Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
Despite her great misgivings at her mother’s less than timely news, Callie joined her in the kitchen to prepare brunch for their guests; a meal that included sliced salmon, fresh baked biscuits topped with rich grape jam, warm egg casserole, as well as fruit and cheese plates and hot bagels topped with cream cheese.
As her mother brewed tea and coffee for the brunch, Callie retreated upstairs to shower and change into a gold cotton sundress that flattered and emphasized her curvy frame; primping her hair and applying a rarely worn shade of ruby red lipstick.
“Not that I remotely care what Rich Guy Sr. and Rich Guy Jr. think of me,” she sniffed, adding as she inspected the results of her impromptu makeover in her bedroom mirror. “But, blast it, brunch is brunch. And, whatever that is, one probably should dress up for it.”
Her meditative makeover was disrupted by the sound of a door opening on the first floor; one that indicated—or so she assumed--the entry of their guests for the blasted brunch.
“Don’t they even knock?” she mused, taking swift leave of her room as she headed down the stairway in the direction of the first floor. “Ah, well. I guess that, when you’re that darned rich, you can just feel free to walk into other people’s homes without knocking first. Must be nice.”
She stopped stock still on the staircase as she beheld the most beautiful man she ever had seen.
The tall, muscular man who now filled her doorway boasted a thick, full mane of jet ebony hair that framed a flawless face; one that came complete with chiseled cheekbones, full, moist lips and piercing azure eyes.
Dressed that day in an ivory suit that seemed to be culled from exquisite silk, the stunning stranger bore a striking likeness to a classic movie screen hero, or perhaps a fine crafted sculpture in a European art museum.
And then he had to go and open his mouth. Blast him.
“I say, Father,” the statue spoke, furrowing his flawless brow as he checked the gold watch that adorned his sturdy wrist, “How long must we stay at this little shindig? While we sit and have empty conversation with Cinderella and Cinderella Jr., I could be at the club playing tennis with Marnie Lawrence. Have I mentioned that she’s soon to be a contestant in The Miss Forever Beautiful Pageant?”
The man jumped as Callie met these words with a loud, sharp laugh; clearing the last few steps of the staircase in skipping strides as she fixed her guest with a wolfish grin.
“Well if your friend - Marnie, is it?- is indeed a contestant in The Miss Forever Beautiful Pageant, then chances are she won’t be eating anytime between now and said competition,” she informed him, adding with a shrug, “So you might as well stay a while, and eat while the eatin’s good.”
The man stared at her a long, silent moment, then laughed in spite of himself as he offered her his hand.
“Touché, Miss,” he told her, adding as he lifted his sculpted chin to markedly proud effect, “Do allow me to introduce myself. I am Hamilton Sanders.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she greeted him. “I’m Callie Bradford, Jama’s daughter.”
Taking his hand in hers, Callie pumped it in a hearty, robust grasp before turning her attention to the other gentlemen who currently occupied her mother’s crisp tiled entryway.
Likening his son like a mirror image, the man that she assumed was Harry Sanders was also a tall, blue-eyed brunette with an impressive muscular physique. Although greying at the temples and boasting of worry lines just beneath his eyes, even she had to admit that Mr. Sanders still cut an impressive figure at the age of 58; and the dazzling white toothed smile that he gave her was nothing short of charming.
“Finally, I get to meet the apple of my Jama’s eye,” he greeted her, adding as he raised her hand to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss, “I am so pleased to meet you, Callie.”
Softening a bit at his show of courtesy, Callie nodded as she told him, “I’m very pleased to meet you, as well. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Most of it so overwhelmingly negative I can’t rightly believe my mother is marrying you,” she said silently, adding aloud as she turned for the dining room, “Now we’d better run along and devour the brunch that Cinderella Sr. and I have so lovingly prepared; before the egg casserole turns back into a pumpkin.”
Soon the party of four situated themselves around the Bradford dinner table, talking and laughing as they enjoyed a fresh prepared meal in a clean, sun drenched eating area.
“Jama, I must say that you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Harry praised his beaming fiancée, adding as he made a graceful gesture in the direction of his plate. “This is the best buffet I’ve ever enjoyed.”
Hamilton snorted.
“Oh come now, Dad,” he chided his father, adding with a smug grin, “I mean, please don’t misunderstand, this food is certainly more than passable. Just remember, though, that we recently had brunch at the Waldorf Astoria, right after our boating trip on the lake last weekend. And just last week we had THE brunch, at Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant.”
Callie had heard enough.
“Did Wolfgang happen to stop by your table and clock you in the sculpted chin for being impolite?” she snapped.
