And Yes, I Can Live Without You

Until he's married?" Mrs Sinclair yelled after reading through the document in front of her. Her wide eyes met David Waylen, a thin lawyer clad in a thick suit too hot for the weather, his tie badly knotted and his brown hair roughly partitioned at the center.

She waved the document at him with her fat hand. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means that he does not have the right to any of the property stated until he gets married," there was a slight pause as the lawyer thought of something. "Although there are certain legal actions he can decide to take in order for the phrase to be withdrawn," he noticed the alertness in her eyes. "However, Mrs Sinclair, it is a very risky venture," the lawyer added, stressing 'very' a little too much. He managed to choose his words carefully knowing he was dealing with a deep-pocketed and highly influential woman.

"You're saying that it's possible to revoke the phrase but there is only a slight chance it will be to my favour?" There was a frown on her face.

"I'm afraid..."

Mrs Sinclair hissed loudly and threw the document to him. As she stood, she searched hastily through her leopard skin purse and produced a bundle of dollar notes.

"I'm sure you know the condition my husband is in right now. Keep this between us and find out as soon as possible what can be done about that stupid phrase," she adjusted her purse on her arm and moved to the door. Waylen watched her stiff hip as she walked, wondering if she would have made a great career as a boxer.

She held the door handle and paused. "I expect to hear from you in two days time, Mr Waylen, or else..." she let the sentence trail off as she walked out.

Waylen sighed, took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his forehead.

It was difficult dealing with wealthy clients these days, especially when they tossed money to your face and expected you to do things that were impossible. He stared at the bundle before him and smiled realizing that he could finally pay up for the mountain house he had bought on instalment.

The security man was at the foot of the stairs when Mrs Sinclair came down. He quickly opened the umbrella and she went under it.

The weather was at its worst now and the streets were crowded so the driver had wisely turned on the air conditioner before Mrs Sinclair had arrived.

The guard opened the door and waited for her to get settled before moving to the front seat.

"To the villa," she said to the driver who nodded and awoke the engine. The frown had still not left her face.

At the villa, preparations were in high gear. Conrad Sinclair was hosting a party for the group of men who had pooled their resources together to buy one of the largest steel companies in the city. It had been a huge investment for Sinclair who had been at the forefront of the whole thing. It was obviously going to be a huge success in the long run since they had had their fair share of the ups and downs involved in owning a company and there may or may not have been boodle paid to the government to get some things done, and there may or may not have been harassment to the previous owners but who knows? The whole process had been smooth and not a single document had been forged so there was nothing to be bothered about.

The decorators moved about busily, the ushers were mounting queue checkers, the waiters were setting tables.

Mrs Sinclair scanned the place with satisfaction and moved upstairs to Conrad's office.

Elaine, Conrad's secretary stood from her large zebrano desk as soon as she sighted her.

"Welcome, ma'am," she bowed slightly.

"Yes. Is Conrad in?"

"No, ma'am, he just left for the airport to pick up Mr Miguel."

Mrs Sinclair let out something that sounded like a grunt and headed for her dressing room.

Elaine rolled her eyes and sat down.

Mrs Sinclair's stylist greeted as she walked in.

"Do you have a dress ready for me tonight?"

The stylist nodded and produced a purple silk dress from a hanger.

Mrs Sinclair stared at it as though it had been taken out of a pig's pen.

"Find a matching purse, something light and comfortable," she instructed officiously.

The stylist nodded and disappeared behind rails of clothing.

She left the dressing room and headed to the bedroom.

Their bedroom was a cozy and commodious space with modern decor. The floor was completely rugged. An oil painting of Conrad Sinclair was hung above the bed and opposite that was a large television that had never been used. A grand piano stood at one corner of the room with its keys covered with dust. Adjacent to the piano was a dressing table that housed a few lotions and perfumes and jewelry owned by both Conrad and his wife.

Mrs Sinclair tossed her purse over the bed and paced around the room. She wondered how stupid Conrad could be to include such a phrase in his will.

