Pink Shades of Words: Walk 2016 Read online

  Well, I wasn’t very good at that, nor was I good at catching if a price was incorrect. I hadn’t even been there two months and I was still learning the ropes. The job often made me feel incompetent and I’d question myself, wondering why I wasn’t catching on faster.

  A tall man with watery blue eyes and white hair (yes, white hair, but I could tell by his face that he wasn’t much older than I—maybe ten years older, but not more than that) had a basket full of merchandise. I’d seen him once before, a week earlier when he’d gotten a prescription. He’d checked out the candy but hadn’t purchased any of it. Today, though, he had enough Halloween candy to invite half the town’s kids for a second chance at trick-or-treat.

  As I rang up his merchandise, I saw that he also had a phone charger that was on clearance and discounted toothpaste. But he had so much stuff, I didn’t pay attention to all the prices that popped up on the register. When I finished and told him the total, he started to swipe his credit card and then paused. “Wait a minute. I thought that candy was on sale.”

  “Oh, it is,” I said.

  He scowled. “I don’t think you charged me the right amounts.” I turned my screen so he could see and began scrolling the screen up so we could examine all his purchases. “Well, that’s not right. It’s supposed to be fifty percent off, right?”

  “Yes,” I said, noticing how dry my mouth had grown.

  “That’s not fifty percent. You’re ripping me off.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It was a mistake.” I touched the screen and slowly did the override like Carol had shown me before, changing it.

  Before I was even done, the man said, “Just a second. I thought that toothpaste was two dollars.”

  “Um, I’m not sure.”

  “You need to fix it.”

  “If you want to show me where it is—”

  “Yes, come with me.” As we walked down the aisle to where the toothpaste was, he muttered under his breath. “They obviously need to hire smarter people. I was just at an office supply store, and they had nothing but idiots there either.”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot, but I hadn’t sassed anyone in a long time—not only that, but the last time I’d worked in a restaurant in my early twenties, I’d been taught that the customer was always right. That meant that you didn’t say squat, no matter how wrong the jerks really were. When we got to the toothpaste, he pointed at the sign. “See? It says two dollars.”

  Yes, the sign did say that. Fortunately, I had his box of toothpaste in my hands. “But that’s not the toothpaste you brought to the register.” They were the same brand but different sizes. The tube I held in my hand was three dollars and ninety-four cents, just like the sign said.

  “Well, why was it there? That’s deceptive.”

  Arturo came to my rescue. I had no idea he was behind us until he said, “Yeah, lots of idiot customers throw merchandise back wherever they feel like it—or maybe it’s because they’re too lazy to put it back where it really goes. But maybe you need to stop harassing the poor lady who’s just trying to make it right.”

  The tall white-haired man’s face seemed to grow tighter but he showed no signs of cracking. “It’s not my fault that you have idiot customers. You should give me that price.”

  “It’s not our fault you can’t read and see that what she’s holding isn’t what’s on sale.”

  Mr. Thorne walked down the aisle then, and I didn’t know if he was coming over because he had work to do in the area or if he’d seen us and somehow sensed trouble brewing. “Can I help you?” he asked the tall customer.

  After much discussion, Mr. Thorne told me to give the jerk the toothpaste for the two dollars, but he also cautioned the guy that he’d never do that again—it was a one-time courtesy. When the guy tried to complain about Harriman’s “impudent” staff, Mr. Thorne apologized without looking at me. He walked over to the register and made the price changes himself before sending the customer on his way. Very politely, he said to me, “That man tends to be a difficult customer. If he gives you problems again, call me, and I’ll deal with him.” And then Mr. Thorne went back to work in the rear of the store, behind the pharmacy area.

  Arturo? He just smiled and winked at me. Before going back to what he’d been doing earlier, he said, “Don’t let the assholes ruin your day.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “They’re only good for one thing—and they stink.” I was giggling as he walked away. This guy was turning out to be my hero.

  * * *

  Vince showed up at work one day. He was grouchy. See, he would go months being nice as could be—calm, kind, sweet—and it reminded me of how he’d been when we first got together. I remembered that he used to seem so handsome, so sexy, but I hadn’t felt that way about him in a long time. Being treated like crap by the man you love will have that effect on you.

  I don’t know how long we’d been together before he’d shown me his Mr. Hyde side, and it got more violent and the times grew closer together as time went by—although I’d learned a few techniques that would put it off longer, prolonging the calm times. I lived for those moments.

  He told me I needed to come home now, not later. I knew right then and there that if I didn’t leave right then, my punishment would be worse, but if I left before my shift was over, I might lose my job, and it had been the best thing for me in a long time. I was feeling a little more confident of myself, like I used to before Vince. I felt more in control of myself and my decisions, and I didn’t want to give that up.

  And then there were the friends I’d made, not the least of whom was Arturo.

  I took care of a customer while Vince stewed, and then, after the sweet old lady left, I said quietly, “Vince, I can’t go. My shift isn’t over for two more hours.”

