Taming Mr. Jerkface (The Taming Series Book 1) Read online

  Taming Mr. Jerkface

  The Taming Series Book 1

  Nia Arthurs

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in Belize, C.A. Jan 2016

  Copyright © Nia Arthurs

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book has been produced for the Amazon Kindle and is distributed by Amazon Direct Publishing.

  To all the Josephs in the pits and the prisons.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  My fingers silently drummed the shiny black glass conference table. The soft thuds did nothing to curb my boredom. I wondered if professional finger thrumming was a thing. There was such a sport as professional thumb wrestling.

  Hmm…so maybe a distinct possibility.

  “Ms. Reyes?” My head jerked upright and I snapped to attention. Mr. Thomas stood at the end of the conference table, tall and proud, his eyes staring my way. I’d met the head of Maladon Resorts and Enterprises two days ago. The introduction was brief and the term ‘met’ might be stretching it a bit. I don’t think the man lifted his head to acknowledge my colleague Missy and I at all. He’d scared the crap out of me then and the feeling hadn’t changed in the last forty-eight hours.

  His sharp blue eyes and large nose remind me of a hawk. The man was old and prickly. Like a porcupine. I fidgeted in my seat, embarrassed that I’d been caught daydreaming. As the public relations representative of the Belize Tourism Board, it was my responsibility to attend hum-drum meetings such as these and write reports and summaries utilized in enhancing the Belize experience. Despite my lofty intentions, this part of my job was far from my favorite.

  “Uh-” I quieted my drumming fingers. “Could you repeat the question?”

  The twelve occupants of the wide oak room snickered softly under their breaths. I felt like the weird kid at school who’d said something stupid in class. Generally, I was the weird kid at school who didn’t speak at all. This new role didn’t feel particularly comfortable. As the smirks slowly faded, I straightened my black jacket and twisted the knot at the neck of the cream blouse tucked inside my pencil skirt. I’d chosen this outfit with the help of my best friend, Mia, back home in Belize. Mia had been ecstatic when she’d learned of my pseudo-promotion. My usual job locale was limited to the six districts of Belize. This was my first assignment out of country. And it was in L.A. no less! Unfortunately, no one had warned me that a tyrannical boss-teacher man would call me out in the class-I mean, boardroom.

  “We’re waiting, Ms. Reyes.” Mr. Thomas repeated.

  “I-uh-” My feet began to shake in my insanely high turquoise blue pumps. I was normally a very blah, conservative dresser especially when I was at work, but I couldn’t resist a pop of color on my feet. Both Mia and I fairly worshiped shoes.

  As I stumbled over my words, my eyes sought help from the rest of the people in the room. It seemed all the big shot men and women with their chairs tucked under this fancy black glass table lived by a regular penguin code. It was a Men in Black reunion in here. Except there was no Will Smith to burst the tension with comedic relief. Or remind Mr. Thomas that he hadn’t repeated the question. Oh well, I guess I’d have to do it.

  “Sir, you didn’t repeat the question,” I feebly pointed out.

  An eyebrow quirked before Mr. Thomas haughtily said again,

  “We were discussing the abominable revenues the Maladon Resorts Belize is generating. The rising crime rate against tourists is affecting the bottom line. How is the Tourism Board working with the Defense Force to protect the company interests?”

  I mulled over the question. Maladon Resorts was one of the biggest all-inclusive resorts in Belize. The franchise was headquartered on the beautiful island of San Pedro, but there was a branch in most of the six districts in the country. Tourism was the main industry in Belize. People like Mr. Maladon had a lot of sway with the government who in turn engineered tax holidays to lure such big hotel names to root their presence in our little country. If the Maladon Resorts shut down, a lot of people would lose their jobs and the economic stability of Belize would be head-butted in the gut.

  Composing myself, I chose my words with care.

  “As you know, I do not speak for the Belize Government or the members of the Board…”

  Mr. Thomas began to pace as though expecting an excuse or a deflection. He closed his eyes, his face shuttered in that expression that all teachers have when they realize their students are unwaveringly stupid. As I continued, however, he stood still and cocked his head attentively.

  “But Belize is a developing country. Like any other, we have our issues with unemployment, gang activity and political corruption. I cannot brush aside the importance of tourist safety; however, the problem is not solely the lack of defense, but rather the lack of socio-economic opportunities.”

  I paused, wondering if I had said too much or had infused too much honesty into my reply. Mr. Thomas opened his eyes enough to peer at me.

  “Well, go on!” he enthused.

