Pieces of Paisley (44 page)

I’m appalled although slightly turned on by his overconfidence, his assumption I’m available to him on his whim. As much as I would love to spend the evening getting to know the ins and outs of his body, I am not interested in a get-to-know you dinner. I don’t have time for men as fixtures in my life. “As thrilling as it is to be told we have a date rather than being asked, I will politely decline.”

“No, you won’t. I’m not asking if you will go. I’m asking if you want to meet me there, or if you want me to pick you up. Those are your only options, Kitten.” His stoic face shows no sign of emotion.

“You’re serious? Does this work with all the ladies? You just stroll in their office repeatedly, unannounced after being told not to do so, and they just fall at your feet?”

“I wouldn’t know – I’ve never had to make multiple attempts before.” Holy shit, he is dead serious. This guy is blatantly telling me that he doesn’t have to encourage women – they just fall for him.

“As enlightening as your past pursuits are, I’m not interested.”

“I’m not going to beg. We will have dinner tonight. Since you aren’t inclined to answer the question, I will tell you to meet me there. I expect you to be on time.” With that he gets up and leaves. He fucking left. Just like that.

Picking up my phone, I call Julie. “Yes, ma’am?” she answers in the same professional voice I’ve heard for years.

“Julie, how the hell did that man get back to my office?” I am fuming, on the verge of losing my self-control, and it has never happened in the fifteen years I have been working here. Not one time.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Pierce. He wasn’t delivering a package. If he had been, I would have accepted it,” her voice trembles.

“Julie, come to my office please.” I hang up the phone, wishing I had gotten a replacement for my Admin while she is out on maternity leave. Kathryn is a bear as a gatekeeper. No one gets through her by phone or in person. She would have Dax by his balls up against the wall until security removed him from the building, and he would have only made one visit.

Julie comes in looking at the floor thinking she is about to get reprimanded or fired. I sigh, putting my head in my hands on my desk. “Ms. Pierce?” she questions me meekly.

“Julie, first of all, straighten up and stop staring at the floor. Even if you were in trouble, which you are not, never let your fear or trepidation show outwardly. You’ll be amazed at what you can get away with if people see confidence.” Confusion mars her face momentarily before my words register in her head, and her body language instantly changes. This girl has the makings of a real leader; she just needs someone to mold her and show her how to bring out what’s already inside.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Pierce. I shouldn’t have let Dax…. “

Interrupting her, “Second lesson, never apologize in the business world until someone has told you that you’ve made a mistake and then be damned sure it isn’t a personal apology. You are not here to make people like you; you are here to do a job. You can have both after you have earned the respect of your co-workers. Finally, stop calling me Ms. Pierce. Cameron or Cam will be fine. Now, have a seat.”

She complies, keeping her posture erect, confident. Smart girl. “I’m just going to be blunt because I’m too tired to pussyfoot around this situation. Who the hell is Dax Cooper?”

“Well, I’ve known him since I was a little girl. He’s always looked out for me. He works for the package service that delivers here. He’s thirty-six.” She is listing details like they are items on a grocery list.

“I’m sorry, let me rephrase. Who is Dax Cooper to you?” My patience is waning. It is getting late in the afternoon, and this beast of a man is expecting me at a restaurant downtown in just a couple of hours.

She hesitates. Her eyes drop again. She takes a deep breath, looking back up at me, with tears pooling in her eyes. “He was my oldest brother Jeremy’s best friend, lifelong friends. His family has lived across the street from mine before there were any kids in the picture. Our parents seemed to have kids within months of each other, all four years apart, so by the time I was born, Jeremy and Dax were twelve. Anyway, Jeremy was extremely protective of me because I’m the only girl. Dax was always nice but never paid much attention to me. He has three brothers of his own. I was the lone girl in a pool of seven boys. Our families were so tightly knit I didn’t know the difference between blood brothers and the neighbors for years.

