Nickolas-1 (6 page)

“Hello! Grant.” Christ! He needed to get a grip. First mean, then grouchy, now he was barking.

“Hello to you too. I was wondering if Morgan came in today. I...I wanted to make sure she was settling in all right with you.” His mom. She had been upset since he’d told her that he’d hired her and the conditions he’d put on her, including her not speaking to her like that again.

“I guess. Rachel came over and just set her up. Whether she stays or not is anyone’s guess. Byron and I are going down to the corner for some coffee and women. Want me to bring you by anything?”

“Yes, thank you. I’d like a busty blonde, hold the large hips. And bring me one of those caramel nutty buns too.”

Nick smiled. He wondered if any other mother in the world was anything like her, and doubted it. She was definitely one of a kind.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He was walking toward the door as he hung up.

When he opened it, Morgan wasn’t at her desk. He knew instinctively that she hadn’t left; her pink bag was still laying there where she had put it when she came in. They were getting on the elevator and headed down when he realized he hadn’t asked her if she wanted anything. Oh well, he’d get her a nutty bun too.

He and Byron spent an enjoyable hour in the coffee shop. After his second cup of plain coffee, he felt measurably better. He had them box up three of their buns, two for his mother in one box, and one for Morgan in another. He then set off to see his mom. On the drive over, he’d had his artistic brother draw her her busty woman with tiny hips on her box.

“I don’t suppose you forgot to give Morgan your cell phone number before we left, did you?” Byron said. Well, fuck! No wonder she’d not called him. She couldn’t reach him.

“Grant Corporations, Morgan Becky speaking. May I help you?” Her voice sounded okay, Morgan thought. She hadn’t known what to say when the phone had rang earlier this morning, but Ms. Wayne had scribbled down the words quickly for her. It was nearly two-thirty now and she’d spent a pleasant morning getting set up and learning her job.

It was fairly easy so far. Dr. Grant had called at eleven, gave her his cell phone number, and made sure she repeated it to him four times before he’d hung up. He’d called twice more since then. She’d taken seven phone messages and made him two appointments for the following day.

Morgan had found the spa day that he’d set up for her then She kept going back to it and couldn’t for the life of her think what it had meant. He’d put her name, correct this time, and “day at spa” with the name of the place. It would probably be really nice, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself and scream when someone touched her. Morgan decided that he was really sweet to do it.

Strange, but sweet.

Ms. Wayne had given her the direct number to her desk, and if she needed anything, to just call. Ms. Wayne had also left her a large book of information on the company. It told her what Dr. Grant was a doctor of, finance, and how much money he was presumably worth, seventy million and counting. It had also told of his wife’s tragic death fourteen months into their marriage in a car accident that had also taken the life of his father.

“Nicky there? I need to talk to him. Tell him it’s Bambi.” The voice on the other end sounded just like a person would think a Bambi’d sound like. All high-pitched and squeaky voiced.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bambi, but Dr. Grant isn’t in right now. But if you’d like, I can take a message and give it to him when he returns.” There wasn’t a sound for so long. She could hear her breathing, a mouth breather, so she knew she hadn’t hung up.

“Did he tell you not to ring me through? I don’t like to be put off and he damned well knows it. Put him on the phone or tell him I’m a’coming down there to see him.” Suddenly, Bambi sounded less like a Bambi, and more like a barracuda.

“No. He’s not here. But like I said, if I can take a message for you, I’ll make sure he ...” Morgan hadn’t just been cut off, but snapped off like a twig.

“I’ll be down there in ten minutes. You tell him so.” And the phone was suddenly whining at her.

The first thing she did was call David at the front desk. She warned him that a Ms. Bambi was coming in with a full head of steam and demanding to speak to Dr. Nickolas Grant. Then, as much as she hated to, she called the man himself.

“Dr. Grant, its Morgan Becky. A Ms. Bambi is on her way to the office looking for you. She wanted to speak to you. I’ve made her aware that you aren’t in, but that didn’t seem to stop her. I have let David know of her impending arrival and her... hummm, mood, as well. Thank you.” Then, she hung up. She didn’t want to tie up his line, nor the company line, and stated what she needed to.

