Running From Destiny Read online

  The limo comes to a stop and before I come out of my trance, the driver is opening the door. Jackson gets out and holds his hand out for me to exit the vehicle. I take it, only because I am not sure my legs will hold me. He places his hand at the small of my back urging me forward, and I finally look up and realize we must be in Buckhead. I used to come here years ago for the bar scene, but not so much anymore.

  The sign says “The Watershed”. It looks like an apartment building, so I guess the restaurant is inside the first floor and maybe people live above it. We walk in and I gasp at the elegance personified. Warm neutrals and whites, black bar stools and wooden counter tops. It’s late, but there are plenty of people inside. The noises of forks hitting glass and laughter fill the room. And the smell. Yum. Definitely not the kind of place I am used to. I’m a BK Lounge kinda girl. Yes, Burger King. Hey! Don’t judge.

  I’m a simple girl. I don’t need fancy clothes, fancy meals or fancy anything. That cocktail dress I wore to the fashion show is as fancy as I get, and I doubt I will ever wear it again. Good thing I guess since it’s shoved in my suit case, wrinkles be damned. I make decent money, but I prefer to save anything extra, instead of spend it. In this economy, you never know when you might need the extra. So I live paycheck to paycheck by choice.

  We are seated at a small corner table and handed menus but I’m not hungry. Really I’m not, so I scan the appetizers. If I refuse to order anything, I can only imagine what Mr. Bossy Pants would do, so I settle for the basic tossed salad, and he growls at that when I place my order.

  Tough turkey. He’ll get over it. He probably thinks I'm trying to be modest and pretend I'm concerned about what I eat, which I am not. I am really just not that hungry. Or maybe the knot in my stomach is preventing me from eating.

  “You need to eat more than that Alexandra. After your blood sugar issue on the plane, you need a full meal.”

  I shrug my shoulders, “Not hungry really.”

  And that is all he says. He doesn’t press the issue or get angry, which is what I thought he would do. I am all prepared for an argument, but I get nothing.

  This bothers me. Why? I have no idea. But it does. He’s been Mister Bossy Pants since the moment we met, and now suddenly he’s consenting to my salad. I figured he’d order for me and force it down my throat, but that isn’t what is happening. I look up at his face and his expression has changed suddenly. He looks, almost sad. His eyes soften, that sparkling emerald green getting brighter. His brow is furrowed and he is no longer looking at me, but appears to be staring off into space. Strange.

  And, like a dumb ass, I ask what’s wrong. No. Response. At. All. Eek!

  So I sit and wait.

  Finally, the waitress brings our food and he snaps out of his little trance. “Are you okay?” I ask, with a little sympathy in my voice. At this point, I am too confused and frustrated to muster up much more than that.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes, fine.” Is all I get in response. He doesn’t even look at me. Mister Talkative Bossy Pants is silent. I feel like I have been transported to another universe because this is definitely not the same person that dragged me to his limo at the airport and demanded I come with him.

  We eat in measurable silence. Only the surrounding restaurant noises are audible. Clinking of glasses, soft voices and the occasional cough from other patrons. And, since I have nothing to say, I keep my trap shut. Anything that might have been at the tip of my tongue has vanished like the wind. I am hungrier than I thought, so I finish my salad before he finishes his...whatever it is that he is eating. I haven’t even paid attention. Rich huh?

  So I watch him eat. His chiseled jaw, shadowed by a light dusting of stubble. Yes, I know, sexy. His nose is mostly straight, though I guess it could have been broken at some point in his life. Football injury? I don’t know and I don’t ask. Then there are his lips. I hadn’t really noticed them until his tongue darts out to lick some sauce off of his bottom lip. I suck in a deep breath and he then decides to look up at me. But before I realize he is looking at me, it's too late. My eyes are stuck on his lips and the trance is only broken when he lifts his napkin to wipe his mouth.

  So not good. I don’t know what is wrong with me. My mind knows this guys is bad news, but my body doesn't care. Bad body! It’s a sensation I have never experienced before and I don’t know how to handle it. I would ask Heather, but she isn’t here. Damn her. This is all her fault.

