Just One Night. Part 1 (4 page)

I stretch my lips into a polite simile of a grin. “Off you go.”

“But … but … what about you? And the work?”

“I have the charity ball to attend as you well know, since I believe you’ve committed my entire schedule to memory, and you have probably a hot date to attend to.”

She shakes her head. “Please don’t fire me. I promise, I won’t interfere in your love life ever again.”

A sliver of guilt niggles at me, enough so that it’s annoying to remain silent over the whole thing. “Yes, right … about that … I wanted to thank you, actually, for your assistance in the matter. I have found someone to accompany me to the charity ball as a result of your due diligence in that department, so I thank you for your efforts at keeping me from becoming …” I look over at my computer and read the infamous text message from last week. “…
Old and wrinkly all by myself without any friends or anything.”

She drops her chin to her chest. “I wish I could shrivel up and die right here on your floor.”

“No, no. Please don’t. The carpet is silk. Go shrivel up and die somewhere else.” I wave her away and go back to my computer. I have several more emails to dispatch before I leave for my date.

“Sir?”

She’s not going to leave until I acknowledge her. I turn and look with an eyebrow up. “Yes?”

“Did you just … make a joke?”

I lower my head so I can see her over my dratted reading glasses. “No, I’m entirely serious. Please do not die on my carpet. It’s imported from China.”

She clasps her hands in front of her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Stratford. Thank you
so much!”

“For what?” I mumble as I read the latest email from a very important client.

“For not firing me. For being a good sport. For … everything.”

I ignore her, too busy responding to a mini crisis to worry about assuaging her nerves. She has the weekend to figure it all out and I’m too busy to coddle anyone.

Once I’m finished assuring my investor that all is going according to plan, I stand, take my jacket from the hanger behind the door, and leave my inner sanctum. Heads around the office turn to watch me leave as I stride down the path through the cubicles, and several people look at their wristwatches.

I smile to myself, deciding then and there that keeping the employees on their toes should include varying from my schedule from time to time. I don’t want to become too predictable, now do I? Success is a very powerful drug, I’m finding. Everything is going according to plan and I can’t stop smiling for the life of me. I’m positively chuffed.

The doors to the lift slide open to reveal the totty from the sixteenth floor. My mood deflates just a tich.

“Well, hello there, William. Headed off early today, are we?”

I do my best to smile without encouragement. “Charity event this evening. Have to go pick up my tuxedo.”

“It isn’t by any chance the Pink Ribbon Gala, is it?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” Dread fills my heart as I realize what her question means. So much for anonymity in a big city. I can imagine this woman accosting me at the chocolate fountain and never leaving my side. With her around, getting to the interesting part of my one-night stand will become entirely more difficult than I anticipated, and that just won’t do. I’ve been thinking about this night all week, and I find myself actually looking forward to it inordinately. I must be coming down with a touch of the fever. Thank goodness it’s only a one-off.

“Oh, wow!” she exclaims with way more enthusiasm than any charity ball deserves. “I’m going to the gala too! I’ll see you there, I guess.” She grins big and winks at me, looking me up and down.

Thank goodness I already have a date. Her expression tells me that working in the same building somehow gives her claim over my time and my person. Thankfully, the doors to the lift slide open on the ground floor before the conversation can go any further.

“See you later,” she says, pausing just outside the doors.

“Indeed,” I say, nodding once and then striding past, happy that I had the forethought to ask the doorman to bring my car round. We part ways when she heads towards the garage access door.

A quick shower and change has me in my tuxedo and out the door of my downtown flat by quarter past six. I pull up to the Starbucks on Beacon at exactly half past. My eyes scan the pavement in front of the store, searching for Medusa, as I’ve come to call her. My gaze skips right over the woman who approaches the vehicle until she leans down and looks in the window, giving me a lovely view of her ample bosom.

“Please tell me you come from Hammerwoods,” she says.

At first my voice doesn’t quite know how to function. The first thought that comes into my head is that she’s a damn liar.
Attractive
is the world’s largest understatement with regards to her person.

