A Private Affair Read online

  “That’s where we disagree. Too many things get buried and lost when only looking at the big picture. When only looking at the logistics of how to get from point A to point B. You’re the tanks that decimate villages, the bombs dropped from the sky, while I’m the field doctor bandaging up the bodies of those who survived.” She knew her words sounded hateful but couldn’t stop herself. She was angrier at herself than at him for her ridiculous attraction. She had to remind herself who he was and what he represented.

  He nodded. “You’re right Carissa,” he said with a note of regret. “This is a war and you have to accept that Simus Labs lost. You must concede defeat and chose another battle to fight. Not this one.”

  “Can I fight for the conqueror’s compassion?”

  He sighed. “I’m surprised by your assumption that he has any.”

  “Just reconsider Clyde.”

  “All right,” he said then smiled.

  Carissa felt her tension ease. It was a small concession for him, but a big victory for her. She was determined to get him to see the people, at least some of them, even if it got her fired. She understood his point of view, but buildings, lands and ownership would never replace lives. That was something she’d always stand up for.

  The ax man had compassion. That was a pleasant surprise. But what shocked her more was how much she liked the sight of his smile.

  ***

  At home, Carissa sorted through her mail trying not to think of how relieved she was that Riverton was reconsidering Clyde or how nice he looked when he smiled. He’d been dreaming about her pineapple cake? He’d never had split pea soup before? She could just imagine the look on his face if he got to try her version where she added…

  No, no, no. She could not think about him. He was her boss and they had nothing in common. She was about to throw most of her junk mail away when she saw a lovely invitation tucked in among the pile. She started to open it when the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Seven

  She opened the door and saw Morris holding a box, his face a mask of anger. “Who is he?”

  “What?”

  He pushed past her and stormed inside. “You lied to me.”

  “About what?”

  “You said you weren’t seeing someone else.”

  Her voice cracked in shock. “I’m not.”

  “Then who were you eating lunch with today? I saw you.”

  Carissa nearly laughed at the misunderstanding. How could anyone picture her and Riverton as a couple? “He’s my new boss.”

  “The one you hate?” he challenged.

  “Yes.” Sort of.

  “Then why were you laughing with him?”

  “I don’t have to explain that to you.”

  His jaw twitched. “No, I guess you don’t.”

  “You didn’t have to drop them off,” she said reaching for the box.

  Morris let it go. It fell to the floor with a sickening crash and she knew whatever valuables were inside had been broken. “I trusted you. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

  “I am not seeing anyone,” Carissa said in a quiet voice, staring at the box on the floor, wishing Morris didn’t have such a vindictive streak. “I nearly got fired. I had to make him feel good.” She folded her arms hating that he made her feel guilty for something that didn’t happen. Why should she have to explain herself? Had three years come down to this?

  “Looks like he has more money, is that it?” he said in a sour tone.

  She sighed. “There is nothing going on between us. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “Then try. I’ve never lied to you before why would I start now?”

  He reached for her. “I’m sorry.”

  Carissa stepped back and squatted down to open the box. “Just go.”

  He bent down and touched her shoulder, his voice filled with remorse. “I hope it’s not—”

  She shrugged his hand away. “Goodbye Morris.”

  He stood for a few seconds longer, but when she didn’t move—didn’t look at him, didn’t open the box just stayed crouched down—he took the hint and left.

  Once he was gone Carissa ripped open the box, her heart twisting at the thought of the extent of the damage. As she feared, a beautiful picture frame with a photo of the two of them on the beach, had been broken. But that hadn’t hurt as much as seeing the delicate vase she’d bought herself after her first promotion. It was one of the first luxury items she’d treated herself to. Something she’d given herself as she rebuilt her life after the failure of her second marriage. Morris had known what it meant to her. Although he’d teased her about her ‘ugly’ little vase, he’d let her put fresh flowers in it when she came over to his place to stay.

  For the first time Carissa let herself realize that Morris wasn’t just petty or vindictive, he was cruel. She felt hot tears gathering, but blinked them away. She wouldn’t let him hurt her more than he already had.

  She stood and went back to sorting her mail then picked up the strange envelope and opened it.

  She checked the label and saw her full name: Carey Vanessa York. She gasped at the sight. Few people knew she’d changed her real name at eighteen from Carey to Carissa. Who could it be from? Who knew her real name? She never used it anymore. She grabbed a letter opener and swiftly cut open the gold lined envelope. Inside was a handwritten note on expensive parchment paper lined with finely woven lace. You have been personally selected to join The Black Stockings Society, an elite, members-only club that will change your life and help you find the man of your dreams. Guaranteed.

  She rolled her eyes. An expensive form of junk mail, what a waste. She was about to toss it aside when one word jumped out at her.

  Dumped?

