Some Kind of Spell Ch. 02

His very first words, and gestures were identical to her dream. It was as they say, unnerving and yet, she was immediately intrigued, both by the man and by the happenstance.

The phenomena of Déjà vu, is not unheard of but the reasons and theories of why it happens vary. Angela herself had read of these types of things and many dozens of theories had been put forth as reasons it occurred. At this precise moment all Angela could do is look at this man and take in the moment as she cleared her voice and attempted to speak. Nothing came out of her mouth.

Without missing a beat, and Just like in her "dream," he introduced himself and reached forward to shake her hand, telling her his name was Pierre de la Cruz. The touch of his hand was electrifying. Especially so when he turned her hand kissed the back of it and then kissed her wrist, in a very erotic way, generating tremors in her. Even his face showed surprise at that. She had never been addressed in that manor with a handshake and a kiss that was so erotic and stimulating. She shook her head then as if trying to clear her thoughts, her cheeks tinted pink with a delicate but telling blush as she pulled her hand away hastily and moved to the spot before him in the line and got her Mocha Latte coffee with shaking hands and legs like jelly. She at once decided to stop this insane response, squared her jaw, lifted her head and breathed in deeply, quieting her nerves and stabilizing her legs and hands, the shaking barely noticeable. Normally she might grab a pastry or something sweet, but not today. Not with that man still there so close and her body still reacting in spite of her resolve to not let it show.

She had the oddest sense that he was still looking at her as she left the coffee shop, and out of some perverse sense of curiosity she did glance back at him. Sure enough, he was looking at her as she departed and tipped his head in a gesture indicating deep interest and curiosity on is part. Indeed, most......curious.

Pierre was a man of action. He was charismatic, charming, wealthy and well educated ambitious and driven. Not to mention he was very damnably one of the most handsome single men in the western hemisphere and well connected. This woman, this Angela, did not recognize him even though his face had been plastered all over media in recent weeks, he noted her lack of recognition and yet, when he touched her it was almost as if they blended into one soul at that moment. The intense sensation and chemistry from that one touch, and interaction left him standing in the same spot sipping his coffee. He had to know who she really was. The name Angela alone was not enough. His hand dipped into the bowl he had seen her drop a business card into and finding the one he had seen her put in the bowl, took it out, and copied the information into his phone's address book with her full name, Angela W. Seymour, her phone number and business address. Then he dropped the card back into the bowl and strode out of the coffee shop to his limousine, parked about 25 yards down the street.

He had never been to his particular coffee shop before. The fact that he had, and had met this petite and unconventional young woman made his slowly smile. Fate was indeed kind today. Striding quickly to his limo, he had the door opened by the paid chauffer and slipped inside with his hot coffee still in hand and his phone at the ready. He punched in 2 numbers, which connected him with a florist. He ordered a lovely rare orchid to be delivered to Angela and then smiled as he told the florist to send a small card with just ten words. "We shall meet again, ma petite. With deepest regards, Pierre"

Plans were already formulating inside his kinetically quick brain. He was planning way ahead like a professional Chess player many moves and strategies for the future interactions with this unpretentious dark beauty. He directed the chauffer to where he needed to go for his next appointment and business meeting, and still was pensively thinking of this woman who was surely one of the most interesting by far that he had met in a very long time.

She had tried so hard not to notice him at all. To put up a disconnected, uninterested air while she stood in front of him in that line up. Yet, her body trembled and the electricity danced in the air around them both as if in that one moment, something momentous had occurred.

She gave herself away when she looked back at him for that one instant after leaving the coffee shop. Yes, in that instant her face gave everything away, and that look, hooked him and reeled him in like nothing else would have. A fresh faced, honest look of puzzlement, interest and curiosity. Nothing more or less. Just that and it was the first time his looks, money and power had nothing at all to do with a woman giving him such a look.