  “So, Alexandra...” He speaks. His voice soft and my name rolls off of his tongue. I usually hate my name, but the way he says it.....okay, I’ll admit it to you guys, but don’t say anything. It kinda turns me on. Typically I need to close my mind off and imagine one of my book boyfriends getting intimate with me to feel that way, but something about this man sitting in front of me. It’s disconcerting. Confusing. Frustrating. And hot!

  “Tell me about your life and family. I want to know everything.” He says.

  I’m a bit taken aback by this. Do I really want him to know everything? I just met this guy and my personal life is just that, personal. I need time to decide exactly what I will and won’t tell him. I ponder his question for a few minutes before finally speaking. And, didn’t we go over this at breakfast? Can he not think of anything better to talk about besides me?

  “There isn’t much to tell, actually. I’m 28 years old. Never married. No kids. My parents live outside the city in the same house I grew up in. I have an older sister and a younger brother. I graduated from UGA with an MBA in Business, emphasis in Interior Design and I work for a large architectural firm downtown as an administrative assistant, working my way up to project manager. That’s really all. I live a simple and boring life.”

  “Nonsense, there is nothing simple or boring about you, Alexandra. In fact, I am fascinated by you.” He responds.

  Okay, so I’ll take the bait.

  “Why? There is absolutely nothing fascinating about me. I’m a normal girl, normal upbringing and normal...everything.”

  “Boyfriend?” He asks point blank.

  “Excuse me?” He has surprised me with this question. Well, not really, but I decide to act surprised.

  “I asked if you have a boyfriend. Or, maybe you have a girlfriend? That I can work with.” A sly smile crooks his lips and I cringe. “No, no boyfriend. Or girlfriend for that matter.” I answer, though maybe I should tell him I have a boyfriend so he'll leave me alone. But do I really want him to leave me alone? Yes, I think I do because I can’t handle this guy. Too intense, too good looking and too frustratingly demanding.

  “Look,” I continue, “I am not sure what you want from me, but I’m not interested in whatever that is. I’m tired and I’d like to go home now.” Lame I know. But I need to get away from this man. I can’t think around him. He gazes into my eyes and I know he sees something I don’t see, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. Am I intrigued? Yes, a little. Am I excited? Sure, a little. Am I aroused? Yes, a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. But I would never let him know that.

  I sit quietly and then realize he has not said much about himself. So, I take the initiative and ask. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” He responds with an empty look in his eyes.

  “You ask so many questions about me, but you haven’t actually been forthcoming about yourself.”

  He grunts and shakes his head. Not sure what that means exactly, but I continue to look at him silently willing him to answer.

  Jackson raises his hand to the waitress, summoning our check. He glances at it without flinching and lays a couple of large bills on the table. He pulls out his phone and sends a text, then stands and comes around to pull out my chair. Wait. There is no way this was that easy. He has been on me like white on rice since I met him last night, surely he is not going to let me get away that easily. He presses his hand at the small of my back directing me out of the restaurant to the waiting limo at the curb. Damn that was quick!

  Then I think maybe I hav
e pissed him off for asking about him. Hey, if he can be all nosey and in my business, then turnabout’s fair play right?

  He helps me get in the back of the car and then he settles in next to me, his manly scent drifting into my nose. A subtle cologne and musk. And the heat from his leg so close to mine is almost too much to bear. But I stay put, probably because I can’t move. A shiver creeps up my spine and settles at the base of my neck. Jackson leans forward and rattles out my address. So he is taking me home. Whew, I exhale a breath and immediately suck it back in.

  How did he know my address? I never told him. Wait. Heather. Damn that girl and her interference. I sure hope she’s home when I get there, cause we are going to have a little chat. That is, if I don’t kill her first. Yes, I know. I talk about killing Heather a lot. Especially this weekend. Not sure what has gotten into her, but I’ve had it. She’s outdone herself this weekend and it’s time she stops interfering in my love life. Or the lack thereof. I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes as we pull into traffic.

