Adam Keaton
Anastasia
“Did you taste the fries?”
Shawn gives me a toothy grin that would have looked attractive if he doesn’t have ketchup smeared all over his teeth.
Amused, I run my tongue over my own teeth just in case, even though I avoided the ketchup all night and give him a slight nod. “Yeah.”
“Then you have to taste this,” he provides a plate of a gummy-looking food and pushes it to my face.
Two hours in the event and I can already smell the alcohol stench on his breath. Everyone in the hall, guests and colleagues combined have all indulged in the next aspect of the event – the face-stuffing and drinking since the auction is now over.
Without thinking, my eyes search around the hall for the familiar scowl on Jake Keaton’s face but it seems like he disappeared over the face of the earth immediately I left his side.
But then, that might also be because I’m avoiding him too.
It’s a Saturday night. Maybe I am required to be at this function but I certainly am not required to put up with him and his attitude all night long.
Shawn shoves the plate of food my way again. “Come on you’ll like it.”
“I really don’t want to,” I reply him.
He nods like an eager child. “I’ll fix something you’ll like then.”
Shawn is the first friend I made when I started working for Jake and as immature as he acts sometimes, he has been my work friend for six months and his kindness is always something that tugs at my heart.
I am distracted by the buzz of my phone in my purse and I grab it out and peer down to see a message from Ree splayed on the screen.
:“I hope you remembered to grab your keys. Richie and I are heading off to Clave tonight and girl you have no idea what we are wearing.”
Ew. Clave is a sex house downtown and I do not want to know what she is gonna be wearing while she fucks Richie.
Another message zings in and I groan as I see a pop-up message from my boss.
It’s simple. Straightforward. Non-descriptive;
:“Where. The. Fuck. Are. You.”
Ha! Not a chance, Mr. Grumpy.
Right that moment, a hand grabs my arm from the corner of the crowd where I am standing and my head pops up in shock to see the gorgeous man from earlier smile down at me with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I didn’t finish introducing myself earlier.”
I smile back at him. “I got the first part.”
He extends his hand again, “Adam Keaton.”
I blink “Keaton?”
“Yes.”
“As in Mr. Keaton’s . . .”
“Gorgeous step-brother, yes,” he winks at me, “Pleasure to meet you Anastasia Wells.”
“You know—” I blink and shake his hand. Of course he knows my name. “Nice to meet you, Mr Keaton.”
He makes a face. “Don’t call me that. You make me sound almost as formidable as my brother. Adam is fine.”
He pulls at my hand. “Come on let me get you something to drink.”
“Oh uh…” there’s a reason I’ve had only water throughout the night but it is too late to protest because he has already pulled me to the mini bar in the other corner of the hall.
“Something tells me you’re not that much of a drinker, Ms. Wells.”
“Oh you have no idea,” I mutter earning an amused brow quirk from him, “Just, something light please.” I tell him.
He smirks, “Something light for the lady, then,” he leans over the counter and orders an unfamiliar drink from the bartender before turning his attention back to me.
“So,” he sits on a barstool and I follow suit, “how does working under the devil feel?”
I chuckle. It is crazy how different Adam Keaton is from his brother. Step-brother. How easy going and smiley he is.
Like for instance I can laugh in his presence and all I ever do when I’m working with Jake is be on the edge every damn time.
“Pretty great,” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice as much as I can, because I’m not about to mouth-lash my boss in front of his brother, but even I can hear it dripping on my tone.
Our drinks arrive and he pushes a glass of clear liquid to me.
“Try it, Anna,” he urges in a drawl that is much like his brother’s “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it.”
There is a certain mischief to his voice that I can’t quite place. Regardless, I take a sip of the drink and let out a little gasp when the liquid hits my tongue. It is fuzzy, which is not something I expected from a crystal clear drink and there is a tingy sweet taste to it that suddenly starts acting on my taste buds making me want to take another sip.
“What is it?” I ask him, indeed taking another sip. There doesn’t seem to be a drop of alcohol in it though, so I guess I’m safe.
Adam Keaton shakes his head and laughs ruefully, “You’ll know soon enough,” he takes a gulp of his whisky, “By the way, you lie, Anna,” he remarks, “Ain’t nothing ‘great’ about working with my brother. If anything, he is the worst person to work under. Trust me, I lived with the guy for years. I don’t work under him but even I can tell how much of a handful he is.”
I laugh again, glad I’m not the one to make the complaints. “Well, he can be a handful sometimes.”
There is something about Adam, a trait that makes him quite easy to talk to. It probably has something to do with the free-spiritedness or lack of an attractive scowl that he possesses but unlike my boss, I don’t find myself stuttering for words or trying to keep up with his ever changing mood.
Adam’s voice dips, “Why haven’t you quit then?”
I blink. “What?”
“I make my researches, Anna. The way Jake treats his employees… You’re better off somewhere else and you know it.”
There is something about his voice that familiarizes it with that of a sly fox.
He takes another sip of his whisky.
“Well, Jake is kind of—”
He interrupts me. “Generous employer. I know. It has something to do with the pay? I heard he does pay a large sum.”
I take a sip of my drink. “I mean, he does.”
He laughs, “Listen, I’ll make you an offer,” he refills my glass to the brim, “come work for me.”
“For you?”
“Yes, Anna. More flexible hours, I’ll increase your pay, and well let’s just say you get everything you want.”
Oh geez. “What’s the catch.” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Nothing,” he states, but I catch his eyes give me a one-over, “can’t say it’ll be bad to have one hell of a pretty lady in the office, I’ll tell you that.”
I feel the heat rise on my cheeks. “Uh…”
One great thing about working with Jake Keaton? He never looks at me like that. He’s too busy fucking his way through the tons of high-class trust-fund women to even notice the color of my hair, and that my friend, is a good thing.
