Fire & Ice ~ The Drake Legacy: Book One (5 page)

“So how about you?” I said. “I don’t really know anything about you, either.”

“What do you want to know?” he said.
 

I resisted the urge to say, ‘Everything,’ and instead took a moment to pause and collect my thoughts, lifting the rest of the fry to my mouth and chewing it delicately. I swallowed.

“Well, where are you from?”
 

“Here,” he said. “I was born in the city hospital, and — excepting all those international business meetings I was telling you about and a few dull-as-hell private schools during my teens — I’ve never really left this place.”

“Family?” I continued, surprised by his frankness and countering with my own.
 

“All dead,” he said, looking down at his food for a moment, then seeming to shake off his sadness, and once again smile at me.
 

“That’s too bad,” I said, thinking again about my father.
 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It was a long time ago … Anyway, enough of this, Cassie. I’d like to talk to you about something. That was the reason I invited you here in the first place …”

Here it comes
, I thought.
Here’s the moment when he invites me back to some seedy little apartment he has prepared for flings like this …
 

“ … It’s rather a delicate matter. You see, I need the advice of a woman on something. And I had a good feeling about you from the start, so thought you might be able to help me.”

“Okay …” I said, a little taken aback by this strange, unexpected turn in the conversation. “Sure. I’d be glad to help.”

“Great,” he said, looking physically relieved. “I need to buy some jewelry, you see. A necklace. And the person I’m buying it for actually looks a little like you, so I thought you’d be able to help. And also, I don’t know the first thing about that kind of stuff.”

I gulped. Couldn’t he tell that
I
didn’t know the first thing about that kind of stuff, either? And who was this mysterious necklace for? Like that, I felt all my previous excitement and nerves drain away − as I immediately realized I’d been relegated to the ‘friend zone’.
 

Of course he wasn’t after me!
 

And how stupid I was, to convince myself just a few brief minutes ago that he was making sleazy moves on me.
 

If I’m completely honest with myself, in that moment I even felt a little
disappointed
, realizing that I’d have possibly even preferred that - being a dirty little slut with him for one kinky afternoon of hot, sweaty passion - than to go out shopping with him, as a friend, choosing a present for another girl.
 

“Sure thing!” I said, as chirpily as I could, masking my disappointment behind a bright fake smile. “I’d love to help, Mr Drake.”

“Call me Xander,” he said, smiling.
 

I nodded and smiled back.
 

Little did he know that I’d been doing that in my head for a while already.
 

§

So that afternoon, after Xander paid the bill — he wouldn’t let me see how much it came to, but I’m guessing almost as much as my first week’s salary — we didn’t head back to the office but instead jumped into a taxi and were driven down to the high-end jewelry stores by the seafront, an area of the city that I hardly ever strayed into on my own, or even out on shopping expeditions with Lauren, knowing how exclusive and expensive everything around this district was rumored to be.

“So, where do you recommend?” Xander asked, once we had stepped out of the taxi. It was a particularly cold, frosty afternoon, and his breath hung in silver wisps in the air.
 

I looked around me, left and right, at the many glitzy, expensive-looking storefronts, then simply chose a shop at random —
Silvestri’s Jewelers
— and pointed at it decisively.
 

“This one, for definite,” I said, nodding my head. “It’s great.”

“Phew thanks,” Xander said. “They all look the same to me! I really appreciate you coming along like this, Cassie.”

So we both entered the small, exclusive little boutique jeweler’s and I looked down in awe at the display cabinets, at the glittering diamonds, gold and platinum on display.

“So, what do you think?” Xander asked me in an almost-whisper. I could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the heady musk of his cologne, and my eye flitted for a moment to that curious little scar by his full red lips. “Anything catch your eye?”
 

I looked down once more at the necklaces and bracelets in the cabinet in front of me. Again and again, my eye was drawn to a thin silver necklace right in the centre, with what looked like a real diamond in its centre, as beautiful and delicate as a drop of dew on a blade of grass.
 

“That one,” I said quietly, pointing it out, my nail lightly ticking against the polished glass above it.
 

“Oh yes,” Xander said, nodding in agreement.
 

He turned and caught the attention of the jeweler, who was a kindly-looking old man with salt and pepper hair and a pronounced stoop, and who, when he hobbled over to our side of the shop, brought with him the pungent scent of old cigars and whiskey.
 

“Yes sir?” he asked politely.
 

“I would like a closer look at this necklace please,” Xander said, indicating the delicate silver piece in the centre of the cabinet.
 

“Very good sir,” the old man said, unlocking the cabinet door and bringing out the silver and diamond necklace.
 

It looked even more beautiful and delicate up close.
 

“Do you mind if my friend tries it on?” Xander asked the jeweler. “Only, I’d like to see what it looks like, worn.”

“Of course, sir,” the jeweler replied, bowing then offering up the necklace in his wrinkly old arthritic hands.
 

Friend
, I thought, feeling my stomach sink again.
 

“Turn round, Cassie,” Xander said, quietly but firmly.
 

And I felt myself softly yielding to his command, obeying, turning my back to him, waiting there, the breath clutched in my lungs. It was like time froze for a moment, and then I felt a flash of electricity as his fingertips softly brushed my hair away from the nape of my neck. A lightening shiver ran up and down my spine and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from gasping out loud. Then he touched me once more, just briefly, as he clasped the delicate silver jewel around my neck.
 

Once he’d fastened it, I turned around and looked up into his big black burning eyes, and I swear I saw them widen a little, before his face broke out in a wide manly smile.
 

“It’s fantastic!” he said, a strange thickness to his voice. “I’ll take it.”
 

