The collar of freedom, p.1
The Collar of Freedom, page 1
part #1 of The Collar Series
THE COLLAR OF FREEDOM
Alexandra Iff
Copyright © 2018 Alexandra Iff
All Rights Reserved
No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses and places are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
To my wonderful, amazing, and patient husband.
You do know eventually you’ll have to read my books, right?
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
“Hurry up, you’ll be late!” Sitting in my silver Range Rover, I look at myself in the rearview mirror, all prepped for work. I press the gas pedal, revving the engine, hoping my brother in law, Thomas, will get the message. Nothing! No one comes out of the house. I unroll my window and shout:
“If you don’t come out right now, I’m leaving!” I shift into reverse and slowly back up from my driveway onto the road, maneuvering my car skillfully, and park on the pavement.
Thomas rushes out from the house and into my car with no apology. Today is the last day of many that I’ll be taking him to work. Actually, to the bus stop and that is as far as I’ll go. He’s picking up his car tomorrow from the garage and I thank God for that! I couldn’t bear anymore of his complaints about my fast driving.
“Buckle up!”
Driving off in my Range Rover like Schumacher, people on the pavement look at me either in admiration or disdain, the latter cursing me and my driving techniques under their breath. I love cars. I love driving fast. Safely, of course, I’m all for safety, but fast. It’s the only thing that I have left, the only thing that gives me life in my sad existence, to be honest. I glance at Thomas again, and sigh. If my sister hadn’t died I may have had a different life now. She was very ill, she knew she didn’t have long so she made me promise to raise her children, Michael and Jason, until their eighteen birthday. I would have done that even if I didn’t promise her, I love my twin nephews dearly. But Thomas is something else. He has been treating me like shit. Like it’s my fault Eliza got a brain tumor and died on him. She died on us too.
My mom and dad are to this day inconsolable, they had not stopped crying, and my only way of coping was diving straight into her life, making sure her children are okay, not thinking about myself. I’d be lying if I said I don’t sometimes wonder what my life would be like if things were different, but then I remember, I have my sister’s children to raise.
“We’re here,” I announce, and stop the car by the bus station. I’m sure he can manage to get from here to Fulham, changing buses, trains, and possibly taxis to get to his studio. Developing his ‘artistic talent’ has come at a high price for me. “Only for a year,” he said when he was trying to persuade me to move with them from San Francisco. Well, it’s been almost three years and we’re still here, Americans in London.
“Yeah.”
He is out of the car in a second and I know that’s all I’m getting. Taking me for granted is his specialty. In fact, I doubt he even knows what I’m doing, or where I’m working, for that matter.
In a bleak attempt to evade my reality I focus on the road again, and seeing the traffic on the A3, I slow down.
Joseph Haydn is on the radio, the Violin Concerto in C major. Instantly, I let the music in, allowing it to infuse my mind, to silence it with a simple track; I listen as I’m taken away; soaring up in the clouds, it feels as if each wonderful note is played only for me. It’s overwhelming at times. But as high as I am, my mind always follows closely and, the moment the track ends an influx of thoughts comes forth, cluttering my day.
I vaguely remember my colleagues’ discussions last Friday about Joanna, our boss. She was asked to leave only a week ago and they’ve already employed someone else to fill her place, an American in his late twenties. We’ve found out he’s contracted to stay with us for only three months and nobody knows for certain why. What’s the rush? They could have found someone perfectly suitable from England, willing to work indefinitely for the company.
I arrive outside the parking lot of the newly built office block in Putney and with my right indicator on I wait, allowing the cars coming from the opposite direction to pass before I enter. Seeing that nobody has any intention of stopping I sharply wedge my way onto the road, hoping they’ll let me through; I’m driving a Range Rover, after all. Of course, my plan works and now the cars agreeably line up while I smirk and leisurely turn into my allocated parking space. I park next to a small grey sports car, and looking at it closely, I realize it’s the Trident Iceni Grand Tourer. Huh, only the best British car on the market. Of course, nobody would know this but me, but like I said, I’m infatuated with cars. I leave my car and, while still staring at the Trident, hurriedly enter the building through the back entrance with a big grin on my face.
In the hallway, the doors of the elevator stand open and I look at myself in the mirror inside, large enough not to be avoided. Walking inside and pressing blindly for the fifth floor I scrutinize the woman in front of me – twenty two years old, with long dark hair ending over the mounds of her breasts and bright green eyes. I’m standing face to face with someone I’ve been trying to avoid lately.
You’re no spring chicken anymore. I try hard to ignore Thomas’s comments in my mind. Your time has passed, Amelia.
I’m not old! I remind myself, only somewhat convincingly.
I reach the fifth floor in less than a minute and enter an office full of people running about, trying to meet deadlines. Jennifer Miles, my colleague, is waving at me from a distance.
