Innocent 2: Elena: The League of Worldly Wise Innocents, #2

By L. A. Zoe

Do they deserve each other? 

Although a member of the League of Worldly Wise Innocents, Elena Morales doesn't believe she deserves to marry a wealthy man. She just wants a job using her language skills. When she interviews with the mysterious St. Denis Capital, she doesn't realize the dark secrets its handsome yet dark-tempered owner, Edward St. Denis, is hiding.

Nor does he understand how much lust Elena's curvy figure will arouse in him.

His firm finances startup companies in the field of biotechnology and stem cell research. He wants to get even wealthier by delivering anti-aging technology to the Baby Boomers.

And to rehabilitate the already injured.

He needs Elena to translate scientific articles written in Mandarin Chinese.

And to spy for him in Beijing, China.

And smooth the way for his company in Western Nicaragua, among the luxury beach resorts and retirees wishing to spend their final years in an inexpensive tropical paradise.

Elena grows to love Edward, but he seems to prefer Wendy, the beautiful woman who is white, skinny, and glamorous.

Until Edward takes Elena into Wendy's dungeon, and she discovers the shocking sexual need Wendy fulfills for him.

But even that does not prepare Elena for the guilty secret Edward keeps hidden in his family mansion.

And she does not begin to understand her generously endowed body, coupled with her friendly and kind personality, attracts men such as Edward St. Denis far more than she realizes.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Love Conquers All Press
• Release date: Mar 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386417859

Book preview

Prologue to the Entire League of Worldly-Wise Innocents Series

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The long table covered with a white, Italian damask tablecloth seated nine gorgeous young ladies wearing glamorous, cocktail party dresses.

Ten, gorgeous young ladies counting herself—Veronica Orlando.

She allowed her heart a few moments to savor the pride of bringing the ten of them together. She deserved it.

The grandfather clock in the Cromwell Ritz-Carleton Hotel’s Presidential Suite’s front room chimed 10:00 P.M.

A waiter in white pants and a red suede jacket wheeled a rattling, clanking room service cart containing the last of the dinner dishes and silverware over the threshold, then shut the door behind him.

The air was still redolent with the odors of the filet mignon, asparagus in a white cream sauce topped with sliced roasted almonds, herb salad with vinaigrette dressing, baked potato, and mince pie topped with whipped cream.

Time to begin.

Before the others began drifting off, or drank too many glasses of the incredible Moet & Chandon champagne. Several bottles of it sat in aluminum ice buckets.

Veronica Orlando used the remote to shut off the background music of Brahms’s Piano Concerto No 1, and tapped the bowl of a shining spoon against the rim of her fine crystal water glass.

Ladies, ladies, she called out in a loud but still sweet voice, then clapped her hands to get their attention.

To Veronica’s immediate left, Simone Beverly sat up straight, hands in her lap, prepared to listen to Veronica as attentively as she did all her college professors. She wore bright emerald to set off her green eyes, milk-pale skin, and long auburn hair. Her dress was more conservative than the others, close to a formal gown. It went below her knees, and, between her neck and waist, left no inch of skin uncovered except her forearms and hands. However, the glowing scarlet of her lipstick hinted at repressed passion, despite the sharp aristocratic features of her face.

Veronica continued: In one week, next Saturday afternoon, we will all graduate from Miss Irene’s Finishing College of Fine Arts for Girls.

They chuckled, and Veronica paused to let them digest her wording. Of course they recognized the original name of their school. Though both school and name had long since been upgraded and modernized and, since a National Organization for Women (NOW) lawsuit filed in 1995, young men also attended The Cromwell School of Fine Arts.

Seated to Simone Beverly’s left, Elena Morales smiled broadly at the joke. Besides her incredible beauty, her relaxed good humor made her welcome at every social event. She had the gift of not only enjoying life, but helping others to see the joke. Her light-yellow dress accented her brown skin. As well as native-level English and Spanish, she spoke fluent French and passable Mandarin. Yet she cut her hair in some complex, weird hood-style. With her broad, curved figure and high, large breasts, Veronica preferred to call her the more romantic and sexy ‘Latina’ rather than the more politically correct ‘Hispanic.’

We are different in many ways, but in many, more important ones, we are a lot alike, and therefore different from the ordinary female college students, at CSFA, or anywhere.

