The Big O (An OTT Insta-love STANDALONE) (19 page)

“It’ll be hard to replace her.”

Clint snickered. “Puh-lease. Assistants are a dime a dozen.”

Clint was wrong. Olive was the best damn assistant in the world. And the most delicious. Taking a seat in one of the armchairs facing my desk, my marketing director folded her long legs, one over the other, and broke into my thoughts.

“So, where was she buried?”

“She wasn’t.”

“Oh? They couldn’t find a casket big enough for her?”

I gritted my teeth. “She was cremated.”

“That must have taken a while. I bet her ashes filled an entire urn. Maybe a couple.”

“Listen, Clint, let’s not talk about Olive. She was really nothing to me and now she’s ancient history.”

Clint’s face brightened. “I agree.”

I took a bite of my glazed donut and then a sip of my coffee. “Listen, Clint, I did a lot of soul searching while I was out of the office. And I thought about what you said. I think you’re right. I need a smart woman who is strong and aggressive, someone who understands me.”

She batted her eyes and then seductively ran a hand through her hair. “Then, why don’t you finally let me show you what you’ve been missing out on?”

My eyes met hers. “I think we should get to know each other better. Come to my house tonight for cocktails and dinner. Why don’t we say at seven-thirty?”

A triumphant smile slithered across her face. “I’ll be there. And I won’t let you down.”

At precisely seven thirty my doorbell rang. Wearing sweats and a big sweatshirt, I answered the door. It was never-late Clint, clad in a long black trench coat.

“Quite a nice pad you have here, Owen,” she said, never having been to my big house before. “I bet it’s worth several million dollars in this marketplace.”

“I have no idea. I just know it gets lonely.”

“We’re going to change that.” She winked at me before stepping inside.

“Let me take your coat. I thought we’d order in. I hope you have an empty stomach.”

“I do,” she said, unbuckling her coat. My eyes grew wide. Beneath it, all she had on was a one-piece bustier that pushed up her tiny tits and held up garter-tethered fishnets. Tall spiky black leather boots completed the getup. “I hope I dressed appropriately for the occasion.”

“Perfection.” I gave her a look of approval, masking my shock and hoping she wasn’t going to trample me with those killer boots as I took her coat. “Why don’t we start off our evening with some champagne?”

“Wonderful. I adore champagne.” Smiling, she let me lead her to the step-down living room. The room was aglow with the massive fireplace blazing and scattered scented candles.

“Make yourself at home, beautiful. I’ll be right back with the champagne. I have it chilling in the fridge.”

Five minutes later, I was back with a tray holding an opened bottle of Cristal and two fluted crystal glasses filled to the brim with the bubbly.

Clint, who was sitting seductively on the couch, her long toned legs curled on the cushions, lit up as I set the tray down on the coffee table. “Oh, Cristal! My favorite! You are indeed a man after my own heart.”

I sat down on a nearby armchair as she slipped one of the flutes between her manicured fingers. I took the other glass into my hand.

“Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s toast. To us!”

We clinked our glasses together.
Ping
. My eyes fixed on her as she took her first sip.

“Mmm. This is divine.” As I slowly sipped mine, I watched as she drained her glass. A giddy smile crossed her lips. “Oh, darling. I have such an addiction to champagne. It’s going to be the death of me.”

I smiled back at her. “Yes, it’s going to be…just the way it was for Olive.”

Clint blinked her eyes hard. “What are you saying, Owen? She had a fucking heart attack.”

“No, she was poisoned.”

Clint’s jaw dropped to the floor. I took another delicious sip of my champagne before breaking the bad news.

“Hope you enjoyed your last glass of champagne. I’ve laced it with cyanide…just the way you did Olive’s.”

The empty glass slipped out of her hand and went crashing to the floor. She clutched her stomach, her eyes filling with a mixture of fear and fury. “Oh my God! That fat bitch deserved to die. I did you a favor. She was all wrong for you. I’m the only one for you! How could you do this to me? You’ll never get away with it, you sick bastard!”

A gruff voice spared me from responding to her. “Miss Clint?”

She spun her head in the direction of the voice. Lumbering toward us was a fifty-something, stocky man, wearing a worn-out trench coat. Beside him was another younger man dressed in an ill-fitting suit.

“Who the fuck are you?” screamed Clint, leaping to her feet.

“Detective Pete Billings, LAPD,” said the older man. “And this is my partner, Lieutenant Mancuso.”

Clint looked confused and then panicked. “Get me to a hospital! This man just poisoned me!”

“Miss Clint, I’m afraid you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Olive Cumming,” replied the burly detective as his partner secured handcuffs around her slender wrists.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You should be arresting him!” Snarling, she cranked her head in my direction. I shrugged as she pulled at her handcuffs.

“Take these things off me!”

Ignoring her desperate plea, the detective read Clint her rights and then grabbed her forcefully by the elbow.

“Let go of me, you pig!” she shouted, writhing to free herself from his powerful grip. “You can’t prove a damn thing!”

“Miss Clint, we have your confession on tape.”

“What!?”

With a smug smile, I lifted up my sweatshirt to show her I was wired. I played it back. She was smoldering with rage. “Oh, and by the way Clint, I have some good news for you. I didn’t really poison you.”

She was foaming at the mouth. Fury flickered in her eyes like angry bolts of lightening. “You fucking, fucking bastard. I hope you rot in hell with that fat bitch, Olive.”

“Did I just hear my name?”

