The Pull of Destiny (3 page)

He
nodded, his face impassive. But I’m sure he was laughing inside that I had the
audacity to pose as Joanna. “Of course not.”

“Cut
me some slack! I walked here all the way from Dalton in the rain, just to
deliver Luke’s homework!” Okay, maybe not
quite
honesty mode. But I
had
walked in the rain to the subway. “I only said I was Joanna so he would let
me in. If I’d said my real name, he wouldn’t have let me up and I would have
gotten into trouble at school. Know what I mean?”

The
door man’s face cracked into a smile and I sighed in relief. I should be a
salesman, I was that good.

“I
feel you,” he quipped. I grinned.

“So,
can you please let me in so I can give him this?”

I
almost said ‘I’ll make it worth your while’, but stopped myself at the last
moment. Last thing I needed was him thinking I wanted to bribe him with sexual
favors. I didn’t. If push came to shove, I would bribe him with the assorted
change I had in my pocket, not my body.

“Okay,
fine,” the door man said. “I’ll buzz you in.”

Beaming,
I slapped him companionably on the back as he pressed the gold edged buzzer.
“Thanks so much, man,” I said cheerfully.

The
heavy looking door to the penthouse opened just as the bemused looking door man
murmured, “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

A
butler in a black suit stood between me and a hot beverage. I stifled a groan.
How many goons were there between Luke and the outside world? Did they have a
master too that I was supposed to defeat before I could get to see the guy?

“Good
afternoon, ma’am,” the butler said in precise, clipped tones.

I
smiled at him, bracing myself for another battle of wits. “Good afternoon to
you, sir. I’m here for Luke Astor.”

To
my surprise, he stood aside to let me in. “Right this way, madam. Follow me.”

I
guess his goons ran the spectrum from nastily scary to polite.

My
eyes wide, I followed the butler to the living room, trying to take in all I
saw. Polished hardwood floors, valuable looking paintings on the wall- even the
air smelt expensive.
Bottled air, imported from Switzerland.

Gesturing
to a plush couch, the butler said, “Please have a seat. Master Astor shall be
with you shortly.”

“This
living room is as big as my whole house,” I blurted out.

“This
isn’t the living room, ma’am. It’s the parlor.”

Wow
. Trying to act like sitting
in parlors was a thing I did every day, I made myself comfortable on the couch,
my eyes trying to flit in four different directions at once.

“May
I offer you refreshment?”

I
perked up. Now we were getting to the good stuff. “Yes please,” I said, placing
my hands in my lap and trying to seem demure.

The
butler smiled knowingly down at me. “Hot chocolate and cookies?”

Oh,
that’s it. He was so in.

“That
sounds delightful- uh, what did you say your name was?”

I
hate talking to people who give me food without knowing their names.

Looking
slightly flustered, the butler said “Smith, ma’am.”

“Call
me Celsi. That sounds awesome, Mr. Smith,” I said, giddy with the promise of
impending food. Canteen lunch wasn’t filling enough.

“Very
well, Celsi,” Mr. Smith said, a smile twitching his lips. “I’ll be right back.”

He
bowed low and backed out of the living room- I mean, parlor.
How ‘Anne of
Green Gables.’

Now,
I have a problem. I’m one of the nosiest people you’ll ever meet. When I’m at
other people’s houses, I constantly have the urge to snoop in their drawers and
look under their beds. It’s a major character flaw.

I
got up and, looking over my shoulder to make sure that I was alone, walked
slowly around the room, picking up mini sculptures and setting them down.

Then
I saw it and, just like in the movies, everything else around me faded before
my eyes. The Steinway and Sons Alma-Tadema grand piano Recreation, Legendary
Collection was all I could see.

And
just what is The Steinway and Sons Alma-Tadema grand piano Recreation,
Legendary Collection, you might ask?

Only
one of the rarest and best piano’s in the world. Only a few exist, one at the
White House, another at the Smithsonian Museum. It pulled me closer, making me
feel like an artist coming face to face with a paint brush he knew Vincent Van
Gogh had used.

In
a trance, I touched the piano to convince myself it was real. I never thought
that I would ever see an Alma-Tadema, let alone touch one. In rapture, I bent
over the piano, running my fingers lightly over the keys. I closed my eyes,
letting my fantasy of playing Carnegie Hall (a fantasy that nobody knew about)
take over. I’m a self-taught pianist and even though my family(well, my aunt at
least) and friends told me that I was amazingly good on the rare occasions that
I played for them, I knew I wasn’t nearly as good as they claimed. But with a
piano like this, I could be. With a piano like this, I could be world renowned.

As
I was lost in the bright lights of Carnegie Hall, suddenly a pair of arms
slipped around my waist, pulling me back against a muscular body and
effectively jolting me out of my reverie.

“I
really want to lay you out on that piano,” a husky voice murmured in my ear,
hot minty fresh breath fanning my neck as the scent of Irish Spring soap
surrounded me.

Caught
unawares, I did the most natural thing that came to mind. I snapped my head up,
my heart thumping with fright (I swear I thought Count Dracula was trying to
work me over) as I jerked my elbow back. It connected with something hard. A
thud and a grunt of pain came from behind me and I whirled around, only to see
Luke Astor lying on the hardwood floor, his hand over his nose.

Oh,
crap.

CHAPTER 2

Girl from the
gutter
.

“Oh, shit!”

My
sentiments exactly.

The visions of
piping hot chocolate and cookies, which had been dancing in front of my eyes
ever since Mr. Smith had mentioned the magic word ‘refreshments’ dissolved as I
gaped down at a groaning and cussing Luke, my heart sinking. I had just
assaulted the ‘Master’ of the house. Right now, refreshments were not in my
immediate future. Mr. Smith would call the Door Man, who would kick me out and
Count Dracula would probably release the hounds once he too realized that I
wasn’t really Joanna Winthrop and had pulled one over on him.

