Some Kind of Spell Ch. 03

"He was far too cocky and smug." The next day Angela was sitting having a light lunch with her best friend Vicky discussing her luncheon the day before with that man. She didn't even want to think about him but Vicky was not one to let things go. She was and always had been a curious cat about Angela's love life, or rather, her lack of one.

"Why are you so quick to dismiss him or label him for that matter. He sounds rather charming," Vicky mused and found herself having fun teasing her friend. "Has he called to make another date?"

"I don't know. I have turned off my cell phone and put it on the charger. I don't want to talk to him."

"Was the food that bad?" Vicky asked peering at her friend closer.

"No, the food was great." Angela replied reluctantly.

"Was he mean to you, negative, was he a jerk? Or neglectful of you in some way?" Vicky continued to probe.

"No, he was, alright."

"Then what is your real objection?" Vicky wasn't going to stop until she got to the bottom of this intriguing exchange with her best friend and the man in question, Pierre de la Cruz.

"He kissed me! He just grabbed me and kissed me. No asking permission or giving me time to think or feel comfortable with him. I was never so embarrassed in all my life. Right there for all to see in the restaurant. That is the last thing I wanted or needed. Such a public display will no doubt become fodder for gossip and then I will never hear the end of it." Her tone sounded indignant and upset, yet there was a certain excitement in her voice too. And that was not all that bothered her. She could still feel the passion of each heated kiss. It aroused her, made her want and need which were all taboo to Angela and her strict set of rules.

Her rules. They were important, each and everyone of them. They were there to protect her, keep her sane and safe and keep her alive.

No deep relationships. No more than five dates per person and no dates in private, one on one. Definitely NO SEX! No talking about herself or her past more than five years back in time. No speaking about family or where she grew up or what is personal to her. No mentioning of birthplace or Home. No traveling with others, keep control and stay public. Avoid publicity and public scrutiny.

She knew she had to live by these rules. The "agency" had given her rules too. She lived by them. She had to. But right now, this moment, her head and her body were arguing many of these rules, and that's what had her blushing and trying to avoid further conversation about it with her friend Vicky.

Miles away the man that now haunted her dreams and her waking moments was looking out his apartment window, standing on his spacious balcony, drawing slowly on his cigar and contemplating the woman that now had his full attention, both irritated with her and inextricably drawn to her at the same time. Lust. He felt Lust. Deep, passionate almost all consuming Lust.

It had been many years since he had felt this kind of passion or wanted someone as badly as he wanted this woman. She was not his typical choice either. She was actually quite the opposite of his usual choice for companionship. She was moody, inclined to long periods of silence, which he hated as that gave him nothing to go from and nothing to pick apart. She fought his advances though he knew she secretly wanted them, even as he kissed her, that body of hers melted into him.

He studied the tip of his cigar before he finally took another long draw on it, and exhaled expertly blowing smoke rings that flitted up and looped in chains, one after the other. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and made a phone call to one Zachary Andrew Carson.

The call was answered on the first ring. Pierre smiled then. Eight months in "Purgatory" the place he had sent Zac months ago as punishment for his crime of breaking the written employment agreement was now going to serve Pierre very well. He knew that dive where Zac had been sent was barely able to stay in business but he also knew that it humbled Zac in a way that would ensure Zac's full cooperation and zeal to follow orders AND instructions strictly to the letter. He knew that right at this moment, he held all the winning cards in this game where the Prize, would be the woman who tried to fight against him. "Angela." He spoke her name like a prayer, a voiced wish in his body, his loins filling and growing with his need of her.

He stifled the groan that wanted to burst from him and instead gave clipped precise instructions to Zac, informing him that he would have one job, only one job. Research and track every moment and every movement that Angela W Seymour made, past, present and future. He wanted to know virtually everything there was to know about her. Her birthplace, her family, her past employment, her friends, her hobbies. In other words, he wanted to know her inside out, crawling inside her mind and psyche. When he knew enough, he would plan his strategy, map it out carefully and strike when the time was right. He would make her his. She would be taken by him, one way or another but his hope was willingly. He wanted her to want him, to come to him because she simply could not resist and wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

He had the assurance now from Zac that he would get right on it. Pierre hung up then, dialed the airlines, made flight reservations for Zac and arrangements for him to be picked up by Limo and taken to a nice Hotel where Zac would be put up, all expenses paid as long as he did the job he was now being paid to do.

