* * *
I’m lying in a bed under tousled sheets, body paralyzed, mind set to mute.
I become aware of things slowly, bits and pieces of the world: a dull, throbbing ache in my head; the bright light through the window blinds across the room.
The shape of someone standing over me, a shadow on the glare.
I hear a voice, too, speaking to me: a deep, smooth baritone that I know and trust; the voice of God, commanding me from on high. He’s giving me instructions, I realize, telling me things I don’t understand.
He tells me I’ve been chosen. That I’m to leave here now. To join his family.
And despite myself, I’m nodding in agreement. My head moves as if on its own.
“I have big plans for you, Meredith,” he whispers. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Suddenly he turns, startled by a noise across the room. It sounds distant at first, as if from deep underground; but as I recognize the sound, it pierces the fog on my mind, blooming into focus as it rips me from my trance.
My cell phone is ringing. That familiar little theme song, drilled into my brain from hours of hearing my son play the game on TV.
Troy.
I sit up, too quickly. Pain swells in my head and I wince, feeling a slight stab of nausea. Through the grogginess of my hangover, I realize where I am with a rush of horror.
I’m naked in Christian Morgan’s bed, and dawn is filtering through the window across the room. I must have stayed through the night, though I never meant to.
What the hell was I thinking, leaving Troy alone? How much did I drink last night? I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything. My memories end in blurry pictures of Jim’s party. After that, it’s a set of skid-marks off a cliff into nothing.
Christian moves from my bedside, crouching by my knock-off purse at the foot of the bed, where my phone is ringing. “Let me take care of that,” he starts to mutter.
Despite the pain, I lunge for the purse, snatching it out of his hands. He looks at me in wide-eyed surprise, his brown hair artfully tousled. I slide the vibrating phone from the front pocket and hurry to answer before voicemail picks up.
“Hello?”
“Mom?” Troy says, uncertainly. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right.” At least, I think. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
But that’s not true. I look up at Christian, looming naked at the foot of the bed, and I have to give my drunken self credit. At least she only lost her judgment and not her taste. The slats of light from the window illuminate his lean, muscled body in all its pleasing contours. It’s no wonder I went home with him last night. Yeah, I know exactly what I was thinking.
It’s been too long, and I was lonely. I always do this. I let things go too long and then I do something too big, bite off more than I can chew.
As I study him, Christian watches me with a slight frown.
“The bus is coming soon,” Troy says on the phone. “Should I go to the stop by myself?”
“No,” I say quickly, befuddled by Christian’s gaze. “I mean—yes, if I’m not there. But I’m coming, Troy. I’m so sorry. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Troy. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he says, automatically.
“See you soon.”
I hang up and shove the phone back in my purse. Christian is looking at me, his eyebrows lifted. “So wait. You’re going home?”
The note of confused disappointment in his voice irritates me. What, did he expect me to stay forever? What was he telling me a minute ago? He wanted me to do something, to leave here, join his family. I was nodding in rapt, blissful agreement, but now I can’t even remember what he was saying. It’s all faded like bad dreams in the light of day.
“I’ve got to get dressed. Help me find my clothes!”
I stumble out of bed, the room brisk and cold to my naked skin. My dress is on the floor, my heels and panties scattered nearby. All the evidence of a wild night, but I remember next to nothing of it—only the vaguest images. I can’t believe I drank so much.
Christian doesn’t move, frowning. “Something must have gone wrong,” he mutters under his breath.
I’m not sure what he means by this, but I’m vaguely insulted. His calm demeanor and sobriety only stoke my anger. How responsible can I hold him for what happened last night? I imagine a jury could be convinced that Christian took advantage of me, bringing me here. But it irks me to think that I was the one being manipulated, so I push the thought away. Of course it was nothing so sinister. I just drank too much and got too horny, that’s all. Hell, he’s young enough that people might think I’m the predator here.
No, I realize. He’s right. There’s no one to blame. It was just a mistake.
“Yeah.” I slide my panties up, and then slip the dress over my head. “You’re right. Last night was a mistake.”
He looks dismayed. “That’s not what I meant.”
