Fetch, an Unwilling Love Story

By B.L Wilson

Artist Morgan Dunbar works as a doorperson during the daylight hours so she can afford to practice her art at night. Amber, a wealthy, snooty resident of the building, acts like Morgan is invisible. She never thanks Morgan for any of the polite services she provides. She is always snapping fingers at Morgan, then pointing and saying, “Fetch this” or “Fetch that.”

One fateful day, Morgan reaches her breaking point. She finds Amber’s attitude particularly unbearable after hailing her a cab during a busy rush hour and receiving nary a thank you for her efforts. Morgan puts Amber in her place, but Amber chooses to ignore Morgan’s rant, slamming the taxi door in her face and nearly catching Morgan’s hand in the process.

Neither woman realizes what destiny has in store for them. Later on that day, an overwhelming disaster forces the two women to work to together as they try to make it out of Ground Zero alive. Will this tragedy cause Amber to stop ordering Morgan around and finally see her as more than Fetch this or Fetch that?

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.L Wilson
• Release date: Dec 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370670734

B.L Wilson

B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

Book preview

Fetch,

an unwilling love story

by

B.L. Wilson

Fetch, an unwilling love story

Brought to you by

Patchwork Bluez Press

Smashwords Edition

Fetch, an unwilling love story copyright 2016 by B. L. Wilson. All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity in name, description, or history of characters in this book to actual individuals either living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share

Edited by BZ Hercules

www.bzhercules.com

Author’s Note

Fetch, an unwilling love story was written and takes place in a time when technology was somewhat more simple. You will find references to flip phones and people not being as easy to reach as they are now. Social media was nonexistent, at least not like it is in the present day, and most of my characters did not feel incomplete without a laptop. Updating the technology might change the plot elements, so I have left the old-fashioned ways untouched and request that you enjoy this bit of nostalgia as it is written.

Thank you.

B.L. Wilson

The old woman looks after the child to grow its teeth and the young one in turn looks after the old woman when she loses her teeth.

~ Akan (Ghana, Ivory Coast) proverb~

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.

~Antoine De-Saint-Exupery~

Chapter 1…It’s Tuesday. Taxi anyone?

Here comes Miss High and Mighty, Jimmy, Morgan Dunbar muttered to the senior doorperson, adjusting her uniform. She took a quick look at her watch. Yep, Miss Snotty’s here the same time as yesterday. God, she hated how some of the residents only saw the navy and gold doorperson’s uniform and not the woman behind it. After all, she was a human being too. She wasn’t just a soulless body to hail a cab or carry a resident’s packages when she needed it. Bet she wants a cab, she whispered to James Dunbar as the woman strode down the long hallway to the front desk.

The older man eyed his niece and shook his head. Morgan, be nice today, okay? Stop trying to have a conversation with everybody. Some of these residents don’t want a gregarious doorperson early in the morning.

I was only trying to be friendly. The union rep said that we should act the part as well as dress the part of a doorperson. He said be courteous, friendly, make conversation, hail cabs, and help with packages…stuff like that. That’s all I was trying to do yesterday. Can I help it if the woman’s got a bug up her butt?

The two uniformed doorpersons turned away from their view of the long hallway to finish their conversation. They’d forgotten for the moment that the woman was heading their way and continued their discussion.

That’s Uncle Jimmy to you, Morgan, James Dunbar replied to his affable niece’s nasty remark about the pretty young woman who lived in the penthouse.

Yes, sir, Morgan said with a salute and a grin. I thought you didn’t want anybody to know we were related.

James rolled his eyes upward and muttered, Lord, save us from independent women.

The two doorpersons were surprised when the young woman interrupted their friendly argument.

Ahem, Amber Thomas coughed loudly. She stood tapping her foot impatiently as she stared hard at the door attendants. Are we finished with our little conversation? I need a taxi immediately.

Morgan bowed at the waist slightly. Yes, your Highness, she muttered in a voice too low for Amber Thomas to hear. Your wish is my command, Miss Thomas. As she stood up again, she caught Amber’s eye and winked broadly.

Amber gave James Dunbar a look that said control your co-worker. She eyed the tall, solid-looking woman who looked like she was ready to burst out laughing. I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Doorperson. She lowered her designer sunglasses and glared at Morgan. Are we clear on that?