“Don’t you want to look at some of our other pieces too, sir?” the old jeweler suggested, wiggling his eyebrows, obviously sniffing big money.
 

“No, no,” said Xander firmly. “This is perfect.”

“Very well,” the old man said, clearly amused and touched by Xander’s enthusiasm.
 

Once he’d taken the necklace off me again and the old man had packaged it up, the two men went over to the till area, while I hung back, trying to distract myself by looking over the other items in the display cases, the many gold and silver bracelets and earrings, trying my hardest not to overhear the transaction that was taking place.
 

But it was no use: even though they murmured quietly, I still heard every word, and when the old man said the price of the necklace, let me tell you, this time round there was no question about it: that little slip of silver — for Xander’s ‘friend’, whoever she was — cost more than I would earn
all month
.
 

Chapter Eight

§

Ice Cold Eyes

Okay. I admit it. I felt really fucking jealous of the recipient of that necklace - whoever she might be. I imagined her as some impossibly tall, blonde, stick thin, high-class bitch: essentially the polar opposite of me.
 

That evening, as I got in from work, I took a long, hot shower until the bathroom was completely fogged up with clouds of billowing steam, and then, before I got dressed, I looked myself over in the full length mirror in my bedroom. I looked at my tits, seeing only that they were too big, too pendulous, and I looked at my waist, thinking only that it was far too wide. The slight bump of my belly caused me another pang of anguish.
 

It was silly, but I was looking at myself so harshly, trying to view myself through Xander’s eyes, trying to get it straight and fixed in my head, in order to firmly tell myself that he wouldn’t like me.
 

I just
had
to stop crushing on him.
 

He was the head of the freaking company, for crying out loud, and who was I to imagine that there was anything more going on between us than regular a completely regular ‘boss and secretary’ relationship. I was being so stupid and big headed to imagine that there’d been anything extra between us; any kind of real chemistry or spark or electricity was just all in my head.
 

Once I’d dried my hair and put on my thick, toweling bathrobe, I wandered through to the little kitchen, opening the door to the refrigerator, the sole contents lit up by the harsh electric light inside as if spotlit, centre stage in an amateur dramatic production: two thirds of a large raspberry cheese cake.
 

As I lifted it out and took it over to the couch, to eat straight from the package with a desert spoon, I pictured that stick-thin bitch again, whoever she was, wherever she was in this city, probably munching on lettuce leaves and raw carrot, unsuspecting that she would soon receive the most beautiful gift of all; little did she know how lucky she was …
 

§

“What’s the matter?” Lauren asked me. “You look down, Cassie. Really down. I’m worried about you. All the spark has gone from your eyes.”

It was Wednesday night, and Lauren had taken me out for white wine spritzers at a wine bar near her apartment. The dimly-lit room was sleek and swish, all white plastic and polished chrome, with retro-futuristic ice-blue laser lights running around the edges of the room and peopled to almost bursting point with well-dressed executive types.
 

I found my eye straying towards the door, stupidly willing Xander Drake to walk through it. It seemed like the kind of place someone like him might hang out.
 

Since our lunch on Monday, I’d hardly seen him at work. He’d been out for a business visit all of Tuesday, and then - save for five brief minutes when he updated me on his hectic schedule - he’d spent the rest of his time holed away in his office doing God-knows-what.
 

“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied, trying to force a cheerful smile onto my face, but knowing how useless it was. Lauren knew me inside out.
 

“That, my dear,” she grinned back at me, “is major-league bullcrap. Something’s up and I’m not leaving here until you tell me what it is.”

“Okay then,” I replied, feeling a tipsy grin of my own spreading across my face, despite my heavy heart, “then you may be in for a very long night …”

“Very well,” she said, raising her hand in the air and snapping her perfectly manicured fingers theatrically. “Waiter!” she called, in a fake French accent. “Another round!”

§

By the time I
did
finally confess the reason for my unhappiness — and heard just how silly and schoolgirlish it sounded out loud — I was rather drunk and so was Lauren.
 

“I’m being stupid aren’t I?” I asked her.
 

“Yeah, a little,” she said, honestly. This was one of the things I loved most about her; the fact that she always called things how she saw them. “But I have to admit, even though I’ve never met him, it wasn’t impossible to believe that he might have a thing for you. I mean, you’re gorgeous, Cassie. And you’ve got that cute half-English thing going on. Men like him would love that.”

“Shut up,” I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m pretty average, really ...”

“You’re
pretty
,” she said with a grin, “but your certainly not average …”
 

Just as I was about to reply, my attention was drawn to the door to the bar, in particular to a tall, blonde guy, striding into the place in a perfectly-fitting white suit and an air of superiority. He moved like he thought he was a real big deal, like he was some sort of celebrity. Maybe he was. It was certainly the kind of place for it. It was odd; there was something about his face that was familiar, that reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who … Again, I wondered if he was famous; on TV perhaps, or in the movies.
 

“What’s got into you?” Lauren whispered, turning in her seat to follow my line of sight, and then she turned back towards me, her eyes glinting. “Oh, I see …” she said, raising one eyebrow.
 

“Does he remind you of someone?” I asked her. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“He looks a little like a blonde Tom Cruise?” she replied.
 

I was about to say something else when he turned his head, his cold blue eyes looking directly into mine for a split second, and I felt a white hot flash of electricity.
 

“Shit,” I blurted out, quickly turning my head and looking down at my half-finished drink. “He just caught me staring at him …”

I ducked my head a little and took a sip of my spritzer, feeling my cheeks burning from embarrassment.
 

“He’s
still
looking at you,” Lauren hissed back. “You sure you don’t know him?”
 

“Positive,” I said.
 

“Well, he’s looking over here like he knows
you
… Or at least would
like
to know you!”