Survival (Twisted Book 1) (9 page)

“How are you?” She
asked, her voice chirpy and sweet.

“Good, thank you.”

“Great,” she pulled out some paperwork and scanned my CV. “So, why Poise?”

“I’m a huge fan of the magazine. I had subscribed before I knew the position was open and
I couldn’t not go for it. Your company has a great reputation and I’d like to be a part of upholding it.”

“But you have no experience in this industry,” she popped her glasses on and studied the paper.
“Or any industry, really.”

Round one to Nina?
No.

“I understand that,” I replied. “But I have life experience and intuition that means I’d be an integral part of the team.”

“Is that so?” She peered over her glasses, but I didn’t respond. “I’m looking for someone with experience. A degree, at least. You’re not a journalist, your clerical skills are limited and I have a perfectly good working coffee machine.”

“It’s about what is on the paper?” I wasn’t allowing her words to sting. I had no part of me left to hurt. “Someone can be tardy, lazy and rude, but because they’ve got a certificate in a frame on a wall, that makes them worthy?”

She pursed her lips in an attempt to remain professional, but it looked like a wince. I knew then that I had blown it.

“We’ll call you if you qualify for the next stage of recruitment.”

She looked down at the papers again and crossed my name off the list.

I stood and moved to the door, but rested my hand on the handle and turned to face her.

“I have nothing to lose. I have no friends, no family, no children. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke and I’m allergic to cats. I won't be rushing off to feed a feline instead of focussing on my career. And I don’t own a passport,” I opened the door as she looked up at me in shock. “But what I do have is fight. That’s all I have. Determination, guts and loyalty. That’s the stuff you can't see by looking at a sheet of paper. That’s the stuff that matters.”

I left her office with my head held high. I hadn’t lost. I was proud of myself.

“Miss Jones?” She called, summoning me like the headmistress. I turned to see almost six feet of her standing at her door. “Do
not
wear the same thing twice in a two week cycle. I don’t tolerate chipped nail polish or unwashed hair. I will not stand for hangovers or needing a day off because your boyfriend stubbed his toe. You have one week to prove yourself to me. One week.”

She slammed her door and Mocha Lady stared at me, dumbfounded.

“She’s been recruiting for months. She must see something special in you, Skye.”

“I burn,” I smiled with triumph. “Like a skillet.”

Oh, Margarita Monday, what have you done to me?

July 26
th
, 2006.

“Seriously? Michael was hot!”

I poured us another glass of wine and took a huge mouthful. Mocha Lady a
nd I had been friends for two years, although I stopped calling her Mocha Lady when I found out she had a much more exotic name. Penelope Anastas. Her mother, Clarisse, was from the West Indies and her father, Christos, was Greek. It gave her a complexion meant for the camera. She only had to sit by a window for two minutes and she would turn a golden brown. I would have to sit under the sun, soaked in vegetable oil; and even then I’d only turn a painful-looking shade of pink. Penelope was the first person I let into the flat and she had kind of become part of the furniture; we would go back to my place every Monday for a glass of wine before we went out.

“There are lots of hot guys out there. We had a few dates, he was nice, but it wasn’t going anywhere.”

Michael. I had met him at a charity event a few months back. He was fun, funny in a laugh
at
him kind of way, but he got too close. He wanted to spend every night at my place and asked one too many questions about the pictures on the walls, or why I couldn’t go to bed until the dishes had been washed and the cushions arranged in the right way. Clarke was the same. And George…and Steven before that. I met them all the same way; through work. Steven even took me to Paris for the weekend when he had to go on business. Being in the city of love and romance only cemented the fact that I was never going to fall for him. There had been a few before that, too, but I hadn’t felt that connection; the one that told me we wouldn’t part ways eventually, one way or another. I was content with casually dating, keeping to myself and keeping an even playing field so I wouldn’t feel like I owed anyone anything; enjoying their company until we came to the crossroads where I had to make a choice, to take the risk or protect myself. The decision was never a difficult one. I always protected myself.

“So, you’re looking for perfection.”

“Nope,” I spoke with confidence. “I’m looking for magic. He can have flaws that surpass any list of negatives ever compiled. As long as he’s…just…magic.”

“You know that crap doesn’t exist, right?”

“Yep. Now you see why I do what I do,” I clinked my glass with hers. “Come on, drink up or we’ll be late.”

I didn’t know it didn’t exist, not really. I
believed
it did. My mother – the pain and confusion halted my breath every time I thought about her – used to care. It was a memory I knew was real. She used to tell me stories; the fairy tales that all little girls believed. Good. Evil. Love. Hate. Salvation.

I had to believe in something when I had nothing a
nd I chose to believe in love. One day I would find someone who loved me as much as the prince loved the princess in every fairy tale ever written. I just had to fight to find it and if I had to date a few frogs, so be it.

Margarita Monday. My favourite day of the week. There was a small Mexican place central to where we all lived and the four of us would go there every Monday. Jose’s made the best frozen margaritas.

Penelope and I jumped out of the cab and met the others outside; Jenifer, the new office junior, and Amanda, one of the downstairs receptionists. She would always pop upstairs to gossip and we hit it off straight away. We headed inside and straight to our usual table.

I loved hanging out with the girls. I never thought I would have a group of friends, but there I sat, sipping on a passion fruit margarita and having a good time. I rarely spoke about my personal life and never about the last two years of my teens. I told them I was estranged from my parents, which wasn’t a complete lie, it just wasn’t my choice to be abandoned. I left that part of my life story out. And anything else prior to 2003. It hurt too much to talk about, so I consciously repressed it, never letting it show.

