Enticing An Angel

Enticing An Angel

Leo Charles Taylor

Published by Jokat Publishing

Copyright by Leo Charles Taylor 2014

"I still think you're up to something,"
Michael said to his mother as he pulled the car off the city street
and into the small office complex.

He took a minute to look for a parking spot,
frowned, and then audibly sighed. The lot wasn't large, as it was
surrounded by several city buildings of various age and
construction, but he would have to park away from the entrance and
closer to the street and sidewalks.

A big deal attorney and he can't have
spots reserved up front,
he thought.

"Michael, why must I always have a secret
motive?" his mother asked.

"Cause it's you, Mom," he replied casually.
"Besides, you have a tell. You always get overly descriptive when
you have a secret agenda. You didn't just tell me that we had to
sign papers for your estate. You went into all the reasons why it
had to be me, why it had to be today, and why it had to be at this
time of day." Michael paused, thought for a moment, shook his head,
and then had to ask a question.

"What's her name?"

While his mother thought about her response,
he pulled the car into a spot adjacent to the street just under a
large overhanging tree. He put it into park, shut off the engine,
and turned to her. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Jennifer," she said finally.

"Ah, Mom," Michael said as he shook his head
and rolled his eyes.

He should've known this was the case.
Actually, he did know. It was just disappointing for him to have
the confirmation. He sighed and fumbled about for his cell phone
and prepared to get out of the car.

"Michael, don't give me that attitude. You're
thirty-five years old, and it's about time you settled down," she
commented.

Michael looked at his mother skeptically, and
once again, shook his head. She wasn’t a cruel woman, but she was
nearly sixty and had gotten to a point in life where she meddled a
little too much into the lives of her adult children. At least she
was holding up well. She was healthy, certainly mobile, and her
hair was mostly white, but that was usually the case with natural
blondes as they aged. However, while she was not cruel, she was
determined.

"I am settled, Mother," he responded. "It's
not as if I'm getting drunk every night."

"You know what I mean. I have five sons and
not one of you is married; and I want grandchildren," she replied
in a firm tone.

"You have grandchildren," Michael replied
with an eye roll.

"Yes, and I love those two kids dearly, but I
want more. Besides, it pains me to see my boys without women in
their lives."

"I think Nathan and Joshua would disagree
with that notion," Michael said as he hung his head and thought
about the pain his two younger brothers had endured. His youngest
siblings were ten years his junior and had been through more hell
with women than any man should have to endure.

"Watch yourself, Michael," his mother said
coldly; she did not like being reminded of the torment her youngest
children had experienced.

Michael looked up suddenly and realized he
had just taken a caring and concerned woman and angered her. It had
momentarily escaped his mind, but he now remembered the hell his
mother had gone through with those two sons—one a widower with
children, the other turned cold and aloof from the mental abuse of
a sick wife. Michael didn't respond verbally to his mother's
request to behave, but he did rein in his animosity.

"Which building is it?" he asked as he looked
through the car windows.

"The one on the left," she said as she
pointed across the lot to a two story red brick building with large
tinted windows. The front doors were constructed with matching
glass and brass accents. Michael pursed his lips and nodded with
respect.

Pretty spendy
, he thought; his job as
an architect allowed for a finer appreciation of the expensive and
subtle additions to the building.

"All, right. Let's get this over with," he
said as he tried to get out of the car.

"Hold it, little Angel," his mother replied
sternly. "You better behave in there. I need my estate paperwork
finished correctly. I also need you to perform your role as
executor and fill out your documents properly; and when you meet
Jennifer, I expect you to be polite."

"I'm always polite, mom. If you wanted
someone to be rude you'd have invited Brian."

"Brian's not rude, he's just..." she paused
for a second, and then held up her hand as if she were a police
officer attempting to stop traffic."You know, I'm not going to get
into this with you."

She put her hand down and returned to topic.
"Jennifer's a nice girl. She's your age, she's a paralegal, and I
think the two of you would hit it off. I’m not demanding that you
ask her for a date. However, I am asking you to take a good look at
her and consider her as a candidate. I was impressed with her, and
I think you might be as well."

"I already said 'all right.'"

"Yes, but I need you to be nice and give her
a chance," she said, and then sighed with exasperation. "Honestly,
Michael, I have no idea why you're not married. You make good
money, you have your own home, and you're a good-looking man. Most
women drool over men who are six foot tall and muscled."

"Well, my looks do get me a big discount with
the sex workers," Michael replied in a teasing tone.

He figured if his mother was going to force
this situation on him, then he might as well find some way to enjoy
it. His mom was not impressed and scolded him. She did not like the
idea of any of her boys seeing hookers.

"Sex workers, mom. They're called sex
workers," he corrected her with a smile, and the look she gave him
told him he needed to back off once again.

"Okay," he finally said in order to placate
her. "I'll be nice."

"You'd better be," she said sternly. "Or
else."

"Or else what, mom?" he asked curiously.

His mother didn't even pause.

"Or else we will finish this paperwork, get
my estate in order, and I will make certain your four brothers know
that I want to spend my golden years living with you and no one
else."

Michael had joked with his mother just a
moment ago, and she had taken him seriously. He could only hope
that she was joking with him now, but being a prudent man, he
decided not to take a chance. He just smiled and reached for his
door handle.