  She paused, almost feeling as if the word was speaking directly to her. No, she hadn’t been dumped, but somehow it felt that way. She was hurt finding out that the man she’d hoped to marry could so easily believe she was a cheater. And he was the one who could break her things, even though he knew how important her ‘ugly little vase’ had been to her. She kept reading.

  Bored? Tired of being single? Ready to live dangerously? Then this is the club for you. Guaranteed results! Submit your application today.

  Application? What the heck was this? She flipped the card over, but couldn’t find anything else. The Black Stockings Society? What exactly was it? She sat down at her kitchen table and pulled out her tablet. She went online and typed in The Black Stocking Society. After finding a lot of lingerie sites, some escort services and other unsavory sites she couldn’t classify, she came up empty. She couldn’t find anything about this so-called ‘society’ on any social media forums. Were they really legitimate? She couldn’t even find them listed with the Better Business Bureau. She looked at the nominal fee. It wasn’t exorbitant, but she didn’t like parting with her money without knowing specifics. How was she chosen? Who recommended her? What were members expected to do? Why didn’t they have an email address or at least a phone number where she could call and ask questions? She looked at the envelope, there was no return address. Where were they located?

  She hated coming up with more questions than answers. Why was she even taking it seriously? She ripped the invitation in two and tossed it in the garbage then went over to her broken vase. Just like her life right now, it needed to be fixed. She gathered the broken pieces and put them aside in a shoebox and put it on the table. She needed some superglue.

  A trip to the local convenience store didn’t take long, so after she bought what she needed, Carissa decided to drive around, not ready to return home. At a stop light she looked over and saw a car drive up to an exclusive restaurant, where a valet was waiting, and she saw a striking woman get out wearing black fishnet stockings, her male companion holding his hand out to her. For a moment she could imagine herself like that. Divine, gorgeous, adored.

  Dumped? Bored? Tired of being single? Ready to live dangerously? Then this is th
e club for you. Guaranteed results!

  A loud car horn shocked her back into reality. She put her foot on the gas and shook her head. It was just a scam. It wasn’t real. How could something like that be real? But she couldn’t take her mind off the woman. Then she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. How did she get to look so worn? How could she have wasted three years on a man like Morris? How could she have fooled herself that he had been an improvement over her exes? Did she really think anyone could really love her? Could she ever be a woman like the one she had just seen?

  The thought surprised her. She hadn’t even thought she’d wanted that. It wasn’t the fancy car or the clothes. She wanted to be admired. Desired. Instead of always being used. Her first husband, her second husband, and now her ex-boyfriend had all used her. Didn’t she deserve better?

  She tossed the idea aside, but it called to her. At home she tried to focus on putting her vase back together, but couldn’t. She could feel the opportunity calling her from the trash bin. What if this really was a chance to change her life? It had definitely come at the right time. She pulled the torn invitation out of the trash and taped it back together, a little surprised by how easy it was. It seemed to mend itself, the tears were almost invisible. “I’ve lost my mind,” she mumbled to herself. “But who cares? No one needs to know.”

  She sat down and read the questionnaire.

  Peach or pecan pie? That was an odd question. She liked both. Why choose and what did it have to do with anything? She frowned. This was nonsense. She tapped her pen against the paper then shrugged. Best to get it over with. She wrote down ‘peach.’

  Eating out or dining in? Dining in.

  Are you ready for husband number three? Carissa swallowed. This was too strange. How did they know about her exes and why would they ask her about them? And what kind of question was that? Of course she wanted to marry again. As unsuccessful as her marriages had been she had enjoyed the married state. She liked the idea of sharing her life with someone. And she’d learned a lot. Then why did they ask? Did they doubt her? But how could they doubt her when they didn’t really know her? Yes, I’m ready, she scribbled.

  Are you sure?

  She paused startled by the question. Then wrote down, Yes, I’m sure.

  What’s he like?

  How the hell would I know? You’re the one guaranteeing results. You want me to pretend?

  Yes, an unexpected voice said in her mind. She paused. She was hearing things now. She truly was losing her mind, but she was too curious to stop now. She wrote: He loves my cooking and makes me laugh and listens to me. She thought of Morris’s look and words and then quickly wrote: And is never ashamed of me and will never put me down.

  For some reason she felt vaguely exhausted after admitting that. She felt as if she’d been holding her breath. She realized she’d been frightened to dream like this. To hope like this again. She wouldn’t over think it or she wouldn’t do it.

  Carissa quickly looked over the ‘sworn’ oath. As a member of The Black Stockings Society, I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer settle for less. She signed the application, paid the nominal membership fee, then popped it in the mail.

