The Penthouse Treasure - James Gerard (self help books to read .TXT) 📗

of the magazine. But the cleverness of the plan was not found in that detail, but when she disclosed that Connelly was in search of a personal assistant.

 

At first she did not understand, but soon realized the beauty of such a well-devised plan. Her friend said it is as simple as applying for the job and refusing to take no for an answer, get a close up look at all the things the wretch of a man holds dear to his heart, and then attack and destroy such precious things.

 

It is that simple, she thought. The man doesn’t even know who I am.   The last time he saw me is when I was just a baby. Charisse paced faster.   “Just before he divorce and abandoned my mom and me for another woman, then another, then another…damn him to hell!” she screamed.

 

Aunt Anna came running up. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Charisse answered calmly. “It’s time to go. It’s time to get started.”

 

“Started with what?”

 

Charisse looked in her eyes and stated, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Avenger Disguised

 Charisse took a deep breath on the elevator. With the steps of the plan under review in the thoughts she quickly reconsidered the plan of attack laid out by her friend and was suddenly compelled to abort the whole thing. The heart fluttered while gasping for breath. A hand reached out to hit the button of an approaching floor but she quickly subdued the impulse.

 

It was not that she had doubt over the wonderfully crafted cruelty of the plan, but rather knowing that it would begin in a matter of minutes that brought about second thoughts.   At the same time the strength to flawlessly carry out the vengeance plan was waning through quivering of the body, but just thinking about the hurt and pain it would cause brought the resolve right back in to her mind.

 

Just seconds away from the David’s office, Charisse conjured up the “take no for an answer” attitude as strongly instructed by her friend.   The fidgety spasms shaking every joint of her body gave way to a strong and steady posture. The thoughts were resolved to overcome any and all obstacles placed before the goal at hand.

 

“Good morning,” said Charisse, “I’m here to see David.”

 

“Excuse me!” responded the young blonde from behind a desk. “And you are?”

 

“My name is…” said Charisse then looked to the carpet.

 

The young woman chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Look you brainless twit of a woman, David has nothing to do with the models. Okay Barbie. Now shoo; go away.”

 

Charisse took a deep breath and then strolled over to the desk. “Barbie? Really?”

 

“Well,” the secretary chuckled, “tell-me-your-name.”

 

Charisse smiled. “My name is Brandy, Brandy Gillen.   I have a master’s degree in business administration and doctorate degree in business administration. So you see I am not a ‘brainless twit of a model.’”

 

The secretary vaulted from the chair, “Is that right! Well, for you information—”

 

A door opened unexpectedly. “Barbara, what is going on here?”

 

“It’s this red-headed bimbo David,” the secretary yelled.

 

“Good morning,” Charisse calmly offered, “I’m the red-headed bimbo your secretary is referring to.”

 

“And you are?”

 

“I am Brandy Gillen.”

 

“She’s demanding to see you!”

 

“Enough!” David shot back. “Enough,” he calmly repeated. “Now Barbara, what is this all about?”

 

“This empty headed six foot shell of a creature is demanding to see you.”

 

“If you allow me David,” Charisse calmly stated, “I am here to apply for Connelly O’Brien’s personal assistant.”

 

David cleared his throat and stared as if he were trying to remember where they had met. “Well,” David said, “that’s done on-line…on-line Miss—”

 

“Again, I am Brandy Gillen.”

 

“Again Miss Gillen, if you will complete the on-line application and attach your resume then I will be happy to take a look at it as soon as it is submitted.”

 

“Yes David, I understand the magazine’s employment policy but I do prefer an interview. And I do not see any reason why that could not happen at this very moment and at this very location,” Charisse said with a hint of a smile.

 

“Look young lady…” he again paused and stared.

 

While staring back Charisse suddenly became concerned. She had always been reminded how much she looked like her mother and wondered if David had at one time met her and noticed the resemblance. But then again, she thought, Aunt Anna would have certainly mentioned him.   No, he doesn’t know. Then again, she considered, even if somehow he did we’ve made too many changes to my appearance.

 

Even up to her death she knew from a few scarce photographs that her mother kept her lustrous red hair draped over the shoulders and back. Smartly placed makeup made her face appear soft and sweet with a smile that spoke volumes about her beauty, and eyes so blue that they could mesmerize even the hardest of hard and cold men. She knew that David could not see past the pulled back red hair coiled tight in a bun, the lack of makeup that brought out a plain and assuming face, a pair of slightly tinted glasses with unstylized frames that hid the sparkling blue eyes, and lips perched so tight that her appearance was contrary to the classic beauty of her mother.