Luckily, I keep my wits about me. “It’s Hammer
smith.
And you would be Medusa, I presume?”

She opens the door and gets in. “What happened to Dream Girl?” she asks, grinning at me.

My heart stops beating for just a moment, long enough for my mouth to catch up to my brain. Then they all begin functioning together and it’s a mad rush of words that feel as though they’re fighting to get out.

“Well, I suppose it’s an apt description but it hardly seems fair to use it now.”

“Why?” She’s still smiling.

“On account of the fact that your head will swell, won’t it? And then I’ll have to work twice as hard to please you.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re lazy.”

My sudden onset of nerves disappears and a smile comes unbidden in their wake. “Never in my entire life has that moniker been assigned me.”

She looks me up and down, her smile slipping. “You’re wearing a tux.”

“Indeed I am.” I shift the car into first gear and pull back out into the city traffic.

“I’m underdressed.”

“Not for long,” I say mysteriously. I had thought about this part of my plan a lot this week, and now I’m terribly pleased to have put it into motion. This will make her a very happy girl and, consequently, me a happy man. I can already tell the sex is going to be outstanding. There’s just something about her …

“I thought we were doing a little extra on this date,” she says.

“We are.” I glance over at her to see that her smile has slipped even more. She seems nervous. It makes me more confident. I don’t know why I feel the need to impress her so much, but I do.

“Going right to bed isn’t really what I was talking about when I said doing more things, but if that’s the way you want to play it…” She sighs.

I reach over and pat her on the thigh, instantly admiring the softness that is revealed through the thin material of her business skirt. “Not to worry. I have everything taken care of.”

She says nothing as I withdraw my hand and put it back on the steering wheel. The interior of the vehicle fills with an awkward silence. Perhaps I moved too fast touching her so soon.
Drat it to bits.

“What kind of car is this?” she finally says, saving me from self-flagellation.

“It’s an Aston Martin.” I shift smoothly into fourth gear as we move uptown.

“That’s James Bond’s car, isn’t it?”

I sigh, a little embarrassed over my father’s extravagance and wicked sense of humor. It wasn’t my first choice as a company car, but it came with the flat. “Yes, I am the quintessential Englishman, I’m afraid.”

“What’s your name?” she asks, sounding as if she’s going to laugh.

“Bond. James Bond.”

And then she does laugh. It’s a musical thing, and it makes me smile in response.

“It’s William, actually,” I say, embarrassed to have fallen into calling myself a fictional character. Could I be any more ridiculous? No, I’m afraid not.

“Do you have a last name?”

I look over at her for a moment as I try to judge her thoughts. “Are we doing last names?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I guess not. William is good. I’m Jennifer by the way, not Medusa.”

“No, most definitely
not
Medusa. Nice to meet you, Jennifer.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in hers and shakes it awkwardly, my wrist being bent backwards. “Nice to meet you William No-Last-Name.” She releases my hand and rests hers in her lap. “So where are we going, exactly?”

“You’ll see.” I love the fact that neither of us really knows what will happen next. I’ve never been so spontaneous in my entire life. Usually everything that happens with me, happens for a good, well-thought-out reason and with plenty of careful pre-planning; however, tonight I only have three plans: to get her dressed, get her tipsy, and then get her undressed. My strategy is simple but elegant in its design. Nothing could possibly go wrong and everything is guaranteed to go right, now that I know she lied in her advert. She is definitely not just attractive. She’s stunning, and the best part is, I can tell by the way she talks and carries herself that she doesn’t even realize it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jennifer

WHEN HE PULLS UP TO a boutique, I’m confused. Does he own it? Are we going to have sex in the back room? If he tells me we’re doing it in the display window, I’m going to knock his block off and take a taxi home. This is supposed to be fun, not freaky.

He comes around to my side of the car and opens my door.

“What is this place?” I ask, as I accept his hand and step out of the car, taking pains to keep my skirt from riding up too high.

“Our first step in the journey towards hedonistic pleasure.”

I laugh. “Wow. Did you rehearse that?”

