The Complete Perfect Series Read online

  The Den is a club that is the place to go on any night of the week. It was where I first met Lydia. I loved my bar job, but it was never my lifelong dream.

  I took a few days to think about what Charles had offered, and I concluded that if I was ever going to devote my time to becoming a full-time writer then this was my chance. I told Charles that I would move in with him and he seemed delighted, leading me to think that I had made the right choice. How wrong could I have been? Very, as it turns out. I handed in my notice at The Den and moved in with Charles a few days later.

  Within two weeks of moving in with him, Charles started to show his true colours. Granted, I had seen some of his bad traits on occasion, but doesn’t everyone have bad points? Maybe I was just too ignorant to see those traits executed to their full extent beforehand? He was only ever badly behaved in relation to his business, and even that wasn’t very often. His bad behaviour had never been directed at me.

  If I ever questioned him about the way in which he was acting, he would always have a perfectly good reason as to why he acted in this manner. All I wanted was to be loved and cared for, and I fell for his excuses every time.

  I saw Charles as the closest thing to family that I had. What an idiot I truly was.

  The first week of living with him was good. In fact, it was so good that I was kicking myself for not moving in when he had asked me the first time. He made me dinner every night, bought me flowers and generally made me feel special. I bragged to Lydia about how great he was being, and generally made her feel sick with my renewed affection for him.

  I should have kept my mouth shut because week two brought with it the real Charles Montpellior. He became an absolute nightmare, and he still is to this day.

  I remember it clearly, the day that it all changed.

  It was a Monday evening and the start of my second week of living with Charles. I was quietly sat in the lounge, watching the evening soaps on the television when Charles walked in with a folder tucked under his arm.

  I didn’t take much notice as he brought work home with him all the time. He is the owner of J & M Accounting. However, on this particular Monday evening, Charles picked up the television remote and turned the television off. I looked at him, appalled that I was unable to watch the rest of my programme. He sat down in the chair opposite me and I was about to ask him what he was doing, but the look on his face stopped me. His serious expression had me sitting up to attention.

  “Now that you have been here for a week, I feel I need to set some ground rules,” he said. Ground rules?

  I must have looked confused because he quickly carried on talking. “I have a list of things here that I would like you to adhere to. I feel it is only fair seeing as you no longer work.”

  His expression was so serious that I almost wanted to laugh. I didn’t though. His comment about me not working stung a little. I wanted to argue back that it was his idea for me to stop working, but he continued with his little speech.

  “In this folder, you will find lists of what I find acceptable. If you could read this tonight, then from tomorrow you can start to follow these routines and rules.”

  It wasn’t a question; it was an order.

  Charles placed the folder on the coffee table between us and then stood up. “I will be in my study if you need to discuss anything.” With that, Charles strode out of the room.

  I looked at the folder as if it were going to bite me. What on earth did he mean by routines?

  I sighed, picked up the folder and opened it to the first page. There were ten pages in total, each one detailing what he expected of me. There was a cleaning rota, a shopping list, a weekly allowance budget for myself, and a schedule of when I would be required to attend functions with Charles.

  At first, I honestly thought that he must have been playing some sort of joke. I said as much to him, only to be greeted with a scowl. It was the following morning and onwards that I realised that I had made a mistake.

  I had just turned twenty-eight, and here I was being instructed on how to live my life. I managed to follow the routines and lists for the first few weeks, and then I thought I would mix it up a bit. I don’t mean drastically, I just mean that instead of cooking lasagne on the Wednesday I decided to cook it on the Monday. This did not go down well with Charles and resulted in him having a complete hissy fit at me.

  I can only compare his tantrum to that of a two-year-old toddler. It was ridiculous for a grown man to be acting this way. I recall the poisonous words he spoke to me. You would have thought that I had threatened to castrate him with the way that he went on.

  Charles then sulked about the lasagne incident, or lasagne-gate as I call it, for the next week. Yes, a whole fucking week.

  I told Lydia, and my friend Martin, about his behaviour and neither of them were surprised. In fact, I had to stop Lydia from marching round to our house and giving him what for. She’s extremely feisty and protective of her friends.

  Martin on the other hand has to be careful, seeing as he works for Charles as an event planner. Martin has been a witness to many of Charles’ outbursts. He’s also been on the receiving end of a few of them too.

  Martin has worked for Charles for the last three years. We got chatting at an event two years ago and we have maintained a friendship ever since. A secret friendship that is, as Charles would never approve of me befriending his staff.

  Martin has such an infectious personality, and I adore him. It is hard to meet up with him though as every time I go out I am asked numerous questions by Charles about where I have been and who I have been with. After six months, I suppose I have gotten used to the interrogating.

  So, here I am, playing the dutiful girlfriend and making sure that others think Charles and I have the perfect life. Hell, I have gotten so good at putting on a show that I could probably pursue a career in acting.

  Whilst I have perfected my outer shell, on the inside I am in turmoil. I am bored. Bored of being his arm candy, bored of having my life planned out for me, and bored of having no chemistry whatsoever, sexually or otherwise.

