A Taste of Honey (5 page)

Judy entered her office. She glanced at the envelope. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ve decided to leave.”

“I can’t work with him, Judy. He’s impossible.”

“Fair enough.”

“I feel so darn low.”

“Hey, so you lost your job. It’s not the end of the world. You’ve still got me.”

She smiled. “Yes, thank God. We’ll always be mates.” She took a deep breath. “I’m thinking about taking a holiday. Nowhere special. Just get away and get my head right.”

“Sounds the way to go. A holiday always makes me feel good.”

“I hate him.” The words were out of her mouth before she could control them. Whatever would Judy think of her now?

“That’s a trifle strong.”

She’d gone too far to stop now. “He’s mean and authoritarian and arrogant and bull-headed and selfish, and, and — ”

“And the boss,” Judy finished for her. “Cheer up, Charli. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe you’ll find the job of the century and laugh about this as the joke of the century.”

“Oh, Judy, don’t throw me platitudes. Not from you, it’s too damn much.”

She laughed. “Sorry. How about lunch? My shout. I’ll take you to Flower Drum, your favorite Cantonese restaurant. You can stuff yourself with crab meat vermicelli clay pot and seafood rice paper rolls.”

Charli’s mouth watered at the thought. “You sure know how to tempt a girl.”

“I know the way to your heart is through your stomach. I’ve never known a girl to eat as much as you and still stay slim.”

“It’s in my genes. And there’s no way I can resist the wonderful food of Flower Drum. Count me in.”

“I’ll book just to be sure. See you at one.”

Charli pressed the intercom. “May I see you, Mr. Knight?”

“Yeah, sure. Come in, Honey.”

She flicked off the intercom and poked out her tongue. “Come in, Honey,” she mimicked. “Rude ape.” She took a silent vow not to let him upset her in any way, shape, or form. She’d be cool and sophisticated. Show him what a pearl he was losing.

Picking up her letter of resignation, she knocked once on his door and entered his inner sanctum. He looked up and indicated the chair in front of his desk with his pen. Her top lip curled into a sneer. She despised this man with an intensity that made her want to kick his shin.

Sitting demurely on a chair opposite his, she straightened her skirt, tugging it over her knees as best she could seeing it was a mini skirt and refused to budge more than an inch. She thought about crossing her legs and giving him a glimpse of her long and slim nylon clad legs. She’d love him to stare at them with his tongue hanging out.

She stared at the top of his head as he finished off his paperwork.

“Sorry about this. Won’t be a moment,” he mumbled.

She looked at his hands, strong and surprisingly tanned. She liked them. Her eyes flew to his face, with his eyes downcast toward the paper she could see the clean sweep of his eyelashes and gasped inwardly at their thickness and length.

He’s practically perfect. She searched for a flaw. There had to be something, a birthmark, an ugly mole, anything, she’d settle for a pimple but he was perfection.

Without raising his eyes, he spoke. “You wanted to see me?”

She handed him her resignation. “I think you’ll find this self-explanatory.”

He glanced up at her, the force of his personality italicized by the gentle husky tone and took the proffered letter. “So you’ve decided to leave us?”

Charli suppressed her flash of anger. “I didn’t have that much choice.”

“I was hoping you’d stay. If not in your old position, in some other capacity. It’s nothing personal, Honey.”

Liar, liar.
It was so personal it was a crime. If she wanted she could take him to the discrimination board and fight it out and most probably win. Then what? She’d be working under such dreadful conditions. Him resenting her, she nervous and inept because she couldn’t concentrate on her work, and she’d finally end up either leaving or asking to be transferred to another position. So nothing gained, nothing lost.

“Nothing personal?” she said. “You throw me to the wolves and say it’s not personal. Really, Mr. Knight, I think you live in a fool’s paradise. You neither gave me a chance to show you what I can do, or allowed me time to convince you of my capabilities.”

He was about to say something to her when his phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said as he lifted the receiver. “Knight,” he barked and she wondered if he lacked the capacity to talk civilly to anyone. “Yes … yes … yes … I understand … eight-thirty. Fine.” He disconnected and stared at her in such a way she thought one of her eyebrows had dropped off.