To Pierre, this was odd not to mention just a bit ego deflating. She seemed oblivious to his fame, his handsome good looks and notoriety. She did not ask him a single thing. She gave only her first name as propriety and good manners demanded something, but was obviously trying to avoid further contact or show any interest. This was something Pierre himself was thinking about and trying to find possible reasons for why she would work so hard to avoid further contact or rhetoric with him. He was stumped about it and if he were being honest, he quite liked that fact that she was trying to be impervious to him and not chase after him like droves of other women had been doing for as long as he could remember. In truth of fact, she intrigued him more than a little, and he liked to unravel mysteries. She was definitely a mystery to him.

Sometimes he wished he could be anonymous in a crowd of people. He had tried and been discovered in short order. Still he wondered what it would be like. Though thinking back he had been "outed" and given up to the press by a now fired former employee seeking his moment of fame. It severely backfired on the man. Now instead of taking in a 6 figure income, he, Zachary Andrew Carson, Zac for short, was washing dishes at some derelict bar and grill place in southern Louisiana which was due to Pierre, his wealth and his connections and also the man's penalty for breaking the rules of his employment.

There was a strict non disclosure policy that Zac had violated, and since it was broken his offense could be punishable by law and could be further enforced. Mister de la Cruz, however had decided a more fitting "Fate" for Zach was when he had Zack put on a bus by armed security officers and shuttled off to that new place of employment. He knew that his former employee would also remember that Pierre would keep an eye on him and that any other attempts to break his contractual employment agreement would be met with prosecution and further monetary costs, none of which he could afford. All things considered, Zac felt himself lucky that was all that Pierre de la Cruz, had done to him. Zack was young, only 24 and had a lot to learn. He had been showing a lot of promise and with the de la Cruz family hiring him the world had looked pretty good. His salary alone had made him the most popular member of his own family. If they could see him now. Zack had the grace to look embarrassed and his humiliation had been complete when his fiancé had broken their engagement saying she "did not want to be associated with such a loser." That along with his family basically disowning him sent his morale straight into hell.

How would he ever get past this debacle? Would he ever be forgiven? Would his lapse in judgement ever be forgotten? More importantly, would any one ever employ him for a good job in view of his firing from the de la Cruz family empire? If given a chance, he would do anything to make it up to Pierre de la Cruz. His whole future was in that man's hands. That meant his fate was undetermined and out of his control.

He had studied so hard. His junior high and High School grades and work after school and during summers had earned him high enough GPA and SAT scores to win him full four year scholarships to a dozen Universities, including a few ivy league ones. He had gone to Yale. Yale was ranked 3^rd in the nation and his major had been Art. Specifically Photography. Zac was very gifted and his photos were what won him the job as official Photographer for the de la Cruz family. He had minored in writing, journalism to be precise, and these together landed him in the enviable position to be eyes, ears and photographer for the family. He did side jobs for Mister de la Cruz. Things he never spoke of or divulged but it was lucrative and very interesting work.

Zac had lived with his great Aunt Beatrice Whitehall Carson. She was a wealthy widow living in the New Hampshire area suburbs and gave him lodgings, room and board for pittance so he could work just enough to pay her and have pocket money left over. This was when he had met Mister Pierre de la Cruz and Mr. la Cruz niece and nephew, Gina and Gerard de la Cruz. Both were enrolled in Yale same as Zac and both were fairly energetic and mischievous.

Zac was sought out by a de la Cruz family employee very discretely. When he met with the senior member of the family, Pierre had offered him the job of keeping him informed about his niece and nephew, discretely without being discovered. Zac had done that and had in fact saved the niece, Gina de la Cruz from some nasty business that might have gotten her jailed and serving serious time for illegal drug use, possession and distribution. For this help, Pierre de la Cruz had offered Zac a very "prize" well paying job.