She moved to the dressing table and forcefully took off her gold earrings.

Conrad had not even left her valuable pieces of his property! Just a few estates! And he'd even given the hotel to Andrew!

She took off her necklace and massaged the fat folds of flesh that formed her neck.

She knew there was no way she could persuade Andrew to get married without a sensible reason for it. She knew she could not even persuade him to do anything. If he made up his mind to do something, that was exactly what he was going to do. She wasn't his mother anyway, and he had spent years establishing that fact. And how the hell would she even explain how she had managed to get a copy of Conrad's will without his notice? That would give her a bad image and make her look like an over ambitious wife wondering what she stood to gain from the death of her dear husband. Beads of perspiration trickled down her face.

She thought of Stan for a moment then waved her hand dismissively. He was not very useful. How could a born womanizer persuade his close friend to get married?

She sighed and thought harder. Conrad had never been sensible, but gladly, he wasn't going to last long so she had to act now, and fast.

Her eyes popped as she suddenly remembered something. She took out her cell phone and dialed a number.

"Eithan?" there was a pause. "I want you at the villa. Immediately."

Stan drove into the hotel premises a few minutes past eleven and occupied a free spot in the VIP parking lot.

Stan was a tall man, muscular with captivating features. He had soft entrancing blue eyes, a graceful nose and a small mouth. There was an air of confidence around him which stemmed from his awareness of his good looks.

He turned off the car and came down. Satisfied it was properly locked, he carefully placed his sunglasses in the breast pocket of his classy steel grey suit and swaggered towards the lobby. Aware the receptionist was watching him, he passed a friendly smile to her and moved on to the elevator. She wasn't the kind he fancied. He pushed the button that would take him to the top floor and unconsciously waited for the usual jerk.

The elevator door opened to a wide hallway with glass walls on both sides. He nodded in greeting to a security guard who opened a door that had led to a large air conditioned office. He checked his breath and nodded satisfactorily.

"Matilda," he called out with a lustful smile.

The secretary looked up at him and smiled back.

Matilda was the director's secretary. She was a not-so-pretty but voluptuous looking thirty something year old lady who worked a regular nine to five job, spent her weekends doing clean up, had more books than friends and easily fell prey to men like Stan.

"Good morning, sir. Hope you had a fine night?"

"It sure could have been finer if you had been there," he smirked. "But I hope our Thursday arrangement still holds? I've made hotel reservations already," he whispered.

Matilda moved her lip to say something then stopped and smiled.

"That's my angel," Stan looked her over with lustful eyes again and blew her a kiss. Matilda smiled harder.

Satisfied that he finally had her wrapped around his finger, the middle one in fact, he pushed open the door that had the word 'DIRECTOR' written in bold golden letters.

There was a man seated behind a large office table almost filled up with documents. Paperweights were everywhere.

The man raised his head. His lush black hair shone under the bright lighting.

His green almond eyes drooped slightly as he looked up to see the intruder. He had smooth, delicate skin with his facial features perfectly formed and proportioned. There was an indifferent look on his face. The power and elegance he emitted only confirmed his ethereality.

He was perfect in every sense. He was the boss. He was Andrew Sinclair.

Stan closed the door gently.

"You would not believe how hot the mayor's granddaughter actually is! Words will fail me if I begin to describe how it went last night..."

"Stan," he interrupted in a soft manly bass, catching a paper that was about to be blown away and placing a paperweight above it. "I have a lot to do. I'm not ready for your crazy sexual illusions this morning."

Stan laughed. He walked to the couch with relaxed steps and sat.

"There's just this thing about her, I mean, I've never had a better blow job in my life!"

"You... Are a lunatic," Andrew replied as he quickly and roughly signed papers.

"I'd agree no less, but man, you've got to see this angel, the curves, the angles, everything," he took in a breath and shook his head.

"She's my perfect match..."

