Charlie's Angel (2 page)

She had to change the subject or she’d drive herself to distraction when she needed to concentrate on her job serving the diner’s patrons as quickly and efficiently as Gerry, the owner in his late sixties, demanded. He’d told her before he’d hired her that he had no use for teenagers and twenty-somethings since they spent so much of their time on their cell phones talking up a storm or playing those infernal video games.

Yet, he’d taken one look at Roxie and given her the vacant position even though she was twenty-five and a half, and he knew her age since it had been filled in on the application form. Everything else, from her last name to her work record, was a sham, but she hadn’t lied about that. There were some things a woman couldn’t hide.

Then too, it could have been her fresh face and her twenty-something curves that had to do with Gerry’s decision to hire her. She didn’t know for sure. All she cared about was her paycheck at the end of the week for a job well performed. And that decided her on the pantyhose. Although it would be extremely hot outside, she better wear them. For a more professional appearance.

* * * *

At half-past two that afternoon, Charlie asked Kyle Brant where he could get a decent meal. His stomach rumbled, and the case Kyle and he were working on wasn’t as easy as either had initially expected.

Kyle gave him a warm half-smile, which was more than anyone else got out of him. “What kind of food do you want? There’s plenty of Mexican, if you want. Pick your heat level. Spicy or spicier. Then there’s Chinese, too.”

Charlie stroked his tie, and even though the air conditioner was running full blast, he swiped at his forehead and the beads of sweat against his skin. “How about a good old-fashioned American burger? With fries?”

Kyle scratched his chin, which already sported the shadow of a beard. “Not risking your stomach on hot or hotter?”

Charlie shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t like burritos, tacos, enchiladas and jalapenos, but he wanted the kind of food he’d get back home in Boston.

“Woody’s then. Been open since the 1940’s. You can’t miss it.” Again the half-smile. “It’s the joint with the painted wood burger on the roof.”

“Thanks. Direction?” Charlie’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back.

“You’ll see it soon as you get out the door.”

Charlie grinned and headed outside. The heat was almost unbearable.
Boston never gets like this, so humid you could drown in your own water.
Stately palm tree fronds waved gently in the upper atmospheric breeze, yet down here, there wasn’t even a hint of cooler air. Charlie itched to loosen his tie against the stifling heat, but long years of self-discipline forced him to discard the idea.

Sure enough, the burger place was highly visible from the law firm’s front door. The burger was in need of a paint job, but the sun’s glare probably took its toll on everything that wasn’t shaded. It could have been painted last year for all he knew.

As he pulled open one of the diner’s double glass doors, he observed there were no iron bars to keep out thieves and troublemakers, a practice he found didn’t do much to deter the criminal element in either Boston or in L.A. Out of habit, he surveyed his surroundings, and he felt as if he’d stepped into a different era. The diner was like an old soda fountain he’d seen on TV but never in person. There were revolving seats at a front counter, booths for four near the wide windows that fronted the four-lane street, and a black and white tiled floor.

Even for nearly three p.m., the diner was relatively busy. Only two booths were free and only one seat at the counter. Charlie opted for a booth and slid into the far side to face the door. Old habits died hard, even in a new city where few people would recognize him. Dealing with the criminal element on a day-to-day basis forced him to be cautious and observant to all that went on around him. Several booths down, a large man with a scraggly beard and small eyes appeared out of place in a faded, red plaid shirt. Charlie decided to keep an eye on him. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man was on the hunt for mischief.

Surreptitiously, he used his video cell phone and took a picture of the male who’d made him so uneasy. Then he texted a message to a friend in law enforcement, asking for the man’s name and if he’d seen any criminal trouble.

“Hi. What can I get for you?”

The waitress’ soothing, musical voice caused him to look up quickly. He had the presence of mind to tuck away his cell phone, as time froze. His pulse sped up, and every pore in his body reacted to her. His muscles tensed. The chattering of the patrons and the din of forks and spoons against plates dimmed into the background.

Her candy pink uniform accentuated every barely-there curve from the swell of her breasts to her tiny waist to her hips. Her bodice made of a light fabric did nothing to hide the tight peaks of her nipples. Was she wearing one of those thin scraps of lace?

Charlie swallowed hard then cleared his throat as his hormones raced into overdrive. He was the most eloquent lawyer in all of Boston, never shy for words whether in court or out of it, but here, with this heart-stopping, exquisite woman mere inches away, he was utterly tongue-tied. And he had a hard-on, which no amount of clothing could hide. Thank God, he’d sat in a booth.

“You must be new here,” her matter-of-fact words cut into his tumultuous thoughts.

Dumbly, he nodded. All he could think was chicks in L.A. were hot. He made the mistake of fully glancing into her face. Such sweetness, along with a wealth of innocence, emanated from those vivid blue eyes. The observation tore at his insides. He wanted to protect her, much as a knight in shining armor in days of old would have.

Annoyance with himself flared to life. He’d only just set eyes on her, and here he was ragged on the inside and turning somersaults. “Boston. On business. Where’s your menu?” he asked in a hoarse, abrasive tone.

Her eyebrows didn’t even arch upward at his sudden change of voice. “Right over there above the soda fountain.” She canted her head in the direction he needed to look.

Charlie felt guilt wash over him. He should have a talk with himself rather than being unkind to Roxie, as her nametag clearly stated in black and white.

