Brutally Beautiful (34 page)

Bingo!  At least, I knew her name and where she worked.  I had time.  I didn’t need to accost her then.  I could figure out my plan of action before I approached.  Now remember, at this point, I was just intrigued, wanted to get to know her more.  It’s this phone call that just came through on her phone that put me flying over the edge and dying to have her.

I listened, impressed, to her conversation. “Yes sir.  Yes sir.  I understand,” she said, nodding as she put the food into her car.  “Of course, I follow.  You want me to pick up a dozen roses and a necklace from the jeweler here and drop it off to a hotel prior to coming back to work.” 

Kathryn rolled her eyes and leaned against her car. Then she floored the fuck out of me.  “How about his?  How about I pick up the roses and the necklace and drop it off at your house—to your wife—with a note that says, ‘I’m sorry I’m a cheating bastard; I’ll stop--” 

The caller on the other end apparently cut her off, because she stopped abruptly and let him finish.  Kathryn shook her head aggressively and said, “No, you listen.  Fire me if ya want. I’ll have a new job tomorrow morning.”

Kathryn looked around, realizing for the first time that she was yelling.  She lowered her voice an octave and continued “I’m one heck of a literary agent, and you know it.  Your flailing agency needs me more than I need it….and I’m pretty darn close with Beckie Foster, our HR director.”  With that, she hung up her phone, reached inside her car, and then put more quarters into her parking meter.  Damn, this woman was good. 

The people who I know, people I’ve known and admired my entire life, don’t do things like that, standing up for the underdog.  They don’t speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves; they mostly just turn the other way, ignoring the pain and problems of others.  They certainly don’t take it upon themselves to right the wrongs of the world; ultimately they just add to them.  At least in my experience that’s just what people do. 

I wondered where she was off to, now that the meter was full of change again.  Then for the final time in that short time, she shocked me again.  Kathryn Howell got into her car and drove off, leaving a full two hours on the meter for the next person who parked in that spot. 

I needed to meet her.  I had to meet her.  I was going to meet her. 

Granted, I said that I was swearing off women for the time being.  I’ve actually been
womanless
for over a year now.  And when I say
womanless
, I mean without any female companionship at any time, zero, zilch, nada.  I mean nothing.  Let’s get really real here, I haven’t even experienced any form of pleasure in over a year either—not even the manual kind.  Before you even think to ask, I don’t have a problem; there isn’t an issue.  I just know that right now, at this time in my life, a woman, a relationship would complicate my life even more.  And let’s lay it all on the line, my life is a total cluster-fuck of chaotic shit right now.

*****

But I cannot deny it; I’m going to fight the good fight to meet and woo one Kathryn Howell, literary agent, and quick-witted wonder, right into bed, her bed.  And today’s the day.  I’m currently standing outside of the Seaside Literary Agency awaiting our “chance” encounter. 

Kathryn goes to lunch at approximately 1:10 p.m. every day, except for Friday, when she skips lunch and leaves work at 4:30 p.m. instead of 5:30 p.m.  I’ve spent the good portion of the last month studying my new favorite subject:  The Social Behaviors of Kathryn Denise Howell.  I’m just eager to add “anatomy” to the lesson plan.

Kathryn exits the old, pale mint green building today at 1:15 p.m., later than normal. She looks cute in a bright orange tank top and tan skirt.  Her hair is piled on her head in some knotted, bun thing.  (If I had that much hair, I’d chop it off.) Kathryn is probably a little shorter than 5’5” and curvier than my type.  She’s got really muscular legs, too muscular, I think. 

Lately, when I’ve been looking at them, I’ve thought about how she could probably snap my head off if she gets too excited when I go down on her.  (I plan to chance it anyway.) Her stems are nice though, shapely, strong, and look really smooth.  I want to touch them—tonight.  

My plan is to casually ask her for directions to Battery Park, seem perplexed, and then use my Dre Donley charm to convince her to show me the way there, while making it seem like her plan all along.  We’ll go to the park, talk, laugh, and then I’ll persuade her to meet up with me tonight.  Finally, I’ll nail her and get her out of my system, so I can focus back on the shit storm that has now become my life.  It’s probably not the greatest plan or well-devised plan, but it’ll work.  Bedding a girl isn’t all that tough. Women are usually pretty easy—even when they’re trying not to be.  Kathryn Howell looks like she needs it too, so it’s a win-win.  I’m doing her a favor and vice versa.   