Morgan stared into cool dark eyes and thought, So this is the face behind the glasses. Interesting eyes; they looked like onyx stone…nice mouth…full lips. Her nose didn’t fit the face, though. With that bump in the middle, it looked like it was broken a while ago. Morgan wrinkled her forehead. Nah, it’s probably natural. With her money, she woulda got it fixed with plastic surgery soon as it was broken. Hmm, she has nice skin. It looks like creamy brown chocolate. I bet it’s soft to touch too, Morgan mused. Here’s another bet…I’ll never find out what it feels like because Miss Nasty looks straight as an arrow.

She noted the expensive designer raincoat casually slung over one arm and the tailored, black pinstripe business suit with the matching heels. She sighed and then answered Amber Thomas. Yes, Ma’am, I’m crystal clear. I’ll get that taxi-cab for you.

Amber stood inside the vestibule and angrily watched as Morgan unsuccessfully tried to hail three cabs, but each one was full with two or three passengers. She stalked back and forth in the waiting area, mumbling. All she has to do is flag down a goddamned cab, just one cab! Amber muttered, checking her watch. Christ, I’m gonna be late. Can’t she find an empty cab? She oughta use all that mouth she’s got for hailing a cab rather than making idle conversation.

After the fourth full cab passed the vestibule entrance, James Dunbar watched Amber Thomas march outside to the sidewalk and confront his niece. He couldn’t hear what Ms. Thomas said, but he could see Morgan’s face becoming redder than her normal honey-brown complexion. He watched her jaws tighten. He knew from experience that was a bad sign with his niece. Morgan was one of the most easygoing women he knew. That was why he convinced the apartment workers’ union that she’d be an asset as one of their members.

Morgan was who most people imagined a city doorperson to be. She was warm, friendly, and helpful. She was tall and solidly built, which came in handy when the building’s residents needed help with large packages and heavy suitcases. Most of the building’s older residents liked her because she carried packages upstairs for them and didn’t expect a tip for doing it. She refused their offers, saying that she helped because they reminded her of the elders in her family. Morgan said that she wouldn’t accept tips from her own grandparents if they were alive and she couldn’t accept tips from the elder residents either.

James sighed as he stared at the two women. He sure hoped his niece would come to her senses and behave with Miss Thomas right now. He watched his niece close her eyes and count to ten before responding to Miss Thomas’ angry retort. He could see Morgan’s lips forming each number slowly as she stepped away from the angry woman. She stepped out into the street with her whistle again and finally hailed an empty cab for the impatient woman. When Morgan leaned down to open the door, Amber Thomas had already slipped into the backseat and just barely missed closing the door on her hand. James watched his niece stand with her hands on her hips and glare at the cab until it veered off into the distance. The cab containing the Amber Thomas got lost among a sea of cabs.

Morgan stomped inside the building and demanded of her uncle, Goddamn it! Uncle James, did you see that? Did you see what she did to me? Christ! She rubbed the back of her neck and looked down at her shaking hand. One more inch and she woulda broken my hand. What good is a sculptor with a broken hand?

Yeah, I saw, Morgan. Just take it easy. James Dunbar shrugged and then shook his head. Rich people don’t know how to act, do they? At least you survived her wrath all in one piece this morning.

He smiled at his niece and thought how much she reminded him of his dead sister with her adventurous, artistic spirit. He had forced Morgan to accept the job because she was more worried about being able to continue to sculpt than how to pay her rent and take care of the other necessities of life. She was too proud to accept money from him as a gift. With this job, she could practice her art and pay her way with her doorperson’s salary. It would be nice if she’d stop aggravating Amber Thomas; that might be asking too much. He could dream, couldn’t he? Amber was one of the building’s more important residents. If the rumors were correct, she was an owner as well.

He glanced outside the vestibule’s glass breaker front, noting the beautiful clear blue sky and the puffy cotton-like clouds. Looks like it’s gonna be another sunny day, Morgan. Besides voting in the primary, whatcha gonna do today? He stared at his niece.

Morgan glanced at her wristwatch and sighed. I have to be downtown by eight thirty to meet with a potential sponsor. Sharon arranged it. You know your daughter, Uncle James, Morgan said, looking at him. She never leaves stones unturned.

So who is the investor?

Morgan shrugged. You got me there, Uncle James. I didn’t ask and Sharon didn’t say. She just said I should meet her at the office wearing a suit and to let her do the talking.

Sounds like this one could turn into something serious, Morgan.