“When I was fifteen, they were twenty-seven. I went to a party I wasn’t supposed to be at; I got drunk and called Jeremy to come pick me up, hoping he could get me in my house without my parents seeing me. When I called him, he was with Dax. It was late, and Dax said he would ride with Jeremy to come get me. They showed up about fifteen minutes later, both giving me the riot act about how immature I was to go to a college party, how someone could have taken advantage of me. I just rolled my eyes at them, ignoring everything they were saying. Jeremy turned to look at me in the backseat, to make sure I was paying attention. When he did, he ran a red light and a truck hit the driver’s side of our car. He died at the scene. I was in really bad shape. I had been sitting behind him, and both of my legs were broken, my left arm was broken in multiple places, and I had a head wound. The pressure on my brain put me in a coma for several weeks. Dax never left my side. I’ve had nightmares for years as the scene replays in my head over and over.

“My parents said he was vigilant – he would shower there, people would bring him clothes, but he never left. Because he refused to leave, he lost his job. When I finally came out of it, he assumed Jeremy’s role, and he’s been my keeper since then. He’s been delivering here for as long as I’ve been working here, and when I’m in school, he takes the packages to the mailroom. When I’m working, he comes up and delivers anything for our floor just to check in on me.”

As Julie tells me her story, I want so badly to tell her I understand every emotion and all the sorrow she has endured. Of course, I don’t, doing so I would have to allow myself to relive my own personal grief all over again. She seems to have finished her story. I just stare at her, dumbfounded that the same Dax who broods in my office and ordered me to dinner tonight is the same man Julie just described – the man who has been her protector for the last nine years.

“Cameron, he has been asking about you since I was here last summer. I promise he has a heart of gold.”

“Sounds like it.” I didn’t have anything left to say. She took my silence as dismissal, rising from the chair and going back to her desk.

What the hell does a person do with information like Julie just gave me? I don’t know this man from Adam. I had been adamant I wasn’t going to meet him tonight, and now I feel like I should give him a chance. Ugh, all I want to do is go home and climb in my bed. The fact is while he is intriguing, we are too different – I can tell that just by looking at him. I don’t have time for a relationship and have never been good at meaningless sex.

I glance at the clock at five minutes to seven, knowing I could still make it if I ran, but I resolve to go home and save us both from a pointless charade. I pack up my things and make my way to my car. Pulling out of the garage, I wish I had asked Julie for his phone number so I could at least tell him I wasn’t going to show tonight. Instead, I justify my no show by telling myself I never agreed to go in the first place.

CHAPTER TWO

I don’t see Dax on Friday. I don’t know if he came to see Julie or not. In fact, I don’t see him again at all. In fact, I haven’t seen him at all for weeks on end. I’m edgy, on high alert, cursing myself every time I look at the door and he doesn’t pass through it. I did this to myself; I discarded his advances like he wasn’t worth the time of day. Trying to let go of the anxiety I feel toward missing him, I decide to go out with my girlfriends to a bar downtown. It’s on a side street off Main Street running through town. Friday nights downtown are usually pretty busy, but when you close the bar down, it’s fairly deserted when you leave. My friends head out when I call a cab. They all live in the vicinity while I am out in the suburbs. I told the cab driver I would meet him on Main Street, since it’s easier than trying to get near the door to the little hole in the wall dive I was in, and the fresh air would aid in my sobriety.

My first mistake was not going home to change after work before I came out tonight; I am still in a skirt, blouse, and heels. My second mistake was stepping out the side door that my friends had left through that empties into the parking lot for the bar where they had parked. As soon as the door closes, I try to grab the handle to go back in and exit out the front door, but it locked behind me. My third mistake was consuming so much alcohol that I needed a cab to begin with. I feel every drink the moment my heels hit the gravel in the lot. It is pitch black outside. Not a single light shines in the dark alley.

The skin on the back of my neck prickles causing the hair to stand on end. There is someone else in the parking lot with me, but I can’t see him or her. There are still a few cars in the lot. I assume they belong to the workers still inside. My heart starts to race. My sole focus becomes getting out onto the street where lights will illuminate the sidewalk. Shuddering with nervous anxiety, I stay close to the building, dragging my hand along the wall effectively blocking off a line of attack. I hear the crunch of the gravel under heavy shoes, a different sound than my own heels create. The pace of the steps picks up, and instinctively mine increase as well. I am only halfway down the wall when I feel an arm around my waist, and my ankle rolls into my heel. The hard grip catches me off guard, and then a hand slips over my mouth. I scream as loud as possible, but it is like a whisper when I try to force sound through my captor’s hand.