“My uncle’s will is being read tonight.”

His uncle’s will? What was that to her? Why didn’t he simply shake her hand and say her wages would be posted. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said.

“The solicitors request your presence, Honey.”

She pointed to her chest with one finger. “Me?”

“It appears you are a beneficiary.”

“I’m a beneficiary?”

“Honey, you have the irritating habit of repeating everything I say.”

“Sorry. I was surprised that’s all. I didn’t imagine that Mr. Knight would leave me anything.”

He grinned and her stomach did a war dance. “My mother is also a beneficiary but I know she’ll refuse to go. Wills are too final, she tells me.” He chuckled and Charli’s lips responded in a sickly smile. “I’ll stand in as her representative.” He stood and she followed suit. “I’ll pick you up around eight.”

“I can make my own way, thanks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

She mentally shrugged. “About my resignation. I can’t see the point in staying out the week. I’d like to leave at the end of this working day.”

She didn’t want to be here a moment longer than necessary. She couldn’t take the pitying stares of the staff, the rush around to get her a gift. She wanted to leave without any fuss, as if she’d never worked at Knight Books.

“If that’s your choice, that suits me fine.”

Yeah, I bet it does.
Miserable, she walked from his office and slumped into her chair.

That’s that then, a closure of her time at Knight Books. Oh, well, there’s good in every bad. At least she’d never see the smirking face of William Knight again. Oh my God, he was picking her up at eight and she’d have to spend a few more hours with him; misery descended like a pack of wolves.

Never stop courting her.

William Knight stood there, his massive frame diminishing her doorway.
This is the last time I’ll have to see him. After tonight, he’ll just be a nasty memory.

“I’m early. I took the chance that you may be ready.”

“Ready?”

“The solicitors.”

“Solicitors?”

“Honey, maybe you should see someone about that habit of yours.”

Reason restored, she drew back, embarrassed, flustered, her heart beating painfully in her breast. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite ready. Would you mind coming in?”

“Not at all.” He pushed past her and entering the living room, threw himself into a large sofa chair.

She followed him into the room. “Can I offer you coffee, Mr. Knight? Something stronger?”

“Coffee would be great. And for the record, my friends call me Will. If it’s challenging for you to be that personal, call me William. Calling me mister makes me feel ancient.”

She didn’t answer him, but he was correct in his assumption that it would be difficult for her to call him by his first name; it was far too intimate. It automatically stopped their association from being what she wanted to keep it, totally detached. And as far as calling him Will, well, there were quite a few names she’d have liked to call him.

She tilted her head. She could be adult about the situation. She’d show him how she handled the bad parts of her life. With decorum and a deep spirit of womanhood. She had accepted the challenge Fate had bestowed on her and was willing to face whatever lay ahead. Her shoulders sagged. Who was she kidding? Brave words did not a future make. Sometimes it took months to find decent employment. A flutter of panic arose somewhere at the base of her throat. She swallowed. She had her severance pay. That would last a few months if she were extremely careful.

She glanced over at the man sitting casually in her best chair. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Hell, he didn’t. Still she supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. “I’ll make the coffee … Will.”

He grinned. “See, Honey, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Smart aleck. Her chin went up, anger rising. She tossed her hair. “My mother always told me to be polite, even to people I don’t like.”

He had the cheek to laugh long and hard. Her blood bubbled in her veins. Wasn’t there any way she could outdo this man? She craved to get the better of him, to have that final sweet soul-salving triumph of seeing him brought to his knees.

The room dissolved …

Sitting behind a desk at Knight Books, Will approaches me, hat in hand, no, falling to his knees in front of me, begging for his job. “You can take a severance package or stay as toilet janitor, the choice is yours, buddy.”

He takes my hand inside his and drags me down to the floor beside him. With a sigh, he clasps me to him, his lips pressed on mine with a demanding kiss of such passion and delight that every hair on my body stands on end and —

“Maybe I should make the coffee, Honey?”