James stared at his niece, wondering if she could handle being told to shut up by two members of her family on the same day. Make that once from his daughter and again by him about Miss Amber Thomas. Knowing his daughter as well as he did, James figured Sharon was trying to impress upon Morgan to behave a little less free-spirited than normal. He was surprised Sharon didn’t advise her to take a taxi downtown instead of the noisy motorcycle that she owned.

James Dunbar sighed as he studied his niece. If Sharon didn’t tell her not to ride it, he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to upset her applecart before the meeting. He wanted her to show the best possible face for the interview with a potential sponsor. Lecturing her about riding the sleek red demon to a business appointment wasn’t the best way to do that, he mused.

Morgan nodded. I hope so, Uncle James. It’d be nice to finally sell a couple of my pieces for what they’re worth. She glanced at her watch again and frowned. I’d better get going if I wanna make it to the meeting on time. See you later, Uncle James.

Aren’t you forgetting something, Kiddo? James Dunbar said, pointing to her doorperson’s uniform.

Oh, yeah, changing this outfit, Morgan said, pulling on the elaborate jacket with the golden fringe on the epaulets with a shrug.

Go change in the office, Morgan. James Dunbar sighed and asked a question to which he already knew the answer. How are you getting downtown?

My motorcycle. How else?

James groaned softly. Well, try to stay away from puddles today, okay? I’m sure Sharon wouldn’t appreciate you coming into her office looking like a homeless woman in need of a bath.

You know me, Uncle James. I’ll do what I can to…look appropriate.

James Dunbar noted the gleam in his niece’s eyes. Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. You and your cousin have been trying to get one up on each other for years, Morgan Dunbar. He frowned and then said sternly, Somehow, I don’t think today’s meeting with a potential investor is the right time or place for those kinds of games.

Point well taken, Uncle James. I’ll try to be careful.

James watched his niece stroll to the office in the rear of the building to change.

Where to, Miss? the cab driver asked as the pretty woman stepped into the backseat, then slammed the door quickly. Hey, Lady, watch it! the cab driver warned, glancing through his rearview mirror at the precise moment Morgan Dunbar pulled her hand away. You almost slammed the door on that doorwoman’s hand.

She deserves a lot more than a busted hand! Amber exclaimed, settling back against the seat and closing her eyes, then rubbing her temples in anticipation of the headache she knew was coming. Christ, who does that doorperson think she is anyway? I’m not a tight-ass. I don’t have a bee in my bonnet or up my butt or whatever she said! She flipped out her cell phone and began to dial the lawyer’s office when she noticed the taxi had pulled to a stop.

Why are we stopping here, Driver?

I don’t know where you’re going, Lady.

God, I’m sorry about that, Amber said as she frowned and put the receptionist on hold. 136 Church Street. Oh hell, she muttered, glancing at her wristwatch. It doesn’t make sense to cancel now, Amber said softly and then spoke to the receptionist. Please tell your boss I’m running a little late. I should be there by nine o’clock.

Thank you, Ms. Thomas. She’s in conference with one of her clients. I’ll tell her when she’s finished.

Thank you … Frances, is it?

Why yes, Ms. Thomas, the receptionist responded with a note of surprise in her voice that somebody as important as Amber Thomas would remember her name. We’ll see you at nine.

Good. I just bought myself thirty minutes, Amber muttered to herself, then settled back against the seat and closed her eyes.

The cab driver peeked at her through the mirror, wondering if his angry passenger was all right since she was rubbing her forehead as if she had a headache. Miss, are you okay?

Yes, Driver, I’m fine. Stay on the highway going downtown. I have to be there by nine. Amber said, noting that they were currently stuck in heavy traffic on the Westside Highway at about 70th Street.

The cab driver suddenly swerved to the right to avoid colliding with a motorcycle that was speeding down the highway at a very fast clip.

Amber landed on the floor of the cab.

What the f---! the driver screamed as he watched the motorcycle shoot down the middle of the three-lane highway, riding on the broken white lines. Sorry, Lady. Are you okay? he asked, re-adjusting the mirror so that he could see into the backseat.

Amber settled back onto the seat, rubbing her head in the spot where it made contact with the hard metal bottom of the bulletproof partition. She sighed. Yeah, only now I’ve got a mother of a headache. She opened her leather sling bag and dug through it, searching for a tiny silver pill holder. I can never find a thing when I need it! she muttered and tapped on the closed partition. Driver, could we stop at a drugstore? I need some aspirin.

If you don’t mind, Miss, I got some Ibuprofen. The driver opened the partition and put the bottle of pills in the change slot.