  “You think I give a fuck?”

  I knew I was going to get the beating of my life out of it, but I stood my ground anyway. “I’m not leaving, Vince.” I swallowed. “I’ll be home when my shift is over.” What the hell had set him off in the first place? I’d likely never know.

  Arturo, the man who was fast becoming my constant savior, walked up, sensing a problem. He no doubt thought I had another difficult customer. “Something I can help with?”

  I forced a smile and said, “Um, this is my husband, Vince. Vince, this is Arturo.”

  Vince grunted and stuck out his hand, and another customer approached. The two men wound up talking over to the side, and I hoped to heaven Arturo managed to smooth my husband’s ruffled feathers. When Arturo went to the back again, I said to Vince, “The slow cooker’s going. Go ahead and eat without me. I’ll be home later.”

  I saw his jaw clench before he said, “I’m tired of eating like this, woman.”

  “It’s hot, Vince. You can’t ask for more than that.”

  “Easy for you to say.” He didn’t utter another word—not a threat to come home, not a promise of pain. He just walked out the door and the bell chimed as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

  A while later, Arturo came back up front. Surely, he’d known I was married. I’d been wearing my wedding ring, so it wasn’t a big secret. “How long have you been married?” he asked.

  “Thirteen years,” I said. Vince and I had been together longer, but the actual marriage thus far had lasted thirteen years—and it had felt like a lifetime.

  “I was married for three years before my wife left me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. She was a junkie and I didn’t need her around our boys anymore.” I nodded. “Something shitty in your life, you cut it out, you know?”

  I nodded, but one thing was certain—I did not know how.

  * * *

  There was no hiding the bruises on the underside of my arm. It was January, so I was able to wear a sweater when I worked at the register and the door constantly opened and closed, letting cold air in, but the rest of the store was too warm for additional layers. A few days later, I was taking fifteen minutes in the break room—always warmer
than the entire remainder of the store—and I took my sweater off.

  Mr. Thorne was covering the register while I rested my feet, and Arturo came in, grabbing a bottled water out of the fridge. “How’s it going?” he asked, sitting down next to me.

  “Fine,” I offered, looking up from the book I was reading.

  “Holy shit. What happened?” he asked, touching my arm where the bruises were turning an ugly yellow over the puce shade.

  I gasped. First, it was the first time I remembered Arturo ever touching me and, in spite of the beating I’d taken a few nights before, I didn’t mind the risk. But, second, I was afraid of having to explain the bruises that were oddly finger-shaped. I pursed my lips together before responding. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Baloney,” he said, sitting up. He hadn’t stopped touching my arm, and his eyes—they were so kind and thoughtful...until they looked angry. “Did your husband do this to you?” His voice was quiet but there was no mistaking his fury. “A man should never do this to a woman.”

  It was touching, and I couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted to defend me, had wanted to do a kindness for me. I felt my eyes fill with water, but I knew that if Arturo tried to do anything, Vince would unleash the same type of violence on him, my new friend, and I wouldn’t have it. He had children he needed to be healthy for, and he would only be confronting my husband because of me. He and Vince likely never would have crossed paths if not for me, and I wasn’t going to have Arturo risk himself on my account. I’d gotten myself in this mess. “I never said it was him.” Arturo frowned and I saw his eyes questioning mine. I wanted to try something more difficult to say—I even wanted to tell him a lie so he’d back off, but I couldn’t find any other words.

  “But—”

  Mr. Thorne walked in then, asking Arturo if he could help him move some shelving, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought.

  Two weeks later, Vince was found lying on the ground outside his work, unconscious and close to death. I stood by his side while he was in the hospital and recovering, but when he was ready to get out, I told him goodbye. He threatened me, begged me, made promises and intimidated me, but I held my ground. I’d already moved my things out and filed for divorce. I’d also spoken with the women’s shelter and told Vince I’d file a restraining order if he didn’t leave me alone.

  Being on my own, I had rent and bills to pay, and as much as I loved working at Harriman’s Drug Store, I knew I needed something that paid more. I applied around town, got a job at one of the big supermarkets, starting pay a dollar more an hour, and gave Mr. Thorne my two weeks’ notice.

  Arturo was on vacation when I’d done that, but when he came back, I told him that day was my last day with Harriman’s.

  When I got ready to leave, I walked around the store, telling all my new friends goodbye, giving each one my heartfelt thanks for all they’d done for me. They didn’t know it, but they’d all had a hand in my new life. I felt like I owed them all a little piece of me.

  The man I owed the most too, though, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to repay, and I didn’t know that we’d ever talk about it. “Arturo, I’ll miss you,” I said.

  His dark brown eyes searched mine, but I couldn’t read what he was trying to tell me. Instead of saying anything back, he pulled me into an embrace. I hugged him back, feeling lost and overwhelmed, because I didn’t know the last time anyone had held me with such love and passion. I began to pull away but he continued holding me close, and I let myself relax. He said so much through that embrace without uttering a word, and when he let me go, he merely smiled before adding, “It’s been my pleasure.”

