3. Blind Date with a Kidnapper
3
BLIND DATE WITH A KIDNAPPER
DAISY
“I’m off to a meeting at Elixir.” Charles’ voice pulls me away from the monitor.
His towering six-foot-two frame dominates the space. Standing, my four-inch heels offer my poor five-feet height some reprieve, but seated, I’m completely dwarfed.
My gaze wanders upward, taking in his tailored Tom Ford slacks and sleek leather belt. Like every other day, he’s wearing the cufflinks bearing the Hawthorne family crest. His crisp white shirt, tailored to perfection, and the Windsor-knotted blue tie peek out from under his impeccably fitted suit jacket, and my eyes draw up to his long, elegant neck. Charles’ dark blond hair is neatly cut and styled back. In all my years of working alongside him, I’ve never seen him as anything less than perfect.
My heart, ever the stickler for color coordination, doesn’t lament the sea of black and gray suits, because Charles looks so utterly delectable.
And since I’m in charge of managing his wardrobe deliveries and security sweeps for any hidden cameras and microphones, I know everything is just as expensive as it looks.
Is my boss a tad paranoid?
Well, I used to think so, until about two years ago when there was the final negotiation round during an acquisition deal at Elixir Inc. The security team overlooked inspecting a champagne bottle brought into the room for the after-party. The next day, Elixir lost the deal, and upon inspection, a hidden microphone was discovered in the bottle. Ever since that incident, everything within Charles’ two-millimeter radius undergoes my thorough pat down and scan.
As a side benefit of the activity, I know that beneath his dark suit, my boss is wearing a pair of XL gray boxers right now. He always buys the same brand, color, and fabric—soft silk cotton that glides like a dream in my hand and probably feels just as smooth against his tight a—
“Why is your face all red? You feeling sick?” He leans in, reaching out with the back of his hand, and instinctively, I roll my chair back, the wheels coming in handy.
“Daisy?” He quirks that cocky eyebrow. As much as I hate to admit it, he looks super sexy doing that, especially with his furrowed forehead.
Stop thinking about him and sexy in the same sentence.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I get up from the chair and immediately realize my mistake when a grin spreads on Charles’ face.
“I sometimes forget how tiny you are.” He doesn’t have to bend much to look down at my feet, clad in silly plush slippers. “Are those raccoons?”
“I’m not tiny. I’m five feet tall.” Barely . “And that’s a normal height for women. You’re just a giant!”
“Of course, Daisy.”
The way my name rolls over his lips gives me goose bumps. How does he do that? Say the same word but evoke a different feeling depending on his mood and our surroundings.
“Don’t make fun of things you don’t understand, Charles A. Hawthorne. You don’t even know the pain of running around in four-inch heels.” For some unknown reason, I’m suddenly too sensitive.
Liar. You know well. It’s because of the text you received half an hour ago.
Charles’ smile drops.
“Hey, seriously, you okay?” His gaze flicks to my desk, littered with numerous Post-its. “You plan to do all of this today?”
“Not all .” I throw a glance at the wall clock. “I need to finalize contracts for Vincent’s company and then contact the town hall about reserving the Hawthorne Heritage Room for next week.”
“I’ll ask Steve to drop you home.” Charles knocks on my desk. “It’s freezing outside, and I’m not going to have you sick next week.”
All the humor leaves his face, and I catch the sheen of fear that surfaces whenever there’s a possibility of Charles being in a crowd. His aversion to the media confuses me. Charles is not a weak person. In fact, he has the power to make men cry in the boardroom with just an icy stare. So what happens when it comes to crowded places?
“I’ll drag you from your bed, cough, snot, sweat, and everything included, but I’m not going to that fucking interview alone.” His words bring my attention back.
“Thank you for painting such a beautiful picture and making me feel so special.”
When he doesn’t smile or comment that I look like a lunatic as I bat my eyelashes, I sigh.
“I won’t be needing the driver tonight. Sh—” I interrupt by extending my hand, capturing his serious gaze. “I’m going out for dinner.”
Charles’ forehead creases once again, and he bites the inside of his cheek once, a tiny indication of his disapproval. “Going out? Now?”
“When else would I go out for dinner?”
He ignores my comment and talks right through it. “With whom?”
“What?” His sudden interest in my personal life takes me by surprise.
“I’m asking if I need to send a bodyguard, just in case there’s even a one percent chance that your date turns out to be a kidnapper.”
Given my luck with men, the possibility of my date being a kidnapper, or worse a murderer, is unfortunately not far-fetched.
“I’m not some magnet for crazy guys, okay?”
My words immediately remind me of the infuriating text and the asshole who dared to ask for forgiveness after what he did.
Forget it, Daisy.
“I’m just going out with my girlfriends. Willow is going to pick me up in an hour.”
Charles shakes his head, setting his laptop bag down on my desk, and I know what’s coming.
