Illicit acollection, p.3
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 3
She cleared her throat. “That’s me. I’m Effie D’Archangel.” She removed her reading glasses and tucked them in her pocket.
Her gaze drifted under her desk where that video clip sat poised on a still of the woman’s ass. She nudged it further out of the way with the toe of her sneaker.
“This is Suzette Blackstone. Can you come down to the Financial Aid office? There’s an issue we need to discuss.”
“Issue? What kind of issue?” she squeaked.
Effie started to stoop to pick up her device from the floor, but Ms. Blackstone snapped, “Come now and we’ll fill you in.”
“Um, okay. I’ll be right there.” Distracted by the summons, she hung up the phone, and scurried around the corner toward the door to the back office.
Mrs. Schneider sat at her desk, typing on her keyboard. She looked up. “Can I help you, Effie?”
“Yes, please. If you don’t mind, would you watch the desk for a few minutes? I have to go to the financial aid office. They called. I’ll be quick. Right back.”
Mrs. Schneider pushed away from her desk, smoothing her pantsuit jacket.
“I’ll be out in two secs. I just need to use the ladies’ room.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Your shift is almost over, anyway. I can cover for you, and you can be done.” She smiled.
“Thank you,” Effie said. “Thank you so much.” She rounded the corner right as Todd leaned across the counter.
Balanced on his chest, he stretched his arm across her desk and retrieved a pen.
“I’ll give it right back,” he said to Effie.
And then his gaze landed on her phone on the floor.
She froze.
“Shit. That’s hot.” He turned his head and looked at her, smirking, before calling over his shoulder, “Hey, Roy, look at what Effie watches in her spare time.”
Roy sauntered toward the counter.
Effie scurried toward the device, stooped, and snatched it up.
“What I watch is none of your business,” she said. Sweat covered her face and neck. Her cheeks grew so hot she thought she would explode. She hurried toward the front door to the tune of Todd and Roy hooting and laughing.
Outside, she scurried across the damp green grass, dodging sprinkler spray, heading for Building B, where Financial Aid was located.
Can this day get any worse? As she hurried along, she closed the browser with the Saucy Lady website. I’m never looking at that again, at work or at home.
She tugged open the door to Financial Aide, tripping over the sill at the bottom of the door.
“Miss D’Archangel?” An older, smartly dressed woman said from the corner. She peered through bright red glasses. Her hair had been shaped full-Afro with a pattern of neat corn-rows over her ear.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Ms. Blackstone. I’m the one who called you. Come on back.” Mrs. Blackstone gestured to Effie. Several rings sparkled on her fingers.
Effie made her way through the unoccupied workstations to get to the back corner.
“Please, sit,” Mrs. Blackstone said, adding a warm smile. She made a sweep with her arm. “The others have gone to lunch. We can speak privately.”
Effie perched on the hard-plastic chair next to Mrs. Blackstone’s desk.
“What about?” Her heart hammered in her chest.
Mrs. Blackstone’s coal-colored eyes seemed to grow sad. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Effie’s heart launched into her throat. Her fingers curled into the rigid seat. “What is it?”
Mrs. Blackstone cleared her throat. “The institute is going through some financial restructuring.”
Effie’s eyes narrowed. That sounds like code-speak for someone screwed up the budget.
“We’ve got a plan in place, however.” Her red-lipped smile reappeared, conveying confidence and reassurance. “We’re, uh…” Her gaze slid away and then back to Effie. “We’re forced to drop the Disadvantaged Student Scholarship program, effective immediately .”
Effie white-knuckled the chair.
“What do you mean?” she demanded. Rage ignited in her belly. She hated being poor and somehow at a disadvantage because of her parents’ income.
“Well…” Mrs. Blackstone picked up a pile of brochures about Student Aid covered with happy, smiling students.
Your Aid, the top brochure read. Your Options.
She tapped them into a tidy pile and set them in the corner of her desk. Again, she plastered the reassuring smile on her face. “You’re a good student, Effie. I’ve been reading over your transcripts. But, we’ll be unable to extend your scholarship. We’re sorry.”