The sound of the sweet voice went right to my cock. It rose to attention at the sight of my beautiful princess sauntering our way. I wish I had a camera to capture the shocked expression on Clint’s face. I wasn’t sure if her jaw would ever shut again.

I took Olive into my arms and gave her a hug. One arm stayed wrapped around her as she faced her nemesis squarely and shoved her left hand into Clint’s face. It was her turn to smile smugly.

“Sorry you missed our wedding.”

I didn’t think Clint’s jaw could fall any further, but it did at the sight of the sparkling diamond and wedding band on Olive’s ring finger. The memory of getting down on my knee beside Olive’s hospital bed and proposing flashed in my head. I’d scratched all my fancy plans because I had to claim her as mine right there. Right then. And then in the afternoon we were married. If I was going to lose Olive, I had the right to lose what was mine. Only mine. I stayed by her bedside 24/7 and did the only thing I could do. The only thing she’d want me to do. I prayed. And miraculously, she pulled through. Believe it or not, the doctors said it was on account of all the donuts she’d consumed during the commercial shoot. Cyanide when dissolved in a liquid guarantees death only on an empty stomach. What fortuitous good luck!

The smug smile stayed on my beauty’s face as LAPD’s finest carted a stunned Clint away. Just before they disappeared, I slipped my wedding band back on and called out to her.

“Yo, Clint.”

She jerked her head my way.

“One more thing…” My pulse sped up with excitement as the two words I’d yearned to say for so long formed on my lips.

“You’re. Fired.”

I
was going to remember this night as one of many surprises. Soon after the detectives hauled Clint away, the doorbell rang. Owen darted to the front door while I wondered who it could be.

Maybe, the detectives had sent someone to pick up Mallory’s trench coat. She’d left it behind. Too bad she wasn’t ever going to get it back. Owen and I had tossed it in the fireplace and watched it go up in flames. It was now ashes. So be it. Where she was going she wasn’t going to need it. Orange would soon be her new black.

“Happy Birthday!” a trio of voices shouted, breaking into my thoughts. I looked up. Accompanying Owen were Marge and Nathan, both looking rather spiffy. Each was carrying a large tray with candle-lit donuts. When they got closer, I could see that the assorted donuts were artfully arranged to form two numbers: a two and a one. Combined making a twenty-one in honor of my twenty-first birthday. They set the trays on the coffee table as tears formed in the back of my eyes. I’d never celebrated a birthday before, let alone had a surprise party.

“Hun, close your eyes, make a wish, and then blow out the candles,” urged Marge.

Owen squeezed my hand. “Wish for anything you want, my princess.” My mind drew a blank. When it came to material things, there was nothing I wanted. All I needed was right here in this room.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I bent over and followed Marge’s instructions. With my eyes squeezed shut, a wish came to me quickly. I wished that my mama could see how happy I was. And see that good things did happen to good people. And know that my goodness came from her. Reopening my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath and blew out all twenty-one candles (plus the one for good luck) in one clean sweep. As the threesome cheered and sang “Happy Birthday,” with Owen’s rich baritone voice harmonizing at the end, tears fell from my eyes. Deep inside my soul, I could feel Mama’s presence. She was here in this room with me. She knew.

“My princess, why are you crying?” asked Owen softly.

“Because I’m so happy.” I truly was. In fact, at this moment, I was the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life.

As Marge and Nathan removed the candles from the donuts, Owen uncorked another bottle of champagne and retrieved some additional flutes from his well-stocked bar. While I was finally of legal drinking age, the last thing I wanted—or should have—was champagne. I passed but didn’t stop the others from having some. Owen proposed a toast.

“To my princess. May she have a hundred more birthdays and may I be there to celebrate each and every one.” The sound of glasses clinking was like music to my ears.

We each helped ourselves to a donut, with me choosing a pink frosted one with colorful sprinkles. Owen insisted I take the first bite. Without overthinking it, I bit into the delicious doughy concoction and moaned. And as I did, my mind flashed back to that focus group, which seemed so long ago, thinking how one bite could change your entire life. It did mine.

After helping themselves to another donut and finishing their champagne, Marge and Nathan said goodnight. Marge wanted her two “lovebirds” to have a romantic evening alone. I insisted that Nathan take the remaining donuts home; he still lived with his parents and four siblings and they would certainly enjoy them. Though he politely declined, Owen insisted. That or he was going to decorate my naked body with them. At the thought of this kinky image, I was almost sorry I made the offer.

When Marge and Nathan were gone, Owen excused himself but returned quickly, holding two packages in his hands—one a very large box and the other much smaller. Both were meticulously wrapped in whimsical donut-print paper.

“What is all this?” I asked.

“Your presents, birthday girl.” He set the small box on the coffee table and then handed me the big one. “Open it.”

I still wasn’t used to taking gifts from him. He could buy me the world, but all I really wanted was this man. He was my everything. My Donut King ruled my heart, my body, and my soul. He owned every bit of me. Every cell in my body.

With love filling every crevice of my being, I carefully unwrapped the gift. Lifting the lid off the box, I unfolded layers of delicate tissue paper and then gasped at what was inside.

“Oh my God, Owen! It’s your mother’s dress.” It was an exact replica of the donut-print dress I’d ruined in the rain.

An ear-to-ear grin spread across his face. “I had it copied.”

“Oh, Owen!” Overwhelmed, I gave him a hug. “This is the best present ever. Should I put it on?”

He chortled. “You better not because I might rip it off you.” Before I could say a word, he told me to open the other package.