This was why Zac was now beating himself up about his mistake and poor judgement in spoiling Pierre's anonymous retreat time. He had been beyond stupid, and thoughtless and ungrateful in that act. He looked at this place he worked now. The smells and sights sickened him. He hated to come to work but was warned if he didn't show up, his former employer would seek punitive damages and have him arrested. This was one thing Zac sought to avoid at all costs. He was the son of a District Court Judge and couldn't let his father or anyone know his fall from grace and just how far he had fallen. So he told no one and begged his fiancé to keep it quiet. She agreed and really didn't care about Zac so he had been forgotten almost immediately as her only interest in Zac, was his money and his wealthy background of privilege. She deemed Zac was now a write off and waste of her time. He was actually relieved to know her true colors and motives. It was much less hard to swallow now, being dumped.

At that precise moment, the cell phone of de la Cruz chief assistant rang. A few words were exchanged and then the man looked at Pierre and said "Sir, I have something rather....... Odd to report. I have the Florist on the line. The flowers you had sent to Ms. Angela Seymour have been rejected. She sent them on to a local hospital and told the florist if you enquired as to the why, you were to be told, that she is not interested in your flowers or you. Both are a waste of time, and please do not send flowers to her again."

Pierre said in a tone truly sounding a bit angry and disbelieving, "What did you just say? Did you say that Ms. Seymour has sent my flowers away, rejected them and my generosity? Well.... What audacity she has!" Pierre finally responded. His assistant looked quite uncomfortable. And Pierre was just becoming more irritated by the moment. It was beyond him to fathom why she had done it. He looked at his assistant then and told him to order 12 more bouquets of flowers to be delivered to her Salon immediately and that there was to be NO rejection tolerated. She would accept them. And that was that. No chance for her to do it again as he would follow up in person!

Pierre called for his driver, told his assistant to take care of his schedule and clear it for the rest of the day and to call his mother, Lady Katrina de la Cruz and inform her he would be late to dinner this evening.

Then Pierre gave his assistant a curt good bye and strode out the door of the offices on the 21^st floor and down the elevator and out to the waiting Limousine. His driver opened the door and the curt bark of instructions at that moment hinted that under the surface the most often calm and in control de la Cruz was anything but.

He knew himself. He knew his capabilities and he also knew women. This Ms. Angela W. Seymour was not going to win this round. With that thought he suddenly realized how uncharacteristically he was behaving. This bit of fluff woman, she was under his skin. She was in his mind and he wanted to do something outrageous to let her know she was not going to refuse him or his flowers. In fact, she was not going to refuse anything he might deign to give her or do for her or do to her! The more he thought about her audacious words and actions the more his normal in control mind became clouded with a sense of outrage, anger and even dare one think it? He was irritated and upset she refused to see "HIM" as the man he was. She appeared so unaffected that she made him see red. How dare she? She was impertinent and foolishly bold, to take such a chance with someone like him. Didn't she realize her folly? He was jealous. Pure and simple. She may not know who he was before, but he was going to make sure she knew before he left her today

Moments later, he arrived at her place of business. It was a lovely beauty salon actually. He had to admit though it was in a less affluent area, it was neatly organized, colorful, and now with many floral arrangements strewn here and there due to his recent order being delivered here, and capable, pleasant employees as far as he could tell and a busy place at that.

He took a few moments to calm himself. Then he decided to phone her instead of walking in. A head on face to face confrontation at her Salon would be ill advised her realized. So Pierre called her cell number. She answered the phone quickly and he took that as a good sign. Before he could rethink this strategy and before she could hang up on him, he asked her to meet him for a short casual business luncheon at the Italian Bistro where they served excellent Italian dishes on Wednesday. "Unless of course you are afraid of me, mademoiselle, and you are going to hide yourself away from me." He taunted. His arrogant European accent had her feeling rebellious and yes, audacious. His immaculate looks and charm were not going to get anywhere with her. She was determined to make sure he knew it.

That was it. That was the hook. She was not going to let this man intimidate her or be the one to back down. He was not going to win this round. She heard herself agreeing to meet him at 12:00 pm sharp outside the restaurant. After she hung up she immediately regretted it and almost phoned him back to cancel. However, it was a public place, and it was a good restaurant to eat at, food was good, and the place was a delightful one with great atmosphere and agreeable efficient staff. Why then was she sitting there, biting her fingernails, chewing on her lip and feeling she was headed for Trouble?