  “Alexandra. Wake up. We’re here.” Jackson nudges my shoulder.

  I shoot my head up and I look around in confusion. I suddenly have no idea where I am. Oh wait, the limo, but at least my outside surroundings are familiar. We are at the security gate to let us into my apartment complex. I fish around for my card and move to get out of the car. “Um, sorry about that. Thanks for dinner and the ride home. I can walk from here.” I move to get out of the car, but a strong hand wraps around my arm.

  “No, we can take you the rest of the way, just hand your card to the driver and he’ll pull through.”

  Shit!

  Its bad enough he knows the complex I live in, but do I really want him to know the exact apartment? Turns out, he already knows. This guy is something else, I say. Once we arrive at my building, Jackson helps me out of the car and the driver retrieves my bag from the trunk, both of them walking me to the door. Thankfully, my apartment is entry level, because I am not sure I would make it up any stairs. My legs feel weak and my brain is foggy from my nap. This guy is really stressing me out too.

  We reach the door and I insert my key, but the door flings open before I can get the door unlocked.

  Heather.

  Thank goodness she is here. Though I am surprised. Actually, no I’m not. She seems to spend more time at my apartment than her own. “Hola chica!” She screams and I flinch. “Whoa, what happened to you?” She looks at me, then looks at Jackson with one eyebrow raised.

  “Alexandra took a little nap in the limo. She’s fine.” Jackson answers.

  “Mmm, hmm. Okay.” Heather responds, though I think she thinks something more happened.

  I step through the door and the driver sets my bag down just inside. He doesn’t come in, nor does Jackson. “Thanks again for dinner and the ride home. It’s been.....an adventure.” I shyly say, though I know it’s not exactly what he wants to hear.

  “Goodbye Alexandra, we will speak soon. Get some rest.” He says as he turns back toward the car.

  As quickly as he turns, I close the door and immediately grab my suitcase and head to my room. I need to think about how I am going to murder Heather.

  “Ally wait! What the hell is going on? You look like your puppy died.”

  “I really don’t want to discuss it right now, H. Right now I want a shower and to go to bed. I have to go back to work Monday and after this trip, that is all I want to do. Thanks for taking me to Miami with you, but remind me to saynonext time. K?” I smile at her and turn on my heel, closing the door behind me.

  After a hot shower I put on my comfy jammies and roam out to the kitchen for something to drink. Heather is still sitting on the sofa, lap top on the table in front of her. “There you are!” She pats the space next to her on the sofa. “Come. Talk to me. Tell me all about The Suit, as you call him.” She says as she closes her laptop, setting it on the coffee table. I never made it to the kitchen. I glare at her. Yes, it is an angry glare. But I sit down next to her and lean back and close my eyes. I’m silent for a few minutes, unsure where to start.

  “Don’t you ever go home, Heather? You do still have your own place, right?” She laughs, but I know she hates to be alone. This is her way of suggesting we become roommates, but I’m not having that. I need my space, and right now she is in my space. But I digress, because I really need to talk and she’s here, so I talk. About as much as I want her to know at this time. And, since I am not really sure what is going on myself, I’m limited in my discussion material.

  “There is nothing to tell really. He took me to dinner and dropped me off, that’s it. I don’t know what he wants or why, but I don’t expect I’ll hear from him again.” I tell her.

  “But you said he offered you a job? Did you take it?” She asks.

  “Of course not! I have a job and I am very happy with it. I have no desire to give into The Suit’s demands. In fact, he never even brought that up.”

  “Wait. What? Demands? What are you talking about?” Her brow raises.

  “He’s, how do I say this? Bossy? Demanding? Infuriating? Confusing?” I go on and on with descriptive analogies before she cuts me off. “Okay, start from the beginning, Al. He seemed so into you in Miami.”

  “Yes, he was. No, he wasn’t.....oh hell, I don’t know. You saw him at the airport, thanks for your help by the way. Nothing like being thrown under the bus by your best friend.” I scowl at her.

  “Yeah, that was good. I was pretty proud of myself on that one.” She smirks.

  Sassy bitch. That’s what she is.

