Spiraling Deception (24 page)

Despite the size, I loved the apartment—it
was so completely different than the modern and sizable condo I
shared back in California with Courtney and Jake. And for some
insane reason, the compactness of the place worked because it was
so different. The whole city was different. It was alive, vibrant
and frenetic with sound after sound competing to be heard over the
towering structures and teeming masses that sprawled over and
claimed every spare space of the effervescent island known as
Manhattan.

When the darkness of the night fully
descended, I glanced at the glowing green numbers on my clock
beside the bed and marveled at how quickly I had managed to
unpacked my clothes, place them into the dresser, and hang up
several dresses, pants, and blouses on the ornate rail before
stowing my now empty suitcases under the bed. I’d even found time
to have a shower and wash my hair before I collapsed onto my bed in
exhaustion and called Courtney.

The sound of the front door being unlocked
was followed by a feminine voice calling my name just as I hung up
from speaking with Courtney. Venturing out from my bedroom, I saw a
tall, statuesque, and incredibly beautiful brunette dump several
grocery bags onto the kitchen counter.

“
Hey,” I greeted, giving
her a little wave. “You must be Sam. I’m Charli.” When I offered my
hand in greeting, she battered it away and engulfed me into a warm,
friendly hug, which I returned just as warmly.

Releasing me, she said,
“It’s so nice to meet you, Charli, and let me just say how
relieved
I am you’re
finally here. You would not believe the dozens of whack-jobs I had
to interview who’d applied for this apartment. It was a real
eye-opener, Charli, I can tell you that! But thank God, you appear
relatively sane and you smell wonderful, by the way. I’d say it’s a
win-win for me.”

“
Umm…thank you…I guess. I
just had a shower and can safely say I have at least one of those a
day, so no worries on that front. As for being sane—that’s still up
for debate.”

She laughed and then turned to her shopping
bags. “Are you hungry? I hope so because I brought Chinese food for
dinner. New York City has the best food, I swear. Everything here
is so authentic and delicious, but this Chinese is especially to
die for.”

“
Sure.” I shrugged and
then with a huge smile on my face, I opened cupboards to look for
some dinner plates.

Destiny was definitely smiling down on
me.

Chapter Sixteen

Dressed in my best pair of
black woolen pants, my favorite light blue long-sleeved button
down, and a beige trench coat for added warmth, I successfully
navigated the subway from the corner of Spring Street, just a block
over from my new apartment, up to the Upper East Side. From my stop
at 72
^nd
Street, it was only another block’s walk to Whitfield Academy
where I quickly changed out my comfortable running shoes for a pair
of black patent Mary Jane pumps.

Apart from the biting chill of the early
morning air, the trek uptown went relatively smoothly thanks to
Sam’s advice on what numbered train to catch with the fewest stops.
Southern California’s milder weather didn’t really require anything
warmer than my old trusty thigh-length trench coat on the rare
occasions I had to walk somewhere. For the most part, native
Angelenos drove everywhere and I could probably count the number of
times I’d caught public transportation in my life on one hand—it
was that rare.

The only warmer clothes I owned were an
assortment of old cabled sweaters, hoodies, and jeans that couldn’t
be classified as appropriate work attire, so a shopping trip to
Macy’s for at least a warmer coat would definitely be on my list of
things to do this week.

Now that I was a fledgling New Yorker—insert
big goofy smile on my face—I definitely needed a New York wardrobe
to match.

Throughout dinner last night and late into
the evening, Sam and I had talked and talked—just getting to know
each other a little better and the more we did, the more I liked
her. Sam was twenty-eight, three years older than me, and born and
raised in Tucson, Arizona. She was the middle child, with an older
sister and a younger brother. After graduating UOA with a degree in
business administration, she landed a job straight out of college
in Tucson with a small software design firm, but after several
years in the position, the company ran into some financial
difficulty and Sam was laid off, along with a dozen other employees
when the firm downsized.