Holding my heels in one hand, I raise my other hand. “It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Please tell me you used a condom, at least?”
He blinks. “Yeah. Of course.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. I’ll have to take his word for it, since I can’t remember a thing. “I really have to go.”
As I walk past him, he makes a grab for me, seizing me by the shoulders. His face looks surprisingly desperate. “Wait! Stay for breakfast, at least. I’ll make some eggs, we can watch some more films…”
For some reason I don’t understand, the thought of films makes my heart race in horror and my stomach twist in knots. I couldn’t eat if I wanted to—and I don’t. All I want is to escape this dim, musty apartment and get home to my son.
“No.” I force a smile. “Troy is waiting.”
I push Christian’s hand away, and he lets me shrug out of his grip without resistance. He follows me down the hall with a crestfallen look. In the daylight, the living room looks much grungier than I remember, with its decrepit sofa and stained carpeting. With my purse tucked under my arm, I hurry to the door, where my coat hangs on a nearby rack.
“At least let me drive you back to your car,” he offers. “It’s on my way to work.”
“I’ll call a cab.” I offer him a weary smile. “Don’t worry, I’m a big girl.”
The words ring hollow, since it seems like I’ve been acting like a stupid kid.
“Would you open this?” My voice is curt and authoritative, the one I use on Troy to issue edicts that brook no argument.
A little bewildered, Christian moves to unbolt the door for me as I slide into my coat. “Meredith…”
“I’m sorry, Christian. Please don’t tell anyone at work about this.”
He nods. “Yeah. I won’t.” His smile returns. “See you at the office, then?”
I swallow, dismayed. I’d almost forgotten I’ll have to see him every day at work now. It doesn’t matter. All I want is to get out of here. “Yeah. See you then.”
Then I’m stumbling down the concrete stairwell, out of the apartment, into the street. The late September cold cuts through my leather jacket, and I shiver as I make my way down the fissured sidewalk, calling a taxi as I go.
I keep looking over my shoulder long after Christian’s faded brownstone apartment has disappeared in the concrete jungle behind me. No one is following me, as far as I can tell. In this desolate part of Detroit, nearly no cars pass on the street. When one comes up behind me, flashing headlights, I wave with my hand, and the cab pulls over to admit me.
Despite myself, I doze in the back of the cab, in a worn leather seat that smells vaguely of onions. I feel utterly exhausted, as if I didn’t sleep at all last night. Maybe I didn’t. My muscles feel shaky and fatigued. Christian must have given me quite the work out.
Images of last night flash across my eyes—Christian lying shirtless in bed, Christian on top of me, Christian smiling sadly in the blue light
of a TV—but I can’t make heads or tails of it. I feel groggy, almost still drunk.
The driver is a quiet Arab with a full, thick mustache. He wakes me from my nap with a polite tap of the horn. I startle to alertness, blinking, dazed.
“Miss. We’re here.”
We’re at the back of the parking lot of Tully’s, where my little Corolla is still parked from last night. I pay the driver and lurch to my car, starting it up.
Somehow I make it back to my little row house in Birmingham. By then it’s almost nine o’clock, and there are no kids waiting at the bus stops. Troy is already long gone.
Sulkily, half-awake, I go inside, leaving my heels in the foyer. The house is empty, dishes piled in the sink. TV dinner packages jut from the overfilled trash can. There are two of them, one for Troy, one for the babysitter. The former babysitter, I remember. I’ll need to add finding a new one to my exhaustive to-do list, if I can even afford it.
I take a quick shower and look at myself in the mirror. No unusual bruises or anything. At least I didn’t hurt myself. And Christian didn’t hurt me.
As far as I know, anyway.
Still, I wonder how I handled myself while I was black-out drunk; and I wonder how I’ll face him now, every day at work.
As usual, there’s no time for makeup, no time to dry my long red hair. I grab a bagel, shove it in my purse, and hurry back to my car.
The bright side of being late is missing rush hour. There’s little traffic to slow me down. I park outside the Law Offices of Spector and Krunk, adjust my hair in the rearview mirror, and leave the car. As I hurry across the parking lot, I notice a run in my pantyhose. Must have caught it on something in my haste this morning. I curse under my breath.
