Page 4 of After Midnight

CHAPTER TWO

“What do you want, Carl?” I sighed as he walked through the door.

“Now is that anyway to greet an old friend?” He asked in response.

We weren’told friends.Carl and I used to date back in high school when he was the All-American football jock and I was the shy, nerdy school girl with the tremendous crush. We dated for a few months, but never grew too serious when it became apparent to me that I was nothing more than his latest conquest. He wanted to be the one to end ‘the streak’ as him and his idiot friends had named my desire to remain a virgin. I found out during the course of our relationship from Jeanette, who’d overheard a few of them talking behind the bleachers one day as she exited from cheerleading practice. A lot of people wouldn’t have chanced ruining our friendship with the truth like that, but Jeanette did. By risking it to spare me the potential heartache and humiliation at his hands, I loved her for it then and continues to do so now. She’s a true friend, while he remained a jackass.

“What do you want, Carl?” I repeat and rolled my eyes.

“I’d like to place a delivery order. Mr. Cruz would like two dozen of your world-famous eclairs delivered tomorrow morning to his estate.”

“And what Mr. Cruz wants, he always gets. Right, Carl?”

The sarcastic smile Carl wore when he first addressed me disappeared. “Careful, Dream. You never knowwhathe wants, or what he wants for the men.”

As he spoke, he looked me down, then up and stopped for a moment to let his eyes linger on my breasts. A cold shiver ran up my spine.

“Anyway,” he resumed, with the sarcastic smile returned to his face. “He knows it’s your day off, but he wants you to deliver them.Personally.”

“What? First off, how do you know it’s my day off? Are you spying on me or something? And secondly, you don’t come into my shop demanding delivery of my food by a specific person.”

“As you said,” Carl said with a shrug. “What Mr. Cruz wants, he always gets. Have the doughnuts there by nine.”

“I thought you said he wanted eclairs”

“Look, I don’t give a fuck whathewants...” and then he paused, looked at my breasts, licked his lips and continued. “But I know what I want.”

“Um, I know what you’ll never get.”

“Right,” Carl scoffed. “We’ll see.”

Carl turned and walked to the entrance. “Nine in the morning, Dream,” he called over his shoulder. “Sharp. Don’t be late.”

“Hey,” I yelled back and chased him. “Are you going to pay for this order?”

Carl pushed through the door and stepped onto the outside walkway separating the parking lot from the building. “He’ll settle with you tomorrow. Nine o’clock sharp, Dream.”

Great. And on the one day a week I get off, this asshole specifically wants me. I wonder for what?

#

VICTOR CRUZ LIVED ONone of those steep hills. It wasn’t a hill large enough to be considered a mountain, but definitely bigger than what would be in a city. His driveway was longer than most of the roads we had in Arley, and his house was by all accounts, the nicest and it wasn’t even close. On any given day, he could step outside onto his balcony, and all of Arley lay at his feet, and he treated the citizenry the same way.

My car was five years past being old, so I was glad when it was able to push its way up the hill to reach his lofty abode. It had one of those large circular driveways in front of grand steps leading up to the main door. The outside of the house was impressive. It had been built with yellow pine wood and had tan brick decorations. I love windows and natural lighting as much as anyone, but the house had too many in my opinion. They were large octagons which added to the overall style and feel of the house.Someone’s overcompensating,I thought to myself.

I pulled around the circle up to the steps where a man in a red suit jacket awaited to take my keys and drive my car somewhere out of sight. For this, I couldn’t blame Victor. He might have been the kind of man who used materialistic goods to make up for physical limitations, but not me. I was a low-maintenance kind of girl. All the wealth in the world wouldn’t and didn’t impress me, so much as how a man treated me. My mother used to always tell me, “Dream, remember your name. A man should always treat you as his dream come true,” and her words stick with me to this day. Fuck the money and the fame...well, not necessarily the money. The attitude a lot of people have when they get money. Money doesn’t bring a person happiness, it brings a person more options than someone without money, and if a person chooses to abuse the additional options they have, then they aren’t worth anything. Like Daisy.

The car was mine, and I loved Daisy as I named her, but as the young man in the red suit jacket opened the door for me with a corner of his mouth curled up and a shudder as I handed him the keys, I had to smile. If I was overcompensating for some failed inadequacy, I’d want Daisy out of sight as quick as possible.

“I want her back the same way I gave her to you. This shit happened last time I was here and I don’t want to have to sue another valet driver,” I directed.

The wider his eyes grew, as I watched him drive Daisy away, the more I had to hide the smile on my face. One more obstacle to overcome and I’d be at the front door. Climbing the steps proved to be exhausting, and I was glad when I reached the top where another man awaited. This one was dressed in the typical butler’s garb complete with a black blazer, trousers and tie, with a Windsor cut white shirt.

“Mr. Cruz is expecting you, Miss Moore,” the man said in a conservative and classy accent from across the pond. “My name is Jameson. Follow me, please.”

“After you, James,” I answered. I meant no disrespect by addressing him differently than he asked, but as a term of endearment. As much as it felt like I had just run a gauntlet to come see this man, working for Victor had to be much worse.

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