The lights dimmed and the place fell silent before a new song started.

“
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

I looked around for the lucky birthday celebrator, ignoring the sharp stab in my back, my chest, my heart. I didn’t know where it
hurt, I just knew that it did. And then my body went numb when I saw two waiters approaching me with a cake and candles bearing the number 24.

“
Happy birthday, dear Skye. Happy birthday to you,
” my friends sang, oblivious to the fact that I had shut down.

The cake was placed in front of me and the tears pooled.

“I’m sorry,” I spluttered as I jumped from the table and ran outside.

I hid in the alleyway next to the restaurant and tried to calm myself. I didn’t celebrate my birthday. I didn’t tell anyone when it was. I avoided conversing about all celebrations; even Cinco de Mayo, and England didn’t celebrate it.

“Too much for you, too?”

My head snapped up when the smooth, raspy voice spoke and I gasped when I saw the man it came from. Tall, dark, handsome; broad shoulders, narrow waist, and he was casually leaning on the wall opposite. He had his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, drawing my attention to his legs – long, strong, powerful. The cotton button-up coaxed my tongue to moisten my suddenly dry lips – a dusting of hair beneath the three undone top buttons, a chest that rose and fell precisely,
cooly, confidently.

“It’s too hot to eat Mexican in July,” he said whilst I continued to mentally undress him. “I damn near choked on my jalapeno.”

I looked into his eyes, a dark hazel brown, and laughed coyly. I was spellbound, rendered speechless by the man before me.

“Yeah-”

I was entranced by his five o clock shadow as it darkened with the setting sun, and I was captivated by his eyes when they transfixed on mine and the corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. It was a core-melting smile, a soul-baring gaze; it had me relaxed but on edge. It had me confused. Who was this man?

“You okay?”

I nodded and smiled again. I didn’t know what to say. Every man I’d ever met beyond the sleezeballs in bars were at work, where I played a part. A role. A character. Here in Jose’s alleyway, as plain old screwed up Skye, I was tongue-tied, inside out and back to front. He was gorgeous; alluring, self-assured and I was instantly attracted to him.

“Yeah, you just made me jump.”

I dropped my gaze and his arms caught my attention as he clenched his fists in his pockets. With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, he looked delicious; I wanted to take hold of them and feel the muscles tense against my palms. There was just something about a man’s arms. I wanted to travel up, to feel his biceps that pulled the cotton taut across them, over his chest to the first button and pull. Hard. I wanted to watch the buttons scatter along with my mind. I’d never felt like that before – I’d never felt the urge to possess someone so instantly, and wondered what it would be like to be possessed by them in return.

“Sorry,” he smiled
when my eyes met his once more. “I can make it up to you.”

“You can?”

“Sure. Wanna see a magic trick?”

My eyebrows shot up, my curiosity piqued, “Give it your best shot.”

He slowly pushed off the wall and took the two small steps that closed the distance between us. Holding his hand out next to my ear, he snapped his fingers and produced a burnt orange rose. Orange was my favourite colour.

“I’m Thomas.”

“Skye,” I took the rose from him, lifted it to my nose and inhaled the heavenly scent. “That was some magic trick.”

“Skye?”

Thomas and I turned to find Penelope, Jenifer and Amanda at the end of the alleyway. Two men, one blonde, the other with a mop of black curls, stood behind them. All five faces stared towards us, wondering what we were doing. I wondered the same thing.

Thomas cleared his throat and scraped his hand through his hair. I clutched the rose in both hands and stared at the ground. Our friends remained silent for what felt like minutes, but could have only been a few seconds and the awkwardness quickly fell over Jose’s alleyway. It was long enough to make me doubt why I’d stayed so long, why I hadn’t run away. The girls weren’t impressed; their puzzled expressions betrayed what they were thinking – what was I doing?

“I…uh…I should go,” I began to step away. I didn’t want to leave, I knew I didn’t, but wouldn’t admit it.

I turned to face Thomas and held out the rose. He could play the trick on the next girl he met.

“Why don’t you keep it and come back inside with me?” He said, his voice vibrating through my ears, warming my blood and making my head light. “I’ll renew your margarita.”

“I can’t,” I stuttered, stepping further away. I wanted to stay but I forced myself to leave. “Thank you for the rose, Thomas.”

I joined the girls, nodded my heads towards Thomas’ friends and took one look back at Thomas. He looked confused but tipped his head goodbye, and I looked at the ground as the girls and I headed towards the cab office.

“Who was that?” Penelope asked.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged and played with the rose. “I went to get some air and he was just there.”

“And you didn’t want to stay?”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. I didn’t believe what I said and I knew she wouldn’t either.

“Why don’t you go back?” She suggested as the others exited the office.

“I can’t. He might be dangerous. What if he’s a creep?”

I knew, again, my words held no truth. He was just a man and he thought I was just a woman.

“Skye,” Jen turned to me and held my shoulders. “What have you got to lose?”

There was that question, the one that put everything into perspective. I had nothing to lose, because I had nothing.

“Go on.”

I turned around and followed the girls’ gazes. I could see Thomas and his friends further down the road, walking in the opposite direction. Slowly, I took the first step and I didn’t look back. I walked as fast as I could, afraid I’d lose him – I didn’t know what I would say, only that I would say whatever I felt. I was drawn to him, pulled by an invisible force that brought the panic in. What if I couldn’t catch up? What if he’d changed his mind? Was I about to make a fool of myself?

“Thomas!”

For one moment in time, I didn’t care. I ignored the looks from the people around me, I ignored the fear, I ignored the reminders of the past, and I called again.