Thanks, Amber said and then took her sunglasses off to smile into the rearview mirror.

The driver returned her grin and thought what a good-looking woman she was. Who’s she meeting this early? Let’s see, 136 Church Street is over by the World Trade Center, so it’s probably some kind of business meeting. He sighed, then snuck another peek at his passenger as she opened the bottle and removed two brown pills. He hoped that he wasn’t driving his passenger to meet a man this early in the morning.

Here’s some water to wash the pills down. He rested the bottle of water on the partition. I didn’t open it yet, Miss, so it should be okay.

Thank you, Driver. That’s very kind of you, Amber said, smiling into the mirror again and settling the sunglasses back on her nose.

Wonderful eyes, the driver thought, glancing at Amber for a second when he stopped for a red light at Chambers Street. He made a left onto Chambers Street and drove east for a block to Greenwich Street, then made a right turn. The cab continued southward on Greenwich Street for another block or two until it reached Warren Street, then made a left and drove east to 136 Church Street.

I hope this investment deal proves to be as good as my lawyer said it would be, Amber thought, getting out of the cab. She leaned into the passenger side to pay the fare and gave the driver a generous tip. Suddenly, a noisy deep red motorcycle and its long-limbed driver, who was currently straddling the bike, caught Amber’s attention. It looked like the same bike that caused the cab driver to swerve and made her bang her head against the partition as a result. Amber shrugged. If she weren’t already running late for her appointment, she’d confront the reckless cyclist.

Amber rubbed the spot where her head struck the metal partition as she watched the motorcyclist park his bike on the street. He ignored the no parking sign to lock the bike against the sign’s base. She grinned broadly. Good! The stupid cyclist parked in a tow away zone. With any luck, he’d get a very unpleasant surprise of a ticket or a tow. It would serve him right for making her headache that much worse, she thought as she followed the cyclist into the building. The lobby had two banks of elevators that went to odd or even floors. She double-checked the business card for the floor number to the office. The long-legged stride of the cyclist allowed him to take the first set of elevators while Amber took the next set. She exited the elevator just in time to see the cyclist striding down the hallway and into an office at the far end of it.

Amber glanced at the sign that listed the office numbers and found she was heading in the same direction as the cyclist. The office number that she was seeking appeared to be the same office door that she’d seen the cyclist enter a minute ahead of her. She sighed. That wasn’t a good sign as far as she was concerned. It didn’t speak well for the investment lawyer who arranged this meeting for her. It meant that she had a client who operated his bike in a very reckless manner. She’d try to keep an open mind with all this, Amber thought, opening the door to the office. She walked to the reception desk. A smiling young woman with a hands-free earpiece hooked over one ear greeted her.

Good morning. May I help you, please? the young woman inquired politely.

Amber nodded. Yes, I have a nine o’clock appointment to see a Ms. Dunne.

The young woman noticed the well-cut business suit, the expensive perfume, and designer sunglasses, and smiled again. You must be Ms. Thomas.

Amber nodded.

They’re waiting for you inside. Would you like a bagel or a Danish? Coffee or tea?

Nothing to eat for me, just herb tea … peppermint, no sugar. Thank you, Frances.

The young woman grinned.

Amber noticed pretty white teeth. If I didn’t have such a headache, maybe I could be more pleasant to the young woman and make polite small talk, she mused.

I’ll send that tea right away, Ms. Thomas. Ms. Dunne and the artist are in the second conference room to your right as you walk down the hallway. It’s the first door on your right.

Thank you, Frances, Amber said, heading in the direction of the conference room. She heard the sound of laughter inside the room and two distinctly feminine voices. One sounded strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place the voice, while the second one she was fairly certain she’d never heard before.

Glancing quickly through the glass door, the first thing that Amber noticed was a shiny, cranberry-red helmet sitting at the far end of the long, modern-looking table. The second thing she spotted were several wonderful pieces of sculpture sitting on the table. Three appeared to be black metal or aluminum and welded into various shapes that looked like parts of a woman’s body.

Amber couldn’t see very well from her position at the doorway, so she stepped inside and moved closer to the artwork. The artist mounted the sculptures on palettes of dark wood or stone or had metal bases welded onto the bottom of them. The sculpture that she found herself walking toward was the fifth piece. It was much larger than the other four pieces. She estimated that it was forty inches in height and mounted on a black metal base. It was a modernistic sculpture of two women holding each other. She could imagine the women ready to make love, had just made love, or were simply comforting each other from some unknown terror.