Unphased by her jibe, Hamilton took a long sip of tea before answering, “Well no. And since my father and I own significant stock in several of his restaurants, he would be advised not to do so.”
Harry cleared his throat.
“Callie, my son and I can’t thank you and your mother enough for your hospitality in serving us this delicious meal,” he told her, adding as he took Jama’s hand in his, “I know that this situation can’t be easy for you. You come from school to suddenly find that your mother is engaged to a man you’ve never met…”
He broke off suddenly as his son met his words with a sharp, derisive snort.
“How many of those can the dude manage in a single day?” Callie mused in silence. “What’s his record, I wonder?”
Then she listened in a state of sheer disbelief as her guest said, “Now let’s not play games here, Dad, why would Miss Callie here not be absolutely thrilled that her mom is marrying the richest man in Plainview, Florida? Let us not mince words here; she and Cinderella Sr. have hit pay dirt here. And I’m sure they know as much.” He paused here, drawing himself up in his plain wicker chair as he added, “Heck, I myself am pretty blasted grateful that—because of you—I’ve just been named the Richest Bachelor in the City by The Plainview Times.”
Callie rolled her eyes heavenward.
“Well bully for you,” she praised him, adding as she pointed an authoritative fork in his direction, “Perhaps next year you also can try for Most Improved Attitude (as in Barely Tolerable and Borderline Civil at Best).” She paused here, adding with a shrug, “Hey, it’s a low goal—but one you should shoot for.”
Hamilton shrugged.
“The only title I’m concerned about winning next year is that of the Richest Bachelor in Florida,” he informed her, adding with a snide grin, “And, seeing as how I am destined to inherit my rather substantial part of the family trust on my 25
th
birthday—which will take place in just over four months—I wager that title will not be difficult to earn.” He paused here, adding as he gestured in the direction of Callie’s breakfast plate, “Perhaps you, Miss, could compete for the title of Most Consecutive Bagels Consumed During the Course of a Single Brunch—Each One of Them Coming Complete with Enough Cream Cheese Topping to Feed a Small Village?”
“Or perhaps to dump on top of the head of an arrogant aristocrat?” Callie shot back immediately, scooping a freshly buttered bagel off of her plate to aim it square in his direction.
She rather enjoyed the panic stricken expression that marred his flawless features as he no doubt contemplated the impending ruination of his crisp pressed white suit; or perhaps of the combed, coiffed hairdo that seemed shellacked in place.
Oh, how very tempting it was to ruin that blasted hairdo, or soil that ever lovin’, overpriced suit. Yet just as she tried to summon the long unused skills she’d learned as a top line pitcher for her grade school powder puff softball game, she caught a glimpse of the hostess whose cordial smile had dissolved to a sad, miserable frown.
Turning in full to face her mother, she saw sadness in the depths of her wide dark eyes; her cherry red lips downturned in a frown as she contemplated the scene before her.
Evidently sensing his bride’s distress, a suddenly solemn Harry squeezed her hand as he fixed her with a loving look.
Her previous ire forgotten, Callie watched with a tranquil smile as her mother’s suitor reached over to kiss her rosy cheek; giving her a tender squeeze as she beamed in response.
It had been a long time, she reasoned, since she’d her mother display that girlish, giddy smile that she once reserved only for her husband. And the last thing she wanted to do was destroy that newfound happiness.
Shifting her gaze to the man she’d previously targeted for assault with a fresh buttered bagel, she hoped against hope that he, too, would be touched by the scene before him.
She started as she realized that Hamilton seemed oblivious to the tenderness shared between their parents. Instead he seemed to be staring straight at her.
She arched her eyebrows as his deep azure eyes graced her with a long, intense look; one accompanied by the slight upward curving of his full, moist lips.
“OK, so he’s probably just pleased that he got me riled up enough to even consider assault with a bagel,” she mused, forcing her gaze from hers even as an involuntary tremble coursed the length of her spine.
“Harry,” she said aloud, shifting her gaze to his father. “Thank you so much for your kind words about our meal. Although I admit that I was a bit shocked by the news of my mother’s engagement, I have to admit that you two look very happy together.” She paused here, adding as she aimed a warm smile in her mother’s direction, “And when this lady is happy, I’m happy.”
Harry smiled.
“You don’t know how much good it does me to hear that, Callie,” he told her with a warm smile. “Especially since your mother and I have a very special request for you. If you both are willing, we would love for you to stand up with us on our wedding today. You, Callie, will make a lovely maid of honor.” He paused here, adding with a pointed stare in his son’s direction, “And if my son can keep his wise acre mouth shut for the duration of the ceremony, then he is more than welcome to stand by my side as my best man.”
Jama nodded.