  I’m sure no one would really blame me for losing my sexual appetite though. We have sex once a month, on a designated night of Charles’ choice. Although, we have given that a miss for the last two months, much to my relief.

  I crave the feeling of intimacy and love. I fantasize about having the types of orgasms and sexual trysts that you read about in romance novels, or that you see in the movies. I love to read and often have my nose in a book. However, it is not just the story that grips me, it is also the escape a good book gives me. It’s like a time out from my real life. I can almost imagine that I am the heroine in a novel, and that I am the one who is being seduced by the man that worships her on a daily basis.

  My mind often wanders back to the only one-night stand that I have ever had. It was the night before I moved in with Charles, and my last shift working at The Den. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but this guy was so mesmerising. That night was one of the best nights of my life. God, how pathetic does that sound? I didn’t even ask what the guy’s name was, I just knew that I needed to be with him and give my body to him. And by God did he take it. Even now my body hums at the mere memory of him.

  “And for God’s sake, don’t say or do anything stupid. Last time you made a fool of yourself as well as a fool of me.” Charles once again interrupts my thoughts. His voice holds nothing but anger and disgust.

  “Charles, I didn’t do anything wrong.” I sigh, bored. We must have had this conversation about a hundred times. He is like a broken record.

  “Oh please, your dancing was atrocious. I had to excuse your behaviour for weeks afterwards.” He actually screws his face up as he speaks.

  “If I am such an embarrassment to you then why the hell are you taking me to this event?” I ask, exasperated. Anyone would think that I had done a bloody strip tease for the entire room with the way he goes on about it.

  “People will expect you to be th
ere. It will look bad if you don’t accompany me. I don’t need people asking me questions about where else you might be. I don’t have time to make excuses for you.”

  Charles leaves no room for any more discussion on this topic. I can’t be bothered to respond anyway. I am deflated. I feel beaten down by him. The situation that I am in is beyond dire.

  The truth is that Charles has merely become a means to an end for me, and he has been for a while now. If I leave Charles, then I won’t be able to continue being a full-time writer. Selfish I know, but this is what it comes down to.

  I should have kept a few of my shifts at The Den, but no, I stupidly thought that he might just want to see me succeed in my writing career. I now see that he just wanted me to become his personal skivvy.

  He always hated me working at The Den. Charles maintains that he hated all of the male attention that I received, and before I moved in with him I genuinely believed that was the reason. Now however, I realise that Charles wanted me at his beck and call. It was also not a ‘posh’ enough job for his girlfriend to have. I mean, in Charles’ mind, the thought of saying that he lived with a barmaid must have been so beneath him.

  I miss my independence, and I suppose he thinks that he can treat me how he wants now that he controls all of my finances.

  Three years of my life have been dedicated to this relationship, obviously not taking into account my one night of dalliance. I think it took moving in with Charles to see that we really aren’t a good match.

  I like to take each day as it comes and enjoy life, but Charles is incapable of that. I personally think his bad traits all come from his mother. Oh my, he is a mummy’s boy in every sense. I really don’t like his mother, and the feeling is mutual.

  Charles is an only child, born into a rich family. His mother, Margaret, always lets him have his own way. Charles and his mother share the worst trait of all, being a snob.

  Margaret has always been very vocal about how Charles deserves to be with someone better than me. These types of comments used to hurt me, but I just ignore them now. Over time, I guess you just learn to grow a thicker skin to hateful words.

  His father, James, was the complete opposite. He was such a lovely man. He died two years ago from cancer. Bloody cancer seems to take all the good people away from me… well, either that or a car crash. James dying is how Charles acquired fifty percent ownership of J & M Accounting, and the company is known in various countries around the world.

  Charles does work hard to make sure that the company is running to a high standard, but would it kill him to take one day off? Apparently so, according to him. We haven’t had one whole day together, by ourselves, for over a year.

  When I had my own job, and I didn’t live with him, I suppose we managed to make time for one another. Something we stopped doing and took for granted, or at least Charles did anyway. Charles’ money is far too important to him nowadays to pay any attention to his girlfriend, also known as the live-in maid.

  I seriously need to rethink what I am doing. I don’t know how much longer I can put up with his behaviour. I never pictured myself being with a man like this. I am nearly at my breaking point.

  The drive to the Bowden Hall takes about twenty minutes, and that is where tonight’s event will be held. We regularly attend functions here and its beauty never ceases to amaze me.

  The vast grounds are spectacular with luscious green grass that is always maintained to the highest standard. It never looks like anyone has set foot on it. The gardens go on for miles, with beautiful flowers lining the driveway all the way up to the stunning building that is the Bowden Hall.

  The building has big sash windows and eighty rooms in total which are all decorated with the finest antiques and painted in the richest colours. Golds, reds and greens are the main colours throughout. It makes you feel like you have entered a building out of a fairy-tale.

  We pull up to the front doors and the valet comes straight over, standing to attention by the car, waiting for us to get out so that he can go and park it at the rear of the building.