Kathryn is quick to her car, so I have to pick up speed to catch up to her.  As soon as I approach her car, she closes the door and turns the key in the ignition.  It doesn’t start.  She tries again.  The engine won’t roll over; her battery is dead.  Perfect.  Here’s my shot; I can ditch the lame “lost tourist” routine. 

I walk over to her car and give her my best line. Wait for it, and go: “Car won’t start?” just as she opens the door. (Brilliant, wasn’t it?)

“Yeah it will; it’s just a fun game I like to play, pretend the car doesn’t start and trick strangers on the street,” she says sarcastically, and starts rummaging through her purse.  “It’s really fun.  You should try it sometime.” 

“As much as I’d like to play games with you, Sugar, I’d rather help you out,” I say as I take her phone from her and disconnect the call she was making.  Clinched it.  Kathryn’s blue eyes are staring up at me in awe.  I’ve seen this look a hundred, no scratch that, a thousand times, right before a chick agrees to go home with me. 

“Oh wow, hot stranger, should I take my panties off now or would you like to do it for me?” she asks, rolling her eyes, and grabbing her phone back as she gets out of her car.  “I have a freaking dead battery.  I need jumper cables and a jump—not that kind—and I’ll be good to go.”

Kathryn turns her back on me, and dials the call again.  I stand there speechlessly, contemplating my next move.  Kathryn taps her nails on the hood of her Bug.  Her nails aren’t painted or manicured, bitten down to the nubs.  How could this girl have entranced me so?  Then she says, “Hey there, it’s Kathryn. I’m not gonna be able to make it today; my car won’t start.” 

Waiting a few seconds, Kathryn then responds, “No.  No, I’m fine.  Just tell Jose to write another 1000 words this week, and we’ll work on all of it next week,” she turns around and frowns when she sees that I’m still standing next to her. Then she says, “No, I’m sure.  You’re too sweet.  Thank you,” and ends the call.  Kathryn puts her phone back in her purse and starts walking back to her office. 

“Wait a minute,” I say, before I even realize I’m stopping her.  “Aren’t you going to get your car jumped?”

Kathryn turns around and looks at me, almost like it was the first time she actually saw me.  She walks in closer, definitely crossing over into my personal space.  “Why do you care?” she asks, eyeing my suspiciously.

Kathryn’s got me, because I really have no idea. Why do I care? What is it about her that has me so drawn to her? This was not going so well.  I was definitely not on my game.  Maybe that’s the problem, I never saw her as a challenge, but this is the hardest I’ve ever had to work.   And I mean ever.

Stammering, I say, “I thought I could help you find someone with cables and jump your car for you.”

“Well, that is awfully nice of you, kind sir,” she says in the most fake Southern accent I’ve ever heard. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about jumping a little ole car.” 

Shaking her head and frowning, Kathryn adds, “I mean how could a woman even attempt to put the color-coordinated jumper cables on the positive to negative chargers all by her silly old self?”  Kathryn flutters her eyelashes and then fans herself, dramatically.  Holy shit.  She doesn’t want me.  She’s not at all charmed by me. 

Game on.  “Positive on positive.  If you put the positive on the negative,” I say, walking in closer, our bodies nearly touching, “sparks will fly.”  I hear her gasp. Nice, there it is.  I got her. 

“Oh will they?” she asks, countering me.  “From my experience, something that heats up that quickly…fizzles out…like that,” and she snaps her fingers in my face.  Shit, this girl is good.  Kathryn may need laid way more than I do.  She is one big ball of pent up sexual frustration.  I love it. 

Right before she enters her office, she turns and says, “Hey Casanova, you wanna help me?  Be here at 5:30 p.m. tonight with jumper cables, so I can jump my car…by myself…and go home on time…by myself.” 

*****

It’s 5:31 p.m., and Kathryn Howell hasn’t left work yet.  How do I know?  I’m sitting on the hood of her car, waiting for her. See, I’ve got a few connections in Charleston, and the main receptionist at the Seaside Literary Agency was putty in my hands when I told her that she had beautiful hair, as I twirled it around my fingers.  She willingly and eagerly retrieved Kathryn’s keys from her purse when Kathryn was in a meeting with her boss.  I cannot wrap my brain around the fact that women can fall all over you, even when they know you’re interested in someone else. It’s beyond me. 

As for the car, all I had to do was check under the hood for what kind of battery she needed, swing by an automotive store, get a battery, and replace it.  I returned the keys to the secretary. (I also gave that dim-witted receptionist a sweetgrass-woven rose. Never make enemies when unnecessary.) Now I’m awaiting Kathryn’s arrival—and appreciation.  And I am really ready for her appreciation.