Adam Keaton cocks a suggestive brow, “Take your time, pretty. Think about it.”
This man is nothing like Jake Keaton. Literally. I mean they are both tan and probably are of the same height but that is about as much resemblance between them. His eyes are a light brown, Jake’s are almost the shade of really dark chocolate and shimmery in its deep depths. His hair like his eyes is also a light brown that kind of give him that Hollywood boyish looks. Jake has dark hair, and while he can be intimidating with just one look, I don’t think there is any bone of intimidation in Adam’s body.
He is sly though, I can sense that, but intimidating he is not.
The next few minutes whips by in a slow blur as Adam Keaton engages me in a conversation I hadn’t envisioned myself having tonight. He asks me a lot about my job which is kind of disconcerting because tonight is supposed to be my night off from everything related to my work. Then he switches and we get into the more comfortable conversation about his own personal life. It is comfortable for me because if there’s anything I detest in the world, it is talking about my past and everything in it and I try to avoid that bump as much as possible. Even with my best friend Ree.
I don’t know how long we spend talking, it might be hours or mere minutes but I can’t keep track of the time because suddenly my brain starts getting all fizzy like someone popped a carbonated can drink in my head.
“So,” Adam says suddenly, pulling me out of my fizzed brain with the abrupt word, “what has a guy got to do to get a dance around here?”
He steps down and trudges closer to my stool.
“I’m not that much of a dancer, Mr. Kea—”
“Adam.”
“Adam.” What’s with me and trying to be formal? “I’m not that much of a dancer.”
“You mean on the dance floor right?”
Wait what?
“Yeah,” I slur, “on the dance floor.”
Why the hell am I slurring?
His hand taps a rhythm on my thigh and I wonder briefly when his hand even got there in the first place.
“Where then,” he burrs in my ear, “do you exhibit those dance skills?” I feel his tongue brush my ear lobes, “tell me, Anastasia.”
Suddenly, my breathing is stuck in my throat and I want nothing more than to move away from him. Adam Keaton is too close to my body, his hands going too far. I cannot particularly classify it as groping but it is enough to make me highly uncomfortable.
“Mr. Keaton?”
His voice is a sly drawl, “I told you to call me Adam, Anna.”
My hand is on his shoulder in an attempt to steer him at least an inch away but my body feels too weak, my head too noisy.
“Move,” I command.
Instead he steps closer, his hand inching upwards. “Come on, Anna,” he purrs, “we both know what we want.”
Suddenly, memories I spent months and years blocking out, flashes in a second in front of my eyes…
Slick hands on my body… a leering voice in my ears…
“...I know you miss me, Anna...”
Oh my FUCKING god!
I need to step back. I need to leave.
But the people in front of me begin to blur and my eyes are refusing to stay open. I hate being in a weak spot and that is exactly where I am right this moment.
And that’s when the symptoms hit me. I only get like this when --
“The drink,” I give him an accusatory stare, “what was that?”
“An alcoholic beverage. Nothing more.”
“No, no, no! I tol—I said I wanted something light.” I suck at being an alcoholic. The tiniest shot of anything alcoholic can practically render me useless.
I push at him again.
He doesn’t budge.
“That was light. Well compared to what I usually take,” he winks at me, “now come on Anna. I only wanted to loosen you up a bit.”
“Loosen me up? No, I nee—I need to leave,” I had put enough energy into those words but they only ended up coming out like a plea.
Adam leans into my ear again, “very soon, Miss Wells. Very so—”
The thudding sound of a body smacking against the counter registers to me briefly, a second before I realize that Adam is no longer close to me again.
He is crouched at least three feet away, grabbing his shoulders in pain and in his stead, the blurry version of Jake Keaton registers in my view and I’ve never been happy to see that attractive face frown down at me more than I do now.
“Mr. Keaton, I didn—”
“What the fuck did you drink?” he barks.
For some reason he is angry, but that is absurd because I owe the guy nothing so I guess my brain must be playing with the emotions on his face too.
He is standing by an average heighted lady that kind of looks like him although she too is a blurry image and another pretty blonde that seems to be scowling at me too.
Why am I getting all the scowls?
“Answer the question, Anastasia.”
“I –” I point to the unfinished glass, “I don’t know. Not really.”
He inspects the glass and takes a sniff of it.
“Fucking hell.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be—” I cut my self short and step down from the stool more than a little clumsily, “I’ll leave now.”
“The hell you are!” Jake grabs my hand and starts propelling me forward, “come on, we’re leaving.”
He mutters something to the ladies and shoots another glare at his brother before leading me through the thinning crowd.
“Mr. Keaton, wait,” I call. He is moving too fast, the world is blurring beside me.
He doesn’t stop a second, instead he pulls me harder heading straight for the entrance.
“You have to –” I swallow. Oh god, he has to stop or we’re both going to regret it.
My head is spinning around the place like a kiddies spinball and my hitched breathing is a telltale sign that I’m going to lose it, very soon and not in the way you expect.
Once we are outside and the cool night air hits my face, I’m allowed all of one second to enjoy the feeling before the tugging resumes again.
“Mr. Keaton!” he doesn’t stop as he ignores the valet and searches for his car himself.
“You’ve got to stop!”
Cold silence.
“Stop walking!”
Nothing. More speed.
“Fuck it, Jake!”
He rounds on me quickly, probably shocked I used a cuss word and his first name in the same sentence.
I’m too drunk to care.
“I’m about to –”
“What!” he roars.
“Th—” the sick feeling intensifies and I double over, whispering, “throw up all over your suit.”
“What?” he bends and his face enters my line of view. He tugs me forward. “Anasta—”
Wrong move!
The queasiness in my guts explodes right that moment and then—
I did throw up all over his expensive suit.