“But, Mrs. Blackstone…I only have summer semester left. I have to complete a summer internship and re-take the classes I missed when my mom was sick.” Effie’s mind scrambled for options.
Her mom had gone through a breast cancer scare a couple of years ago. Since her grandma had almost died of breast cancer when her mom was in her early twenties, Mom had been freaked to the point of hysterical.
Effie had dropped everything to help out. She’d been torn between studies and Mom, but family came first. But now Mom was fine, if not more fretful than usual.
“I know. Maybe the library could give you a few more hours. Or, maybe you could get another job.”
Effie’s head shook back and forth. “Summer semester will be brutal. And the library would be more likely to cut my hours than give me more.”
Mrs. Blackstone sighed. “Can you ask your parents for a loan?”
Effie let out a strangled noise. “My dad works at GBS, er, Giant Box Savings. My mom teaches part-time pre-school. They barely make ends meet.”
“What about a Student Loan?”
Effie shook her head. “I’m going to have a hard-enough time paying back the one I got.”
Mrs. Blackstone glanced at her Apple Watch, nestled among sparkling bangles. “I’m sorry, Miss D’Archangel, but I have a meeting. You’ll have to excuse me.” She pushed her chair back from her desk. “You’re a bright young woman with a promising future. Think of this as an opportunity for growth.”
Right. This is more like a train wreck. Effie’s throat tightened, choking off any words. All she could picture were her dreams falling around her ankles like puffy clouds of ash, choking her emotions.
She jerked to her feet and bustled away.
Outside, she held her phone before her face and tapped the Connect icon for Haley.
Haley answered on the second ring.
“Haley, it’s me,” Effie blubbered.
“Effie, what’s wrong?”
“Everything!” Cinching in her emotions, she quickly told Haley about the miserable fuckery from the last hour. “I’m heading to the dorm to pack up a few items. Then, I’ll have to go home, I suppose. I can’t keep going here.”
“Wait!” Haley said. “Not so fast. Beside the fact we have a few days before the semester’s over, I have an idea.”
“Is it as bright as giving me the URL to Saucy Lady? Because that got me into a stupid mess. At least I’ll never have to see Todd and Roy again.” She couldn’t hold back her tears.
“It’s better,” Haley said. “I’ll meet you at the dorm. Don’t do anything until I get there. Promise me.”
“Okay, I promise.” Effie hustled across the campus, tears streaming down her face. She hoped no one watched her. But when she glanced around, several students were staring in her direction. Stop looking at me. Haven’t you ever seen anyone cry before? She picked up her pace.
Fifteen minutes later, Effie dragged her feet into her dorm room. She threw her phone on her pink bedspread and then sat, slumped at the edge of the bed.
Within seconds, Haley raced into the room, dressed in a short, butter-yellow, silk shift-dress, waving a postcard. Soft suede sandals clung to her feet.
“This will work, Effie.” She sat next to Effie and leaned in close.
Her perfume filled Effie’s nose with jasmine scented blossoms.
“This is going to work,” she repeated, shoving the postcard at Effie. She peeled her sleek leather messenger bag from her shoulder and dropped it on the floor.
Effie took the ad and placed it on her lap. The postcard had been printed on glossy paper with luxurious fonts. It showed an image of a wealthy young couple laughing over drinks at a bar. Bile filled her throat.
Many times, her mom had told her there were two kinds of people in this world—the “Have More Money” privileged, something Effie called the HMMs, and the rest of the population. She decided the rest of the population, including her family, was the “Fuck My Life’s,” or FMLs.
Her brow wrinkled as she read the text. “You want me to become a sugar baby for lonely billionaires? No way.”
She ripped the card in two and dropped it on the floor. It fluttered to the white and gray linoleum.
Haley reached over and scooped it up. She placed it on the bed and patted it. “It’s a legit service. How do you think I can afford my clothes or pay for my tuition?”