"Mrs. Angel, I’d be happy to have you live
with me. However, you may not enjoy the living arrangements. I plan
to have a wife by that time."

"Good, boy," she said as she reached for her
own handle.

They exited the car, and Michael smiled as
the warm sun hit his face. Seattle often had sunny days that offset
the more common overcast ones, and he was happy to be out of the
office today to enjoy the pleasant weather. He took his mother's
arm as they made their way to the offices and once again assured
her that he would behave. It was then an easy walk through the
building lobby, then a suite door, and into a small but pleasing
reception area.

The reception area was nothing ostentatious,
but it did have leather furniture, a few ferns, and the magazines
were up to date. Michael grabbed a Seattle City Guide and perused
the upcoming events; he wondered if there was a new symphonic
performance or odd theatre group in town.

"Mrs. Angel?" Came a soft and pleasing voice;
Michael looked up at the request for his mother. To his left, and
halfway through an open door, was a well-dressed and smiling woman
hanging onto the doorknob as she leaned into the reception
area.

"Jennifer," Mrs. Angel replied. "It's good to
see you again."

"Thank you," Jennifer replied. "We're ready
for you, if you want to come on back."

"Of course," Mrs. Angel replied as she stood
to join the woman. "Oh, and this is my son, Michael." She pointed
to her son as he stood to greet the paralegal properly.

Jennifer took the time to fully enter the
reception area and shake Michael's hand. He had to raise his eyes
in admiration as she did so. Whatever his mother's motives, he had
to admit that she had good taste in women. Jennifer was neat in
appearance, possessed a warm smile, and genuinely appeared to be a
pleasant person. She also appeared to be business oriented, and he
could read very little about her other than a sense of
professionalism. Jennifer finished her greetings and then led them
into the main offices while speaking on simple matters such as the
weather and local culture.

"Michael, I saw you reading the city guide,"
she said. "Do you go out much?"

"From time to time," he answered. "I enjoy
the Act Theatre and the musicals throughout the city."

"Oh, then you might enjoy Jazz Alley. Have
you ever been?" she asked as she opened the door to a stylish
conference room and motioned them inside.

"No, but I've been meaning to go sometime. Is
it nice?"

Jennifer nodded her head, and then offered
him information regarding shows performed and the food that was
served. Mrs. Angel took her seat at the oak conference table,
discreetly nodded her head in Jennifer's direction, and widened her
eyes.

See, I told you so
, she seemed to say
to Michael as he took a seat opposite her.

Michael and Jennifer conversed for a few
minutes, exchanging notes about restaurants and theaters. They
seemed to have quite a bit in common; each of them was familiar
with many of the same places, and they had to wonder how they had
never met before. Mrs. Angel smiled when she heard that
comment.

"Ah, sorry to keep you waiting," a man said
as he entered the conference room and closed the door.

"You must be Michael Angel," he stated as he
extended his hand. Michael stood and took it politely.

"I'm Thomas Lane," he said, "and I'll be
handling your mother's estate. I'm glad you could make it
today."

Michael was about to reply when the door was
pawed from the outside and then gingerly opened. He looked over to
see a woman making her way into the room with arms so full of files
that she had to open the door with her hip, or her foot, or
something. The only thing that Michael was certain of was that she
probably didn't use her hand.

"Other room, Melanie," Thomas said, and
Michael could hear the frustration from the man. He could also see
the eye roll as he had spoken to the woman entering the conference
area.

"Oh sorry, Mr. Lane, I thought I was at the
correct door," Melanie said as she turned about and tried to make
her way back to the hall.

As she left, she attempted to use her foot to
close the door, and Michael stared wide-eyed at the woman's
efforts. He almost laughed aloud but held in his reaction. To him,
the scene was hilarious.

Melanie was a little squeak of a woman,
perhaps five feet and a few inches with medium length brownish-red
hair. She was dressed oddly—not bad, just odd—and seemed out of
place in a lawyer's office. Her clothing had an artistic flair to
them, and while the colors blended well, they didn’t speak of
absolute professionalism. The task she currently chose to tackle
appeared to be an attempt to make one trip instead of two, and she
was determined to succeed. It was the ultimate determination to be
lazy; and as she fought the door with her foot, she hopped
backward. It must have been an effort to hook the door and then hop
into the hallway in the hopes that the door would follow; it did
not.

"Here, let me get that for you," Michael
finally said with a chuckle. He had tried to keep his mirth in
check but failed. Fortunately, the other three people in the room
were too dumbfounded by the actions of Melanie to notice his
amusement.

"Oh, thanks," Melanie said as she turned on
her heel and left quickly.

She didn't even seem to care if the door was
actually shut, nor did she care to make much eye contact.
Determination had taken hold of her, and she left to continue with
her mission.

Before Michael could shut the door, Thomas
called out, "Melanie, bring coffee back here when you get a
minute."

Michael could hear a chirp of a reply; he
wasn't sure if it was even English. However, when he looked back
into the room, Mr. Lane seemed satisfied; Michael just chuckled and
shut the door.

Files were then opened and papers were handed
around the table. It was all very boring to Michael, but he played
the dutiful son, paid attention, and interacted when needed. When
the passing of his father was mentioned, along with the settlement
of that particular estate, he reached across to his mother and
squeezed her hand. She gave him a kind look, and Michael knew she
felt reassured.