Gloria's Revenge (4 page)

Chapter 6

“D
o you want to hold my hand?” crooned Jaime as the plane began its final descent into Los Angeles. I detected mockery in his voice. It so irritated me how fast he could go back to being so cocky and annoying.

“No,” I snapped back at him. I was surprisingly relaxed though it was comforting to be seated next to him on the couch in the main cabin. My seat belt was fastened securely around me.

I gazed out one of the aircraft’s windows. Below, the familiar trafficked intertwining freeways, the cars resembling crawling bugs, and rows of red-roofed Spanish cottages came into view. I flashbacked to the first time I had flown to Los Angeles with Kevin. We had arrived at LAX in the early evening, dusk. I was still so weak from the bullet hole Boris Borofsky had bore into my chest and suffering from airsickness. But when all the twinkly lights came into view, my spirits lifted. The City of Angels. The City of Dreams. Clutching Kevin as we waited for a cab outside the terminal, I gazed in awe at the pink-streaked sky, tall palms, and multi-color flowers. I was shocked that it was so warm when it was mid-December. The cold, gray winter of Brighton Beach was now miles away. And so was the pink-eyed monster. The horror of that one regrettable night was behind us. There was a chance for a new beginning in this fairy-tale city where dreams could come true.

While I was remarkably fearless as Jaime’s plane streamlined to the ground, a mental sigh of relief sang inside me as it touched down at Van Nuys Airport. Once it came to a complete halt, the flight attendants ushered us off. The two attractive brunettes flirtatiously bid Jaime good-bye but still regarded me with unfriendly, suspicious eyes.

Van Nuys Airport was a small airport located in what was known in LA as “The Valley.” It was a hub for corporate jets and private planes, allowing wealthy business commuters and celebrities the opportunity to avoid the hassle of getting in and out of busy LAX, Los Angeles’s main airport.

I checked my iPhone. It was a little after 1:00 p.m. PST, and the weather was SoCal perfect—sunny, mid seventies, not a cloud in the sky. My west coast driver, Tyrone Turrell—Ty, for short—greeted me on the tarmac with my corporate car which happened to be a black Range Rover just like the one Jaime used to get chauffeured around in New York. Ty was a twenty-one-year-old handsome blackman with a brick shithouse build whom I’d rescued from South Central’s drug and crime-ridden streets. After being released from prison for a gang-related crime, he was recruited at the age of eighteen to serve in a remedial apprenticeship program for troubled street kids. It had turned him around and made him into one of the finest young men I knew. With my own challenging childhood, I was a big believer in giving back and helping disadvantaged youth. In fact, later in the week I was being honored with a Lifetime Achievement Award for the work I’d done for Girls Like Us, the charitable organization that I’d founded and supported ardently.

“Welcome back, Ms. Long,” Ty said with a big toothy smile and a tip of his driver’s hat. “Sorry to hear you had engine trouble.” He eyed Jaime, who was standing beside me. “Who may be your gentleman friend?”

Jaime introduced himself before I could utter a word and then shook Ty’s massive hand. “I’ll be working with Ms. Long on the new Gloria’s Secret ad campaign.”

Ty gave Jaime his seal of approval by making a circle with his thumb and forefinger. “Ms. Long’s got mighty fine taste.”

My face flushed with embarrassment.

Jaime glanced my way, amused by my heated expression. “I’d have to agree with that.” I swear he was mentally undressing me. Nerve-zapping tingles raced up and down my body.

“Um, uh, where are you staying?” I asked Mr. Distracting.

“I always stay at Shutters.”

Shutters On the Beach in Santa Monica was one of my favorite hotels. With its gray-shingled design, it reminded me of a charming New England hotel, and the service was impeccable. I often had out-of-town vendors and store managers stay there, meeting them sometimes for breakfast or drinks. The oceanfront location with its view of the pier was spectacular. I was surprised I’d never encountered Jaime there. Timing, I’d learned as a businesswoman, was everything. If you waited too long or acted too soon, everything could change…for better or for worse.

“Do you have a means of transportation?” I asked my companion.

“Actually, I was hoping you could give me a ride. I’ll pick up a car at the hotel.”

I hesitated then agreed. I just wasn’t sure how much more time I could spend with him in a confined means of transportation. I’m sure he wouldn’t try anything with Ty in the car. But then again…

Ty loaded our luggage onto a dolly. Jaime had one piece—a small roll away bag— and I had, well…many.