The dream dissolved. “What?”

“You were staring at me like I had two heads.”

Yeah, and both of them magnificent. “Sorry. I’ll make it now.”

• • •

An hour later, she was walking into the solicitor’s office with Will. At the lateness of the hour, Alex Jordan was alone. He greeted them and ushered them into his office.

“Thank you both for coming,” the solicitor said needlessly. As if for some odd reason neither would be interested in what Malcolm Knight’s will said. She, for one, was bursting to find out what Mr. Knight had left her. It had to be money. Her stomach sank. Oh God, it wasn’t that awful painting his wife had done at art class still hanging on his office wall. The one Charli had always pretended to admire because she knew it had pleased him for her to do so.

Will settled into a chair on one side of the room, and Charli chose a chair on the other side, as far away from Will as humanly possible. “Besides my mother, are we the only beneficiaries?” Will asked.

“Yes.” Alex Jordan sat behind a huge desk, donned horn-rimmed glasses, picked up a legal looking document, and cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”

They both nodded.

“This is the last Will and Testament of Maxwell George Knight of 278 Bellbird Crescent, Kew, in the State of Victoria.

“I hereby revoke all Wills heretofore made by me.

“I appoint Alex Jordan, of Jordan, Smith & Willis, Solicitors at Law, as my executor and Trustee of this, my Will.

“I make the following specific Bequests: That my sister-in-law, Ester Knight, be left my house in Kew along with all my personal belongings.

“That my business Knight Books and all my monies be left to my nephew, William Malcolm Knight.”

“That my Chief Editor, Charli Elizabeth Honey be left $20,000.”

Charli let out an audible gasp. “Mr. Knight has left me $20,000?”

“It appears so, Miss Honey,” Alex Jordan replied.

“Wow, that’s a tidy sum,” Will said, glancing at Charli. “What did you do to get him to leave you $20,000?”

Charli drew herself erect in her chair. “What are you suggesting?”

He shrugged. “Why would he leave you such an amount? Unless — ”

Her face grew hot. The insufferable moralistic germ. “Unless I slept with him. Is that what you’re suggesting,
Mr. Knight
?”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “No, of course not. I just wondered that’s all,” he finished lamely.

“The relationship between your uncle and me was strictly business.” She glared at him. “The same as is between us, and will always remain between us for as long as God grants me life.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dram — ”

“Miss Honey, Mr. Knight, if you please. It’s late and I’d like to get home.”

They both apologized.

• • •

They barely spoke on the way back to her flat. “Can I come in for coffee?”

“I see no need for further conversation, Mr. Knight. We’ve said all that’s necessary.”

He ignored her. “There’s something I need to say to you and sitting in the car isn’t the right place to do it.”

She shrugged her consent.

He silently followed her up the path, inside the building, up a flight of stairs, and inside her apartment. She walked into the kitchen. He followed suit sitting on a hard-back chair at the kitchen table. She took the cups and saucers from the cupboard and made coffee. Shuffling some chocolate-coated biscuits onto a plate, she placed the steaming mug and plate of biscuits in front of him. She took a seat opposite him.

Will shifted on the edge of his chair and Charli’s eyes went to his powerful, firm, well-shaped thighs. Dragging her eyes away from them to focus on his beautiful eyes, Charli said, “What is it you want to say to me?”

“I want to apologize for my bad behavior in the solicitor’s office, Honey.”

“Stop calling me Honey.”

“That’s your name.”

“My name is Charli or Miss Honey.” She squirmed in her chair. He noticed her discomfort and grinned.

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“It’s only a name.”

“It’s the way you say it.”

“How do I say it?” That infuriating smirk.

One day, so help me God, I’m going to wipe that smirk right off his face.

“Syrupy.”

“As in honey, Honey?” He laughed at his own weak joke. Really, this man was the limit. One moment he was as serious as a judge passing a life sentence and the next doing a poor imitation of Groucho Marx.

“I like women’s names to sound like they belong to women. I like my women feminine.”

“And you think I care?” she said. “This is so typical of you to assume that what you like everybody else automatically should like.”