3 - Honorable Woman

Audra is absolutely INSISTENT that you get two weeks' worth of postings this first week.  Who am I to disagree? Right?  ;o)   

The coffee was bitter, and scalded his tongue as it went down.  Jon grimaced with discomfort watching the morning light creep higher in the sky.  It was the price he paid for impatience, but he wasn’t particularly concerned about singed taste buds right now.  After being up and down all night, this coffee was the only thing that was going to make him tolerable in – he glanced at the clock – ten minutes when he started making phone calls.

Sheridan King.

When you got older, the mind tended to play tricks on you.  He was realistic enough to admit that he was getting older.  It’s the main reason why, around the first of October, that he decided that his imagination was likely responsible for the stunning good looks of his Jamaican bed buddy.  After all, it had been more shadows than light during the throes of both the storm and their heated passion. 

There was that one glimpse of her on the beach, but even that had been at a distance. 

Yes, he’d decided the Sizzling Siren of the Sheets had become a lot more attractive with time and distance. 

And now it turned out that he was wrong, which pissed him off.  He hated being wrong.

On the bright side, his memory was fucking perfect.

So maybe she wasn’t supermodel beautiful, but the electricity that crackled between them made her as attractive as any woman he’d ever been with.  The chemical reaction he’d attributed to heightened senses from the blackout was as real as a stick of Doc Brown’s plutonium in Back to the Future.

And she wanted to leave it as a fond memory.

Fuck that.

He wanted to see if it was possible to recreate that 1.21 gigawatts of electricity that would send them back to Jamaica.

He wanted to see if it was possible to have another night like that.  Hell, he needed to see.  At his age, he wasn’t impressed by much.  Jon had been sucked, fucked  and bucked so many times he couldn’t count them all.  If he were being honest, he couldn’t remember a good percentage of them.  But this woman – this night – he remembered often.

Sheridan King.

Putting his nearly-empty mug on the granite countertop, he stole another look at the clock on the wall.  It read 7:55 a.m.. 

Close enough.

Jeri Daniels wasn’t a stranger to early morning phone calls from her employer.  She would likely just be happy he wasn’t ready to kick somebody’s ass into next week.   Crisis management was the usual reason for these coffee fueled conversations with his assistant. 

He puckered his mouth into a little frown as he flicked through the contact list in his cell phone.  Jeri was a notoriously curious woman, but there was no one more loyal or discreet.  Even if she were about to burst with nosiness, she would never ask him why in the hell he was making this crazy-ass request.

The simple fact was that he needed to remind Sheridan about the finer details of their Jamaican adventure.  It was his intention to jog her memory so that she would remember how good it was in his bed.  Ludicrously good.  Irresistibly good.

“Mornin’ Jeri,” he greeted, rubbing a hand over the prickly stubble on his jaw.  A rueful grin stretched his lips. “No, I’m not going to start screaming this early in the morning, you sassy wench.  I need your help with a gift for someone.”

After he’d explained - in great detail – what he wanted, Jon staunchly ignored the unasked questions his assistant was itching to put voice to and made one final request.  “Oh, and Jeri?  Here’s what I want the card to say….”

 ❧ ❧ ❧

Sheridan reached for her tea cup, face twisting with revulsion when the cold, chamomile blend hit her tongue.  Why in the world was it cold?  It had been scalding hot when she poured it a few minutes ago.

It only took a quick peek at the clock in her ‘workshop’, to see why it was cold.  What she’d perceived as a couple of minutes was actually almost three hours.  Rather than it being late morning with the whole day ahead of her, it was well after one in the afternoon.

Why are you surprised?

She’d always been one to get wrapped up in her work, to the point of oblivion.  This morning, she’d been working on a batch of lotion, toying around with a new recipe – lilac and lemon verbena.  Feminine yet fresh, it was a calming scent that should help clear the mind and enhance concentration.

Aromatherapist, heal thy self.

Okay, so maybe she’d been trying to erase the memory of a certain pheromonally enhanced musician with the scents of relaxation and clarity.  His unexpected presence at Karl’s book launch had figuratively knocked her on her ass.   Then, in the car…  The way he claimed her mouth with such authority and put his hand up her dress without reservation…

Sheridan shivered.

Shaking her head with annoyance, she stood to replace jars and bottles in their respective cubbyholes and drawers.  The antique mahogany apothecary cabinet and matching shelf had been a gift to herself this fall, in celebration of her new life. 

It hadn’t been long after the return trip from Jamaica that she found herself restless.  Discontent.  The chain of bookstores that she’d nurtured from one small store no longer held the zing of excitement it once did.  That made dealing with less-than-stellar employees such as her incompetent assistant, Todd, even more difficult than usual.

Within about two weeks, she was completely over the whole thing and itching to shed the skin that had fit her so well for so many years.  It no longer felt like her skin.  It was time to move her life in a new direction. 

She contacted an old friend who once expressed an interest in buying her business, and arranged for the sale.  Three weeks later, she was free.  Her belongings were packed onto a moving truck headed for New York City, and the condo that she’d fallen in love with on sight.