  “So, is he good in bed? He looks like he would be. If you don’t want him, I’ll tap it.” She giggles.

  “You are so bad, and wrong. You know me better than that. I did not sleep with him, nor will I. He’s too... overbearing. And I am too inexperienced to be able to handle a man like him. You know those demanding Alpha males we read about?Our so calledBook Boyfriends? Yeah, he fits right in and I didn’t think men like him existed. But either he is one, or he is trying damn hard to make people believe he is. Dreaming about one is one thing, but having one right in front of you is another. I can’t handle it.” I explained shaking my head.

  Heather is just staring at me right now, with this look on her face like she is about to burst. But she remains silent and I know it's killing her. “Go on.” She prods me along.

  “What? That’s it. There is nothing else to say. I went on our little ‘date’ and came home. End of story. Tomorrow, my life goes on and I couldn’t be happier about that.” I say it like I believe it, but deep inside I know I haven’t heard the last of Jackson Bentley.

  Chapter 8

  Sunday was quiet and Monday morning arrives quickly, and I am rudely awoken by my alarm clock at five a.m. Have I told you yet that I am not a morning person? Well I’m telling you now. I reach over and slam my hand on the snooze button, but I hit it too hard and damn if the pain doesn’t wake me up. I glare at it. Yep. Five o’clock. Shit. I kick the covers off and roll my way off of the bed and traipse to the shower. I slept good I guess, no dreams of The Suit or our unusual weekend, which is a good thing.

  Since I work downtown, I have to leave especially early to be in the office by eight o’clock. Traffic in the Atlanta area sucks balls with morning rush hour running from seven a.m. to nine a.m. and evening goes from four p.m. to seven p.m. It should be called rush hours instead of hour. Oh well, I have been here all my life, so I guess I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

  I get in my little ole beat up Honda Civic and pray it cranks after sitting all weekend. Thankfully, it does. Trusty little bastard. It’s a 2002 model, eleven years old, but it was a graduation present and until I make Project Manager, it will have to do. I can’t afford a new car just yet.

  As I merge on to I85 South toward the city, I can see up ahead that traffic is already heavy. Welcome to Monday. Thankfully school is out, so it's lighter than normal, but still heavy. Wait until August, then prepare to leave yo
ur house at least an hour earlier just to get there in time.

  I pull into the parking garage at Robertson Industries 45 minutes later, and make my way to the 14th floor and my tiny cubicle. I have some personal things on the desk and pictures on the wall, trying to make it more homey and comfortable. It’s nothing that wouldn’t take a few seconds to remove should the economy decide I no longer have a job. I’ve put my purse away and clocked in, so I stand to go to the kitchen to get some coffee when Tim Fraker, my boss, makes his way to my desk.

  “Good morning, Ally. How was your trip to Miami? Fun I hope?” He asks, all smiley and happy. Too happy for a Monday morning, if you ask me. “It was fine. Warm and sunny. Heather was awesome in the fashion show, but I ended up with a migraine so I missed the big party.” I tell him, not mentioning anything else. It’s not his business.

  “Well, sorry about the migraine, glad you had fun anyway. When you get settled, head into my office will ya?”

  “Sure thing boss man.” I smile back at him.

  Great, an early Monday meeting. This usually means some big project has fallen on his plate and he needs to start now. Not tomorrow or next week. Now. Fabulous. I pull a Hazelnut K-Cup from my bottom desk drawer and grab my mug and head to the kitchen. Only one other person is in there, Sally. Oh. Freaking. Joy.

  Sally Davenport is Ed McKinley’s admin assistant and is too bubbly for her own damned good. She’s the office gossip queen and pretends like her life is awesome. Not sure if it is really, I only half listen to her most of the time because she’s extremely annoying. Have I told you I am not a morning person? She is definitely not the person I want to see this early on a Monday, but I hold in my groan. “Morning Sally.” I say, deliberately leaving out the Good portion of it.

  “Top of the morning to ya, Ally. How was your weekend? Have fun in Miami? Meet any cute guys?” She squeals at me. What is this, twenty questions?