When I see her come out the door, my face lights up; hers grimaces.  I decide to strike first, “Hi honey, how was work?”

Kathryn shakes her head, and says, “Where are the jumper cables, big guy?”  Big guy?  She has no idea—yet. 

“Didn’t get any,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, pretending not to care. 

“Then, why’re you on my car?” she inquires.

“Seemed like a great spot to rest…cozy and all,” I say, sliding to one side of the hood of her VW Bug.  “Care to join me?”

“Listen, I need to get home.  I’m not sure what game you’re playing at, but I’m not interested.” 

As she starts scrolling through her phone, a truck pulls up next to hers, and an older man rolls down his window.  “Do you think I’m close enough?”

Kathryn looks relieved.  “Nah, you need to pull in front of my car...I’ll go ahead and pop the hood.”  She unlocks her car, and turns to me, “Could you at least move, so we can get my car jumped?”

I nod and hop down off her car.  As she leans inside the car to pop the hood, I turn to the man, and say, “Thank you sir for your help, but the car’s fine.  She doesn’t need it jumped.”  He eyes me, and waits for her confirmation or explanation.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, looking at me. “Warren, don’t leave. It won’t start.”

“Why don’t you give it try, before you spend all that time moving his car and hooking up the cables,” I suggest.  Kathryn glares at me, squinting her eyes suspiciously. 

“Alright Casanova, what’d you do?” Kathryn asks, as she slides into the driver’s seat.  She puts the key into the ignition, turning it as the car hums and comes to life.  Still glaring at me, she leans out of the car, and says, “I’m sorry to hold you up, Warren.  Thanks for offering to help.”  Warren looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and waves to Kathryn before pulling out of the space. 

Kathryn kills the engine, gets out, closes the door, and walks over to where I’m standing. “First of all, thank you.  I’m not sure what you did, but you obviously did something.” 

I start to cut her off, when she raises her finger to hush me. “Secondly, I’m not sleeping with you.”  Kathryn quickly shakes her head, lowers her shoulders, and says, “Third, I’d like to buy you dinner to thank you for your help.”

Kathryn walks around to the passenger side of the door, and opens it, motioning for me to get in.  I have to be honest; I’ve never had a girl open a door for me.  I’m not too sure I like it.  I can almost feel my balls shrink up and hide.

“Fourth,” she says, after I’m in, “I have pepper spray in my purse, and I will blind your ass if you try to kill or rape me.”  Kathryn taps her purse as if to emphasize what’s inside.  Then she walks around to the other side of the car, gets in, and says, “And finally, I’m not sleeping with you.”

“That was number two,” I remind her, smirking.

“And it’s
also
number five…repetition for emphasis,” she says, and pulls out of the parking spot.  “Where to, Car Fairy?”

“Seafood.  I’m hungry for some seafood,” I reply, turning toward her. “You pick the place,” I say, smiling at her. 

“Perfect,” she says, “I’ve got a coupon for Sam’s Seafood Bucket.”

Damn, she’s cute.  “By the way, I do have a name.”

“I’m sure you do,” she says and turns up the radio. 

*****

The hostess leads us to a table on the patio, overlooking the marina.  It’s as hot as balls, but I’m not about to complain.  Every single one of my senses is in overdrive.  I can’t stop looking at Kathryn, especially the fullness of her ass, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts.  Have I ever liked a nice, round ass before?  Damn.  This chick’s got me all mixed up. 

All I can think about is getting her in bed, which makes walking behind her difficult and discomforting. When the air conditioning was cranked in the car, I was getting wafts of her scent, making my mouth water.  I’m not sure if cinnamon sugar and vanilla is an actual scent, but that is exactly what she smelled like.  My thoughts kept wandering to my tongue on her skin, behind her ears, down the back of her neck.  I was more than thankful that the air conditioning was blasting me in the face; I needed a cool down. 

Honestly, I could’ve done without the sense of sound though.  A Taylor Swift song came on the radio, and Kathryn belted it out like she was auditioning for
American
Idol
.  The only time anyone would ever see or hear her on
Idol
is during the outtakes—when those poor people get axed in line before the real auditions even begin.  Sight and scent were becoming my new favorite senses, but I’m not an idiot, I know that once taste and touch get in the game, they’ll take the ball right past the goal line.  Score!