The old paralegal Agatha eyes me unhappily from her cubicle as I hurry past without a word of greeting. I try to make my way to my little desk by Anderson’s office without meeting anyone’s eyes. Anderson is in meetings all morning and maybe, if I’m lucky, he won’t notice my lateness.
Almost as soon as I sit down, my eyes seem to lock naturally onto Christian, picking him out across the sea of gray and brown cubicles. He’s leaning against the receptionist’s desk, making small talk, his long legs crossed casually. Unlike me, he looks none the worse for last night’s adventures. His long brown hair is neatly combed and parted. His black Polo shirt is tucked handsomely in his charcoal gray slacks. He and the receptionist laugh at some secret joke, and despite myself, I feel a stir of—not jealousy. Curiosity, maybe, but surely not jealousy.
Christian turns away, and his eyes meet mine. A wave of cold sweat washes over me; but he only smiles with a curt nod and turns away, heading back to his cubicle, out of sight across the room.
Swallowing, I try to focus on work. There’s a pile of forms and documents to be filed. A hundred envelopes and invoices in need of mailing. Another hundred emails in need of a response. On top of that, I have to look for new babysitters for Troy, and none of them are in my price range.
I work through the morning in a daze, but my mind remains completely elsewhere—back in that little Spartan bedroom in Christian’s apartment. What little I remember is already fuzzy and vague, frayed around the edges—but I can’t stop thinking about it.
His clear, scarred skin. His strong, firm hands. His sweat-damp hair, hanging in his bright blue eyes, locked on mine.
I get a little breathless just thinking about it.
I see him going about his day, stopping by the water fountain, going to the men’s room, chatting people up. I start to feel a little creepy, watching him so much. He’s barely paying me any notice at all, which vexes me. I thought I’d have to avoid him.
Instead, I find myself missing his attention. I’m attracted to him, of course—but much more than I first realized.
How could I not be? He’s so damn beautiful, it hurts.
As I sit there, daydreaming with my chin on my palm, I’m startled back to the present by a little chime from my cell phone. Frowning, I fish it out of my purse. I have a new text, from a number I don’t recognize.
Hanging in there?
My heart races. I text back, Who is this?
The response isn’t immediate. I sit there breathless, starting to sweat as I wait. My thumb opens the new text the instant it comes in.
Look up.
I lift my head, and Christian has appeared at the end of the cubicle aisle, smiling at me. He strolls closer, casually putting his cell phone in his pocket. Apparently I gave him my number last night? I don’t remember doing so, but then I don’t remember much of anything except—sweat, firm hands, moans…
“Afternoon, Meredith,” Christian smiles, leaning over the half-wall of my two-sided cubicle. “You didn’t take a lunch break?”
I glance at the time on my computer, surprised. I didn’t realize it was already afternoon. Then I glare back at Christian. “Guess I’ve been distracted.”
“Me, too.” He looks behind me, at Anderson’s closed door. “Listen, we should talk.”
“Christian, I’m busy. I need to find a new babysitter, and I’ve got all this shit to do.” I gesture hopelessly at the stack of paperwork.
He shakes his head. His smile is implacable. “Come on. It’ll only take a minute.”
Reluctantly, I step out from behind my cubicle. He opens the door to the break room, next to Anderson’s office, and gestures me inside. I follow, my heart still racing.
Christian closes the door behind me, and as soon as I turn to face him, he lunges for me, pinning me against the wall next to the vending machine and lancing his tongue into my mouth. His hands rifle through my hair, slide down the small of my back to grip my ass.
I try to shove him back, wide-eyed. Someone could come into the break room at any time, or spy on us through the fogged glass windows next to the door.
But my resistance melts and I find myself wrapping my fingers in his long hair, kissing him back.
The door opens and I jerk away from Christian, bumping the vending machine. Jim Dawson enters, blinking owlishly behind his thick, round glasses. His pale, wispy hair is sticking up in a cowlick. He flips the light switch and looks surprised when the fluorescents reveal me and Christian, standing in the dark. “Meredith?” he mutters.
I wipe my mouth, separating further from Christian. “Hi, Jim. How are you?”