  * * *

  By summertime, I had moved up from bagging groceries and running a cash register to stocking in the produce department. Every day felt like an adventure, and I was relishing life, wondering why I’d ever allowed myself to become a victim for so long. My daughter was going to visit me the following week, driving out on her own. I was worried about her making the trip but looking forward to seeing her. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, and I knew she had blossomed into a lovely young lady.

  One day, we’d had a mishap in produce, someone spilling a soda, and I was mopping it up, knowing I was late taking my break. I enjoyed the job so much, though, that I didn’t care much about those times to myself, but my new employer was a stickler. So I hurried, wheeling the mop bucket back to the cleaning room, and then strode back to produce so I could tell my supervisor I was finally going on break.

  But as I began walking through the meat department on my way to produce, I saw Arturo standing near the tomato table. That smile, those eyes. Ah, how I had missed them. I felt my heart swell as I said, “Hi.”

  “Stephanie.”

  I got closer. “How are you?”

  “The more important question is how are you?”

  “Just a second.” I held up a finger and darted over to my supervisor, letting her know I was going to take my fifteen minutes. I came back to Arturo and he seemed to sense my every move as he walked next to me through the store. We made our way out the front door and I said, “You know, I think I’m doing great.”

  “We miss you at Harriman’s,” he said as we stepped outside into the unbearable heat.

  “I miss it there too, but I like this job. The money’s great.”

  “Good. They treating you well?”

  “Yes. How are things at Harriman’s?”

  “Same as always.” We walked around the corner, and I invited him to sit on the bench next to me. It was shady and I felt a breeze blow through that little area. I was glad there weren’t other employees out there at the moment, because I hadn’t seen this man in so long, I wanted to enjoy him for just a few minutes—while he was just mine. “I guess I shouldn’t say they’re the same. They haven’t been the same since you left.”

  I smiled. “I wasn’t there that long, Arturo. I was just a blip on the radar.”

  He shook his head. “No. You really weren’t. You...”

  I looked at him, trying to decipher his meaning but coming up short. I too attempted to say something but the words were gone. As we most often did, our communication came through our eyes instead of our mouths. He touched my cheek with his hand and said, “If I could erase all the bad things that happened in your life, I would. If I could give you a fairytale kingdom, I would do it in a second.”

  I inhaled and blinked. “But if you did, I might not know that I was looking at a prince right now. There are no rainbows without storms.”

  Those eyes of his told me all I needed to know. I thought at first that he wasn’t going to say another word but he finally said, “It would be my pleasure to ask you out on a date.”

  A date? Would I even know how to act on one nowadays? I smiled, knowing that with Arturo, it wouldn’t matter. If I took his offer and hand, I could have a chance at a new forever.

  So I did.

  About Jade C. Jamison

  Jade C. Jamison is better known for steamier stories than the sweet one you read in this anthology. For years, she tried really hard to write what she thought was more “literary” fiction, but she found herself compelled to write what she’s best known for today—sometimes gritty, raw, realistic stories and other times humorous, light tales. Most of the stories she writes revolve around relationships and characters finding their way through life. While she doesn’t confine herself to just one genre, nor is there a nice neat label for what she writes, most of her work could be called erotic romance. Her main writing passions include rock star romance, romantic comedy, and romantic suspense.

  She lives in Colorado with her husband and four children.

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  Filthy Rich – Blackstone Dynasty I by Raine Miller

  Copyright © 2016 Montlake Romance

  Included herein with permission from Amazon Publishing

  PROLOGUE

  ~CALEB~

  My father always said I would know when the right woman came along. He was such a wise man. When it happened I didn’t even question it because the process was so effortless. I just fell into her...because my heart knew her right away.

  Knew she was the one for me.

  I’d known her for years actually. She came to Blackstone Island to live with her grandmother after her parents were killed in a car crash. A devastated fifteen-year-old trying to adapt to a new life in a new place, trying to find where she fit into such a strange world from where she’d come—a forty-square-mile resort island off the Massachusetts coast where her grandmother ran the household at Blackwater, the family ancestral home.

  Should have known of her, that is.

  Our paths didn’t cross that I am aware of, but it’s possible. I rarely visited the island in those days because I was a twenty-three-year-old junior executive fresh out of Harvard Business School learning everything I could about the family business. I traveled the world, enjoying the excitement of international boardroom deals by day, and socializing at off-hours business affairs by night. I worked hard at both. Affairs, liaisons, one-night stands, had all come and gone without a backward glance. Nameless faces and unremarkable encounters filled my nights whenever I wanted them to. The hopping nightlife of the big cities with even bigger players vying for a piece of the pie became my normal. I embraced every aspect that came with the lifestyle. Wealth, sexual favors, a certain celebrity born out of my name, all collected with barely any effort. For the next eight years I had the world in the palm of my hand as I went about amassing a personal fortune in addition to increasing the family coffers.