His Captive Bride (2 page)

              Drake plopped his biker boots up on his coffee table. He liked his mahogany antique coffee table. He had purchased it in a thrift store and re-furbished it. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to. He was a freelance photographer and he was in high demand. He lived quite well in his chosen profession. He had opted for a high rise one bedroom apt in the yuppy end of downtown. He had only rented it to stalk his prey—stalk—until he was successful with the plans that he had. And Drake was always successful with his plans. To put it simply, Drake always got what he wanted.

He was
n’t the least bit concerned about what people’s opinions were and the fact that he was underestimated by those who did not know him didn’t bother him a bit. If the truth were known, he used it to his advantage. He was able to fit right in with all of those neighborhoods that his bleeding heart obsession liked to go to.

It’
s a good thing that I am stalking you girl. God knows the volunteers that you bring are useless as far as protection is concerned.

She probably thinks that I’m some juvenile delinquent
, but she wouldn’t even care. She sure isn’t like the rest of these stuck-up bitches that I deal with. Models and celebrities with unattainable demands that they make up as they go along; demands that feed into their lofty egos. Mandissa would probably try to feed me. Mm, that’s a thought; I would love to eat her up from the top of her head, right down to the bottom of those perfectly manicured toes of hers that wiggle around in those four inch heels she wears.

     
“Oh yes, little lady, now that pic came out nice.” Drake eyed the computer screen as he spoke aloud to himself. “I do love those unsuspecting shots that I get of you. You have no idea that I’m taking your photo, do you? But then again………. there are times that I know that you sense my presence.”

Drake pushed down on the
ever growing need in his pants. For some reason this woman brought out his very primal need to ‘stalk.’ Mandissa brought the primal hunter in Drake out and he couldn’t put his finger on why. All he knew was that Mandissa was becoming an obsession; an obsession that was growing stronger by the day.                                            

                     
And three—two—one—the producer mouthed as he pointed towards Mandissa. She had taken a grass roots TV show that she had started; a show that was based on helping those less fortunate in the community and she had turned it into a top rated local show. She operated on gut instinct—as far as what topics that she covered and how she hosted the shows. To put it simply, the people couldn’t get enough of her. She had the ability of making the viewers feel that they were her personal friends and in a way, that was true.

If you saw Mandissa out in public, you felt as if she wa
s a personal friend. Really, what you saw—was what you got with Mandissa. That connection that she was able to form with her viewing audience was exactly the trait that had pulled Drake right into her web. The truth about just how dangerous that he was remained to be seen.

           Mandissa eyed the ‘suit’ from across the desk with contempt. She viewed him as a ‘suit’ and not in a good way. He had all of the attributes of being an arrogant, egotistical bastard. He was nothing more than a suited pompous jerk who reveled in the power that his career brought him. Having a TV station had been quite lucrative to him in more ways than one. In other words: people kissed his ass to be on his TV station. Mandissa didn’t!

          
Part of him didn’t like the fact that he could not control Mandissa and he wanted to ‘force’ the issue of control. Any opportunity that Richard had to operate control over Mandissa he did, but it always left him unfulfilled, because Mandissa was one of the few who was aware that TV brought fame, and fame is a double edged sword. The same way that fame could make a career, it could also destroy one. Overnight, a beloved TV celebrity could go from famous, to infamous. Mandissa made up her mind a long time ago that what she did, and who she was, were two different things.

        
“Well Mandissa, I believe that you could be using the people that you help to better promote the TV station. Let’s just say, that people eat up this bleeding heart shit that you do.” His words brought me out of my thoughts.

               
I eyed the pristine, polished subject who sat on the other side of the desk toying with the platinum pen; a pen that I knew very well was a seven, or eight hundred dollar pen.

How many people could that feed? Pompous ass!

“Richard, while I do understand that this is your TV station, I don’t work for you.”

“Let’s ge
t one thing straight young lady; you do work for me. As long as that pretty little ass of yours is parked in one of my chairs, on my set, you work for me!”

Here we go,
‘The great and terrible Oz speech.’

I just about knocked the chair over as I
pushed it out of the way making my exit. I didn’t say anything for fear of throwing the chair at him.

Richard, the pompous ass
, twirled his $800.00 pen beneath his manicured fingers, as he watched Mandissa’s fine ass, makes its way out of
his
office.

Whether Richard wanted to admit it or not, he was a control freak
. The fact that Mandissa had no intentions of dancing to his tune wasn’t seating well with him. Richard was used to getting his way, not only in his professional life, but his personal one too. With his good looks, prestige, and the money that Richard had, he was able to have just about anything, or anyone that he wanted. Anyone but Mandissa that is, which only proved to make him want her more. Richard lacked the one thing that it took to win a girl like Mandissa over and that was heart. Mandissa felt nothing but loathing and contempt, when it came to her ‘self proclaimed boss.’

                
There were very few who were able to make Mandissa feel anything and that was especially true when it came to passion, or romance.  If she were to tell the truth, she didn’t believe in love. She had no use for a man whispering sweet nothings in her ear, while he held out champagne and roses. That was for the girls who grew up in good neighborhoods and perfect homes, not women like Mandissa.                     

Drake

                  
Drake sat running his thumb over the remote as he studied his obsession. Every week like clockwork, he was sitting in front of the TV watching, ‘Mandissa’s Midway.’ He had run across the show while channel surfing late one night and his relentless obsession with Mandissa had begun. Everything about her intrigued him. It wasn’t just the way that she looked—though that didn’t hurt. Her tailored and professional look was totally the opposite of Drake’s biker, bad boy image that he was purposely projecting right now. Not to mention that she was at least ten years his senior. You would never know it though, because at forty five, Mandissa looked better than most twenty five year old women. She had a body to match due to her strenuous workouts. That was one of Drake’s favorite times to stalk. The gym that she frequented had large picture frame windows, a stalker’s dream.

          
The camera loved Mandissa and Drake’s camera simply adored her. Drake knew every detail about her. What shades of makeup that she wore, her style of clothing, hell he even knew where she had her hair done and what brand of products that she used. Details, details, details, yes Drake was all about the details.
After all…..The devil is in the details.

He had been hired in the past to get pics for private eyes on cases and even the police department had hired him due to his photography skills. Drake had a way with film, a way that caused him to be in high demand by numerous genres of professionals.

          
As far as Drake was concerned, no one’s pics came out quite as well as Mandissa’s. He had basically built a shrine to the girl. Any look possible, Drake had managed to capture it and yet he always found something new to be intrigued with. Whether it was a wisp of her hair over one eye way that made him want to reach up and brush it away or the dimples in her lower back that peeked out past her yoga pants band, when she was vigorously working out at the gym.  Sometimes maybe just a coy smile that crossed her face when she got an idea for a show or an online article that she was writing, any of those things could and would capture a perfect shot in Drake’s opinion.

It all captured
Drake’s attention. Drake was learning more and more each day about his beloved Mandissa. His obsession was becoming dangerously consuming.

              
But anyone knows that regardless of what we have the capability to control, obsession does not fall under that scope of things. Only time would tell if Drake’s obsession with Mandissa would prove to be dangerous. Even Drake did not know how far that he would go, if and when, he was pushed to the limit.