Living in New York City was one of two
cities Sam had always dreamed of living in—San Francisco being the
other—so after being laid off, Sam packed up and along with a
friend, made the move to Manhattan with a small nest egg of savings
behind her. Now, two months later, her friend was gone, she hadn’t
had any luck finding an administration position, and her nest egg
was dwindling. The only part of Sam’s dream that was a current
reality was the cool, bohemian SoHo apartment she lived in. And in
the interim, Sam had been working as a barista in a hip coffee shop
located in Midtown.

Sam’s refreshing open and witty personality
made me feel instantly comfortable with her, so in return, I shared
all about my struggles obtaining a permanent teaching tenure back
in LA, and the peculiar turn of events that brought me to the Big
Apple. She listened happily as I told her all about Courtney and
Jake, the pending arrival of their new baby, and my years of
performing with the troupe. Around eleven, I yawned, and exhausted
from the day’s events, I stood from the comfy two-seater couch and
called it a night.

Sam wasn’t up when I left in the morning but
before going to bed, she’d set the automatic timer for the coffee
pot and I moaned when the mouthwatering aroma wafted through the
apartment to greet me. I poured a cup in a travel mug to take with
me on the subway and moaned again when I took the first sip. It
was…heavenly—the woman had used only the finest quality beans. Oh
yeah—Sam and I were going to get along just fine and dandy.

After I stuffed the running shoes into my
oversized brown leather bag, I adjusted my clothes and walked
through the entrance to Whitfield Academy, sidestepping several
children as they rushed by.

Mrs. Henderson stood by the administration
office and smiled warmly at me in greeting when I approached her.
“Miss Gilmore, welcome back and thank you for coming in early this
morning.” I shook her outstretched hand, wincing when my cold palm
touched her much warmer one.

“
Gloves are an essential
accessory here on the East Coast, as is a heavy coat,” she said
wryly, indicating with a nod at my lightweight trench
coat.

“
Every Monday morning, the
teaching staff assembles at seven thirty for the weekly staff
meeting. Tuesday through Friday, you won’t need to be here until
eight thirty unless you’re rostered on duty. During the staff
meetings, I usually assign who’s on playground duty during recess
for the week, etcetera. And after the meeting, I’ll show you to
your classroom.” She walked briskly and I quickly followed as my
eyes darted around the building, trying to absorb everything at
once.

The pre-war building was so much larger than
I initially thought. The playgrounds were sectioned off into three
quads at the rear of the building. Kindergarten and grade one
classrooms were located on the first floor; the ground floor was
entirely composed of the administration offices, cafeteria, and the
school’s assembly hall.

At the staff meeting, I was introduced to
the other teachers (there were fifteen in total, not including the
administration personnel) where I promptly forgot the majority of
their names by the time the meeting had concluded. Mrs. Henderson
was called away, so Julie, the other first grade teacher, offered
to escort me back to my classroom.

Julie seemed friendly and welcoming with her
distinctive New Jersey accent, and willing to fill me in on all the
school’s gossip during our lunch break. She’d been at Whitfield
Academy for almost two years and had only taught the first grade
during that time, which lucky for her was her first preference
anyway. I liked her bubbly personality straightaway, and she was
pretty with short, curly brown hair and light green eyes and
appeared to be of similar age to myself. It was a relief to have
made a new friend so quickly at school.

My class was filled with eighteen of the
most adorable little six-year-olds and as expected, I was
immediately bombarded with a barrage of questions as to who I was,
where I came from, and did I have any pets. Their precocious and
candid little personalities had me instantly enthralled—I fell head
over heels in love with every single one of them. Children were
easy to relate to: they had no hidden agendas, unreasonable
expectations or sly motives like that of so many adults; they were
carefree, optimistic, and a lot of fun to be around.

Surprisingly, the workday went quickly and
lunch with Julie ended up being delightfully entertaining with her
outrageous tales of dating woes in the big city. Midway through our
break, we were joined by two other female teachers, who Julie
introduced as Mackenzie and Paula. Both seemed equally as friendly
and outgoing as Julie was.