Jaime rolled his eyes at my mountain of luggage. “Sheesh, angel. You pack like there’s no tomorrow.”

My breath hitched. Not because of his snarky comment but because he’d called me “angel” in front of Ty. The wide-eyed expression on my driver’s face told me the reference was not lost on him. Clearing my throat
,
I said, “It’s not just my wardrobe. There are lots of last minute samples from the Gloria’s Secret line that I had to transport to New York for the fashion show.”

“I look forward to seeing them again,” Jaime said with a wink. “Perhaps you’ll model them for me.”

My eyes shot him daggers. I pressed my lips tight as I followed Ty, with Jaime beside me, to the car. While the hot shower had helped soothe my bruised body, my stride was still stiff.

Ty cranked his head to check on me. “You’re walking a little funny, Ms. Long. Are you okay?”

Jaime jumped in. “She had a hard workout. She’s just not used to it.”

Cringing, I fired him a I’m-going-to-kill-you look. The sparks were flying.

I heard Ty murmur, “Oh my.”

Jaime was back to whistling “Crazy.” Let me at him!

“Stop whistling!” I barked at him.

Jaime continued as if he had deaf ears. He was so damn deliberately irritating.

Tyrone joined in, swinging his head and hips rhythmically, as he did his finest impression of Gnarls Barkley. I blew out a loud puff of air.
Men!

Inside the car, things calmed down. To my relief, Jaime behaved and sat his distance in the back seat.

“How long have you lived in LA?” he asked as the car turned onto the southbound 405 Freeway

“Fifteen years.”

“What brought you here?”

“Work,” I lied.
Desperation. Fear. Hope.
Kevin and I had managed to escape New York just in time… before Boris Borofsky could track us down with his army of Russian mafia.

“Did you leave family behind?”

“Just one special woman.” The image of Madame Paulette filled my head. It still seemed unreal that she was gone. Her burial in Paris seemed so distant.

“Oh, your mother?”

I inwardly shuddered. I didn’t want to talk about my crack whore mother or my neglected, tormented childhood.

Jaime’s cell phone rang, sparing me from responding. He pulled the phone out of his jeans pocket and furrowed his brows when he viewed the caller ID. My eyes skimmed over it. It read “Blocked Caller ID.” It rang again.

“Fuck. I’ve got to take this. It’s important. His jaw tensed when he hit answer. He put the phone to his ear and listened intensely. The words that came out of his mouth were cryptic like… “yes”…“no”…“can’t talk right now”… “will call you later”… “trust me.” He terminated the call and nervously tapped the phone on his muscular thigh.

Trust me?
I cringed at the words. How many times had I heard it? Was that what he said to all his fucks? It was her. His other client—the one he called “babe.” He was definitely hiding something from me.

It was my turn to test him. I inhaled deeply. “Do you want to have dinner tonight? We can talk about the budget for the advertising campaign.”

Jaime frowned. “I can’t. I’ve got another commitment.”

I knew he was lying because he couldn’t look me straight in the eyes. My heart sunk to my stomach. There was no doubt in my mind—the rogue was fucking someone else tonight. It was his “other” client or one of those flirty flight attendants; he called them “babe” too. I regretted that I’d boldly asked him out.

“No problem.” My voice wavered. “Maybe you can come by the office tomorrow around two. I’ll show you around.”

He checked his iPhone calendar. “Two-ish. That we would be good.”

We spent the rest of the ride steeped in silence. His face remained tense. He was definitely covering up something. I diverted my attention by checking my e-mails and texts. There were over a dozen from Kevin. All of them said the same thing:
URGENT. CALL ME ASAP.

It was unlike Kevin to use shouty caps. Something was definitely wrong. I was tempted to call Kevin right away. But I didn’t want to have a conversation with him in front of Jaime. I had a gut feeling that it involved his assistant Ray, and the last thing I wanted to do was let Jaime know that there was—or had been—something going on between the two of them. My eyes flitted to Jaime, whose face remained impassive. He was gazing out the window, and from his furrowed brows, I could tell his mind was elsewhere. He was ignoring me, as if I didn’t exist. As if the last few days didn’t exist. I was like a stranger to him. I gazed down at the twinkling
toi et moi
ring and twisted it around my finger so that the diamonds didn’t glare in my face. Suddenly, I remembered that I had left something behind in Paris. My heart.