“It’s the heat,” she said, touching his arm ever so lightly. A small, knowing smile appeared on her delicately colored lips. “I’ll get you something cool to drink.”

Yeah, the heat, not of the weather but in his groin. Gracefully, she spun around and left him behind in a curtain of fragrant perfume. Gardenias, he suspected, which were addling his brain and turning the gray matter into mush.

If the view from in front had been tempting, then the backside was more powerful. Roxie’s waist was tiny and curved, and the uniform deliciously hugged her bottom as he longed to do.

When she was out of sight behind the double swinging doors that led to the kitchen, he tried to take a deep breath to bring himself under control. His forehead was bathed in perspiration. He lifted his handkerchief from his hip pocket and, ineffectively, wiped at his head but to no avail. As soon as the linen passed over his skin, he immediately began to sweat again. He had to leave. Before he made a fool of himself.

But he waited, and he had no idea for what. Carelessly, he stuffed his hanky back in its place, realizing belatedly that Roxie had been incongruously holding a carafe filled with steaming coffee along with her order pad.

His heart thudded against his chest. He didn’t dare get up since his mega hard-on would be visible to everyone in the diner. Hadn’t he come for an all-American burger and fries? Why did he think he was about to get a whole lot more?

* * * *

Roxie swallowed down her panic as she pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one observing the ultra-sexy man in the tailored suit. Verna and Eileen, her co-workers, were each wide-eyed and their faces were flushed.

“Do you know who that is?” Gerry asked in his booming voice, giving Roxie a quizzical expression.

Roxie shook her head. All she knew was she wouldn’t have to go searching for Mr. Mercedes. He’d come to her instead. Her heart thudded in her chest with uneasiness. Did he know who she was? He couldn’t. She’d been covered from head to foot, so it would have been impossible for him to recognize her.

“He’s Charles Vernon, one of the sharpest lawyers in the States,” Gerry told her excitedly. “He’s Boston born and bred.”

“And he’s supposed to be worth millions,” Verna added, tugging at her apron.

“Oooh and isn’t he sexy?” Eileen put in, her eyes in a stout face going all unfocused and dreamy.

Roxie swallowed, and in as level a voice as she could manage, said, “I didn’t know,” as she poured iced tea into a tall, frosted glass.

The devil came in all different disguises, and Charles Vernon was two of them. He was rich like her father, and that gave her cause for concern. Desperately, she tried to remember if the Harrier and Vernon families traveled in the same social circles, but nothing came to mind.

To make matters worse, her body had responded unequivocally to the masculinity of the man seated in the booth. The crotch of her panties was damp. It had been all she could do to stay motionless waiting for him to either place his order or tell her he hadn’t made up his mind yet. His assessing gaze as his smoldering gray eyes had languidly journeyed up her bosom and to her face had aroused her and bothered her in a very sexual way. Her breasts had ached with an unaccustomed fullness, and her nipples had stood up proudly. Of course, today had to have been the day she wore a lacy bra without much support. The other one was in the wash.

“You might want to snag a wealthy man like him,” Verna called out as Roxie exited with the iced tea on a round tray.

No chance. I just got away from that madness.

On one hand, she hoped Charles Vernon was gone, and on the other, she wished he would stay. Just to feast her eyes on him some more, she told herself.

Brushing stray strands of hair from her eyes, she looked up, right into his eyes. She swore they could see through her and deep into her soul. She hoped to God that wasn’t true. Prisoners could rarely argue for their freedom, and Roxie vowed she’d never again be incarcerated by the trappings of wealth and greed.

* * * *

Boldly, Charlie watched Roxie as she set the iced tea on the table at his right hand.

“There you go,” she said brightly, averting her gaze. “Have you decided what you’ll eat?”

He heard the cultured tone in her words, and wondered who she really was. She had the graceful bearing of a woman who’d been raised in society. Unlike himself, he thought morosely. He’d had to scrounge for every penny in his youth. Nothing had been handed to him for free. He’d had to work hard for it. Familiar resentment built up again, and he quelled it with some difficulty.

And who was to say that Roxie came from a wealthy background?

All the signs are there, Charlie. The elegant bearing, the straight face, the curvaceous, man-killer body—Wait a minute. Her body isn’t a product of wealth and prestige. I have Roxie pegged all wrong. That’s all.

However, the uneasy feeling in his gut remained.

He pondered the subject of food while Roxie waited and he sipped at his iced tea, which was sweet, the way he liked it—delectable like Roxie. Should he ask her out, on a whim? What if he was wrong, and she was one of those gold diggers who ripped off rich men’s bank accounts and whitewashed their self-esteem? His gaze traveled to her waist, up her chest then to her face and the much too innocent eyes.

This time, there was a hint of distrust in their blue depths. His mind had detoured from her question. What did he want to eat? Charlie caught sight of the ‘Wildcat’ burger. He hadn’t a clue if he’d like it or even what it was, but he barked, “The Wildcat. With fries.”

A wildcat in bed, please.

He imagined what it would be like to fit his cock between the warmth of her thighs, and impossibly, his hard-on became larger, more rigid and more painful. If only the buzzing in his head would stop and his heart would quit pounding so loudly that he swore Roxie could hear it slamming against his chest.