Charmed (Death Escorts) (9 page)

Chapter Ten

“Breakfast -
The
 
English
 
word derives from the concept that
 
sleep
 
prevents
 
eating
,
thus an involuntary
 
fast
 
occurs during sleep; this fast is broken by the first meal.”

Frankie

The incessant knocking on my door far too early the next morning dragged me out of the steamy bathroom and through my chilled apartment. I hated the morning. I hated getting out of bed at some ungodly hour when humans were meant to be sleeping. But noooo, I had to drag my still half-asleep butt into the DMV where the lines never went away and my boss was likely in her office sticking needles in her voodoo dolls that looked exactly like all of us poor unfortunate employees.

And oh happy day, it was also Monday.

The knocking just wouldn’t stop, and it was beginning to give me a headache, so I rushed a little faster toward the door, tripping over the striped rug and almost doing a face plant into the sofa.

“Hold your freakin’ horses, Piper!” I yelled. “Gheesh. I know I didn’t call you back last night—” My words died off midsentence when I flung open the door and saw it was not my best friend trying to give me hell for a missed phone call.

It was Charming.

I slammed the door in his face and headed back to my bathroom where likely all the nice warm steam from my shower had now evaporated and I would have to finish getting ready in a cold room. Perhaps I would ask my boss if she had any extra dolls so I could pretend one was him and stab it repeatedly with a needle.

The door opened and closed behind me and I stopped, pivoted around, and stared at the man who just let himself into my apartment. Damn, I should have thrown the lock. It was just too early to think of such details.

“I’m sorry, but did you not understand the way I slammed the door in your face?” I said coldly. “It means I don’t want you here.”

“Charming place you have here,” he said, ignoring me completely and walking around my house, looking at all of my things.

“Get out,” I said, flat.

He stopped in front of my wall of Marilyn Monroe and stood looking up at her for long moments. “She was even prettier in person,” he said, still staring at one of the posters.

“You met Marilyn Monroe?” I asked, partially in awe.

He shrugged. “We used to run in the same circles.”

I snorted. “I highly doubt she would go anywhere near you.”

He turned and looked at me. “She liked men. Charming ones at that.”

“You
are not
charming.”

“Your idol thought so.”

The headache that had been forming since the pounding on my door started erupted full force. “It’s far too early to deal with you.” I went to the door, opened it, and then stared at him pointedly.

“Have breakfast with me.”

I looked at him like he had fifteen heads and not one of those fifteen had a brain. “Are you on drugs?”

His white teeth flashed when he smiled. “Get your coat.”

I looked at myself. “I’m still wearing my pajamas.”

He looked at my sleep pants and T-shirt pointedly. “Oh, is that what those are? I can’t tell the difference between your day clothes and these. Both are equally ridiculous.”

My mouth fell open. Then snapped shut. Then fell open again. “What did you just say to me?” I growled.

“Time’s a wasting. Wouldn’t want you to be late for work,” he said, pointing at the insanely expensive watch on his wrist.

Of course even at six a.m. he looked completely put together wearing dark trousers, black shoes, and a navy-colored crewneck sweater (probably cashmere) with a white T-shirt beneath it, and topping it all off was a black wool coat. Even his hair was perfectly styled to look effortlessly messy.

“You’re completely insane if you think I’m going anywhere with you,” I said, still holding the door.

He came over, and just when I thought he’d finally gotten the hint and was taking his sorry butt out the door, he stopped, grabbed the door from my grasp, and slammed it closed.

“We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way,” he said softly. There was a dangerous note to his voice. “You can come willingly or I can drag you out of this apartment by that blond hair of yours.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I seethed.

“Try me.” He glared back.

We stood there glaring daggers at one another until I sighed. “Fine. But you’re buying me a coffee with caramel. And whipped cream.”

He smiled; it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“Ugh! Put those white teeth away. It’s too early for me to have to see that.”

I swore I heard him laughing when I walked away. I didn’t bother to look back on my way to my closet, but I did yell over my shoulder, “Oh, and I’m going to need a donut! A big one.”