“Look Kids, we know that this news hasn’t been easy for either of you,” she admitted, adding with an abiding smile, “but the fact is that Harry and I have fallen hopelessly, deeply in love. And if you please could accept this crazy situation, we certainly could make it worth your while. Aside from standing up with us at our wedding, we would love for you to come with us for our Vegas honeymoon.”
Callie gaped.
“What?” she exclaimed, her cutlery clattering everywhere as she considered these words.
Harry nodded.
“We figure we might as well make it a family vacation,” he agreed, adding with eyebrows arched, “So what do you say, Kids?”
Hamilton shrugged.
“Well we might as well,” he agreed with a shrug. “I already have a closet full of fine tailored suits more than suitable—if you’ll excuse the dry pun—for a wedding. And since my bros and I tend to hit Vegas once a month anyway, I’m sure I could make the trip.”
“I’m not sure I’ll survive the trip,” Callie thought immediately, putting on a brave voice as she added aloud, “Count us in, Mom and…” she paused here, adding with an awkward shrug (because, after all, she had yet to learn just what one did call a prospective stepfather), “….Harry.”
“He’s probably the hottest man I’ve ever seen, outside of Hollywood movies and in random copies of Tons of Hunks Monthly—that I just came across by chance, of course, and did not actually go into a store and buy. And I totally, absolutely despise him.”
Seated in her small, modest dressing room at Night Life, a night club where she sometimes performed when she was home from school, Callie held a makeup brush in one hand and a silver metallic cell phone in the other; using the latter to relay this message to her mother.
Jama, much to her keen consternation, met her last, loudly expressed words with a round of robust, loudly expressed laughter.
“You remind me of me, darling, when I first went to work for Harry two years ago,” she revealed. “Believe me, the gentle, charming man that you met at brunch last week is a far cry from the demanding, arrogant jerk that I first went to work for—but as I got to know him outside of work, on a deeper level, I saw his other side. Here’s hoping that Hamilton has another side as well—even if it is deeply, deeply, deeply hidden.”
Callie snorted.
“I do believe I’d venture to add at least two and a quarter more ‘deeplys’ to that equation,” she told her mother, adding with a sigh, “But enough about the Beau Brat. I’m about to take the stage at Night Life for the first time in months, and I am so looking forward to it.”
Moments later Callie found herself center stage at the small but clean lined night spot highlighted with expansive high definition video screens, brilliant azure light rods lining the darkened halls, sleek chairs and couches of rich blue velvet, and a stage that afforded her a single bright spotlight.
The small but devoted crowd, filled as it was with friends and fans straight from her hometown, cheered her every verse as she delivered her own personal brand of alt feminist folk pop. And as she strummed her signature (well, her only) guitar and sang her heart out, her appreciative gaze scanned the crowd; coming to rest on a handsome, chiseled guest who sat front row center—fixing her with a probing, penetrating gaze that seared right through to her soul.
“Speak of the devil,” she breathed, squinting to identify the attentive audience member as one Hamilton Sanders, newly minted bane of her existence. “Most literally.”
Although she struggled to focus on the lyrics and tone of the songs remaining on her set, her gaze and focus kept wandering to the man who stared at her with unyielding intensity—his face unreadable as their gazes met and locked.
It seemed like an eternity until her first break of the evening arrived an hour later. And when it did she hopped up from her plain pleather stool and—after bowing in response to a standing ovation lead by the official and unabashed bane of her existence, dressed sportingly enough in a black velvet dinner suit and sleek white satin shirt—she bounded from the stage to greet him with a hearty welcome of, “What are you doing here?”
Meeting her words with a loud, sharp guffaw, Hamilton stood from his table to pull out a seat for her; one she took with great reluctance as he greeted in return, “Well thank you for the warm welcome, Ms. Bradford. I may just have to take back the $100 bill I just slipped in your tip jar at the side of the stage.”
Callie smiled, but only briefly.
“Look Dude, while I appreciate you coming to the show and giving me a most generous tip, it does not make up for the way that you treated my mom and me the other day,” she informed him, adding as she pointed an accusing finger in his direction, “My mom has worked her fingers to the bone to take care of us since Dad died, and you practically implied that she and I are both gold diggers.”
Hamilton nodded.
“Well actually, that’s one of the reasons I came tonight,” he released on a sigh, adding as he made a broad gesture between them, “I suspect, Callie, that you and I have more in common than you know. We both love our parents to the point of distraction. And we both wanted nothing more than to see them stay together for the rest of our lives.” He paused here, adding in a low, soft tone, “When my parents got a divorce four years ago, I was devastated. I was used to having everything in life go my way, and then—when something didn’t—I was not prepared to deal with it. The only thing that got me through, in fact, was the remote hope that, someday and in some way, they might get back together. When Dad announced that he was marrying his secretary, my hopes were dashed.”