Effie’s mouth dropped open. “You sleep with billionaires? Why didn’t I know this?”
Haley waved away her concerns. The high ponytail at the top of her head switched as she shook her head. “I don’t sleep with them. I’m not stupid. They’re mostly dates. Sometimes cuddling. Sometimes kissing. But the men I’ve been with have all been gentlemen.” She rose to her feet, looming over Effie.
Effie stared at her friend. How could I have not known?
Haley’s face reddened. “Look. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you’d get all judgey on me. You despise wealthy people. I didn’t want to do this. It just sort of fell in my lap. And look.” She twirled in a circle. Her yellow designer shift billowed around her like a cloud. “These threads cost a fortune. I don’t buy them. One of my sugar daddies gave me a credit card.” She stooped and retrieved her messenger bag. Flipping open the flap to the main compartment, she rummaged around in the bag. Her hand came out holding a silvery looking wallet. She opened it and removed a black American Express Centurian credit card.
Effie gasped and snatched it out of her friend’s hand. “Wow, Haley. He just gave it to you?”
Haley lowered her gaze. “Well, I had to do a few things to get it.”
She grabbed back the card and slid it into her wallet.
“Like what?” Effie’s mouth had become dry.
“Like…look, it’s nothing. I take off my shirt—only down to my bra, mind you—and then I do the dishes or mop the floors.” She gave Effie one of her “don’t you dare say anything” glares.
“Ew,” Effie said. “That would make me feel so dirty.”
Haley pointed at Effie. “There you go getting all judgey. My parents are as poor as your parents. We can’t afford this school any more than you can. This…” She slapped the torn postcard. “This could be your ticket to transformation from ‘Giant Box Savings girl’ to ‘glam girl,’ and to finishing your education.”
Effie threw back her head. The thought of cuddling with some rich, fat dude made her sick to her stomach.
“There’s got to be another way,” she moaned.
Haley shrugged. “Tell me what the other way is, and I’ll never mention this again.”
She shoved the postcard pieces in her bag and stepped toward the door.
Effie let out a long sigh. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting me.”
Haley brightened. “That’s where top-notch makeup comes in, as well as your good friend Haley. I’m a pro at applying makeup and dressing for success.” She eyed Effie, cocking her head back and forth. “I know I can make you look pretty. You’ve got good bone structure. You simply don’t try.”
“Ouch,” Effie said.
“Well, do you? Do you ever put a whisper of energy into your appearance?” Haley scowled.
Effie shook her head. “I put on clothes.”
“You put on clothes to cover yourself up. Come on. Are you willing to at least try?”
Effie sucked in her breath and held it. What other options do I have? Then, she slowly let it out.
“Okay,” she said. “Where do I sign up?”
2
Zander
Zander hunched over his keyboard, staring at his monitor, seeing nothing except old ghosts. His obsession with his past currently prevented any action in the present. Sitting near the window of his corner office, he lifted his gaze toward the Seattle skyline to his right and then turned to face Elliott Bay to his left.
The blue-gray water, dotted with white-caps beneath rolling springtime thunderclouds, matched his dark and moody emotions.
He let his gaze fall on the open desk drawer…the one he’d been about to raid for antidepressants. A slew of pill bottles filled the drawer, along with a revolver. Underneath sat pictures of his ex and his own tortured handwritten love poems, written to win her back.
Someone knocked on his door.
He slammed the drawer shut. The key hanging from the keyring he’d fitted into the lock vibrated from the forceful close. He removed it and shoved it into his pocket.
“It’s open,” he bellowed, not bothering to look toward the entrance.
“Mr. King?” came a soft voice from the doorway.
He broke out of his reverie to turn toward his assistant, Mia, a petite, trim brunette with the kindest eyes he’d ever beheld. He’d hired her on the spot for those eyes.
“Mia,” he said, snapping back to professionalism. “What can I do for you?”
She lifted the tablet in her hand. “Can I show you the mock-ups for our next round of online advertising?”