This is
bad...

My hands over
my mouth, I took a tiny step forward, staring down at Luke, whose eyes were clenched
shut in a grimace of pain.
“Luke, I am so, so sorry!” I exclaimed. His eyes opened to slits, squinting at
me as I continued, wringing my hands like a bad actress in a soapie. “It was a
reflex action; your voice came out of nowhere-are you alright?” I bit the
inside of my cheek nervously. “Are you bleeding?”

I’m very
squeamish when it comes to other people’s blood.

“Fuuuck, it
hurts!” was Luke’s groaned answer.

I bit my thumb
hard to hold back the tsunami of laughter threatening to pour from me. Big Man
on Campus or not, Luke Astor was just a big, tantrum throwing baby.

Either that or
his nose was broken.
Please don’t let his nose be broken.

I knew Luke
probably had enough money in his private bank account to get cosmetic surgery
on his nose, but I wouldn’t be able to live it down. I’d be known forevermore
as ‘that girl who broke Luke Astor’s nose.’ Not a good reputation at all.

“Take your hand
off your face, let me see,” I said in a commanding tone, leaning over his prone
body. The white Guns and Roses t-shirt he was wearing rose up to show a strip
of nicely tanned, lean stomach and a hint of his blue boxers. My eyes widened
for a second as I blatantly stared then gave myself a mental slap.
Focus,
Celsi!
I was supposed to be helping the guy, not ogling him!

He glowered up
at me, his dark bangs falling into his eyes. “I’m not taking my hand off, are
you insane? What part of ‘it hurts’ don’t you understand?”

Sheesh. The
part which says it’s okay for you to act like a jerk when I’m trying to help
you.

I almost said
that aloud but checked myself when I remembered that I was the main reason he
was in pain. All the poor guy had been after was a little intimacy with Joanna
(who must still be his ‘lady friend’, if the piano line is anything to go by)
but instead he got an elbow to the face. Life can be so unfair sometimes.

“Okay, okay.” I
clamped my lips together. “Are you bleeding?” I asked again, since he hadn’t
answered me the first time. “Do we have any Kleenex?” I looked around the
parlor for a box of tissues and spotted one to my left on a modern looking
coffee table honed out of cherry wood.

Taking a step
forward to grab the Kleenex box, I tripped over my own two feet (everybody’s
done it before. Plus, my boots are about a size too big for me and I always
trip over my feet when I wear them). I wind milled my arms wildly to keep my
balance and not tip over...
please God, don’t let me fall on Luke
... but
it was too late.

With an
involuntary ‘oof’ noise escaping from me, I fell right on top of Luke, feeling
his body clench as I ‘landed’.

Oh, God,
just open up the ground and take me!

My pigtails
swung into my face as I tried to pull myself up using my arms, which were
caught in the strap of my book bag.

“For the love
of God, get off me,” Luke growled from under me, trying to push me off his
body. “Your jacket’s freaking wet!”

I hoped that
nobody would choose that moment to walk into the room and catch us in such an
incriminating position, even though, with the way things were going for me
today, that was probably exactly what would happen.

“I’m sorry, I’m
trying,” I panted, trying to work the bag’s strap over my shoulder to give my
arms more mobility so that I could raise myself up. My legs were all tangled in
his- we looked like a human ball of intertwined wool. As I was trying my best
to free myself from my evil bag, I kept trying not to notice how warm Luke felt
(even with the central heating, I still felt very cold) or how his chest was
rising and falling in time to his breathing, or how fast his heart was beating,
or how amazing he smelt (Irish Spring has never held much appeal to me until
that particular moment). And you know what? I failed at not noticing.
Guilty.

“Try harder!”
Luke exclaimed, his breath fanning my hair against my cheek. I was glad my hair
was in my face, because that way I couldn’t see the expression on his face.
Even though, judging purely by the sound of his voice, he was very pissed off.

One arm broke
free and I rolled myself off him, my heart thumping in- relief? Lust? Wanton
need?
No, definitely relief.

“I am so, so,
sorry,” I said profusely, slipping my bag from my shoulders onto the couch. “I
tripped over my shoes! Here, let me get you the Kleenex.”

 I scuttled
across the room to fetch it and when I turned, Luke had dragged himself onto a
couch as far away from me as possible and was eyeing me balefully through his
shaggy dark brown hair.

“What the hell
is wrong with you?” he snapped, glaring at me as I walked towards him, holding
the box of Kleenex at arm’s length. He looked ready to attack. If he hadn’t
been so cute and still in pain from the nose thing, I would have ran out of the
building screaming.

My mouth opened
and closed like a fish. “I- I tripped over my shoes,” I started to explain,
pointing down at my boots. “You see, they’re a size too big-.”

“Are you always
like this?” Luke asked, cutting in before I had finished my sentence. I
blinked.
How rude. That just updated his jerk status even more.

And what
exactly did he mean, am I always like this?

“Like what?” I
asked in a small voice. He wasn’t lifting a finger to take the box, or give any
indication that he even saw it. Just continued to stare at me, through narrowed
eyes.

“A danger to
people around you,” he elaborated, gesturing towards me, his other hand still
over his nose. Feeling like a moron for just standing over him, I sat down on
the couch next to his.

“Well, I-” I
started, getting ready to defend myself even though I didn’t have the slightest
idea how. Luke was right. I
was
a danger to people around me. Why, just
last week I hit Shazia in the face with a rubber band.