It was a spacious two-level unit in the Tribeca area, with oak hardwood flooring.  The lower level was an open floor plan with living area on one end, kitchen on the other and dining space in between.  The upper level had two bedrooms and a terrace.  Having no need for a second bedroom, she decided to make better use of the space.

Aromatherapy was something she’d dabbled in years ago, but put aside when she got too busy for it.  Sheridan decided it was the perfect use for the extra bedroom and the extra time she now had on her hands.  The initial problem with that was that when all of the supplies had been assembled, she was in dire need of storage.   The apothecary cabinet was the perfect solution.

The last vial of essential oil was being put in its assigned slot when the chimes of the front doorbell pealed throughout the apartment.

Wondering who in the world could be at her door, she wiped damp hands on her velour lounge pants and padded toward the short staircase.  Her socked feet slid on the polished wood steps and she clutched at the bannister to maintain her balance, swearing softly.  

I need socks with treads before I break my neck!

Karl and Suzy were pretty well the only ones who knew where she lived, Sheridan thought, slip-sliding through the kitchen on the glossy, polished floor.  She’d talked to Suzy earlier this morning.  Madison was still sick and they were staying in today, so it couldn’t be her.

Fully zipping the dusty purple hoodie that matched her pants, she stood on tiptoe to check the front door’s peephole.  There was a uniformed delivery man in the fifth floor foyer.

I didn’t order anything.

“Who is it?” she called through the locked door.

“Delivery for…  Sheridan King.”

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”  Philadelphia might not be as urban as New York, but she still knew not to open her door for just any big, burly stranger.

“I dunno if anybody expects boxes with big red bows on ‘em, lady.  That’s why they call ‘em presents.”

What the heck?

She released both deadbolts, but left the chain secured when she eased the door open a couple of inches. 

Sure enough, there was a big cardboard box that came up to mid-thigh on the deliveryman.  Perched on top of it was an obnoxiously large and fluffy red bow. 

“Told ya,” the man droned, impatiently tapping his clipboard.  “You want I should bring it inside?”

Not just yet.

“Who is it from?”

He sighed and impatiently flipped through the clipboard’s short sheaf of papers.  “Bon-gi-o-vi.  First initial J.”

Sheridan could use a fifty-gallon drum of that new calming lotion about now.  Jon had sent her a gift.  A big gift.  With a bow.

“Just a second.”  She closed the door and removed the chain before reopening it more fully. 

Tipping the dolly back on its wheels, the delivery guy rolled the box by her, disinterestedly asking, “Where ya want it?”

She indicated with a silent hand gesture for him to place it beside the long kitchen island.  As he scooted the dolly out from under it, she found a couple of bills in her wallet for a tip.

“Thank you.”

“Yep.  Happy Holidays, lady.”

Sheridan closed the door and secured the locks before quietly circling the box, trying to guess what might be inside.  Yes, it would be easier to just open the damn thing and find out, but she was half-afraid to.  She couldn’t begin to fathom what Jon might have thought appropriate to send to her after their unexpected meeting last night.

Not only was there a huge bow on the top, it was tied up with matching red ribbon.  She ran a finger under it.  Velvet ribbon.

Open it, already, before you drive yourself crazy.

Exhaling loudly, she extended a hand toward the bow and gave the end of the ribbon a firm tug.  That was all it took for it to slither into a pile of velvet spaghetti.  The lidded box was now completely bare of adornment and all markings.  It looked so much like one of those game show boxes from the old game shows.  All she had to do was lift the lid to see what she’d won.

Fully annoyed and impatient with herself, she jerked off the lid and jumped back as the sides fell away. 

My God, it is a game show.

There, appropriately enough in her kitchen floor, was a mini refrigerator.  It reminded her of college days, strongly resembling the one she and Suzy had in their dorm room. 

Why in the hell did he send me a refrigerator?  Isn’t there a card with this stupid thing?

The little refrigerator opened easily, but with an odd rattle.  It took all of a second for her to locate the source of the rattling.  The shelves and door rack were fully stocked with at least fifty small bottles of booze.

Oh.  My. Word.  It’s an honor bar!

A less hurried look revealed that, tucked in front of two bottles of tequila, was an envelope with her name neatly printed across the front.   Sheridan wasted no time in snatching the envelope up, and allowing the fridge to close while she turned it over in her hands.

It was just a plain white envelope, the size of which could contain an invitation or RSVP card. 

One red-nailed fingertip broke the seal, and Sheridan unintentionally held her breath while sliding the contents free.  The heavy white card was computer-printed in the same font as her name on the outside of the envelope.

“A friend once said that emptying the honor bar made me more likable.  I’m hoping to see that friend again real soon.  Call me.  ~JBJ” 

He had included a telephone number at the bottom.

Sheridan bit her lip and read the message again, this time more slowly.  Halfway through, her lip slid free when the corners of her mouth curled into an irrepressible smile. 

The man was clever.  She’d give him that.