Callie nodded.
“Well believe me, I am sorry for you and I can relate,” she admitted, tone softening as she added, “I always believed that my parents would be that sweet little silver haired couple you see walking hand in hand at the grocery store—and when Dad was taken from us, at such a young age, I never could picture Mom with anyone else.” She paused here, and looked him straight in the eyes and added, “Still and all, you didn’t see me being rude and dismissive to the man she plans to marry.”
Hamilton sighed.
“So I guess the fact that I showed up at your performance, gave you a $100 tip, and explained my behavior is not enough to earn your forgiveness,” he observed, adding as he stroked his sculpted chin to thoughtful effect, “Now what can I do to get in your good favor? Ah, I have an idea.”
Surging forward across the table, Hamilton seized Callie’s lips in a hot, impulsive kiss; his full, moist mouth massaging hers as his long, wet tongue plundered her mouth.
Swallowing her startled breath, he cupped her round cheeks in two sturdy hands and rubbed his sultry lips against hers; his tongue engaging hers in a decadent tango as she leaned into his kiss.
Blown away by his sudden advance, Callie nonetheless reveled in the warmth and perfection of his hot, flawless kiss; and when she finally broke the kiss a full moment later, she opened her eyes to meet an azure gaze that smoldered with desire.
Up close she saw in full the perfection of Hamilton’s sculpted visage: his gem blue eyes, his sculpted cheekbones, and those sumptuous lips that she longed to kiss again.
Then, remembering both their public surroundings and the fact that she royally hated his guts, she decided against it.
“Is that your idea of an apology?” she spat out, sitting back against her seat as she pierced him with a hard, cold look; a feeling that still was not quite seeping through to the rest of her rebellious body, which now thrummed and pounded with desire for this man.
Hamilton shook his head.
“It’s my idea of what I’ve wanted to do to you since the moment we met,” he corrected her, his breath flowing out in hot, hard gusts as he seared her with a look that blazed with desire. “Never, Callie, has a woman talked back to me the way that you did at breakfast the other morning. And I was equally impressed by the great kindness that you showed to both your mother and my father. Now that I have heard your angelic singing voice, and heard the wisdom and spirit in your lyrics…” he paused here, adding as his massive chest heaved in a show of raw desire, “God help me Callie but I want you...I don’t think I’ve never wanted another woman more.”
Callie said nothing in response to these words, only froze as her entire being was overtaken by a wave of cold shock—accompanied and intermingled with a bolder wave of red hot desire.
She jumped seconds later as another deep masculine voice—this one belonging to Vic, the manager and co-owner of Night Life—called her back to the stage.
“Um,” she mumbled, jumping up from her seat at Hamilton’s table as she nodded short and sharp in his direction, “Hold that thought, okay?”
Two hours later Callie found herself once again on the main floor of Night Life; this time clasped in the muscular arms of the man who’d quickly become her biggest fan.
Having completed her show 10 minutes ago, she and Hamilton now joined a throng of dancers who moved and swayed to the sound of a jukebox that played a selection of love songs from the past two decades.
Only Callie failed to notice the particular tunes that guided her dance; all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart as she clung to the man she found irresistible. As her arms wound around his muscled shoulders, and her tender breasts crushed the surface of his hard muscled chest, she couldn’t help but lose herself in his tight embrace; staring deep into those gorgeous eyes as their hips swayed together and he swept her across the dance floor.
“So it’s very nice to see that you’re warming up to me just a bit, baby,” he whispered, adding as he gyrated his trim hips hard and suggestive against hers, “And once you see the surprise I have waiting for you outside, I have the distinct feeling that that warmth just might blaze into heat.”
Taking the hand of a quiet Callie, Hamilton lead her out the front door of the night club and in the direction of the curb that formed its northern border; a curb lined with an assortment of vehicles that ranged from hatch backs to pickup trucks, vans to convertibles—along with a long, sleek ebony limousine that just happened to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.
“One of these things is not like the other,” Callie sang, adding as she graced a grinning Hamilton with a sharp, playful nudge, “Now, let me try and venture a wild, totally random guess as to which car is yours?”
Her question was answered moments later, as she was waved into the velvet cushioned back seat of the limo that sparkled bright in the light of a full Florida moon; admiring the way that its golden beams cast the car’s luxurious interior in a lovely, almost surreal glow.
Also glowing in this ethereal light was the sparkling magnum of French champagne that was presented her in the back of the limo; one that came courtesy of an attentive date who advised his driver to “show them the town.”