  I obeyed, “If you are truly… uh … interested sir in protecting not only the tourist flow to Belize but also the reputation of this company, I’d suggest focusing some of your energies on poverty alleviation and social justice.”

  Nodding my head once to signify I was done, I shut my mouth, glancing around to see the reactions of the other seated important people. Gauging by their expressions, I had just slammed into an iceberg. The woman on my left awkwardly scooted her chair away from mine. Instantly, doubt flooded in.

  Should I have done that?

  It surely wasn’t my place to suggest anything to this important man. I recalled my first day at the Belize Tourism Board. Sandra Bay, the senior information consultant, had schooled me on the number one rule of summary meetings: sit tight and just write. The mantra was drilled into my head so much that I felt suddenly naked in this boardroom with these strangers, in this big and cold country. I eyed the empty chair next to me, wishing that my co-worker Missy Garbutt had opted to join me this morning. Unfortunately, Missy had stayed in today, claiming a “headache”. I had a feeling that she was really feigning ill and shopping instead. I wished I had joined her.

  As regret washed my mouth with a gritty taste, I held my breath. It was so quiet, a pin could drop… and it w
ould clang like a gong. Seconds ticked by, but it felt like minutes until Mr. Thomas spoke.

  “Well, it’s a damn shame you don’t speak for the Board.”

  And that was that. The meeting continued as if my climb up my soap box had never occurred. I, for one, did not forget it. And I promise you, by the time that conference concluded I’d taken pages of notes. No way did I want to be called out again. Fortunately after wrapping up, Mr. Thomas walked out of the boardroom without any further contact with me, for which I was eternally grateful.

  I lingered for a few minutes and greeted some of the associates in the room. I enjoyed getting to know new people and learning their stories. I soon fell into conversation with the company accountant. The kindly older woman greeted me politely and then expressed interest in vacationing in Belize someday. I was trained to latch on to ins like that and steered the conversation to retrieve a more committed visit from her. It made me feel like some kind of traveling saleswoman, but what’s a girl to do?

  As I expounded on the many fun and relaxing things that she could experience in Belize, I knew that if Ms. Neil could catch a jet to my country at that moment, she would. Honestly, it wasn’t a hard sell. Belize is a jewel. Some people just recognize it quicker than others.

  “Well thank you, dear. It sounds quite lovely. I’ll be sure to talk to that travel agent you recommended.”

  “No problem, Ms. Neil. And when you do come to Belize, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’d love to show you around.”

  With a smile and a wave, Ms. Neil shuffled back to her office.

  Noticing that the room had emptied out save for a few lollygagging suits, I returned to my seat to put my notes in order and shuffle them into the folder that the company had provided.

  As I bent over to reach the last paper I heard a male voice whisper close to my ear, “So, is every girl in Belize this pretty or is it just you?”

  I whirled around. Really? That was the best line that he could throw. I knew homeless men in Belize who could spit better lyrics than that. Not that it was right, mind you.

  “Excuse me?” I responded, giving this sucker enough time to save face and walk away before I did some serious damage to his ego.

  “You heard me. Wanna meet up after this?” he brazenly propositioned.

  I twisted around, my heels clacking on the floor as I bent my back at awkward angles. I noticed the perplexed look on his face and withheld my grin.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to see if the word ‘DESPERATE’ is written on my butt or something.”

  He still wasn’t getting it.

  “Get lost, mister.” I said simply and then grabbed my papers and the folder and walked out.

  I heard his buddies laughing at him as I trotted out of the door. Served him right.

  Don’t get me wrong, I was flattered, sort of. But I wasn’t interested in anything that he was offering. Ain’t nobody got time foh that!

  Laughing softly to myself as I strolled to the elevator, the encounter was quickly forgotten. My mind grew occupied with thoughts of spending my afternoon recess strolling through this most exciting city. I didn’t have enough money to shop like I would have really wanted to, but gawk I would. This was only my second time to America. The first time I’d been a baby so that didn’t count.

  The elevator doors opened. I rushed to get on. When I’d first come to America two days ago. I’d tried to be courteous and let the other people waiting in the lobby go first. After continually being left in the cold as the elevator filled up without me, I’d learned to elbow my way to that moving box with the best of them. Today as I stepped in, I instantly felt claustrophobic. Belize didn’t have many elevators and we certainly believed in the reliability of stairs. This was my first time being repeatedly smushed against complete strangers as we waited the awkward seconds travelling from one floor to the next. The little moving closet was packed. Fortunately, more and more people let off without much more replacing them. I made it to the lobby flying mostly solo. There were two more people in there with me. Both were glued to their phones, tap-tapping away as though they had some urgent business to attend to.