I struggle against what I assume is a man, throwing my arms in every direction trying to make contact with my attacker, kicking wildly. My body is thrown against the wall, my head bouncing off the brick. The smell of blood permeates my nostrils as I feel it trailing down my neck. The harder I try to fight, the more energy I lose, the more light-headed I become. He keeps restraining me, binding my wrists with some fabric behind my back while he holds my mouth with his enormous hand. His other hand rips at my blouse, tearing it from my chest. Tears start to seep from my eyes. I won’t let him win. I will fight with everything I have in me before I allow him to take what he is after. Pleading with him, I beg, “Please – pllleeasse, let me go.” Ignoring my muffled cries he tears my bra from my chest. “Please stop. Please.” My stifled pleas fall on deaf ears. He hasn’t uttered a word, just continues mauling my body with his talons.

Trying to gather my wits, I remember a random Oprah segment about women’s self-defense. In the segment, she said if you ever get in a situation you can’t get out of, try to lure your captor in close enough to his body to plant a kiss, making him think you are giving in. He had begun to press his body against mine, fumbling with his pants. I attempt to knee him in the crotch, but his thigh blocks it. He holds me closer to the wall, eliminating any freedom I previously had, other than my neck and head. I have to steel my resolve. I sigh deeply into the palm of his hand, silently admitting defeat, and quit fighting. Still holding me tightly against the wall with the brick scraping my skin, he relaxes his grip on my mouth and pulls my skirt passed my hips before it falls to the ground leaving me standing in nothing but my thong. I lean into his shoulder, my forehead resting on his collarbone. His hands take it as an open invitation to grope my body. I am panting in fear, but he seems to think I am aroused. He allows me to nuzzle into his neck. I turn my face into him, smelling the stench that covers his skin. It is an odd, moldy smell that permeates my nose in the most nauseating way. It is a scent I will never forget. Forcing my lips to the vein pulsing in his neck, I kiss him lightly, then an open mouth kiss meets the most sour taste my tongue has ever encountered. I go for it. I open my mouth, exposing my teeth to that vein; I bite down with the intention of continuing until they came back together with a chunk of his flesh in my mouth.

I have no idea how much of his flesh I manage to rip from his neck before he screams like he is on fire. He slams my head into the wall, then his fist in my face, repeating the beating over and over like it is a mantra he is trying to instill in me. With each annihilating blow I lose a little more of my hold on consciousness. I feel his hands all over me; I hear the tear of the only fabric still covering my body; something invades my sex; then darkness consumes me.

There is a lot of yelling, sirens, and arms around me. I struggle to escape but can’t get away. I fade in and out but am never coherent enough to make sense of anything going on around me. My eyes flutter open, and I am flat on my back, strapped to what I assume is a gurney in what I presume to be an ambulance. I can’t move my head, and my eyes seem to be swelling shut faster than I can blink them. I feel a strong hand gripping my fingers, but I can’t see the face attached to the hand. The more I try to move my hand away, the tighter the grip gets. There are tattoos covering the part of the arm attached to the hand holding mine, but there is no voice, there is no body, and there is no face. I feel utterly alone even though there are at least three people in the ambulance with me. I’m scared, and I can’t hold onto consciousness.

CHAPTER THREE

I float in and out over what seems to be a short period of time. Each time I try to open my eyes; there’s only a small slit that provides any visibility. My throat burns, and I feel like I’m choking. I have the worst migraine I’ve ever felt, and there isn’t a single part of my body that doesn’t seem to throb in pain. I’m not lucid. I’m having the most beautifully vivid dreams, and when I do manage to peak out of slumber, it’s as if there’s an angel next to me, luring me back to unconsciousness with his songs – an acoustic melody softly echoing off the walls of the room. The sound of the guitar is beautiful, and I wish I could hold onto it, hear it forever, and it become part of my spirit.