Pierre's body was achingly hard, his needs were urgent. He could call an agency, hire a woman for the night, find release in some anonymous woman's arms and mouth, fucking until he found himself fully drained. But he did not do this. Instead he stormed to his bathroom and took a cold shower. He cursed her, cursed that woman all the while the water, cold and unwelcoming, drenched his tortured his body, piercing it with stingingly cold sharp jets of water, his thick long erection finally fell heavy but limp against his bulging sac.

"Damn you to Hell, Angela! Damn you to Hell."

Later that day, Pierre was calmly conducting a meeting, when a message was brought to him by one of his Assistants', assistants, Felix Rogan. He broke a smile of triumph and folded the paper into a square, and pushed it into his vest pocket. Then he leaned over and whispered in the young man's ear to make dinner reservations for two, at one of the city's finer restaurants with a more intimate feeling and dismissed the man. "Make sure they have a lovely fresh bouquet of flowers, Jasmine flowers, and see that there is a small cluster of them set to the side of one plate, a hand corsage, not too big, elegant, classy and delicate."

Pierre turned then to his Assistant, Regina Paxton, and whispered to her, asking her to take over the meeting. She was more than capable and as she nodded, he excused himself and strode from the room. He picked up his coat, on his way out, found his limo, climbed inside and pushed the privacy button inside the car, raising the dark glass and sound proofing the interior where he sat.

He phoned his real estate agent. Gave him the address of Angela's business and asked the man to acquire the building it was housed in as soon as possible. He gave instructions to the agent to find out what the building was worth and offer 50 % above value or asking price if it were to go up for sale. He also told the agent to find out all he could about the businesses in the building, including the tenants' names and phone numbers and how long their current leases were for. The man assured him that he could and would deliver the deed to him before the weekend passed.

As Pierre hung up the phone, he hit auto dial and connected with his home staff. He ordered one particular suit to be taken out and pressed, and made ready for him to dress in, along with shoes and socks, cuff links were not needed, but perhaps a vest to offset the suit. He was going to dress well but understated. She would notice. He could guarantee it. He hung up, and spoke aloud with intent and determination in his tone, "Angela, beware. Today your undoing begins."

Miles away, Angela was doing someone's hair, a three toned color on long lustrous blonde hair. This was a client she had met a year before that liked her work so well, she returned at least twice a month for hair or nail treatments including waxing and threading.

Angela was oblivious to everything as the music in the shop played and she hummed along, dabbing color on each section. It was a five hour color job, one that they called "Ombre" three colors, two obviously blended to make a 3^rd shade and in this case she was using a technique that made the hair colors seem pearlescent shades of pastel colors, also referred to as Holographic coloring. The young woman had platinum blonde hair currently. It would look amazing on her.

Time passed quickly, and when she was rinsing out the colors, she patted her hair dry and led her to the styling chair, to have her hair blown out and styled.

Right at that moment her cell phone rang and so she turned to one of the best stylists who happened to be free at that moment, and directed her to blow the clients hair dry and style it.

She then answered the phone as she walked to the back area of the shop where her small office was and sat down almost immediately losing her breath as she heard the voice on the other end. She had not checked who was calling so there was no warning whatsoever.

"Angela." She bit her lip. It was that obnoxious, arrogant man whose kisses haunted her.
"Yes, what do you want Mr. de la Cruz?"

"I want you. However, I will settle for dinner at the Little Taste of India, Restaurant."

"Well that is unfortunate for you as I am terribly busy and I cannot possibly get away for dinner. What's more, I do not wish to eat with you again, ever." She stated these words with something like a triumph in her tone, as if she was proud of herself.

"Make no mistake Ms. Seymour. You WILL have dinner with me tonight. I will not take no for an answer. I am sending my limo to pick you up at your business and if you are not there, he will find you, deliver you to your apartment and see to it personally that you are dressed for dinner whereby he will bring you to the restaurant at the correct and appointed hour." With those words, Pierre hung up giving Angela no time to refute, respond or speak another word. He had the last word and he would have a meal with her, one way or another. Pierre smiled like a crocodile that had just seen its next victim, or rather its next meal and then lowered the privacy screen and imparted instructions to his chauffer. The man simply nodded, knowing that he would and must deliver all that was ordered or there would be hell to pay. Mr. Pierre de la Cruz was a determined, resourceful and powerful man. He had no doubt that his employer would attain for that evening at least, the company of one, Angela W. Seymour.