Next to Elena Morales, Brandy Ewing. In contrast to Elena, Brandy was the skinniest of the ten. The chiffon dress hanging by straps from her shoulders should have clung to her figure, but instead hung loosely, emphasizing how little bone structure Brandy had. The dress’s dark blue color blended in with her dark brown skin, so Brandy seemed almost to blend in with the background. Yet she stood tall and proud, and her features were as long as noble as Simone’s. Her basic shyness was often mistaken for standoffishness.

A stranger looking at us all right now would not guess it, but we all come from humble backgrounds. Only a few of us got any financial help from our families to attend this school. We made do on grants, scholarships, part-time jobs, and student loans. To have come this far is, for all of us, something we can always be proud of.

Alicia Wu sat next to Brandy Ewing. Except for her clothes, she was a classical Chinese beauty with almond black eyes right out of a Ming Dynasty painting. Shiny black hair that reached nearly to the small of her back, held in place by a shiny gold clasp. She wore a little black dress of shiny bangles. No shoulders at all. It began just above her breasts and went to just below the middle of her sleek thighs. Nearly as small around as Brandy, Alicia did not look skinny only because she was much shorter, and her thin body curved. Not large curves, but definitely feminine.

We all want more out of life. We’re not going to be satisfied with just working our way up to an ordinary standard of living. Our meeting here at the luxurious Ritz-Carleton, wearing clothes we had to stretch to rent, symbolizes our commitment to the best in life.

Janeesia Williams sat at the other end of the table, across from Veronica, swigging down champagne. She was the largest of them all. Not the tallest, but certainly the largest. What personal ads described as full-figured. Although she didn’t look like Oprah, people kept comparing them, because of her size, and because Janeesia radiated so much charm. Elena made everyone part of the party, Janeesia made everyone her personal friend. She wore a strapless glitter dress down to her ankles, making her look like a torch singer out of an old movie, such as Lady Day.

And, of course, more out of life. Including the best men. Not ordinary men, no matter how good they are. We demand extraordinary men. The best available. As part of the good life. And, perhaps, though we aren’t golddiggers, as our ticket to the good life.

To Janeesia’s left, the first woman seated on Veronica’s right side, Cynthia Desperes was trying to keep her brave face on, Veronica could tell. Trying to keep her insecurity under control. In her brown dress, so ordinary she could wear it shopping or to church, Cynthia was the one Veronica had to work the hardest to convince to attend. With her brown hair and hazel eyes, and her mid-sized figure, she had trouble believing men could find her beautiful. Yet her very modesty, plus her fresh Grade A whole milk, American girl next door, look attracted many boys.

We are all beautiful. We are all smart. We are all sophisticated. We are all ambitious. We are all hardworking and diligent. We are the crème de la crème of young American women.

Here! Here! Sarah Khampone shouted as she banged her spoon against her glass.

As though to compensate for her grandparents escaping a country few Americans had ever heard of—Laos—Sarah seemed determined to make certain nobody could overlook her. She wore a skimpy, dazzling bright red dress. It set off the streaks of red she dyed into her short black hair. Sarah drank more than the rest of them, or seemed to, because she was often the noisiest and loudest at mixers and keggers. Yet her final essay on Mark Twain earned her the first A grade Professor Kelly awarded in the past five years.

As proud as we are, we are prouder still of what we’ll accomplish with our lives. We are living at the best time ever, to be young and alive, and ready to seek our fortune.

Beside Sarah Khampone, Katrina Manchester sat in her sky blue dress, smiling at some private joke. Nothing and nobody could stop her inner wheels from turning. Although she majored in the classical languages—Latin, ancient Greek, and ancient Hebrew—she was their class’s summa cum laude. When in class, she wore thick glasses in unstylish frames, without seeming to care what they looked like on her. But without them, her broad, smooth face had a healthy, friendly beauty. Tall and somewhat thin, she intimidated boys without trying. The man who saw past her tough style and glasses would be greatly rewarded.

Veronica continued: So I propose a friendly contest between us. In five years’ time we return to this room. Each will tell her story, and we will decide who has won. Who has won the heart of the best man?

