.”
It took me a while to figure out he’d been talking about Missy. It took me even longer to recognize that he’d just complimented me.