"You said the same thing about my previous secretary and, well, you know what happened," Andrew scanned through a paper with sleepy eyes and placed it in the 'to be shredded' column on the cluttered desk.

"I know, I know. I was a little hasty in deciding that. But I'm definitely sure of this one."

"You'd be cooking trouble for yourself if my old man finds out about it. You know how he is with the mayor."

"It's his granddaughter, no one even really knows her. She isn't hot topic for the media. Anyway, what's this I hear about a party at the villa?"

"It's one of the old man's silly celebrations. Elections are coming up, he's gathering as many friends as possible now," Andrew said icily.

"Ah! You want to play the good guy, huh? You're talking like you don't know how the game has been played for years. Your old man's smart and he does hold a lot of water in this city. But he sure knows that tables will turn and it will either be play, or be played," Stan laughed. "This game never ceases to amaze me."

"You're talking nonsense," Andrew's voice didn't rise. He relaxed in his chair and intertwined his fingers together. "He had a choice to stay away, but he dabbled into the mess anyway. More enemies and more friends, sounds like good news to me," he added sarcastically.

"Now don't criticize your old man so much because it doesn't change nothing. You've got drinks?" Stan stood.

With that, Andrew knew the conversation was over. He sighed and resumed his signing.

Stan walked to the refrigerator.

"Would you go? To the party, I mean."

"I don't know," he checked his appointment book. "I have a meeting with Peter Reid in a few hours' time."

"Who's that?"

"A real estate agent. He's got a five hundred unit apartment up for sale, it's located in an industrial area and there's also a university not many miles from there. It's a good deal," Andrew raised his hand to begin on another set of papers but his grip was weak and the pen slid from between his fingers to the floor. He cursed.

"You're overworking yourself, man," Stan warned and took out a large bottle of Busch from the small refrigerator at one corner of the office. "You should take a break, spend some time in the hills or something, get someone to ease your stress, maybe a therapist, maybe just a regular woman," Stan shrugged. "Just something to make you feel good."

Andrew cursed again and massaged his temples.

Stan raised a glass against the light and checked the tips.

"Take a glass, man, clear your goddamned head," he smiled.

"I'm really not in the mood for that."

Stan shrugged and placed the cold bottle on his table. Andrew looked at him with eyes that said 'don't you see there are so many papers here, you moron!' but Stan pretended to not notice the glare as he slowly poured the contents of the drink, intentionally tempting Andrew.

Andrew stared at the vapor that swirled in the transparent glass, smoky dancing figures, calling his name.

His throat ached. His head throbbed faster.

"I'll... Take a glass," he sighed with defeat.

Eithan Shaw was an ex hit man who had given up his old way of life and decided to work for the Sinclair's because they had promised him more pay to perform secretive but less deadly jobs like checking up people's background, stalking political officers and issuing warnings once in a while. He had agreed, repented, signed the contract and his life had been better ever since.

He walked into Peyton's Inn, one of the fast growing restaurants with a large working staff as soon as he landed in Concord town. His assignment had been clearly stated and expected to be executed quickly.

He took a chair in the basic lounge and keenly observed the female staff. None seemed dazzling enough, not even to his eyes. He moved over to the VIP lounge where a waitress quickly spotted him, smiled and sashayed towards his table. Even she wasn't captivating enough. She didn't spark his interest.

"It's a pretty hot day, isn't it? What can I get for you, sir?"

Eithan scanned the menu for a second then dropped it.

"Get me a good beer as a starter."

The waitress nodded and sashayed away.

Eithan scanned the female staff in the VIP area. They all looked like college girls running part time jobs. He dropped a large tip for the waitress and walked out of the building.

He took a cab and consulting his map, he instructed the driver to take him to Grill Island, yet another fast growing restaurant in the small town.

The waitresses at Grill Island were better looking and had a sense of professionalism. They all wore the same white short sleeved shirt with the restaurant name monogrammed at the upper left area over a blue skirt that stopped just above the knee. Some of the girls wore tights underneath. The few male staff he could see were also dressed smartly in the same white on blue uniform.