Seated on Veronica’s right hand was Valentina Perez. She wore a delicious pink dress, and looked years younger than twenty-one. The figure of a Latina Barbie doll. With her sweet smile, she seemed the most sheltered and immature of them all, despite the solemn beauty her fingers called forth from the fingers of a violin. Yet her childlike mask hid a core strong as solid granite. She enjoys parties, but the boys who thought they could easily lead her outside soon learned otherwise.

What are our criteria for the best man? Simple. Seven. He must be obedient, faithful, rich, in good health, handsome, available, and good company. Love? That seems to me overrated. If he’s obedient and faithful out of love, that fulfills my requirement. The rest of you will order your priorities as you see fit.

And, herself, of course: Veronica Orlando. Wearing a rich, royal purple gown. Tall and slender, with blonde hair and blue eyes. The original Barbie Doll, if somebody wanted to be rude and insulting. But ready to take on the world.

And, of course, Veronica continued. We have one other trait in common, one not held in much esteem by our society. Unlike most other undergrad college women, we did not casually give boys access to our bodies. Not that we are boring and repressed, obeying old-fashioned religious proscriptions. Or naive and innocent. Not at all. We are modern women who recognize our worth. We place a high value on our beauty, the better to attract the highest quality men, who prefer fresh ladies.

They all applauded, then began filling up their crystal glasses with champagne from the bottles left on ice.

Veronica held up her glass full of sparkling red. Ladies, here’s to the League of Worldly Wise Innocents!

League of Worldly Wise Innocents

Innocent 2: Elena

Chapter One

The Job Interview

Could she work for this Grade-A jerk?

Mr. Edward St. Denis stared at Elena Morales from under thick, bushy black eyebrows that nearly met in the middle, above his nose.

His manner indicated he intended merely to scrutinize her as every human resources hack always did, but his black eyes set into far-recessed eye sockets belonged to a Puritan preacher determined to discover, expose, and root out the least trace of sin lurking within his congregation. His holy duty, to save her from eternal hellfire.

I require you to sign a Nondisclosure Agreement and a strict noncompete contract, he told her. Once I hire you, you may not work for a competitor, or take financial advantage in any way of what you learn here.

Elena put on her best brave smile. She didn’t understand what he said, except it sounded heavy-duty. I just want to use my language studies, she said.

Native Spanish and English, he said. Not uncommon these days, of course. But Mandarin Chinese as well! He nodded with approval.

And excellent French, Elena added.

A tailored, dark-blue pinstripe suit. Quite businesslike yet elegant. A Hermes tie with a gold tie pin. Gold cuff links.

He wore his money instead of using it to decorate the company offices. Four rooms in one of downtown Cromwell’s older office buildings. The kind with floors of hexagon white tiles that always looked dusty, even right after a wet mopping. Windows you could still lift open on hot days. With white shades to pull down to block the sun. Radiators that probably clanged all winter.

No central air conditioning, just a buzzing window unit that blew right on her.

And whatever the company’s business, it didn’t want walk-in traffic. The list of tenants in the lobby didn’t contain its name. Without directions, Elena would not even guessed St. Denis Capital occupied space there, let alone found their office.

Yet all the desks pushed against the walls held up to date desktop PCs, including gigantic 24 and 30-inch screens.

Nothing decorative or personal, however. Thick, scruffy tan carpeting that smelled of must. No paintings hung on the walls. The office shelves held only thick, intimidating books in black binding. No knickknacks. No family pictures.

Just how good is your Mandarin? he asked.

His left ring finger held only a large, gold school glass ring with a brilliant blue stone. Unfortunately, with guys, that didn’t mean much.

I’ve never had the chance to visit China, Elena said. I practiced as much as I could with Chinese students I met, and on Skype. I rent movies and the first time I watch one, I understand maybe fifty percent without English subtitles. I know about five thousand of the most common characters—simplified.

Mr. St. Denis nodded, though his eyes looked to the side. His thick, short yet brush-cut hair magnified the impression of intensity he radiated.

Elena sensed Mr. St. Denis lived under a dark shadow. A romantic, Byronesque young lord walking a North Atlantic beach under a moonless sky while breakers crashed against the rocks. Cruel and oppressed.

Stirred despite her common sense urging her to focus on the job and not her imagination, Elena’s heart beat faster.