“Hurry!” she calls out from the back. I see other people standing in our section and I’m not sure what the commotion is all about.
“Amelia! You’re late! Our new boss is here!” At fifty-something and motherly, I feel like she’s too much sometimes.
“He was going to start today anyway, right?”
“Do you know he’s from San Francisco, too? Maybe you know him,” she says while searching for him, now on her tiptoes.
“I doubt that. San Francisco’s a big city. What’s his name?” I play along.
“Alexander Reeves.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You should have seen the girls in the office when he got in this morning. His good looks and expensive suit threw everyone off balance. They were acting ridiculous, trying to please him, but clearly he’s here for a purpose, not interested in socializing with the staff at all. I mean, for all we know, he might be married. Although I didn’t see a ring on his hand. Still, men these days don’t wear their wedding bands, God knows why. In my time that was the norm, darling. Oh, over there.”
Upon seeing him she gently touches my elbow, and slowly aims it in his direction. It takes me a few seconds to realize what she’s doing, but finally I get it. And all I can see is his back. He certainly stands as if he owns everyone and everything in here. There is an air of deference surrounding him. I only hope he treats us well. Our previous boss was a tyrant. We all hated her.
Engrossed in my own thoughts I realize he’s now in front of me and Jennifer, standing a bit too close, with a slight smirk on his face and extended hand, waiting. He’s gazing at me from under his luxuriant chestnut brown hair with a few streaks of blond in it, long enough to be tucked behind the ears. His shaggy look reminds me of a rock star, definitely not in line with his classy suit. There is someone wild beneath the surface and he’s not trying to conceal it at all. Wow. His eyes, blue as the sky, are sinking into mine, anchoring themselves more deeply than I think is possible. He really is beautiful. I try to say something, I really do. But I can’t; I just stare. Everyone around me slowly fades into a blur and it’s just us, alone, eyes locked together. Blue versus green, and where they meet, a tridimensional portal opens up, exhorting me to dream. His gravitational field is too strong; I’m pulled into him and I feel him touching my elbow, creating a spark—static from the floor surely—but thank God, that’s my wake-up call. I huskily inhale and land back in the office, breaking our eye contact and instantly focus on Jennifer who, by now, is wondering what’s going on.
“This is Jennifer Miles, our Assistant Project Manager,” I say quietly and point to her.
She grabs his hand and smiles broadly; thank God she has better social skills than me.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reeves.”
He nods at her with the same smirk he had for me and, locking our eyes again, I hear his deep voice.
“And you are…?”
<
“Nice to meet you, Miss. Jones.” He takes my hot, clammy hand in his and clasps it firmly, giving me some relief upon touching his cool skin. His unyielding, icy blue stare helps him bypass all my guards and it’s now penetrating deep into my pupils, clouding my eyesight again. Spellbound, I feel an upsurge of passion in my body, it’s simply not possible for one woman to feel all this. What is wrong with me? Embarrassed by my conduct, I lift my chin and return his courteous smile. I know if I try to say something my voice will let me down, so instead, I choose to keep quiet and look away before I’m taken again into his realm. He cannot possibly hold my hand all day; there are other people waiting to meet him. Steven Busfield, the slimy Head of Accounts, is introducing him to everybody and he cannot understand the hold up.
“Mr. Reeves, this way.” Steven gently pushes him towards the procession of people waiting to meet him.
He clenches my hand firmly once again, lets go, and then carries on meeting and greeting my colleagues.
All attention is focused on him, of course, and now that he is torturing some other soul, I look around, happy no one has noticed my adolescent behavior. Jennifer, as well as the rest of the women, is still drooling in his direction so I make my way to the restroom, unnoticed.
As I reach for the door I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding and, after getting inside, I approach the luxurious oval freestanding basin. I turn the tap on; the restroom is unisex and there is always a warning light at the back of my mind that I can be interrupted any minute.
I wonder if I splash my face like they do in the movies, will I smear my makeup? How is that action accomplished without looking like a mess? And if I do, what will Jennifer say? And the others?
I feel the freezing water on my hands. This is good. It brings me down to earth and all the things I should be grateful for. Yes. In touch with my mind, body, and soul simultaneously, only pain and cold can do that for you. I need to get back to the real world, where I’m taking care of my sister’s children. I must not forget that. Until the boys are eighteen, I’m obliged to be around. That’s what she wanted. That’s what I promised. And Thomas is always first to remind me of the fact.
After a short while, with freezing hands and finally steady on my feet, I do one last thing before I go: check my knitted dress, making sure it’s down to my knees as it has a habit of riding up a few inches. Thomas says I’m getting fat, and even though I know he is wrong, I’m very self-conscious.