Looking at the caller ID, Morgan was surprised that Dr. Grant was calling back. “Grant Corporations, Morgan Becky speaking. May I help...” She was surprised when he was nearly spitting he was so angry.

“Don’t you ever fucking hang up on me ag...” She put the phone back on its cradle. When it rang again, she almost didn’t answer it, but gave in. Maybe it wasn’t him.

“Grant Corporations, Morgan...”

“I swear to Christ, if you fucking hang up...” She hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t believe he had the right to talk to her like that. It wasn’t the language. She’d been in prison and heard much worse. It was his tone. She hung up again. After the fourth time, he let her answer before he said anything.

“Grant Corporations, Morgan Becky speaking. May I help you?” She knew it wasn’t him as soon as she put the receiver to her ear.

“Morgan, I would suggest you not hang up on him again. His face is a shade of purple I’ve never seen before. Plus, you should see the foam coming from the corner of his lips.” Byron’s voice was heavily laced with ill suppressed humor.

“Then tell him to talk to me in a civil tone, or not to call at all. I gave him the information he needed. I’m not very good at cell phones and such. They weren’t very prevalent when I went in the joint and I’m trying to get used to them. I’ve had a really good day up until now and he’s not going to come back here and ruin it. So tell him I said to fuck off, it’s six-thirty and I’m going home.” She hung up the phone again and shut down his computer. Turned off the lights, locked the door and walked down the ten flights of stairs to Byron’s apartment. When she got to the correct floor, she couldn’t get out. The flipping door jammed again.

She sat down on the stairs and started crying.

The next morning, Nick noticed that she was walking with more of a pronounced limp. He started to ask her about it, but one look at her face told him he’d live longer if he didn’t. Since she’d come in at seven-thirty, she’d not spoken a single word to him and it was nearly five-thirty now. The only time he’d heard from her was in email form and that was to give him an update to his schedule change she’d made in regards to a cancelled appointment. Oh, and there was the mumbled thank you when he’d given her her check at lunch time.

He realized he was hiding in his office at six, waiting for her to leave, when he heard the door close to the main area. Nick had never hidden from a woman in his life, especially one who worked for him.

He was just slipping on his jacket when his cell phone rang. Overseas call, he thought, and answered with his first smile of the day.

“Bonjour, my friend. How’s France treating you?” He really liked André Marcus, and was genuinely glad to hear from him.

“Ha, Nickolas! I was hoping to get your little cupcake. She is gone for the day, yes? I sometimes forget the time changes.”
Cupcake
?

“Yes, but Marie no longer works for me, I’m sorry to say. I have a new person.” He would have thought André would have called before now and known about Morgan.

“Yes, yes. Morgan. Ah, she must be a vision. She speaks French like it is her native tongue. I have so enjoyed speaking with her. She is very knowledgeable, that one. I hope you keep her. Why, I have spent more money on the market since she has been helping me with the paintings than I did before just to hear her lovely voice. You must send me a photo of her, so that I may dream the dreams of little boys about her.”

Nick sat down hard in his chair. She spoke French? And helped with thirteenth century paintings? And he wasn’t even going to think about what he meant about dreaming about her.

“You’ve talked to Morgan? In French?” He heard André chuckle and felt himself blush. She worked for him and he knew nothing about her. It was all her fault, too, going all day without saying a word. Of course, he’d been hiding in his office all day and, which would not allow conversation. He was becoming an idiot over a woman.

“Oui. I’m thinking I shall need to come to the United States and see this girl for myself if she has the great Nickolas so flustered he doesn’t listen to her voice.

Maybe I will come and steal her away back to Paris with me. She will make a nice addition to my collection, no?”

“No, I mean, no, you can’t have her. I...did you need anything from me, André?” The two men talked for a little while longer and made a time for next week to meet for dinner when Nick was going to be in Paris for an estate sale.

He was still stewing about it when he got downstairs to the main lobby and David stepped in front of him. He’d apparently been trying to get his attention for some minutes.

“I’m sorry, David. My mind is all over the place. What can I do for you?