“Don’t start with the speech now.”
“It’s not a speech. But do you know how insane it is that you don’t drive at twenty-three?”
“And who in God’s name is afraid of crowds at twenty-nine?” I fire back.
As soon as the words escape, Charles winces, as if I’ve struck him with a whip.
Crap!
It’s been four years, and I’ve never once questioned his eccentricities when it comes to anything with the word social in them. On the day of my interview, he mentioned he doesn’t do crowded places. I assumed he simply avoided them when possible, not that he detested being in a room with unfamiliar people with the same intensity I reserve for having a plate of cockroaches for dinner.
But that’s none of my freaking business.
“Charles, I’m so sorry. It just slipped out. I didn’t mean it.” I feel a pang in my chest as he looks away, a forced smile on his lips.
“I’d say it was called for.”
“God, no. I was just being a bitch because of something else, and I took it out on you.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can control them.
His entire demeanor shifts as expected, and the sharpness returns in his gaze. “What happened?”
I shake my head. I don’t want to drag him into this mess. It’ll just confirm his suspicions like I’m that lame girl who dates kidnappers. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just tired.”
Charles circles my desk and swivels my chair to face him. He shuts off the PC and is about to swipe his hand on my neatly placed Post-its, when I throw myself onto the table.
“What are you doing? That’s my work!”
“Okay. I’m not touching anything.” He promptly takes a step back. “But let’s call it a day. Start fresh tomorrow.” His gaze softens, hands held out in front of him, signaling he won’t disturb anything.
“Who are you and what have you done with my demanding boss who expects me to work like a robot and never leave this office?”
“Don’t worry, he’s not far. As soon as we get over next week, he’ll be back.” Before he can turn away and leave, Charles meets my eyes. “I’ll have Steve on standby. If you need anything, just call him.”
“Are you ready to place your order, ladies?” A waitress walks over as Willow and I take our reserved seats in Giovanni’s, Cherrywood’s famous pizza joint and family restaurant. Christmas lights twinkle in every corner, and there’s a towering fir tree near the entrance. There’s a warm, cozy feel, with candles burning at every table next to a small orange flower arrangement.
My best friends and I have come here almost once a week since we were in school.
“Oh, we’re still waiting—” I start, but my words halt as Violet and Elodie stroll over.
After sharing a hug, we place our drink order and settle into our chairs. So far, I’m clueless about why we’re meeting in the middle of the week, especially when the holidays are just around the corner.
“I love our town this time of year.” Elodie sighs, echoing my emotions as she pulls her auburn hair into a scrunchie.
“I love this town all year round. We do know how to celebrate,” Willow chimes in, and we all give an agreeing nod.
“Speaking of celebrations, did anyone read Willow’s interview in the local travel magazine this week?” Violet grins, her eyes gleaming behind her golden-rimmed circular glasses, and I can’t help my nod. I’m so proud of my friend as she takes another step closer to her dreams.
“How’s that, speaking of celebrations?” Willow giggles, then shrugs. “I just thought it would be good for the inn’s publicity. But tonight, we’re here to discuss something else.”
“We are?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I ran into Jax.” Willow’s lips twist, and my groan is loud enough to rattle the whole restaurant.
“Please tell me he didn’t talk to you.”
“Oh, he did more than that. He gave me something for you.” She pulls out an envelope from her handbag and places it on the table.
Oh my God, he didn’t.
“What the hell? I had no idea Jax was still around.” Violet’s gaze darts from me to the envelope.
“Me too,” Elodie adds.
“Me three—until this, of course.” Willow jerks her head toward the envelope. “That jerk said he’s sending you messages but you’re not responding. Is there still something between you and him, Daze?”
Okay, so now I know why we’re here.
Maybe it’s not so bad. I know I can confide in my friends.
“After catching Jax with his pants down and his dick in another woman’s throat, I have no desire to go back to him.” My face contorts at the memory, and I feel stupid that I ever wasted tears on such a jerk.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Give me some credit, Willow. It’s not like Jax was a gift to womankind. Even before he decided to cheat, he was barely a decent boyfriend. I was just too scared to see it clearly. Forgetting my birthday every year. Showing up past midnight at my apartment, totally drunk. I’m not asking for the moon and the stars, but he could’ve made some effort, right?”
My best friends nod, and I feel like I’m finally ready to open up and get it all out of my system. Since I caught Jax red-handed, I’ve fried my brain wondering where I went wrong in our relationship, until the truth became clear—it wasn’t me.
I grab my kombucha tea and take a sip.
“The worst part is, I wasn’t even surprised when I caught him in the act. It’s like I knew deep down he was cheating, but I just wasn’t ready to face it. Does that make me a coward?”
“No way!” Elodie squeezes my hand on the table. “We all have to kiss a few frogs before finding our prince.”