She reached out and was surprised to find it seductively smooth to the touch. She wanted to run her fingers across the shapes of the women again. The artist had polished the black metal sculpture to a dull but satin smooth sheen that was incredibly enticing to her fingertips. The metal felt wonderful, so she kept running her fingers along the outer edges of the two figures.

Two women standing by the large picture window finished their conversation. One of them turned to find Amber Thomas fingering the statue of the two women.

Sharon Dunne came towards the expensively dressed woman with her hand outstretched. She spoke first. Hello, Ms. Thomas, I’m Sharon Dunne. I’m the investment lawyer David Parker told you about.

Meanwhile, Morgan Dunbar stared at Amber Thomas with a mixture of amazement and disbelief written across her features. She couldn’t understand why the woman she referred to as Miss High and Mighty was fingering one of her best works as if she actually enjoyed touching it. Those fingers of hers continued to stroke the shapes of the two women repeatedly as if she couldn’t get enough of them. She watched Amber’s fingers stroke the figures until she became aware of what her hands were doing and stopped.

Amber Thomas shook hands with Sharon and then introduced herself. I’m Amber Thomas. These are marvelous pieces. They’re so alive. They just invite your hands to touch them, she remarked, quietly admiring the statues.

Sharon nodded. Yes, that seems to be the overwhelming reaction when people see them.

Morgan watched Amber Thomas’ facial expression change as she looked around and realized she must be the artist.

Sharon motioned her cousin to step forward away from the window. I’d like you to meet the artist. Morgan Dunbar, this is….

Yes, I know who Thomas is, Sharon…uh…I mean, Ms. Dunne. Morgan frowned at Amber Thomas.

Yes, Amber said, narrowing her eyes as she studied Morgan Dunbar. We do have something in common, don’t we? She continued to cut her eyes at the tall artist with the sandy-colored dreadlocks and the hazel eyes.

Oh, and what might that be, Ms. Thomas? Morgan asked, returning her glare.

That red helmet wouldn’t be yours by any chance, would it? Amber asked, pretending she didn’t already know the answer to her question.

So what if it is? Morgan responded with a nasty edge to her voice.

Were you on the Westside Highway about 8:30 this morning?

Probably. I was on my way down here.

Amber returned Morgan’s hard stare. It figures, she snapped sarcastically.

Sharon watched her cousin angrily move closer to the table and the angry woman standing next to the sculptures. This wasn’t turning out at all as she’d planned. Morgan looked like she was ready to take a swing at the woman who was supposed to be her new sponsor. Meanwhile, wealthy Ms. Thomas looked like she’d throw a punch or two at her cousin in response.

What you mean by that, Ms. Thomas?

Oh nothing, Ms. Dunbar, except that a reckless cyclist riding a red bike that matches your red helmet almost got me killed this morning when she raced up the middle lane and caused my taxi to swerve to avoid a collision!

Morgan frowned, then drew a step closer. Her jaw muscles tightened and released steadily. Oh, you mean the taxi that I hailed for you this morning. The one that you almost broke my hand getting into when you slammed the door... that taxi?

How could somebody as…as… Amber stuttered to find the appropriate words to describe her feelings. ...obnoxious as you are create such glorious sculptures?

What? Assholes can’t be creative, Thomas? Morgan stepped closer until she was inches away from Amber Thomas. She was close enough to smell Amber’s perfume.

And all rich bitches are tight asses! Isn’t that right, Dunbar? Amber responded in a deadly low voice.

No, they just have deep pockets and exceptional hearing, Thomas!

Sharon cleared her throat loudly, hoping to divert the women’s attention away from each other and onto her. Ahem. Ladies, let’s sit down and discuss this like adults, Sharon said, walking over to tug at her cousin’s arm. Come on, Morgan. When Morgan still didn’t budge, Sharon kicked her ankle hard.

Morgan winced from the pain and then plopped into the nearest chair to rub a sore ankle. Damn it, I don’t care what deal Sharon worked out with her. I’m not selling any of my artwork to that bitch. She wouldn’t know how to appreciate my sculptures anyway! For a second, the image of Amber’s hands gently touching her sculptures popped into Morgan’s head, then merged into a startling vision of those same hands caressing her face, then moving down her body and setting fires everywhere they landed. She shook her head to disassemble the vivid image. She ran an anxious hand through sandy-colored dreadlocks.

The three women heard a sound in the hallway outside and looked up to see Sharon’s receptionist standing at the open door to the conference room.