Instinctively, he lifted his right hand to gesture her in. He paused when his bionic hand came into his line of sight.
A fully customized, top-of-the-line hand, made of hard white plastic, titanium joints, and black accents, it allowed him to do most of the things he used to do. Before I had this fucking monstrosity for a hand. It didn’t allow him to be viewed as anything but a disabled person, however. And, it didn’t allow him to get back out and enjoy the adventurous life in the manner he once enjoyed. And that stunk.
Mia paused for a split second, too, staring at the metal technology that served as a limb. Then, she put on her game face, and continued to stride in his direction, ignoring his remark. She wove through the burnt-orange, Italian leather sofa and chairs meant for informal meetings, headed past the long leather bench seat that flanked one wall of windows, and came to a stop by his curved zebrawood and glass desk.
She set the tablet in front of him and tapped the screen. “Here it is. Scan through the images and select the layout you prefer. We can have it launched within the hour.”
He gave her a challenging glare. “I prefer it if you scan.” He wiggled the fingers of his high-tech hand. “Bionic finger-man, here.”
“Sir, I…” She gave him her best disapproving expression.
She knew as well as he did that he could scan through the images on the screen with this techno limb, or, use his other hand. Hell, he could probably do cartwheels with the bio-forearm in place. He’d paid enough for the damn thing. Few could afford such a wondrous piece of technology. Zander was one of the few.
“Never mind,” she said.
He smirked. Mia probably didn’t want to argue with him. No one did. His intelligence and wits gave him the upper hand in an argument each and every time. His status as a twenty-eight-year-old billionaire, and the owner of EXcape, his self-started, billion-dollar business, helped, too. No one in his office dared to contradict the boss. No one except Kent, his best buddy, and CFO.
“Show me what you’ve got, Mia.”
She flipped through layouts of high-end rock-climbing gear, base jumping apparel, cave exploration ropes and carabiners, BMX bikes, windsurfing boards, and other maximum intensity sports equipment.
“We’ll target the extreme sports market with these,” she said, tapping on a few photos of a couple dangling from ropes in the middle of a pristine cave, one hundred feet below the surface. “And, with these, we’ll target ultimate adventurers ages twenty-five to forty. Those looking for a way to defy the odds.” She indicated several images of five people poised hundreds of feet in the air in high-tech hammocks that affixed to the side of rock walls. “Like someone I know.”
Her eyes scanned his face, probing for…what? The old Zander? That guy died. His eyes glazed over, as his mind veered toward a collision with his past. He used to engage in extreme sports. He used to love adventure. Used to, used to, used to. My current life is all about the past. His mood slid further south.
“You decide,” he snapped. “Whatever you think is best.”
“But, Mr. King,” Mia protested. “You’ve always insisted on final say.”
“Great, then you’ll have no problem telling the design team that I’ve given the reins to you and whatever you choose goes. That’s my final say.” He waved the bionic monstrosity in her direction.
“I don’t think I’m qualified, Mr. King,” she said, standing tall.
“You’ll be fine.” His gaze traveled down her muscular calves to her shoes. How she could balance on those precarious red stilettos was a mystery to him. He preferred women in footwear that could move. Used to prefer, he reminded himself, glaring at his own ridiculous Italian leather loafers. “I’m sure your decision could top the cripple’s opinion,” he said, referring to himself in the third person.
Mia winced.
He’d spent the last year finding new ways to push everyone away. He took a measure of pride at being so good at it that he had few friends. Gone were the slew of buddies and acquaintances. All I have is work. “Just go. I’ve got something else I need to do.”
Like mope, drink whiskey, and sink into depression. I’ve become a giant douchebag. Nothing but an asshole who verbally assaults his staff.
“Sir, I…”
“And stop calling me sir. I’ve been telling you that for years. Sir is what you’d call my father or my grandfather. I go by Mr. King, Zander, or, preferably, Jackass. Can you manage one of those, Mia?”
“Absolutely, Jackass.” Her eyes turned steely.