“If finding a prince means dating more guys like Jax, then no, thank you. I’d happily skip the whole fairy tale. Do you know he’s texted me more in the last few months than in all the years we were together?”
Willow wrinkles her nose. “Men are idiots. Where are those movie-worthy guys? You know, the ones who are handsome and sweet.”
“Jax wasn’t even handsome,” I mumble, placing my glass back onto the table.
“But the guy with whom you spend most of your day is so hot.” Violet gives me a sly grin, tucking a curl behind her ear.
“Who are you talking about?” The words have barely left my mouth when she points to the window behind me.
“Isn’t that Charles Hawthorne?”
It takes me less than a second to spot my boss sitting in his car. With his window down, I have a clear view of him absorbed in his phone.
“What the heck is he doing here?” I gasp in shock. As if he heard me, Charles looks up, his brow still knitted as his eyes find mine. He looks so out of place outside a family restaurant.
Recognition sparks in his ice-blue gaze before drifting to my surroundings and immediately returning to me.
Maybe it was the previous discussion of my jerk-supreme ex, but I can’t help comparing Charles’ disinterest in others to Jax’s habit of focusing more on my friends whenever we were with anyone.
“God, he’s gorgeous,” Willow mumbles. “Those Hawthorne genes must be magic.”
My friends don’t even realize they’re leaning on the table, their elbows resting over the wooden surface and their faces cradled in their hands, completely taken by my boss.
“And you call him an asshole,” Willow adds in the same stunned voice.
“You call him what?” The horror in Elodie’s voice can’t be tamed as she gapes at me.
“Not to his face. I just stick with Charles A. Hawthorne.”
“Yeah, Charles Asshole Hawthorne,” Willow comments without looking away from him.
“Daze, that’s genius. He can’t even object, since you could always explain that you meant Charles Ashcroft Hawthorne.” Violet beams as if I’ve discovered the cure for world hunger and not just nicknamed my boss.
“How did you find out his full name?”
She scoffs. “Come on. There’s news about him in the gossip columns every day. Half of them are made up, but half are still kind of true.”
“Vi, gossip columns aren’t even real news! As a graduate in journalism, aren’t you supposed to only publish and support the truth?” Elodie lightly taps on Violet’s arm, who just shrugs in return.
Slowly, the attention of my friends returns back to our table as a staff member carries two pizza boxes outside and hands it to Charles’ bodyguard. Of course that’s why he’s here. He must have lost some bet with his cousins, and it’s his turn to get dinner.
Before his car pulls away, Charles nods at me, and I respond with a silly wave like a five-year-old. A corner of his mouth quirks up, and before I can further embarrass myself, my boss is gone.
“Have you ever seen Charles with someone?” Violet turns in her seat to face me.
“Vi! I’m not going to spill my boss’ personal life to a gossipmonger like you.”
“Hey, I’m not going to share it with anyone. It’s just for my own curiosity.”
“Forget it! And if you think Charles Hawthorne doesn’t have NDAs signed by everyone within a ten-mile radius, you know nothing about him. Breathing the same air as him practically requires an NDA.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m not asking for his jacking-off schedule.”
“You’re nuts. How would I even know any of that anyway? Do you think Charles is some kind of perv, getting off behind his desk?”
Great, now I can’t get that image out of my head! Not just the act but the way his face might look—serious, maybe a curl fallen onto his forehead from his otherwise perfect hair. A bead of sweat travels down my spine, and I attribute it fully to the burning fireplace beside our table.
“Just tell me, how many girls have visited his apartment or his office? In four years, you might have seen a few.” Violet’s insistence snaps me out of my daydream about my boss, which is totally unprofessional with a capital U .
“Um, none,” I reply.
“Really?” Elodie interjects. “But he’s so secretive. Never seen in public much without his guards. I always thought he had a secret service on speed dial for hiring girlfriends.”
Before I can respond, Willow leans forward. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if Charles already has a secret fiancée or wife—maybe a daughter of some equally rich family, if not European royalty.”
My heart sinks a little at her words and the thought of Charles with some rich snob.
I know he doesn’t have a steady girlfriend. With the detailed information I have on his daily schedule, it’d be impossible for me to not know if he were in a relationship.
But it won’t be like this forever, Daisy, especially given all the heat the media is sending his way about his bachelor status.
I rub my temples, imagining Charles with anyone else.
I don’t know why, but suddenly a feeling of possessiveness rolls over me. Maybe because I’ve seen him with people he allows in his life. Despite being a demanding boss—hence my nickname for him—he’s one of the kindest people I know. I still can’t believe how much money he secretly sanctions every year for anonymous Christmas gifts at the hospital without a second glance. But more than that, he’s so personally invested in all the donations.
“Okay, enough about Daisy’s untouchable boss. We’re here to talk about this.” Willow nods toward the envelope, and I grimace.