She would call her best friend as a back up plan. Yes. And then what was she going to wear? This luncheon was in 2 days. And then there were all these flowers he sent. She was angry at his sending so many after she had refused the first one. She should have sent him packing! She should have told him no to his lunch invitation. Why then, with all this running around in her brain had she accepted his offer instead?

Trouble. He was going to be Trouble. She knew it, with every fiber of her being and yet, when Wednesday rolled around, she was fraught with nerves and changed her clothing no less than five times, striving for an elegant yet casual appearance. She mustn't look like she tried too hard or that in anyway she was trying to look good to him. Even though secretly, in her heart of hearts she had to admit she did.

She arrived at the restaurant early. Nerves had her wanting to bite her newly manicured fingernails. She had a manicure and a pedicure with delicate pink polish used on both her finger and toe nails. She resisted the urge and asked to be seated at the bar while she waited for the trouble-making, arrogant Mr. de la Cruz.

It was a warm sunny day, perfect weather for an al fresco lunch. She wondered what business Mr. de la Cruz had in mind. She even wondered why she was even here. Was she crazy?

Then all thoughts flew as she saw him enter the restaurant. Her breathe stopped. Her eyes took him in feature by feature seemingly in slow motion and yet it was all within seconds as he did the same, nodding his approval at her delicately feminine appearance, dressed all in white as she was. She looked perfect and reminded him of virginal roses.

Beautiful, pristine and untouched. Of course even roses had "thorns" and he knew this one was no exception. She was going to be hard to convince let alone hard to get near, he could see her already putting up walls and arguments, her eyes changing to deep green as he drew closer and reached to take her elbow in a gentlemanly fashion as their maître d′ took up two menus and led them to a lovely outside table that was semi screened off and yet sunlit.

He smiled at her that bone melting smile, and spoke of things in general and then of things around them commenting on the lovely day it was and the beautiful flowers in the planter boxes under each window of the restaurant and the doorway as well as planter boxes of lovely roses nearby whose scent filled the air. "None of them, however, are as beautiful as you" he said. This got her attention as he took her hand and kissed the palm.

And there it was again. That feeling of Déjà vu. She wanted to snatch her hand out of his grasp, but found herself incapable of movement or much of anything. She was fighting an inner battle and he could see it oh so well but had the good grace not to mention it.

"Thank you." She said finally withdrawing her hand abruptly. Her mouth was dry, she licked her lips, drank the water the waiter brought and tried looking away to focus on the menu, which of course she saw with her eyes but couldn't decide on a single thing. It all looked so good. She was beset with the sudden inability to make a simple decision about what to eat. She was never undecided about food. Not ever! She just seemed to be floating in a sea of confusion and indecision.

When the waiter stopped by a few moments later Angela was startled when Pierre de la Cruz touched her hand, and she was stumped and showed this clearly with a look of questioning at first the waiter and then at Pierre himself. Her luncheon companion, seeing this and her still trembling hands, took it upon himself to order the meal for them both.

The waiter looked at him with awe and then said "Of course, Sir. Very good. Would you like some wine from our menu?" and the response was "No thank you. Not at this time." The waiter hurried away as if this order was of utmost importance.

Angela broke her silence. Her independence finally asserted itself and she looked at Pierre with all the determination she could muster. "Why did you do that? Did I ask you to order for me? Did you see anywhere in our previous conversations that I was unable to speak for myself or that I was in anyway disabled? And what if I wanted something different? Or what if I did want some wine with my meal?" She realized even as she spoke that she might sound churlish and graceless. But at that moment, she simply did not care. She was going to voice her thoughts and damn the consequences!

Her voice was clearly not the melodious pleasant voice he recalled at the coffee shop. She was unhappy with him but why? She had seemed undecided and puzzled. He simply did his best to take care of her and order food he felt she would enjoy and appreciate. Her seeming lack of appreciation had his ire up once again.