  Feeling peer-pressured, I took out my cell phone and started playing the piano-game. My fingers were doing the same tap-tapping and I schooled my face into the same blasé yet intense expression as the other two occupants. I know, I know. I succumbed to peer pressure.

  Don’t judge.

  The elevator doors opened and the two important people stomped out, leaving me enthralled in my game. I didn’t want to lose. I moved forward with one eye on the phone and the other on the slowly closing door. I put my hand out to stop its movement and walked out of the elevator. The phone with my States number rang at that moment. I ducked my head and pulled out my purse to find it, clutching my notes to my side with the point of my elbow. I bent to rummage through my purse and took one step into the lobby. Except it wasn’t a lobby. Unless the lobby had a huge wall installed in front of the elevator. And that wall was a smart wall that could talk and curse. I scrunched my nose. What a dirty mouth the smart wall had. Then I looked up.

  And realized the wall had the sexiest face I had ever seen. Strong slightly pointed jaw, clean shaven cheeks, beautifully masculine lips, an angular nose, perfectly proportioned for his face, and the most brooding dark brown almost black eyes set in a slant that tattled an Oriental heritage.

  Sexy Asian Man shook me from further checking him out when he yelled,

  “Hey! Hey, watch where you’re going!”

  Mr. Hunky pushed me away and I shamefully realized I’d been in his arms and hadn’t taken note of it. He stooped to pick up the papers that had burst out of his open briefcase.

  Hm, I didn’t know people still carried those around. Weren’t man purses all the rage over here?

  “What is wrong with you?” he seethed at me. “Didn’t you see me?”

  Unfortunately, Mr. Hunky wasn’t waiting around for an answer. He finished gathering up his papers and stormed into the still open elevator. His tone was rude and as I stooped to gather my things I rattled my brain for the dirtiest non-curse word I could find to aim at him.

  “You watch where you’re going… jerk-face!” I returned snarkily.

  Lame, I know, but it was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment. If he’d given me just a few more minutes, I could have thrown something more lethal.

  Mr. Hunkster glared at me and, despite the annoyance in my heart I still noticed that his smoldering eyes made him look even hotter. Hunky Dude huffed and his eyes, narrowed into slits, was the last thing I saw as the elevators enclosed around him.

  “Jerk!” I muttered one last time for good measure, as I straightened my notes and tucked them safely into the folder before standing. I glared at the elevator doors as if Jerk-Face was still there. Didn’t elevators have weight limits? How did Mr. Hunky’s ego fit in there and not break the machine?

  Rolling my eyes in aggravation, I deposited my notes in my bag for safe-keeping, the ringing phone forgotten.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hoping to shake that terrible encounter from my mind, I decided to do a little sightseeing. Being in America was like being in a whole new world. Everything from the skyscrapers that threatened to tear the fabric of the clouds to the loud obnoxious traffic was new and exciting to me. In Belize, the pace is noticeably steadier, the people more prone to inventing their own rules when it came to traffic and parking spots. I’d counted at least three different types of traffic police already and I was simply strolling down the sidewalk! There was a parking police, parking meter police, traffic police, and toll booth police. Mein, Americans really took their road safety seriously.

  As I waited for the crosswalk to turn green, I contemplated which site I wanted to visit first. According to Google, I was in downtown L.A., far away from the Hollywood sign or Beverly Hills. Hm, I’d seen the Walt Disney Concert hall on TV. The curves of steel had enthralled me ev
en though thousands of miles and a television screen had separated me from the majestic testament of architecture. Yes, I’d definitely go see the Walt Disney Concert Hall first. Now I just needed to figure out how to get there. With no idea how to use the Subways or the Metro bus, (I didn’t even ride the bus back in Belize), I determined to make the most of my L.A. experience, and find my way to South Grand Avenue. I only had one more day left in America before leaving on Friday. It was time to make the most of it. With that mentality in mind, I strutted confidently past the hundreds of cars that paused for a few seconds so that I could cross safely and ventured down the nearest subway entrance.

  After paying for a subway card in a much more complicated ATM machine thingy, I stood before the turnstile machine that allowed you into the waiting stretch of the station. I waved my card over the sensory area. Nothing happened. I waved it again. Still nothing. I stooped down, wondering if I could crawl through the bars underneath it. It looked doable, but too many people were milling about. I decided to try one more time. Nothing. Groaning in frustration, I moved the card vehemently over the entrance bars. Suddenly, the piece of plastic slipped from my hands and flew into the busy subway station.