“For a full five days. Come along, so we can go have a chit chat with Claudia.”

I step up onto the sidewalk and follow him to the front door. From where I’m standing I can see fancy dresses inside the store. “Who’s Claudia?”

“Claudia is a designer who makes bespoke items and ready-to-wear fashion. She specializes in formal wear.” He opens the door and gestures for me to go in first.

I step into the quiet place, breathing in the smell of new material and roses. “Wow,” I say, gazing around at all the dresses and pant suits. I know without even looking at the tags that this place is way out of my price range.

“She’s quite talented. She hails from London and is an old friend of the family.”

“William!” a tiny wrinkled woman exclaims, coming from the back end of the store. She swishes when she walks. “Darling! It’s been too long. How have you been?” She’s at least two feet shorter than he is but that doesn’t stop her from reaching up and patting both of his cheeks.

“I’ve been well, thank you, Claud. How’ve you been? One foot still out of the grave, I see.”

She pats him harder on one cheek before letting him go. “Oh, you’re a scalawag, just like your father.” She sighs and looks him up and down, happiness creasing her already well-lined features. “I’m still alive, that’s true, but my aches and pains grow stronger with every passing year.”

He grins and I fall a little in lust with the way his eye teeth twist over the teeth next to them. The imperfection is entirely too sexy. I have to look away to keep from breaking out in a sweat. My gaze drops to his hands. They’re large but graceful, with long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. Diamond cufflinks wink at me from his nearest wrist. Swallowing suddenly takes effort.

“And this must be your Cinderella,” she says, turning to look at me. Her paper-thin-skinned, heavily-veined hands are soon pressing into my cheeks as watery blue eyes take my measure. “So beautiful. And a size ten if I’m not mistaken?”

“Uhhh, yes. Does that matter?” I’m so confused right now. Am I shopping?

She releases her hands and chuckles. “In my business it does, dear. Come with me, Cinderella. We’ll get you dressed for the ball.” She walks away, disappearing into the back area of the store. I lose her behind some racks of dresses.

I look at William, confusion marring my features. “I don’t get it.”

He gestures out at the room. “Make your selection. It will be my gift to you for our special evening.”

My jaw drops almost to the floor. I close it just in time to keep drool from falling out. “You can’t be serious.” I’m starting to feel just a little bit hookerish.

“Indeed, I am.” He nods once, and I’m certain I’ve seen the exact same gesture from Hugh Grant in a movie once.

“But I can’t accept that from you.”

“Whyever not?” He lifts his eyebrows and waits for my response.

I can’t very well tell him it makes me feel like a prostitute, so I do the next best thing. “Because. I’m a modern woman. I pay my own way for things.”

“Modern women receive gifts all the time and it doesn’t affect their stature in society. And the place I’m taking you to requires formalwear. I don’t believe it’s fair to you to ask you to pay for something you might not wear again soon, and since you will be doing me an immense favor by attending this function with me, I feel it’s only right that I foot the bill.” His eyes soften and his voice goes down in pitch, ensuring we will not be overheard. “Please … do me the honor of accepting my gift. It comes with no strings attached, I assure you. Our deal shall remain as it was. One night only and then we shall say goodbye forever.”

I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch this man. I’m afraid if I do, one of two things will happen: either he’ll disappear in a puff of hallucinated smoke or he’ll be real and I won’t stop touching him until we’re both naked in that damn display window. I’m so ready to get freaky right now. It’s not my fault, though. It’s the accent. I can’t be held responsible.

“Okay, fine. As long as it’s no strings.”

He nods his head and then backs away as Claudia comes up behind me.

“Come along,” says Claudia in a tone that brooks no argument. “I believe I have some things selected that you might find appropriate.”

I follow behind the old woman in a state of half-consciousness. This is a dream. It has to be. This doesn’t happen to normal people. Wasn’t this guy just calling me Medusa? He hadn’t even seen a picture of me first and he already planned this? He’s either completely crazy or the most generous, fun, exciting person I’ve ever met.
Please, God, let it be door number two.