*    *    *

He took me to the Dunkin Donuts not far from the DMV. He wouldn’t let me drive, saying he knew the minute I got into my Jeep I would speed off into the morning and he didn’t feel like having to hunt me down.

Of course I was angry and hurled insults at him the entire time he was shoving me into his car. But once he shut the door behind me and I sank back against the buttery soft leather of the seat, I decided that maybe riding with him wouldn’t be
that
bad.

He was driving a Porsche Cayenne, a crossover SUV that I knew probably set him back at least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was white with a butter-colored leather interior and boasted upgrades such as heated seats (in the front and the back), navigation, surround sound, satellite radio, interior ambient light (which was actually rather soothing to my headache), and a freaking heated windshield. I didn’t even know you could heat a windshield.

I stopped checking out everything the minute he opened his door and slid in. The last thing I wanted him to see was that I actually liked his car. Then he might start thinking I liked him. Which was never gonna happen.

“Do me a favor and say nothing,” I said as he turned the car on and the seat warmer began to spread heat throughout my back. I wanted to sigh in pleasure.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my Jeep and it was great in the snow, but it wasn’t luxurious at all. I mean my windows
zipped
open and closed. This car was just pure luxury.

To my surprise he actually did as requested. The ride to the Dunkin Donuts was just too short. I actually found myself wishing it were further away so I could sit here longer, in the heat and leather with the soft hum of classical music playing in the background. Even after he parked and climbed out, I sat there, not ready to deal with whatever reason he dragged me out to breakfast.

In truth, I was exhausted. I didn’t get to bed until late because I’d been at that stupid charity ball and it took me an hour to get home. Then I tossed and turned half the night. I kept dreaming he was putting his hands all over me, and his lips… His lips were in places I actually never wanted them to be. So I would wake up frustrated and annoyed only to fall back asleep and have it happen all over again.

I was still committed to ruining his plans and hopefully run him out of Alaska to never be seen again, but I was also hoping for a little space, a little time to get over my embarrassment over how my body responded to him last night.

He opened the car door and leaned in, his face just inches from mine. “Did you plan on getting out?”

“Ugh!” I said, pushing his face away with my hand. “I was trying to avoid you for as long as humanly possible.”

I followed him inside where amazingly the line wasn’t that long. I usually avoided coming inside on the way to work (I opted for the drive-thru) because it was usually insanely busy. I went ahead of him in the line and ordered the biggest caramel coffee they had and one of the giant coffee rolls that looked fresh out of the oven. I didn’t bother to stand with him while he ordered but left him to pay and wandered down the line where an incredibly fast barista handed me my coffee. “Bless you,” I told her.

I took my coffee and went to sit by the window, hoping I could people watch instead of listen to whatever it is he dragged me here for. A few minutes later he came over and dropped a paper sack in front of me, along with several napkins. He sat down and popped the lid off his black coffee (gross) and then unwrapped a sandwich that appeared to be made on wheat toast and consisted of egg whites and ham.

“Are you one of those freaks that counts every calorie they put in their mouth?” I asked as I dug out the giant coffee roll and took a huge bite.

“Clearly, you are not.”

“My breakfast tastes better than yours,” I sang and took another bite.

“Food is fuel. Not… enjoyment.”

I ignored him and savored my sugar.

“When were you going to tell me we were invited to lunch?” he said after a few minutes.

I choked on my coffee. “How did you know about that?”

He gave me one of those looks that would cause lesser, healthy-eating girls, to run away screaming. I just sat there and waited for him to get to the point.

“Call her. Make the date for this week sometime,” he demanded.

“If you think I’m going to help you—” I began, sitting up a little straighter.

“I wouldn’t need your help if you hadn’t involved yourself in my business, befriended my Target, and told her I was gay!” he growled over the rim of his coffee.

 “You know what they say,” I told him. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Maybe you should take that as your cue and leave.”

“What part of this is my job do you not understand?” he ground out. “Do you think I want to be here in this reject of a place? Do you think I want to be sitting here with you? I don’t have a choice. I do this job or…” His words fell away and I leaned forward.