The early afternoon traffic on the 405 was fortunately moderate. I instructed Ty to make a stop at my place first before dropping Jaime off at Shutters. Located on the famed Wilshire Corridor in Westwood, my condo was just a few exits before the 10 Freeway which led into Santa Monica. I needed to get away from Jaime as quickly as possible. I was suffocating sharing the same air as him.

Ty pulled into the circular driveway of the majestic high-rise building I lived in. It was considered the swankiest building on the Corridor, the condos going in the millions. Numerous celebrities lived in the building although I was the lucky one who inhabited the spacious penthouse apartment. Kevin lived one floor below me, in an equally stunning apartment. Our current abodes were a far cry from the small two-bedroom apartment we shared in the Hollywood Hills when we first started out in LA. Unfortunately, Victor Holden lived there too. I wondered if Jaime knew.

Ty jumped out of the car and opened my passenger door. He immediately began to unload my baggage from the trunk. I had one foot out the door when Jaime grabbed me by the elbow.

“Let go of me, please.” My voice was as cold as dry ice.

“Hey, aren’t you even to going to say good-bye?”

Before I could say a word, he spun me around and smacked a bruising kiss on my lips.

Damn! What his lips could do to me! My temperature rose, and my heart hammered, not knowing whether to give in to him or resist him. I called upon all the mind control I could muster and broke away.

I turned my head away from him, avoiding eye contact. “Please, I’ve got to go.”

Tightening his grip on my elbow with one hand, he fisted my long braid with the other, yanking hard-on it until I was forced to face him. Our eyes connected. His stubbled, swoon-worthy face melted me. His blue eyes bore a hole in each of my mismatched ones.

“Gloria, I really enjoyed sharing Paris with you.” His voice was soft and breathy.

An avalanche of memories bombarded my head. The bath…the Louvre…the roses…the Ferris wheel…the ring.
Toi et moi
. My aching heart sank to my stomach. Words stayed trapped in my throat, but tears were brewing. I inhaled a deep breath to keep them from falling.

Jaime sensed my distress. The look on his face became one of confusion and concern. He brushed the tip of my braid across my chin. “What’s the matter, angel?”

Calling me “angel” again almost put me over the edge.
Keep it together, Gloria. Don’t
let this man make you fall apart
, my logic pleaded.

“I’m just tired…that’s all.” I was actually worn out by this man. By the way he could play with my body, my mind, and my fragile heart and tear them all apart.

I finally jerked away and leaped out of the car.

“Gloria, wait!”

“Have fun tonight,” I managed through clenched teeth.

“Gloria, it’s not… ”

What you think
. I’d heard these words once too many times and was over that lame excuse. Cutting him off, I slammed the heavy door shut and sprinted past the doorman into my building. Ty was waiting for me in the elegantly appointed lobby with my luggage piled high on a dolly. I surveyed the statuesque man with the build of Mr. Clean. He could easily trample Jaime if he came after me.

I hurried to the elevator, almost running. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Jaime had followed me into the building. He hadn’t. I would be lying to say I was grateful.

With my palm, I anxiously pounded the “UP” call button. To my relief, the doors parted instantly and so did my mouth. Looming before me was Victor Holden. He was clad in an expensive equestrian outfit—a navy riding jacket, tight cream britches, and shiny leather boots. Under one arm was a black velvet helmet and dangling from the hand of the other was a worn leather riding crop. The sight of the latter made me inwardly shudder. Was this the riding crop he’d beaten Jaime with as a child? While I’d seen Victor in this uniform before, it now revolted and enraged me knowing his history of physical abuse.

His steel-gray eyes, like needles, pierced mine. “Gloria,” he sneered.

“Hello, Victor,” I said icily. Avoiding his gaze, I stepped into the elevator, expecting him to step out. Except he didn’t. The doors slid closed, and I was trapped inside with him. The memory of his repulsive sexual assault in Paris flooded my head. Jaime had rescued me, but there was no Jaime Zander in sight now.

Anxiously, I reached for the “Open Door” button to escape. Before I could make contact with it, Victor caught my wrist and, in one coordinated move, slammed me hard against the side wall. He pressed his hard-as-nails body against me, painfully crushing my own bruised body. The remains of his lunchtime bourbon lingered on his breath and nauseated me. I squirmed, trying to free myself from his weight, but I was no match for his strength. The man, despite his age, regularly worked out with a trainer in addition to being an accomplished equestrian and was more fit than someone half his age. The elevator remained stagnant. The air thickened. My pulse rate quickened.