“I hope it’s not another picture of his dick,” I say softly.
Elodie’s hand, reaching for the envelope, freezes midair. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I received one this afternoon. I think he believes I was with him because of his dick and the service it provided.” My hands cover my face, muffling my groan, as I remember the picture that ruined my mood and day.
“Were you?” Violet asks in a squeaky voice.
“If the service was to sleep on top of me as soon as he finished, then yeah, he was on top of his game.”
My friends shudder, mirroring my emotions.
“I sometimes wonder what the heck it was that made me stay with him for so long.” My eyes fall shut until Willow nudges the envelope against my arm on the table.
“Open it. This is the last time we waste our precious moments talking about that loser, Jax. I’ll make sure he doesn’t make me his messenger pigeon again.”
“Me too.” Violet throws her lavender-dyed hair over her shoulder, while Elodie nods animatedly.
Looking at the supportive smiles of my friends, I take a deep breath.
What the hell? Why am I embarrassed? It should be him.
“Okay. Let’s finally tear away Jax’s name from my life’s book once and for all, even if it means staring at his stupid dick pic one last time. Be prepared,” I announce, ripping open the envelope and spilling its contents onto the table.
“Eww.” There’s a collective sound of disgust from all four of us.
I was only partly right. There isn’t just one, but several pictures taken at different states of undress. I should have just thrown the envelope into the fireplace.
“Did he really think he’d win you back with this?” Elodie points, her finger a good distance away from the picture where Jax is sporting a neon pink brief with sparkles all over.
“What does he think I’d do with these?”
“I know the perfect thing we can do!” Violet throws her hand up in the air. “A cleansing ceremony. Burn the pics and stop this jerk-boyfriend curse that’s been hanging around you.”
I groan. “You really need to stop reading nonsense, Vi.”
“What’s the harm? You’re going to throw these away anyway, right? Or do you have a secret Jax box where you are collecting his things?”
“Please. I’ve seen enough.” I grab the pics, hide them back in the envelope, and sanitize my hands with my pocket sanitizer.
“Then let’s do it.” Violet rises from her seat and informs the waitress that we’ll be back soon.
That’s how the four of us find ourselves outside the back door, next to a large trash can.
“Crap! I forgot we need fire,” Violet exclaims, looking around for assistance.
“Great! My jerk-boyfriend purging ceremony is off to an amazing start. Maybe even God doesn’t want me to get rid of them. Let’s just throw them into the trash.”
“Stop being so dramatic, Daze.” Willow opens the sling bag dangling from her tattooed arm before producing a dollar store lighter. When we look at her in surprise, she replies with a grin, “I’ve got all sorts of things for emergencies at the inn. Lighter, candles, sewing kit, you name it. It also comes in handy for surprising others.”
“Now, girls, focus. Take out the cringiest picture, Daisy.” Violet nods toward the envelope in my hand.
“Can we not just burn the entire thing at once and be done with it?” I’ll do anything to skip Vi’s theatrics, especially when I’m at the center of it all. Plus, she’s just getting started.
“Be done with it? This is important, Daze. You clearly don’t believe in this power, and I’ll happily make you a convert tonight. But, girls, you all need to trust this process before we start. So, do you all trust this process?”
“Yes. We trust the process, Vi,” we three reply in unison. I’m sure Elodie and Willow just want to get back inside too.
“Did you just roll your eyes, El?”
“I didn’t, and just get on with it, Vi. It’s freezing out here.” Elodie runs her hands over her arms. Like me, she’s also without her coat, since we were marshaled outside in a rush.
“We invite the great spirit of Mother Nature and goddesses all around the world to this jerk-boyfriend purging ritual.”
My gaze flies to Elodie and Willow, and we share a look that is somewhere between amusement and shock, as if we all want to say, “What the heck is she doing?”
I bite my lip to stop my grin as Violet stands before us with her eyes closed, looking like a shaman invoking spirits and goddesses. In her defense, she looks pretty sincere.
“We give you this jerk today,” Violet continues, opening one eye and extending her hand toward me.
I take out the neon-pink-brief picture.
I don’t believe for a second that this stupidity is going to erase any bad luck out of my love life, and I’m here only for Vi and all the crazy things she does out of her care for us.
“Dear goddesses, please bless our Daisy so she no longer has to deal with stupid losers, and instead, ensure a handsome prince walks into her life. One who doesn’t use his dick as a prop for photographs and knows how to satisfy all her sexual needs in bed. Amen,” Violet chants.
My cheeks are burning red. I look once to my right and once to my left to make sure no one overheard her, and Vi ignites the lighter and brings the flame to the edge of the picture.
“Should we burn these too?” I wave the remaining pictures, when suddenly, a familiar throat clears behind me.
Crap! Crap!
“Daisy?”