Christian turns to lean against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “How’s it going, buddy?”
Jim smiles uncertainly. “Still recovering from last night.” He turns to me. “Are you feeling better? You guys left the party early…” He eyes Christian again, who smirks back.
“Much better, yeah,” I tell him, my heart pounding like a snare drum.
Jim nods and moves on, refilling his vintage Star Wars mug at the coffee machine and deliberately avoiding eye contact. I turn to the vending machine, pretending to look for something while I fix my hair. Christian just stands and waits for Jim to leave, one boot planted casually on the wall. Jim’s mug takes forever to fill, the trickle of coffee loud in the silence.
Finally Jim sidles out of the room with a last, awkward smile in my vague direction.
As soon as the door closes, Christian detaches from the wall, advancing on me. “Look, we need to talk.”
I quickly turn away, pacing to the far side of the break room, trying to keep some distance between us. “Then talk. But stay over there, and don’t ever do something like that again. Not here.”
He stops across the little round table and raises his hands in a show of innocence. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression last night. Look, Meredith. I really, really like you. You’re…” He tilts his head, searching for the right words. Then he shakes his head dreamily. “You’re not at all like the other girls I’ve seduced.”
I snort at his word choice, but he seems strangely serious as he studies my eyes.
Slowly, he smiles. “I think meeting you here was destiny.”
“Christian.” I roll my eyes. “I can
’t. I’m, what, a decade older than you? We work together—and I have a son. Troy. He needs me more than ever since my husband died. I can’t risk my job. I can’t focus on anything else right now. So I just don’t think it’s in the cards for us right now.”
He absorbs all this, his smile unchanging, his hands in the pockets of his flat-front slacks. “Permission to change your mind?” he asks.
I want to hold firm, but I find it impossible to say no. I smile and roll my eyes. “Granted. You can try. As long as you keep it safe for work. Got it?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I scowl at him and he raises his hands again, laughing. “Okay, I got it.”
“I don't think you'll change my mind, Christian. You're a very nice guy, but...”
“You’d be surprised,” he replies. “Changing minds happens to be my specialty.”
I hate the way he’s smiling at me, so still, so calm. It feels like the gaze of a cobra studying a field mouse. I’m used to being noticed by men, but he’s different. Despite his youth, he makes me feel completely out of my depth in a way I’m not at all used to.
He says I’m not like anyone else he’s seduced—and the feeling is mutual.
“Whatever, hotshot,” I growl, trying to contain my smile. “Get back to work.”
He backs away slowly, his eyes still lingering on me. As he turns and slinks out the door, he says slyly, “I will change your mind, Meredith. One way or another.”
He flips the light switch off on his way out, leaving me in the dark.
I stand alone in the dim break room, trying to catch my breath, my heart still racing. What have I gotten myself into now?
It’s okay, I tell myself. A little office flirting never hurt anyone. It’s harmless, right? He’s harmless. If anything happened last night that would make me doubt that, I don’t remember it now.
And really, what’s the worst that could happen?
If only I’d known the answer to that question—the consequences of my small lapse in judgment, my weakness to his hypnotic beauty.
By the time I return to my desk, I notice a new message on my phone already. Of course, it can only be from one person. With a flutter in my stomach, I read his text:
Want to see a movie?
The End
The Story Continues In
SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL: THE LONELY ONE
BOOK 1 of SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL
Ever since a drunken one-night stand gone wrong, single mother Meredith Banks can’t seem to shake Christian Morgan, the hypnotically attractive and dangerously obsessive intern from her office. It started with the late night phone calls, the hang-ups, the unwanted visits to her row home in Detroit. Now her son Troy, all that matters in her world, has gone missing after school.
Meredith knows Christian is behind her son’s disappearance, but the cops won’t help without evidence. To find her son and his psychopathic kidnapper, Meredith sets out alone into Christian’s deadly world: the criminal underbelly of Detroit, a surreal nightmare of depravity, desperation, and murder. The further she steps outside the law, the less hope she has of turning back. Failure now would cost Meredith her son--but finding him may cost her soul…
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Scenes from So Damn Beautiful
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