Remember The Nights Ch. 02

The day had been a long one.

Charlie inserted the key into the door of his apartment and stepped inside, his weariness finally catching up with him. He dropped the briefcase in the foyer, dropped his keys in the silver salver dish and headed straight for the bar, fixing himself a potent vodka martini and downing it straight. Turning towards the kitchen, he noticed Cynthia's coat and bag on the island and sighed heavily. He was hoping to go a couple of hours without seeing his erstwhile fiancée but it was obvious that God had not listened to his fervent prayers.

He prepared another martini, fixed her a simple Captain Morgan's Silver Spiced Rum on the rocks, adding a splash of soda and headed to where he knew she would be waiting: his bedroom. When he entered his room and saw her, he felt the urge to scream but drowned the urge with alcohol. Almost every suit he owned had been thrown out on his bed and she was sitting on a few of them as she perched on one of the corners, having an animated conversation with someone on the other end of the line.

"Hi, honey. Hold on a minute." She took the glass he offered and returned her attention to the phone. "No, Pierre. I specifically requested the buttercream frosting made with Madagascar vanilla to match the cake."

Charlie went around to the other side of the bed, setting his martini down and grabbed his Calvin Klein hand-finished wool suit, smoothing the charcoal fabric lovingly before turning toward the closet.

"Hold on a minute." Cynthia said to Pierre and whirled towards Charlie. "No, Charlie. Leave that where it is."

"Why?"

"I'm on the phone right now. Wait till I'm done."

Charlie watched her turn back to the phone, his mouth hanging open at her rude behavior. He wanted to say something to her but he did as he always did where Cynthia was concerned. He surrendered his manhood in the interest of being with a Mayflower descendant and the closest thing to blue blood royalty that the United States knew.

When he'd met Cynthia Winslow, he'd known right away that she was someone that was special. She was beautiful, true enough but Charlie knew that it wasn't just the silver-blonde hair and 34D breasts that had guys circling her like sharks around chum in the water. She came with a pedigree and to those who were smart, that pedigree brought a wealth of contacts. Charlie was a trial lawyer, specializing in murder cases, and her father owned one of the largest firms in New York City.

He thought he was lucky when she started paying attention to him at the parties. At first, it was just a smile and a nod in his direction, then progressed to a wave, then her whisper to a friend and he was in. She knew who he was, knew that he was a lawyer and knew that he was wealthy. She liked that he dressed in expensive designer suits and had a manicure and pedicure done weekly. He was the first male she'd ever met who'd shown 'elevated' thinking in his appearance and grooming habits. Charlie had felt as if he'd received a personal blessing from the Pope. Cynthia brought him into her small, exclusive circle of friends and after several outings and dinners, he worked up the nerve to ask her on a date and to his delight, she agreed.

Now, here they were: six weeks from one of the largest weddings that The Hamptons would ever see and Charlie was about to become one of the most influential lawyers in the city. His future would be set and his children would be the cream of society. That was enough, wasn't it? Love wasn't necessary to be successful, was it?

"Okay, honey. I'm done." Cynthia finished her drink in three long swallows and tossed her phone right in the center of his Valentino suit. "Oh, my God, you don't know how lucky you have it to be able to go to work and escape the lunacy that's become our wedding! Can you believe that Pierre was going to use regular vanilla extra in the frosting on our wedding cake? I don't know what he was thinking!" She gave him a quick kiss, taking a breath in her tirade. "Now what was it that you wanted?"

"What are you doing with my suits?"

"Oh, these old things? I'm just going through them and deciding which ones to donate and which to throw away."

"Throw away? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, honey. You can't expect to wear some of these suits once we're married!" She picked up a tweed jacket with the elbows worn to shreds. "For example, where would you wear this?"

"To my fraternity reunion. That jacket belonged to Professor George Harding, the best law teacher I've ever had."

"Oh, really, Charles!" She dropped the article on the floor and sorted through his clothing, giving her opinions on each item before dropping it into a heap on the floor. "Don't you agree with me, Charles?"

"Yes." He exhaled, his shoulders drooping. She was doing this for his betterment and he'd just have to learn how to deal with the changes. "I agree with you, hon."

Her smile was brilliant. "Good. Now what is that that you're wearing?" He explained the morning's excitement to her and she frowned. "Are you going to sue her?"

"Sue her? Sue her for what?"

"Assault, of course! She assaulted you with the coffee and ruined your suit."

He shook his head, drawing another frown from his intended. "Of course not. She's having my suit cleaned and delivered and she let me borrow this fantastic suit. There's nothing else that I need to do until I see what my suit looks like."

"Oh, Charlie!" She huffed. "You're too easy on people."

He let that comment pass and gave her a fake smile. "I'll go down and get a garbage bag and we can bag these up, okay?"

"That would be great." She gave him another kiss with just the slightest hint of passion, surveying the carnage as he departed. "Oh, and hurry up, will you? We have to meet Daddy for dinner!"

Charlie had found the trash bags where Josefina, his maid, left them and had grabbed several, heading back up the stairs when the doorbell rang. Hoping that Cynthia hadn't heard, he left the bags on the steps and dashed back down.

The gorgeous woman from the Armani store stood on his doorstep, a hangar bag in her hand. "Mr. Weatherly, here's your suit." She unzipped the bag and displayed the pants and jacket. Both were spotless and perfectly pressed. "You can return the suit when your schedule permits but I'd like it back tomorrow if you can manage it."

"Not a problem." He took the bag from her, giving her an appreciative smile. "I'm sorry, but I never got your name."

"Tamiko. Tamiko Nagasura."

Charlie extended his hand and shook hers, feeling his cock awaken in his pants. Her palm was soft and her full lips widened into a smile. "Glad to meet you, Tamiko."

"Who's at the door, Charles?" Cynthia's brittle voice swept down the stairs, soon followed by the sounds of her Jimmy Choo pumps. "Oh, hello." Her voice turned from brittle to syrupy. "I'm Cynthia, Charlie's fiancée, and you are ... "

"Tamiko."

"Tamiko." Her catlike smile did nothing to hide the dripping disdain in her voice. "You must have been the one that ruined my fiancé's suit this morning."

"The suit isn't ruined, Cynthia. Look!" He opened the bag and showed it to her. "It's perfectly fine."

"Well, that's lucky for you." She smiled at Charlie, then turned to the woman in the doorway. "Charles will be keeping the suit as compensation for his trouble."

Tamiko's lovely face exhibited confusion and anger. "That won't be possible, Cynthia. That suit has to be shipped to Miami tomorrow."

Cynthia's grin dripped venom. "Then you'd better find another." She pushed Charlie backward into the house, her hand on the doorknob. "Goodbye, Tamiko."