After stopping at a grocery store to get some bread and milk, I pulled up in front of the Salve Regina dormitory. Mrs. Wicker had very kindly arranged for me to rent a room here. In the summer, the dorm rooms were empty, so to raise extra money, the university let out rooms for a short period, usually to people attending academic conferences, but for Mrs. Wicker, they had made an exception. The location was perfect as it was only a two-minute drive from Cliff House, and if I hadn’t needed my paints and tools, I could have walked the distance easily.
The dorm rooms were small, but that suited me fine. The communal kitchen was just down the hall. I fixed myself a peanut butter sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table to tuck in when I heard a cheery voice say, “Hello.”
I turned to see Frank, the resident warden and caretaker.
“I wondered where you were hiding, Miss Taylor.”
“Just making a sandwich,” I said, tilting my plate.
“You’ve got a parcel.” Frank laid a rectangular box on the table next to my plate. “I signed for it for you.”
As I stared at the box, my mouth grew dry. Who would be sending me parcels?
A movie reel played in my head, showing clips from all the gangster movies I’d seen in the past: body parts, dead animals – all sent as sick messages or warnings … Surely they wouldn’t go that far.
Frank cleared his throat, and I realised he was still standing their waiting for me to respond or open the parcel.
I swallowed then pushed the parcel back a few inches. “Thanks, Frank. I’ll open it later.”
“Okay,” he said, looking a little disappointed. “You have a good night now,” he called over his shoulder as he left the communal kitchen.
A few moments after he left, I dumped my half-eaten sandwich in the bin and grabbed the parcel. Holding it at arm’s length, I took it back to my dorm room.
I set the parcel on the floor, and sat back on the bed, wondering what to do.
It’s no good just staring at it , I told myself. You’ll have to open it sometime.
I knelt down on the floor beside the parcel and reached out with trembling hands. It was sealed at one end with sticky tape. I peeled it back and unwrapped the brown paper. Inside, was what looked like a white shoe box. It looked innocent enough, but appearances could be deceptive.
My heart pounded in my chest as I slowly lifted the lid.
What the hell? Shoes?
I picked up a gold, strappy sandal with the highest heels I had ever seen. It was a designer I had never heard of, but I could tell they were expensive shoes, possibly even handmade.
I turned my attention back to the box and found a note amongst the red tissue paper.
Please come on Saturday night. I’d love to see you wearing these.
Benjamin.
Holy cow. My jaw dropped. He’d sent me these. But why? Why make such an extravagant gesture? And how did he even know if they were my size?
I quickly kicked off my ballet pumps and inserted my right foot into the gold sandal. It was the perfect fit. I pursed my lips together. That was just weird. How did he know what size shoe I wore?
I stood up and slipped on the other shoe. I wobbled over to the wardrobe, which had a full length mirror inside the door.
Whoa! These shoes would take some getting used to. I felt as if I were walking on stilts!
I gaped at my reflection in the mirror. The shoes really did work wonders. My legs looked longer and leaner, and when I turned to the side, I noticed that they made me stand differently. They made my butt stick out and look round and perky.
Wow, who knew shoes could make such a difference?
I struck a few silly poses in front of the mirror, enjoying fooling around. Perhaps I could go to the charity dinner tomorrow.
I freed my unruly hair from my hair band and fluffed it around my face. I stared at myself in the mirror and bit my lip.
Benjamin Easton was obviously a shoe man. If I wore them on Saturday night, he might be tempted to take me upstairs to his office, lay me over his desk and…
I smiled at myself in the mirror. It couldn’t hurt. I’d go to his little party tomorrow night and wear these killer heels. What was the worst that could happen? I might get some more work out of it, and if I was lucky, I might get to see a little more of the enigmatic Benjamin Easton.
Chapter 6
The confidence I’d had on Friday night had well and truly disappeared by Saturday evening. I was dressed in my black, knee-length dress. It had faded a little in the wash, but I didn’t have time to buy something new. I usually wore the dress with a little jacket and thick, black tights for a casual look, but tonight my legs were bare. I gazed down at the sexy sandals. At least they looked good.
I wondered what the other women at the event would wear tonight. I hoped I wouldn’t stand out for the wrong reasons.
It was only a few minutes’ walk to Cliff House, but even a short walk wasn’t practical in shoes this high. I’d decided to wear my ballet pumps and change into the gold shoes when I got there, but as I walked out into the parking lot, Frank was heading home and offered me a lift.
“Great,” I said. “Can you just give me a minute?”
I rushed back to my room, kicked off the ballet pumps and quickly slipped on the gold sandals. I walked back to Frank as quickly as I could.
He blinked a couple of times and let out a low whistle. “You look pretty tonight, Miss Taylor. Are you going on a date?”
“I’m going to the charity function at Cliff House. They are