Yes, Frances? Sharon responded to the young woman.

I have your refreshments, Ms. Dunne, Frances said, standing in the doorway with a tray filled with tea, bottled water, and pastries.

Sharon sighed and thought good. Now we can get down to some business. Come in, Frances. She watched Frances serve Ms. Thomas her herb tea. Interesting that Morgan had a connection to a potential sponsor, however unpleasant that connection might be. It sounded like Ms. Thomas lived in one of the buildings that Morgan worked in as a doorman...er…doorperson or whatever they were called these days. She studied her cousin, who sat at the near end of the table, rubbing her ankle and looking evil. It was time to be the negotiator again. She’d better start with Morgan before she exploded and ruined everything.

Would you give us a moment alone, Ms. Thomas? Sharon said, standing up and applying heavy pressure on her cousin’s shoulder. My client and I need to discuss something.

Morgan frowned at the hand squeezing her shoulder but stood up and then nodded to Amber Thomas. She received a quiet glare for her trouble.

The two cousins exited the conference room together.

What now, Sharon? Morgan asked with an annoyed edge to her voice as she rubbed the sore spot on her shoulder. She glared at her cousin. They were standing just outside the door to the conference room. You already tried to maim me with that kick to my ankle and your death grip on my shoulder. You wanna try for a headlock next?

Not really, but I will if you don’t tone down your crap, Morgan! That woman’s attorney, David Parker, said she was interested in your artwork. That’s why I arranged for her to see your work and meet you. Sharon stared at her cousin and noted her barely controlled anger. Look, if you can’t handle this, I can make the deal without you, Cuz.

Nope. I wanna see Miss High and Mighty pay through the nose if I decide to sell those pieces to her.

Sharon frowned. What do you mean ‘if,’ Morgan? I thought we agreed that when you brought those pieces in here, they were for sale.

Morgan shrugged and then looked at the floor.

Well, Cuz?

They were for sale until I found out that bitch is the buyer, Morgan exclaimed loudly.

Christ! Morgan, shut up, will you? Sharon pantomimed for peace and quiet. She’s gonna hear you. Do you realize that she could sue you and me for breach of contract, Morgan?

Too late; the bitch already heard you! Amber seethed with anger as she marched into the hallway and planted herself in front of Morgan Dunbar, then shook a finger under her nose. You need a lesson in manners. I’m just the one to teach you, Dunbar.

You think so, do you, Thomas? Morgan glared down at her and then crossed her arms over solid breasts.

Amber sighed as she sought to control her temper. She stared up into angry eyes. You’d do much better to listen to your lawyer, Ms. Dunbar. She’s right about being able to sue you for breach of contract. I have enough lawyers on my payroll to sue you for everything you own right now and all your future earnings as well. I could own you if I wanted to, Ms. Dunbar.

You are dangerously close to getting your butt beat, Ms. Thomas, Morgan threatened as she studied her opponent.

Is that a threat, Ms. Dunbar?

Nope, it’s a promise…Ms.…Thomas!

A thunderous explosion that shook the building interrupted Morgan’s next words.

What the hell was that?

The building trembled. Windows rattled as if they were in the middle of an earthquake and the floor vibrated under their feet. Loose chunks of ceiling plaster fell to the ground around the three women. The lights blinked off and on then finally shut down all together. The women stood in the dark hallway, nervously waiting to see what would happen next.

Frightened and confused, Frances rushed from the reception area into the hall to join them. Ms. Dunne, all the lights went off and my computer screen went blank. I’m scared! she wailed.

Sharon pulled out a cell phone to dial the security desk in the lobby but couldn’t get a signal on her line. Damn phone is dead, she said, slapping it. I musta forgotten to charge it this morning. Morgan, gimme your phone, she demanded, impatiently holding her hand out.

I just tried to dial 911. My phone’s not working either. Morgan sighed. I charged my last night, Cuz.

Amber frowned in the darkness. You two are cousins?

Yeah, weren’t you listening, Thomas? Morgan responded, still smarting from Amber Thomas’ threat to sue for all of her future earnings.

That’s hard to believe, Amber replied sarcastically and then added, "I mean, your cousin has manners and

Reviews for Fetch, an Unwilling Love Story

[Sasha Johnson · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The rich emotions displayed this writer’s amazing ability to tell a story. If you have some great stories like this one, you can publish it on Novel Star, just submit your story to [e-mail] or [e-mail]