  Charles gets out, not bothering to walk around and open my door for me. I emerge from the car and walk around to take my place by Charles’ side. I know the drill.

  “Now, darling, make sure that you smile and generally adore me,” Charles says, smirking. God, you would think that he was fifty-odd instead of being twenty-nine years old with the way that he talks. I could quite happily slap him, but instead I plaster a fake smile on my face as we walk up the steps and enter the building.

  The entrance hall is vast with an impressive cascading staircase leading to the first floor. The butler stood by the door greets us politely as we walk past him. To the left of us is the Great Ballroom which is the room that tonight’s event is taking place in.

  There are four other rooms on the ground floor, but Charles always insists on using the Great Ballroom for events. I presume it is because it is the biggest and most lavish room of them all.

  As we enter, I admire once again how stunning the décor is. From the gold-plated trim to the crystal chandeliers that hang above us. The lighting of the room is soft and intimate, ready for the dinner and dance that is about to begin. I take a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.

  “That’s right, on the booze already,” Charles snarls in my ear.

  “Oh shut up, Charles. It’s a party. There are drinks all around. Now lighten up,” I say sweetly, keeping the smile plastered on my face as I speak. I can see that he wants to retaliate, but Martin is walking over to us, so Charles kisses my cheek instead. Keeping up appearances is in full swing.

  “Ah, Martin,” Charles says. “Wonderful party so far, eh?” Ugh, I think I am going to throw up. What an idiot.

  “Oh, yes. It has been a pleasure planning this event, sir,” Martin responds, ever the dutiful employee. Martin then turns to me and takes my hand. “Looking as beautiful as ever, Miss Stacey.” He places a kiss on the back of my hand which makes me smile.

  Martin does a good job of acting like we are just acquaintances at these events. I give him my most dazzling grin. His partner Clayton is also just as charming. They make a wonderful couple.

  Martin has toned down his look for this evening’s event. Normally he would be wearing some sort of fluorescent coloured clothing, but tonight he dons a simple black tuxedo and white shirt combo. His black hair is swept to one side and gelled to within an inch of its life. His blue eyes sparkle, and his goatee has been neatly trimmed. He looks very handsome and nowhere near his thirty years.

  “Why thank you, Martin. You don’t scrub up too badly yourself,” I say to him. Martin chuckles and excuses himself to go and promote his party planning skills to the other guests. Can’t say I blame him for wanting to get away from Charles as soon as he can. Seeing him at work five days a week is bad enough but having to pander to him on a Saturday night must be torture.

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that to my employees. You sound so common,” says Charles. I feel anger course through my body. I cannot listen to this man for a moment longer.

  “Well, I hope this is common enough for you; fuck off, Charles,” I respond and turn on my heel, leaving him so that I can go and find someone more interesting to talk to. Although, that is a challenge in itself seeing as nearly everyone here is probably just as stuck up as Charles is.

  I can feel my blood boiling at how much of a dick Charles is being. I walk through the throngs of people, smiling politely and saying the odd hello here and there.

  As I approach the back of the ballroom, my eyes rest on a gentleman with his back to me. I stop walking and admire his stance, which even from the back is commanding.

  For some reason my body begins to react to him. There is a humming radiating through me, and the hairs on my body stand to attention. Goosebumps cover my entire being and I shiver as the man starts to turn around.

  I feel the breath leave my lungs and butterflies make an appearance in my stomach as his eyes lock
with mine. His caramel coloured eyes, so beautiful that I could get lost in them. His silky, jet black hair is styled to perfection, and his lips look so soft and kissable. The slight stubble on his chin gives him a handsome, rugged look.

  I can’t believe that I am looking at him.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I must be dreaming.

  But when I open my eyes, he is still there. He is standing a few feet away from me, looking like a God.

  This can’t be happening.

  My sex clenches with excitement as I continue to look into his eyes.

  Time stops.

  I never thought I would ever see him again.

  My one-night stand.

  My perfect stranger.

  Chapter Three

  I stand on the spot for what feels like hours, but in reality, must only be a few seconds. I cannot move. My feet feel like they are glued to the floor, and my mouth has gone completely dry.

  He is talking to someone else, but his eyes never leave mine. His gorgeous, penetrating eyes. It has been six months since I had my wild night with this man. I truly thought that I would never see him again, but here he is, in the flesh, at my pompous boyfriend’s event. I have never seen him at any events that Charles has thrown before.

  I feel someone pulling on my arm and I get the sudden urge to swat them away like I would an annoying fly buzzing around me. I blink a few times and manage to avert my eyes from my handsome stranger, only to come face to face with Margaret. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Of all the people in this room who may want to speak to me, it has to be her. She looks angry, and I know that I am about to face her acidic tongue.

  “What do you think you are doing, young lady? How dare you walk off from my son like that. You are making yourself look ridiculous and not to mention childish. You are lucky to be classed as his girlfriend, Stacey. Now, go back and treat him with the respect that he deserves.” She hisses each and every word at me like a ticked off snake, and her pudgy face is screwed up in distaste.