Authors: N. Michaels
Emerald Eyes
Emerald Eyes
N. Michaels
Text Copyright © 2013 N. Michaels
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are fictitious in every way. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademark, product names, or named features are only used for reference, and are assumed to be property of their respective owners.
Cover Image by iStockphoto. Cover design by N. Michaels.
About the Author
N. MICHAELS
resides in north New Jersey. She’s a passionate reader and writer. She can be found daydreaming, listening to music and watching her favorite shows… oh and writing, of course.
Emerald Eyes
is her first novel.
Visit N. on her website:
www.nmichaelsauthor.com
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, thank you mom. Without your support in my early years, I doubt I would be here.
Secondly, thank you Ella and Milana. Thank you Ella for giving me that initial push back into writing, and thank you Milana for listening to every word of this story as it came to life. Thank you both for supporting me and believing in me.
And thank you, the reader for picking this up.
My eyes snap open as my alarm clock wakes me. A woman’s voice is softly singing, ‘You are the only exception’. I smack the top of my clock and look up. It’s six thirty in the morning. I groan and struggle out of bed before heading straight into the shower. Washing off my sleepiness, I become more and more awake with every drop of hot water. I head back to my bedroom and pick up the clothes I laid out last night on the chair. It’s a black skirt suit with lavender top with ruffles in the front, to draw the eyes to my cleavage. I settle down in front of my vanity and apply my makeup. Eyeliner, a coat of mascara to make my emerald eyes pop. A bit of blush and a drop of gloss are enough just to moisten my full lips. I brush my light copper hair and twist it into a subtle up-do.
Done with getting ready, I head to the kitchen and find Laura, my housekeeper, whose red hair complement, her warm hazel eyes that meet mine. In her early fifties, she’s been there for me since as long as I can remember myself.
“Good morning Katya.” She greets me as she places a plate with an omelet on the table next to a cup of cappuccino, light on the foam.
“Morning, Laura.” I smile back.
I sit down to eat and finish my omelet in record time. Laura looks at me as I get up to brush my teeth. She can tell I’m a bit nervous.
“It will go great, don’t worry Katya.”
I nod and give her a small smile. Laura is much more than my housekeeper. She was my nanny and she is my dear friend.
I enter the bathroom and while I brush my teeth, my mind drifts into memories that bring me back to last week, to that awful fight I had with my mama and papa.
“No!” I say bitterly. “I’m not doing that, papa!”
“Katya. You must. This isn’t just about you.” Papa is trying to stay calm.
His Russian accent starts showing when he gets mad. His blonde hair is cut short and his grey eyes blaze as he tries to reign in his emotions.
“This
is
about me! Its
my
life!” I say furiously.
Why can’t they see that I want to do something else, something different and not poke at people’s brains all day and night long?
“It is an honorable career and very profitable,” says mama.
Her voice is so low it’s almost a whisper. Her dark chestnut hair is sleek in a bob and her bright blue eyes are pleading me. To do what? Stop? Continue?
“Money! It’s always about money!” I shout and shake my head. “I don’t want to be a neurosurgeon.” I say with finality.
“Then what
do
you want to do, Katya?” asks papa, mocking me. “I’m tired of having this discussion with you. You waste your time, precious time which you could use to learn from the best. Learn how to save lives. We have five generations of neurosurgeons.”
“Please listen to me, as I say this for the
last
time . . . No.” I take deep breath to calm myself.
“If you won’t do this… you’ll be cut off.” Papa stares at me, almost like he’s challenging me, his Russian accent is now clearly evident.
“Cut off?” I stare at him shocked.
“Yes.” Papa says coolly.
“Gregory…” mama whispers, her voice laced with fear.
Papa looks to her with a stern face then looks back at me.
“Its either neurosurgery or you’re on your own. You’ve wasted enough time already on your partying.” Papa looks at me tensely, waiting for my answer.
“I’ll take the latter.” I say hurt, as the realization of its meaning sinks in slowly.
No more staff, no more mansion, no more vacations every month. I swallow.
I can do this. Hell, I’ll prove you wrong!
The thought fuels my rage.
“Katusha… please…” mama pleads me.
“No, mama. I made my decision.” I say softly at her.
Papa nods disappointedly. “Good luck, Yekaterina.”
Papa turns away into his study, probably to call the bank and cut all financial support. The only time that he calls me by my full name is when he is disappointed or mad at me. Which happens quite often now that I think about it.
“I’ll be in touch.” I tell mama as I embrace her and kiss her on her cheek.
