Chapter Four

 

“Daddy, you’re not changing my mind.” Medora pushed the speaker button on her cell and placed it on the glass table top beside her bed. She stretched languorously and ignored her father’s incessant lecturing. She noted the wads of tissues piled on her nightstand and gathered them up, shuffling to her en suite bathroom to toss them. A glance in the mirror presented the honest picture of how she was feeling this morning. Ratty white-blonde hair sticking out every which way, bloodshot eyes, red puffy lids, and smeared lips. She’d gone to bed without washing her face: a terrible no-no which would likely result in a zit tomorrow.

Her father’s voice droned from the other room. “A woman of your station need not be the hands of the organization, but rather the face. Come on, Medora,” he pleaded for the millionth time. “Be the beautiful shining face of Humans with Heart.”

“And stop mingling with the lower classes,” Medora mumbled.

“What was that Medora?”

“Nothing, Daddy!” Medora dipped her hands in warm running water and began washing her face. She couldn’t hear her father’s prattling. It was much better this way. With an occasional “Mmhm” she continued her morning toilette.

Her hair took an extra long time, but after extensive product and patience, it was finally soft and radiant. Her bathroom looked like a torrential rainstorm had hit, but she ignored it and stepped over piles of clothes and shoes, picking her way to her dresser.

Pulling out a matching pale pink lace bra and panty set, she got dressed as daddy made his final goodbyes. “Bye, Daddy dear,” she said in a lilting voice, having no idea what he said in the last ten minutes of the phone call.

She wandered to the kitchen, pausing at the windows to see the sun’s light reflecting off miles and miles of steel and glass. Last night’s freezing rain had melted to a steady downpour, and now the sun had decided to grace Chicago with its pale February light. The city shone.

“It is quite a stunning view,” a deep voice said from behind her.

Medora’s hand trembled on the glass, but she inhaled slowly. Years of finishing school and tedious charity balls had ingrained the poise of a head of state. Never mind that Jerik the Krinar had somehow found her and broken into her apartment. He was, even now, staring at her practically bare ass. She pushed away from the glass and turned as if she was Miss Alaska in the final running.

“What a lovely surprise, Mr. Jerik.”

She liked seeing him taken aback. He was expecting hysterics?

“Won’t you have a seat at the bar?” She walked to the kitchen, pretending his heated gaze meant nothing at all. “How do you take your coffee?” She put a K-cup in the machine and chuckled to herself. Keurig had no idea the legacy they would accidentally leave for the Krinar arrival. “A man of your stature,” she continued. “I’m going to guess a lot of cream and sugar.”

He coughed, but she still didn’t turn to face him. Oh, he was getting his eye full of her rounded pale white buttocks and slender back. She wondered if the almighty Krinar could detect the slight curvature of the spine she’d had since birth.

Taking a fortifying breath, she finally turned and handed him his mug.

“Yes, cream and sugar,” he said. His eyes remained fixed on her face.

This surprised her, as the demi bra created quite a spectacular view of her cleavage. “What brings you to my home?” She handed him the creamer and sugar bowl.

He seemed to shake himself out of a stupor.

“I had to see you again.”

She rolled her eyes. Turning her back on him, she filled her own coffee cup. She fiddled with a terrible breakfast. She popped cinnamon bread into the toaster. Grabbed a string cheese out of the fridge and a can of Coca Cola.

When she finally sat across from Jerik, she looked at his comical expression.

“What?” She asked, sipping her hot black coffee.

“That color of pink washes out your already pale skin,” he said. “And your breakfast is positively atrocious.”

She shrugged. “How fortunate I didn’t fix it for you,” she quipped. Gestured to her bra. “Or wear these for you.”

He turned his back on her now, much to her relief.

She buttered her toast and proceeded to dip it into her coffee. How many charity dinners had she endured? A hundred? Two hundred? She could withstand a few more minutes of his insufferable company.

“I wanted to invite you to dinner,” he finally said out into her living room, still not looking at her. “We weren’t properly introduced.”

“Ah,” she answered. Savored a soggy bite of cinnamon and coffee bread before replying. “You’re wondering how a human woman escaped your wily seduction.”

He faced her, a wolfish glint in his eyes. This time he let his eyes rove freely over her breasts, since the rest of her was behind the island. “Or maybe I just want to get to know you better.”

She smirked. “Mmhm.” She watched emotions scroll across his face, fascinated at the play. Tore into her string cheese and popped the Coke open, taking a hearty swig. She relished the burn down her throat and the tickle in her nose.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said and stood. He walked around the island until he was inches away from her but stood at the sink and rinsed his cup out.

She could smell his cologne. It was a blend of clove and rosemary. Very unusual. Very alluring. She hurriedly took another swig of Coke. She felt a burp bubbling to the surface. Forced it to dissipate through her nose which stung like a bitch.

“That won’t work, Mr. Jerik,” she said, eyes watering. She blinked several times. “I have a function.”

“Tomorrow night, then,” he said into her ear. He stood right beside her but kept his hands to himself. More surprises. “Same time.”

Medora quelled the urge to run away or sway toward him. “My apologies, Mr. Jerik.” She shrugged delicately. “I’m booked up every night of the year.”

His nostrils flared as he looked down at her. His pupils enlarged, the black almost engulfing the mesmerizing amber color of his irises.

Her heart rate sped up instantly and she prayed he wouldn’t touch her.

Something snapped in his eyes, and he took a step back.

“Is that so?”

“Can’t you Krinar sense when someone is lying? Heart rate and all that?” She took a smaller sip of her Coke this time and a large bite out of her string cheese. “I’m an heiress. I have a very full schedule.”

“I see.”

She peeked at him from under her dark lashes. His posture was impeccable. His suit, a supremely well-cut Dolce and Gabbana. His shoes, supple leather Berlutis, unless she missed her guess. He could be on the cover of GQ. She squinted at him, getting a better look. Ah, he had been on the cover of GQ now that she thought about it. Last year.

“You own those sex clubs,” she blurted. A flush, dammit, heated her shoulders and breasts. Why hadn’t she at least put on her apron? Because her apron had spaghetti sauce on it, and she’d stuffed it back in the drawer yesterday before catching a cab to the hospital. “You’re quite rich from it, I gather.”

He finally smiled at her. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes for the fifth time since he’d broken into her apartment.

“Yes, on both counts.”

She pretended to relax. At least he didn’t remark on her blushing. “At least I know you’re not after my money, Mr. Krinar Millionaire,” she said and pointed her saggy string cheese at him. “That’s something.”

He allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Then he turned and let himself out of her apartment. She sank to the floor, the emotions from the startling encounter overtaking her. Damn, the tears were coming back, for no good reason.