Happy with how I look, I open the door, and with my first step immediately feel someone’s foot under my stilettos. I freeze when I see him standing in the doorway, looking directly at me, not troubled one little bit that my stiletto is digging into his polished, expensive shoe. Immediately I whimper and step back, away from his tempting charge.
“I…I’m so sorry Mr. Reeves.” My eyes quickly dart to the floor, avoiding his piercing stare. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“That’s okay, Miss...?” He places his hand on my upper arm, reassuring me he is fine and waiting for me to say my name. He doesn’t remember my name? Huh. Why would he remember me? I lift my head, confronting him with my offended stare. I want to be cold and impolite. How dare he not remember my name!
“Miss Jones. Miss Amelia Jones.” I say defiantly and louder this time.
“Ah...So you do have a voice.” A big white grin beams at me and my guard disperses instantaneously. Not only am I under his spell again, but now, with his hand on my arm, I feel his heat on my skin.
I’m totally at his mercy. Our eyes are locked again but, with no words coming out of my lips, I take a step back, making sure I cut off the molten fire oozing into me from his hand, knowing I must leave. Immediately.
“Yes, I do.” I smile awkwardly, focusing on the door behind him, deliberately avoiding his eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Reeves, may I?”
He cocks his head slightly so he can get in my line of sight, but each time he almost locks his gaze my eyes dart to a different place on the door.
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss. Jones?” His low and husky voice makes my knees weak.
“No! I have things to do.”
“I’m not?” Is there a shade of disappointment in his voice? “Then, do you always ask for permission to leave the restroom?”
“Um, no. I mean, you’re standing in the doorway.”
“Oh!” He looks surprised, glancing around him. His lips curve slightly, at his own blunder, I’m sure. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was blocking the exit.” He then leisurely takes a step back, granting me a narrow passage.
Looking at my escape route, I know I won't fit through but I have to leave. I must leave. The way his blue eyes look at me is making me anxious and I can’t think straight. Without any delay I shoot out through the door when I sense something pulling my body back and I hear his voice again, this time louder.
“Miss Jones….!” I turn around and I see my knitted dress caught in one of his suit jacket buttons.
“Oh, sorry... hold on... wait...” Damn my dress! Why did I have to wear it today? My hip is dangerously close to his crotch and I’m frantically trying to free myself from the tangled mess. I jerk my body, avoiding his touch at all cost.
“Miss Jones, please, stay still!” he commands, his deep and firm voice instantly halting me in my tracks, and I obey, standing motionless next to him. My heart races as I sense his fingertips on my body, strictly touching only the dress, untangling me. Suddenly, there isn’t enough air around me, as if his proximity has sucked it out of my lungs. My traitorous body is not helping either, not moving away from him but surreptitiously shivering inside, and my senses flood, intoxicating me. My breasts heave, my heart hammers underneath, and I feel his eyes on me while his deft fingers work their magic. Millions of images play out in my head while his gentle touch brings ripples of ecstasy through my body. I look up and our eyes meet, I’m staring at him, like a prisoner looking outside his cell window, longing for something. I can see him out there playing, wild and free.
Oh, heavens open and take me away from here! I can’t do this anymore. I’m weak. I should be able to hold off temptation easily, but this is just unheard of.
I thank God when he finally frees me from his enchanted hold, breaking our eye contact. He takes a step back and I see that he’s perspiring, too.
He quickly pulls himself together and, looking away from me, almost embarrassed, I hear him say: “We’ll need separate restrooms as soon as possible!”
The door slams in my face and I’m in the bathroom all alone, shocked, and panting. My social skills appear to have abandoned me, yet again. What just happened? I stay still for a few minutes, composing myself, before I decide to leave.
“There you are!” Jennifer intercepts me in the corridor. “Mr. Reeves was looking for you. He wants to see you in his office, Amelia. He’s using Joanna’s old office at the moment.”
He wants to see me again? I bet he loves feeding off my inability to speak in front of him, thus making me look stupid.
“Thank you, Jen.”
My heart is still pounding in my chest from our last meeting. I need it calm before I see him again.
“Amelia, we need him on our side for New York, remember?” She can sense my hesitation. “Go see what he wants.”
The only reason why Jennifer is acting like this is because she wants to travel to New York for Christmas, courtesy of our company, Pinberg Casting Limited. With a new boss around, chances are we might not get the account we’ve been working on for months.
“First, I’m going to have a coffee,” I say, struggling to sound firm. I still haven’t had my coffee yet and yes, I will try anything to get out of the meeting.
“Please, Amelia, for me.” She is persistent. I know she won’t let it go.
“Jen….”
“You can have the coffee later. Please.”
Joanna’s office is at the far end of the floor, cleverly secluded from the noise, and I walk slowly towards it. Being the only office on this floor, with the rest of the space a mix of open-plan desks, it always felt like I’d done something wrong when she would call me in there. This time is no different. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m excited or afraid.