 

“…on second thought, why don’t you come in.”

 

“Look,” uttered Charisse as soon as she sat down in front of David’s desk, “I am highly educated, motivated, skilled, and as stubborn as a woman you will ever meet—I can do this job and I can do it better than anyone.”

 

David chuckled. “Well then… what is your name again?”

 

Charisse clutched her head and moaned, Brandy, Brandy Gillen.”

 

“Gillen?”

 

“Yes Gillen! Why?”

 

“Sounds French. Good—”

 

Charisse vaulted from the chair and with quenched teeth uttered, “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“You do know that Connelly is a fashion photographer?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“Then you must have some knowledge of the fashion world and the French language.”

 

“Look,” laughed Charisse, “I am not applying for a position as a model but a competent, well-educated, highly sophisticated personal assistant.”

 

“Well; good then. Connelly needs someone competent.”

 

“Business is business David. I learned it does not matter what the business because there is always a common language from which to communicate and prosper. My knowledge of the fashion world and the French language might be lacking yet I could do wonders for Connelly.”

 

“A doctorate degree in business you say? From where?

 

“Stanford.”

 

“Stanford?”

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

“A little too pricy if you ask me. How did you manage—wealthy parents?”

 

“No wealthy parents. It was actually paid for from an inheritance from an estranged uncle. That’s all I know. Besides, why should that matter?

 

“I’m just wondering why on earth would you be applying for this job. All David needs is someone who can handle his affairs concerning his photographic work and is highly proficient at using a computer and the software. I mean you are over qualified for the position wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Charisse laughed. “Maybe, but let’s face it David, you’ll find no one better than me.”

 

“Confident aren’t you.” David smiled then laughed. “Single?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No ex or children?”

 

“No…what does that have anything to do with the job?”

 

“I’m just wondering if you’re looking for a career.”

 

“Does that really matter?” Charisse asked with a wink.

 

David chuckled. “Just the thing for the arrogant fiend.”

 

Charisse had a look of what did you just say and took a step closer, “What did you say?”

 

“Oh, it just seems if Connelly has it too easy.” David turned his attention to a computer screen and started tapping on the keyboard. “If I owned this magazine, I would have dumped the overpaid, self-important, control freak, womanizer, and lousy photographer years ago. But…but unfortunately I have no such authority or the input to do so. However, the hiring of his assistant has been left to my discretion and…what the hell, you’re hired.” He reached for the phone and stopped. “We’ll make you a little surprise.”

 

Charisse yelled out with glee. “Thank you David. You do not know how much this means to me.”

 

“Just…just be yourself my dear.”

The Thief's Valued Treasure

 Charisse stood across the street from the towering apartment building seething at the sight of the top floor but could not see the penthouse apartment. Nevertheless, a mix of quick short breaths and tightening muscles signaled the growing wrath towards the man she hated.   The wicked man that abandoned an adoring wife and infant girl and in doing so inflicted great emotional pain and sorrow was about to know pain a thousand times worth. And as much as she wanted to rip the wicked man into little pieces when she stood face to face with him, once again the plan of her friend came into mind.

 

Her friend had promised that after the position was attained that every detail, every possible stumbling block, every angle of the scheme had been revised so well that there was no chance of failure along any of the steps. Charisse witnessed this personally when she handed all the necessary documents that hid her true identity over to the clerk at the Human Relationship office of the magazine. Without hesitation the young woman accepted the fake driver license and social security card and without question entered the new identity markers into the system. Just as easy as that and she was not only a new employee of La Mode, but an avenger hid right below the very nose of her unsuspecting father as well.      

 

Charisse grinned as she walked across the street and towards the doorman.   She found it quite a comfort that her best friend and confidant since childhood had always known about the torment she and her mother had been through. Thoughts began to center on childhood and what Aunt Anna has said about her mother’s condition; a hormonal imbalance after the birth that was so severe that it could not be corrected with medication or therapy. But as she grew older and wiser doubt then outright denial over her mother’s suffering came into question. With much pestering Aunt Anna changed the story. The truth came out. Her father was to blame. Anger intensified with each step towards the door. She whispered, “Patience;” for the discussion of patience was talked about as being the essential ingredient for sweet and savory vengeance.

 

A polite smile and good afternoon was offered as she strolled past the doorman and into the plush lobby. A breath was sucked in deeply then released as two security personnel walked right at her and demanded her name. As one of the men checked the name against a list Charisse stared at the elevators realizing that one of them would deliver her straight up to the intended target—the one who presumed safety