He chose an unoccupied table at a corner that gave him a full view of the restaurant.

The place was busy as people were trooping in to get lunch. A waitress finished with the table in front of him and came to take his order.

"Good afternoon, sir, what would you like to have?"

"A cold can of beer would do," he smiled at her while he looked her over, trying to guess her age.

"I'll be right back."

Eithan continued to stare at the waitresses.

"A cold can of beer, sir?" a voice asked from behind him.

A tall blonde girl came up to him. She was either in her late twenties or early thirties, he could tell. She smiled in such a way that he wondered if they had met sometime in the past.

"That was fast," he took the can from the small tray.

"I'll take that as a compliment, sir," she laughed lightly and he caught a glimpse of her dimple. "We work together here and pass information quite quickly to avoid delaying precious customers."

He just knew he had come to the right place, and had met the perfect person.

Her striking compassionate eyes and angelic visage could not dispute that.

"Can I have a word with you for a minute?"

She seemed disturbed. "This is a very busy hour, sir."

"Quit this whole sir thing, it seems too formal for me. Call me Eithan."

She nodded.

Eithan knew she thought of him as just another male customer trying to woo her.

"I'll wait till you're ready to clock out," he offered and the girl seemed surprised.

"That'll be by four, sir–Eithan. It surely can not be that important," she disapproved politely.

"I'll wait," Eithan said and opened the can. She turned to serve another customer and he could not but stare at her bodacious backside. He unconsciously imagined her in a swimsuit.

He would wait.

The hours passed quickly and he had spent most of the time watching her, making mental notes about what she might be like. She wasn't coquettish, but she was friendly. Modest and well trained, he could tell. Matured, responsible, organized, self controlled. He'd seen all those traits in just a few hours. She was definitely the perfect match, he thought.

The clock struck four. The restaurant was almost empty now and a new batch of girls began trooping in, possibly for their evening shift.

Eithan's eyes were focused on the large door that he believed led to the kitchen and bar and paved way to other secluded areas in a restaurant. Moments later, she appeared wearing a flower print dress and a mauve colored blazer over it. She seemed surprised to still find him seated there. She started towards him.

"You're really patient, aren't you?" she stood above him with folded arms and looked him over. He didn't seem like one of the irresponsible men who always called out to her lustfully. His suit was well pressed and his beard was shaved clean. Maybe he did have something important to say.

"I wouldn't want to miss this wonderful opportunity," he smiled.

She adjusted her blazer. "Alright then, Mr Eithan."

"You haven't told me your name yet."

"I'm Lana. Lana Reeves."

"I have a job offer for you, Miss Reeves, a similar but better job offer, of course."

Lana cocked a brow. "Really?"

"Have you heard about the Sinclair Luxury Villa?"

"I do remember hearing something like that on the entertainment news. Why?" Eithan saw her eyes dart towards the wall clock.

He reached into his pocket and took out a card. "I work directly with the Sinclair family. There's a vacancy for an assistant for the mistress' son, the job description is to cook and clean, you'll have your weekends off unless there's an important event that requires your presence, you'll get your weekly payment every Friday and you'll be given your own house but you can decide whether or not you want to live in it or rent it out," Eithan paused. "What do you say?"

Lana's mouth remained agape for a few seconds and then she let out a short laugh that was laced with disbelief.

"You cannot be serious," she shook her head.

"It's okay if you're not willing to accept the offer, Miss Reeves, my job is just to find a lady that perfectly fits the description."

Lana realized it was really not a joke.

"Let's walk," she said. He quickly stood and followed behind as they exited the restaurant.

"So you're asking me to be a baby sitter..."

"An assistant," Eithan corrected.

"...To the son of your boss, and I would be paid a whooping sum for it?"

"More like it. What matters is whether or not you're interested..." he paused as they waited on the side of the road for an oncoming car to pass.