She returns my hug and I see tears in her eyes as she lets me go. I turn to go to my room and find Laura standing next to the massive staircase, looking at me like she’d just seen a ghost. My heart breaks and I hug her tightly.
“Look after mama, please.” I whisper while we hug.
Then I’m up the stairs. Once I’m in my bedroom, I open my walk-in closet and run towards my suitcases. I grab the biggest one I can find. I open it and rapidly fold my clothes into it as I start fuming.
Ok. No funds… how will I get a place to live? Or pay for food? Will I need to cook??
Oh no… maybe this isn’t such a good idea…
No!
I stop my train of thought.
You. Can. Do. This.
I convince myself and the familiar feeling of anger seeps in again.
I will not let them dictate my life for me!
I run to the bathroom and gather all my toiletries in one medium leather bag. And then it hits me. I
have
my own trust fund! Which was turn over to me on my twenty-first birthday. I’ve never touched it, never had to and thank God I never did. I zip up my suitcase and head downstairs. The floor has cleared and I stand there for a moment. I take a deep breath and shake my head as if to comfort myself, and then I’m out the door.
Laura is standing next to my car, a silver Porsche Panamera Turbo S,
holding a small suitcase of her own. I stop in my tracks and lift my eyebrow, questioning her presence.
“I’m coming with you.” She smiles.
“Laura… I’m cut off, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pay you.” I mumble sadly.
Laura advances towards me, putting her free hand on my shoulder.
“I won’t let you starve to death, child.”
I think momentarily if mama asked her to come with me.
She did. Oh mama… always worried
. I smile at the thought.
“Ok… let’s roll.”
As I pull out of the long paved driveway, I look at my home through my rearview mirror and my heart twists. This massive mansion use to be filled with laughter and fun… What happened?
Oh yes… I grew up. I tear my eyes off the beautiful stonewalls and focus them ahead. I take a deep breath and watch the tall brown metal gates open before me.
That’s it Katherine. You can do this.
Driving quietly on my street before merging into traffic gives me time to think.
Where am I going?
I look over at Laura and she seems relaxed which somehow calms me down. I scroll down my contacts through my car and decide to call Jane, my relator friend.
“Katya!” Laura calls out of the kitchen, startling me out of my reminiscing.
“Yes?” I ask as I come out of the bathroom.
“I have made lunch for you, so you won’t need to spend extra on buying food.”
“Thank you.”
How frustrating… turning one eighty, from spending money recklessly to saving each dime, I muse.
“This is only until I get my first paycheck.”
“I know, I know…” she mumbles.
I take my lunch wrapped in a brown bag and place it in my purse. Today is my first day at the Miller Financial Enterprise. Somehow, I managed to convince my cousin, Julia Case, to get me an interview there. I begged her to find me something, anything, since she’s the head of human resources. It was just by mere luck that Mr. Miller’s executive assistant had quit and a slot had opened up. Julia, being the amazing cousin that she is, moved quickly, reserving that spot for me. However, she told me over the phone that it would be a temporary position and that now it was all up to me to make sure I keep the job. She told me in order to slide me in; she had to tell Mr. Miller she would be interviewing personal that worked inside and outside of the company. I thanked Julia profusely.
I couldn’t part with my car, it was like my security blanket and I loved it too much. I knew it was a reckless move since I was using the money from my trust fund but I had to buy it from papa.
After buying out my car and the apartment, my funds diminished. Not by much, but I knew I needed to secure the job, or I would dry my trust fund faster than a twenty one year old sipping her first Appletini.
Julia also told me to anticipate a phone call from Mr. Miller, heavily hinting that it would be my first test as a temp of many more to come. I was on pins and needles all day long. Restlessly waiting for my house phone to ring.
“Miss Katherine Slav?”
“Yes. Hello, Mr. Miller.” I tried to sound as professional as I could.
“I received your resume from my head of personal, Miss Case, she recommended you warmly but it seems you don’t have much experience. So, what makes you my next executive assistant?”
Hmm…
“Well, I am a very reliable and responsible person, and I am sure I can handle anything you give me.” I said confidently, because I know how to affect men since I was fifteen years old.
‘
No one can resist those green eyes’
. I remember mama’s words and smile.
“Well that sounds very promising Miss Slav, but I’m very demanding.” Mr. Miller responded sounding strict.
Damn it… I need this job.
“I promise you Mr. Miller, I can keep up.”
“Well, since I trust Miss Case unquestionably, I must ask, when can you start?”
“When do you need me?” I asked with a hint of flirtation.