  ***

  This assignment wasn’t supposed to be hard, Kenric thought ripping off his tie as he entered his bedroom. It had been two days since his lunch with Carissa, but for some reason he felt restless and on edge. Something still wasn’t right. Giving a severance package to someone like Mia Wexler was supposed to be routine. Fortunately, being the classy lady she was, Wexler made his job easy or at least tried to with her corporate smile and professional charm. She agreed to train her replacement over the next several weeks. It was done. But somehow he didn’t feel it was over. It bothered him. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

  Carissa York had made him start second guessing himself. He’d even scrambled to come up with a reason to keep Clyde Gelb. His superiors were not going to love that decision, but he knew it’d make Carissa happy.

  When had that started to matter to him? Why did he care what Carissa thought? And why did Wexler and the rest of the individuals he had to let go stay in his mind? Why did Wexler start making him wonder about his own future? About growing older? He worked hard to be the best, but he couldn’t stop time. One day he’d be in his sixties and he’d have to train his replacement. He didn’t like that idea. That’s why you lead, you don’t follow, he could hear his father say. No one in his family could understand why he hadn’t joined the family business where there was a guaranteed position for life. But he’d wanted to set out on his own, to see if he could make it. He knew he had advantages in life, but it was working with Carissa that he saw how much. How much he took for granted—the good schools, the connections, the insurance, the investments, his age, his health. He’d hate to be jobless, but it would be more of an annoyance than devastating. He had lots of options. He’d never considered those who had few before.

  But that wasn’t his fault and he wouldn’t feel guilty, dammit. At least he didn’t squander his wealth like some of his friends. One bought a new car ever six months, just because. Another, a married family man with three kids, had an expensive mistress few knew about. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t spoiled and didn’t think he should be punished for being successful.

  But that didn’t stop him from thinking about Carissa. Carissa and her laugh, and her passionate defense of the people at Simus Labs. He wished he could get her to cook something for him. If she cooked as well as she defended people he knew the dish would be a savory meal. Unfortunately, that night as he drifted off to sleep, he realized her cooking wasn’t the only thing he wanted to taste.

  ***

  Carissa knew something was wrong the moment she smelled baked biscuits. The scent of warm buttered biscuits floated from her apartment as she returned from work. She walked in and heard humming. Had Lina let herself inside? She set her things down and marched into the kitchen then stopped. She saw a woman, but she certainly wasn’t Lina.

  Chapter Eight

  Carissa screamed.

  The woman spun around.

  Carissa screamed some more.

  “Don’t do that!” the woman said covering her ears. She was a few inches taller with a figure Carissa envied, short black hair and dark mascara that emphasized her almond shaped eyes.

  “Who are you and what are you doing?” Carissa demanded.

  “Must you shout!”

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  “Why?” The woman looked at her surprised. “Weren’t you expecting me?”

  “No. You must have the wrong place.”

  “You’re Carey York right?”

  “I’m Carissa,” she corrected.

  The woman tapped the side of her head with a nail painted a deep purple with black stripes. “Yes, that’s right. I’m supposed to remember that.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you doing in my apartment?”

  “You should have gotten the notice.”

  “What notice?”

  “About your membership.”

  “My membership to what?”

  “The Society. And there’s no reason to shout anymore the shock should have worn off by now.”

  Carissa took a deep breath. “I’m calling the police.”

  The woman shook her head in pity. “Now you’re repeating yourself.”

  Carissa pulled out her phone.

  The woman snatched the phone from her. “You don’t want to do that. It would completely revoke your privileges.”

  “What privileges?”

  “To the Society.” She frowned. “Didn’t I already establish that?”

  “You must have the wrong place. But how did you get in here anyway?”

  “Your landlady is so sweet.” The woman turned to the oven and pulled out the biscuits. “Hmmm. We’re going to enjoy these.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry
.” She took off her oven mitt, held out her hand and flashed a big smile. “I’m Sara Kitano, your Associate.”

  Carissa shook the woman’s hand feeling as if she were in a fog. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “Your box came. I thought we’d go through it together.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “You were accepted into the Black Stockings Society.”

  “And you’re here because…”

  Sara pulled out her phone, typed in a few words then held it out to her. “Isn’t this you?”

  Carissa looked at the picture. “Yes.”

  She scrolled down. “And isn’t this your address?”

  “Yes.”

  She scrolled down some more. “And isn’t this your application and receipt?”

  Carissa nodded. “Yes, but what are you doing here?”

  Sara clicked her tongue in pity. “No wonder you’re shocked. You obviously didn’t read the fine print. You agreed upon acceptance to have an Associate, like me, help you over the next week.”

  “Week?” Carissa asked suddenly nervous. “What’s so important about next week?”

  Sara opened the refrigerator. “Do you want butter, jam or marmalade on your biscuits?”

  “Can I change my mind?” Carissa asked, uneasy by how Sara had ignored her question.

  “You don’t get a second chance at this so I wouldn’t suggest it.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “This isn’t hard and it will be fun. Let me help you, it’s what I do.” Sara beamed at her. “You could call it a specialty.”

  “But who are you?”

  “An Associate. I told you.”

  Carissa held the side of her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”