Wait, I thought you got off at four on Fridays.” For some reason, it bothered him that he knew that. He knew the man in the lobby’s schedule, but nothing about the woman who worked beside him every day for the past few days.

“Yes, sir. I wanted to come in and tell you how sorry I am about Ms. Becky. I should have called the workmen right away, but I thought it was a fluke. I should have known better. Her having to spend all night in that stair well, I got them out here right away this morning, sir. She won’t have any more issues with that anymore.” He didn’t think he could handle any more problems with Morgan “Cupcake” Becky tonight, but asked anyway.

“I’m sorry, I had to go to the police station last night and file a complaint about Bambi Jenkins. I must have missed what happened with her. What did she do now?” He was rubbing his chest again. The burning was nearly up to his throat and he wanted a drink of water in the worst way.

“The door jammed again. She came down the stairs after work last night and couldn’t get out of the well. Jeffrey didn’t find her until after midnight when he was walking the stairs. Poor thing couldn’t hardly walk, her all kinked up and all. But he didn’t touch her, no sir. I told them all not to. Must have been in there for about six hours, I figured. But the door’s fixed up. I wanted you to know that personally.” Nick could only stare at him for a few seconds. Then he thanked him for taking care of the situation.

Morgan had hung up on Byron at six-thirty and Jeffrey hadn’t found her until after midnight. Six hours. He suddenly realized why she was limping more pronounced today. She’d probably been sitting on the stairs waiting for someone to come and get her. And why wasn’t she using the elevator, for Christ’s sake? It was right there. Or her cell phone? Come to think of it, did he even have her cell phone number? No, he did not, he realized. Stubborn woman.

Well, she had a phone; he’d had it installed before she’d moved in. He started dialing her phone number in her apartment as he made his way to his car.

It just rang and rang. Okay, it was Friday night; maybe she went to get her something to eat, a pizza or something. It was payday, she probably had things to do, he decided. Maybe she had a date. No, not a date. She wouldn’t be on a date.
She’d better not be on a date
, he thought furiously. Frowning, he considered why she couldn’t be on a date and that he didn’t want her to and decided she just couldn’t be. She was getting a pizza to bring home.

~~~

“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan, but your credit history is non-existent. You can’t open a checking account, or any other account, without a credit report.” This was the third bank she’d been to tonight. Her first paycheck and it might as well have been a tissue for all the good it was doing her.

“You do realize that I can’t have a credit history without first having credit, don’t you? I mean, no one will give me a credit card without a checking account.

Without a credit card, I can’t open a checking account. Do you see where this is going?”

Morgan’s head hurt. And the woman was looking at her as if she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Or, more likely, that she didn’t care. She had her rules and she was following them, damn it.

Morgan left the bank and went to the bus station. She only had seventy-five dollars left of the money she’d gotten from the prison and if she couldn’t cash her check, she’d not be able to eat. She’d never used the company credit card because the first time she had pulled it out, she realized she didn’t have a clue how much the limit was, if it had a pin, or if they had to call Dr. Grant to get it approved. So she put in back in her wallet and paid cash. The card was now in the freezer in Byron’s apartment.

Morgan stared out at the building across from her and it took her a few minutes to realize what the sign said. She walked across the street and went into the bar. There was a seedy-looking man at the bar and two half-naked women dancing on the stage.

“Hi. I was wondering about the bartending job that you have advertised. I was hoping I could fill out an application.” The bartender looked at her, up then down. After focusing on her breasts and licking his lips, he looked at her face.

“Might make more money on the stage if’n those are real.” He looked down again as if judging if he could get away with testing the realness of them.

“No, thanks. Just the bar please. I used to tend a while ago, hummm about five years now, I guess.” She wanted to leave, take a hot bath, and then burn her clothes. But she needed money she could get to now.

“Okay, you’re hired. You fuck up, and you’ll be out the door right quick. Mr.

Mick don’t cotton to no slackers. Can you start right now? We’ll be getting the Friday night crowd in soon and I need someone tonight.” Tucking her bag behind the bar and putting on an apron, Morgan began her career as a tap maid