Did your teachers assign you those movies? Mr. St. Denis asked.

Elena remembered to breathe slowly and deeply. As long as she felt comfortable, she made a good impression on people. She wore a shiny, azure dress. A little fancy for a hot summer day, but it went down almost to her knees. It looked good on her ample figure, without appearing slutty. Although she had combed and brushed out the complicated weave she used to have on the left side of her head, it would be months before the ends straightened out, so it looked shaggy. She removed all the studs from her ears except the small gold loops dangling from her lobes.

Uh? Sorry. No, I watched them on my own, Elena said. Watching TV when I was a little girl helped me with English.

Know any technical language? he said.

Not even in English or Spanish, Elena said, laughing. Unless you count some car parts. My father and my uncle are both auto mechanics.

Are you willing to learn? St. Denis asked. That’s the real question, I guess.

The ready smile left Elena’s face, leaving her feeling defenseless. She enjoyed making friends with people, especially difficult people such as this guy. Her friends expected her to find a good job, but with the economy so bad, her language skills didn’t go far without a practical application. At least he seemed willing to let her learn on the job.

A technical vocabulary?

Biology and physiology, he said. And medicine. Your main job would be to monitor science journals in as many languages as possible, alert for certain information. We’ll explain the criteria. You won’t need to understand the consequences or evaluate the information. That’s my partner’s job.

Boring. But for a decent salary...

Of course I can handle that, she said.

Great. Also, the job requires significant travel. Both to Latin American and China. Maybe, later, to other places. Do you have a passport?

I got it last year to go to attend a family reunion in Mexico that didn’t take place.

Gold sunbeams highlighted dust motes hanging in the air. Down below, on the street, engines roared and horns honked.

Here, just between us, you can be a nerd, Mr. St. Denis said. You can see I don’t waste money on appearances. I leave that to the National Institute of Health—the government. I have a heavy responsibility. Well...that’s not your problem. But my point is, when we travel, we meet with important people. I need to them to feel...comfortable. Relaxed and among friends.

I love parties, Elena said. Put on some music and I’ll get a smile out of you yet.

For a split second, his facial muscles relaxed. Though they didn’t smile, at least he reacted favorably.

Just so we understand—I don’t mean you should cross the line over being friendly, Mr. St. Denis said. Because you’re my personal assistant, that would be counterproductive. They’d lose respect for you and, therefore, for me.

Oh, I’m not going to sleep with anybody for you, Elena said. I understood you didn’t mean that. I wouldn’t do it.

Good. Another thing we need to have straight. This is not a nine to five, forty hour a week, put in your time, thank God it’s Friday, type job. No overtime. I don’t expect you to be as driven as I am, and I’ll grant reasonable time-off requests for personal situations, including two weeks of vacation a year. I’ll pay a lot to the right candidate, but I’ll demand a lot in return.

I understand, Elena said. All the best jobs are like that.

Any other questions? he asked.

This may sound stupid, Elena said. Last night I did use Google to search for you, so I would look like I knew something about this company, but I couldn’t find anything. What do you do here?

St. Denis is a private equity company, Mr. St. Denis said. We invest—primarily in biotech companies. I wouldn’t tell you we’re especially interested in Latin American and China, but you can figure that out for yourself.

What did he mean?

Much as she treasured the wonderful education she received at Cromwell College of Fine Arts, Elena wished she knew more practical things. She didn’t know one end of a business from the other. Or medicine either. Well, plenty of teachers warned she could never afford to stop learning. Even her uncle finally learned to use diagnostic computers to fix cars.

For a high class position that would use her cherished language skills, take her around the world, and pay her enough to wipe out her student loans within a few years...

Elena would learn whatever this strange, dark, sad man wanted her to.

I have big plans, Mr. St. Denis said. The world is changing faster than anyone realizes. But I don’t speak or read Chinese or Spanish, and don’t have time to learn. I need your help, if you’re willing.

Don’t you have to check me out? Elena asked.

He grimaced. If you failed the background check, you wouldn’t be here taking up my time.

So you’re hiring me?

When can you start?

Thank you for giving me the chance, Elena said, putting a lot of warmth into her voice. I promise to do my best.

So, yes, Elena could work for him. Even if he were