For homework, I handed out a new reader to
each of my kids all the while smiling like a lunatic—it was the
highlight of my day. Who knew giving out homework could be so
gratifying? And after preparing some work for the next day’s
lessons, I cleaned the board, straightened the chairs, and tidied
my desk. It was almost five o’clock when I finished up and although
the halls were silent from the absence of children, a number of
staff members still milled around in the halls, including Julie,
who was talking with Mrs. Henderson and Mr. Stern, the school’s
principal. I hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Mr. Stern when
I met him for the first time during the morning’s staff meeting,
but then again, he hadn’t stayed too long before he had left. I had
the impression Mr. Stern didn’t interact with the teaching staff
too often.

Smiling on my way past, I gave them a little
wave and stopped just before the doors to the school’s entrance to
change into my running shoes for the trip home. Slipping my feet
into the runners, I crouched down to lace them up when a deep,
smooth-mannered voice sounded above me. “How was your first day,
Charlotte?”

I froze. The hairs along
my arms pricked in awareness as the achingly familiar cadence of
that voice sent my heart into double time. I squeezed my lids shut
tightly and gulped in a lungful of air, silently willing my
heartbeat to slow—
one Mississippi, two
Mississippi, three.

Oh shit!

Fuck it!

Well, clearly that wasn’t working.

Slowly I stood up and turned to face the one
person in the world I both never wanted to see yet secretly yearned
to be with again. Talk about being crazy—I know.

“
Roman. What…how…” I shook
my head in an attempt to clear my jumbled thoughts and then focused
in on his handsome face. An arrogantly confident smirk played
around the corners of his perfectly sculptured lips and a twinkle
of mirth shone from his impenetrable midnight-blue eyes.
Huh?

Apparently, he wasn’t surprised in the
slightest at seeing me here in New York.

Glancing down, I spotted the bouquet of
flawlessly pale pink roses held in his fist. My God, they were
exquisitely beautiful and their floral scent permeated the air
around us.

Following my gaze, Roman
cleared his throat and held the flowers out toward me. “These are
for you, Princess. A
congratulations on
your first day
gesture.”

Blindly, I reached out and cradled the
bouquet in my arms, too stupefied to process Roman’s presence or
words when our eyes locked. That magnetically hypnotic force I
initially experienced from our first encounter weeks ago in France
roared back like a freight train and played havoc with my
equilibrium.

No! No, no, no, Roman Knight would not
beguile me again.

I squared my shoulders. “What are you doing
here, Roman?” My tone was terse but I didn’t care at that point.
“And more importantly, how did you know I was here in New York? How
did you know I worked here and it was my first day?”

“
Charlotte—”

“
Charli,” I corrected. My
eyes narrowed at him, but the arrogant jerk didn’t seem fazed in
the slightest.

“
Charli.” His tone was
conciliatory; however, the side of his lip that marginally hitched
up made me see red. The pompous prick thought he was being
funny!

So I growled—actually growled—at him. “You
know what! I don’t want to know. Here!” I smacked the bouquet of
roses at him and hit him square in the chest. “I don’t want your
damn flowers and I don’t want to talk to you either.”

The wrist that wasn’t holding the flowers
shot out and wrapped around my forearm in lightning speed. His
grasp tightened with an unrelenting grip and halted my attempt to
walk away.

“
Stop, Charli,” he clipped
in a furious tone. His dark eyes blazed. All previous traces of
humor fled from his features and I shivered uncontrollably as I
watched his face become like granite. We stood like that, in a
Mexican standoff, neither of us willing to back down for an
interminable amount of time.

“
Mr. Knight?” Mr. Stern
called out as he approached both Roman and me. “I thought that
looked like you but I couldn’t be sure from a distance. The old
eyesight’s not like it used to be. How nice to see you again,
sir.”